Pastor Peter Packer's Pecker

Her breasts commanded attention first, with their farm girl's robust fullness—big, firm, well-parted on her chest, and topped with generously wide, pink nipples that rose to a point. Below, the long, contoured stomach and rounded belly fell to her the golden furze of her pubis, well up her belly, thick over her slit.

She paused, watching with Pastor Peter's face. It was as though she presented him with a special Halloween treat for his delight. Peter's head fell forward, chin on his chest; his eyes closed; he released a long moan.

"See?" said Cynthia. "Gerry is naked as a baby and she's fine. She looked around. "Ready, ladies?"

Her hands took either side of Peter's last, pitiful covering, her fingers under the band, and she began to push down.

Peter seemed as if jolted as by lightning. "No!" he cried. It was impossible. This could not ever be happening. He never would let it. But he could do nothing.

It was too late. Cynthia was bending over, now, her hands finishing shoving the garment down to Peter's trousers. The other two women gave a gasp. The huge, arcing penis, thick, hung far down, with the great fat head dangling. Who had ever seen anything like it!

"Oh, my God!" gasped Mistress Gloria. "It's huge. It's beautiful, Pastor Peter!"

"I can't believe this!" marveled Mistress Cynthia.

Peter's eyes had shot open. He stared down at himself. It was there, revealed, naked and defenseless, the whole huge monster. And, incredibly, it was rapidly thickening, rising...

Suddenly, all three girls were handling it, giggling and commenting, making free with his foreskin, his balls. As they handled him, they chatted excitedly. How smooth it was! Ooh, his balls are so big! Look how his cherry butts out! Feel this!

He began to weep. Uncontrollably, in despair, in the final terrible humiliation. For a moment, the three women looked at him with what almost seemed to be tenderness.

"Look, Pastor Peter!" Gloria chirped. Her quick fingers raced over her black robe and, with a toss, she, too, stood naked. So large were her breasts that they hung pendulous, a lovely pair, swelling to touch in the middle, the cleavage deep. On top of each rounded globe was a spreading nipple almost orange, but crinkling now, a little thumb of thrusting lust stuck straight up from the big boob.

Mistress Cynthia was stripping, too, to reveal smaller, pert breasts that swooped down only to turn up abruptly, proudly elevated, with the palest white skin on which showed dark red nipples. Gloria had clasped her hands, saying, "Ooh! I can't wait!"

Peter could not speak; he could not turn away, close his eyes. He stared down with maniacal intensity. Cynthia had knelt before him and, reaching up, seized his cock with both hands, in an attitude of prayer. She gazed up at it and, as she did, began running her hands up and down the shaft, softly pushing down the skin to make the fat glans pop free, then lifting it, again.

Peter made a sound utterly inhuman. Unintelligible. A moan, an exclamation of wonder, a plea... He watched, now, helpless, as his prick stood stiff as wood, achingly rigid and arched back, engorged so that Cynthia's hand seemed scarcely to go around it. She grinned at him, "Oh, Pastor Peter! It's just a dreamy, dreamy cock! I could play with you all day!"

"Let me!" demanded Geraldine. But she reached further down, her hands gripping the big scrotum, closing tight on the firm balls. She had learned some tricks unknown to Puritan girls. She suddenly began to roll the balls together—hard—banging them against one another, each grinding collision a shot of agony for Peter.

"No!" he shrieked, and they laughed. Geraldine released the tormented sac but immediately Gloria seized it, and, holding the balls in her hand, facing up, gave them a very firm spanking, slapping the helpless bag again and again as Peter howled.

For a moment, Peter actually stopped thinking about exposure of his secret, or even the mind-bending nakedness of the three witches, and begged for mercy.

"I want to!" Cynthia demand. But she settled for merely delivering a vigorous back-hand slap to the defenseless dangling nuts so Peter jerked back his hips in terror. He had never known or dreamed anything like this. Yes, he had heard of official tortures of the Inquisition, of the ordeal, of terrible deaths... Were these beautiful agents of the Devil there to usher him into Hell?

But Cynthia, repentant, now, pressed her whole naked length along Peter's, even her arms against his, and her legs, so she was a soft, enticingly padded 'X' against his body. Then, she slowly, lasciviously kissed him, the first kiss of his life, and simultaneously rubbed her fur back and forth over his bulging dick and her stiff nipples over his hard chest.

And then, Geraldine had to try it. And Gloria. Each in turn giving him a breath-blocked, slow, lascivious kiss with full soft lips and more pubis to pubis stimulation.

Peter's mind was rapidly losing touch with reality. He felt everything, sensed everything—all the more exquisitely, in fact—but the very context of the unfolding scene now merged on dream life. He no longer flashed from here to the outside world, from now to his past, from what was happening to his future. He hung, a great captive mass of sensations and emotions, his whole skin aflame with arousal, his core of sex swollen to its limit and beyond—a thing of itself, bright red, monstrous, vulnerable, and tormented with craving for release.

