Jamal and Orla Ch. 02

She saw it too, and redoubled her efforts to make Jamal cum in her mouth. She swallowed his whole length, and then let the whole cock slid free, and she did it again, and again. She fucked her mouth with his cock, hard and fast, but as he pulled into the parking lot, he still wasn't done.

"Come on, Orla, lets get that head looked at. We can do this another time." He was getting close, but didn't want to cover her in spunk if she was going to see a doctor. Or her Dad.

"Yeah," Slurp, "Inside," Slurp, "Come," Slurp, "On." She sat up and unruffled her clothes. "How the fuck do you hide that thing, anyway?"

"Loose fittin' pants, tight fittin' shorts, mostly." He pulled up his pants and handed her the keys to the Chrysler. "Guess I better hit the road, I gotta cover some ground."

"No, look, I kinda owe you one for taking care of me. I mean, you coulda done a lot of things back there!"

"Nah, anyone woulda done that."

"Not just anyone. Come on, I'll get you a ride home. It's the least I can do."

"I dunno, nobody's gonna like baptize me or some shit, huh?"

"No, don't be ridiculous, might try and talk you into giving a donation, but no ones gonna bite your freakin' neck. Philistine."

Ticked off, Orla strode on into the neon lit church, a wary Jamal following sheepishly behind. By the time he got in through the door, Orla was out of sight. He stood for a minute, then turned to leave.

"Hold," a wheezing voice coughed from the pulpit, "hold," wheeze, "on," cough, "son!" Jamal turned around to see an old man doing his best to run the length of the church, toward him.

"Wow, there, Silver!" Jamal shouted, "I'll come to you, man. Don't want any more incidents!"

"You must," wheeze, "be the boy who," cough, "who drove my Orla home," Jamal looked over the old man. No walking stick, dressed in a smart but inexpensive suit, no tie. He was quite a thin, tall old guy, Jamal would have said fit, apart from the wheezing. Didn't look much like a priest, but there was something in his manner, a look which put others at ease. Others, maybe. Not Jamal.

"You must be Gramps,"

"Well spotted, sonny." The old guy smiled, pearly teeth in stark contrast to his dark skin. "I'll have someone take you home. Why don't you come in? Let an old man to show his hospitality. We had roast chicken less than 20 mins back. It'll still be warm." Jamal suddenly realized that he was pretty hungry.

"I might just take you up on that." He smiled, "as long as I don't have to say grace!" The old man wheezed out a short laugh. He put out his hand, and Jamal shook it, heartily.

"Name's Sunday Freeman, and this," the old priest spread his arms wide, encompassing the whole church in his gesture, "is the Church of Love and Equality." He walked on, Jamal following.

"Jamal," came the curt response, "atheist." Jamal said it to cut off any talk of conversion, suspicious of the old man's motives. Sunday gave him a toothy smile.

"That's your choice, son. Don't try and preach it here, though. We're all God fearing people, here."

Ball back in my court, huh? Thought Jamal. He nodded to the preacher.

"What happened to Orla, if you don't mind me asking?"

"She whacked her head, knocked herself clean out!" Jamal wanted to gloss over the part where she was cumming on his hand. "I was shocked, she just swung her head round and next thing she was out like a light." The old man nodded, but said nothing. Jamal went on, "I didn't know where she lived, and I don't have Medicaid, so I took her home to my place till she woke up. Then I brought her here." Jamal frowned, concern for Orla suddenly consuming him. "She'll be ok, right? She took a bad knock, I think she might have a concussion." The old man took hold of his shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

"I've had a quick look at her, I don't think she's concussed, but we'll have someone check her out. She'll be fine." The old man smiled. "What about you, sonny? You ok? Something like this will shake you up, you know."

"I'm fine, thanks,"

Jamal lied. The old man looked into his eyes, his expression one of doubt, but he didn't press.

"Good, then let's eat," the preacher barked, teeth bared.