He watched, almost uncomprehending, as beautiful, big-breasted Cynthia, boobs swaying gently, pressing together, knelt before him. For a long moment, she looked up into his eyes, then her slender hand closed over his penis. He had no idea what might happen. It was not part of his world.

And so, when she bent her pretty face, the hair streaming down her back, and parted her lips very widely to close around the head of his penis, already slick with pre-cum, Peter only stared. Unconsciously, his hips began to thrust, demanding, forcing the shaft into Gloria's mouth till she gagged.

But, truly, these were she-devils. Geraldine seized Gloria's hair and gave it a vicious yank, tearing her mouth off the fat cock. She snapped, "No! He's going to come!"

"Punish her!" laughed Cynthia, and seized Gloria's shoulders from behind, dragging back her arms, holding her helpless.

"No!" yelled Gloria, but she was laughing. And then, Geraldine landed the first resounding slap across the big tits. There, for Peter to see, Geraldine administered a brisk, cruel punishment to her friend's fat titties, whipping them back and forth as they reddened, until Gloria, half laughing, half screaming, was released. She stood holding Peter's gaze, a smile on her face, and slowly, sensuously ministered to her stinging breasts. As she did, her massaging fingers kept flicking her nipples until the flesh of her pinkish-orange tits had become stiff little towers of desire.

Peter's remaining awareness now centered on his dick. It yearned pitifully upward, quaveringly stiffness, dribbling pre-cum. It cried out, begged, for release. The three witches seemed supremely amused by this.

Her head tilted for a moment, as though considering of the situation, Geraldine suddenly gave the rod a swift slap, banging it aside so it snapped back with a quiver. And her hand came back then, from the other direction, to swat it. Then again. Again. Almost furiously, she kept the rigid meat in motion, her little hand pitiless.

Soon, Peter was crying out in alarm, but the goal had been achieved. He hang half-limp, the penis arcing over. He was staring at Geraldine in wild bewilderment, uncertain if this was the beginning of his destruction...

Suddenly, Cynthia said, "It's time to fuck him! Stop! Lay down the cross."

Peter had not thought of it as a cross. But when the three seized the great wooden 'X,' to which he was tied, and began to tip it over, he realized that he was indeed fastened to a kind of spread-eagling cross. With a final bang, the three dropped it to the floor, so Peter lay wide spread, staring upward, his cushioned pelvis making his crotch the highest part of his body. He peered down. He no longer was mortified. It had gone beyond that, far beyond. His being was centered there, in the crazy craving of his erection. From it, he glanced to the three naked women above him seeing a very new perspective of long legs topped by fluffy cunts and the imperious undersides of outthrust breasts.

It was a new world and a very small one.

Now, Cynthia stepped forward between his splayed thighs. She bent over, seized his dick, gave a sharp tug, and snapped: "Get it up, Pastor Peter! I want to fuck!"

He did not understand. "Fuck" is an old word, in English literature, but not one Peter ever had heard spoken. He knew what it meant—sort of. But it seemed mysterious, like some reference to a primitive rite.

The girls were glad to enlighten him. In a moment, all three were kneeling, one between his legs, one on either side. Their breasts gently thrust forward as they bent over. Their hands began to play with him, use him as their toy, his stiffening dick, his full balls, and suddenly—he gave a cry—his asshole. They worked over him like feeding animals, hands and lips devouring him like many mouths. His penis now raged stiffly again; his nipples stood straight out; and deep between his legs his anus spasmed again and again as it was violated.

"I'm first," said Cynthia abruptly. She rose and stepped over him, positioning herself above him. She said, "Did you ever see one of these Pastor Peter?" With her legs wide apart, her fingers came down and parted her fluff, then drew aside her pussy lips, stretched wide, and showed him the deep pink of her crinkled pussy only inches from his face. "All for you!" she said cheerily.

Then, holding his dazed, half-mad stare with her smiling, blue-eyed gaze, she squatted over his loins and lowered her gaping pussy onto his ramrod, crying out a "Ouch! He's huge!" but bravely continuing. At last, her pussy hair mingled with his and she gave a moan. "Fuck!" she exclaimed. "It's halfway up to my tits in there!"

For several moments, she just sat feeling him fill her. But Peter was not still. Immediately, his hips began a rhythm, thrusting up, heaving himself. He was far beyond any pretense at restraint.

"Oops, that's all!" laughed Cynthia, and rose to her feet, abandoning the burning red, bursting penis. Peter groaned, but, in a moment, Geraldine had taken Cynthia's place. As she lowered herself, she held her big breasts clutched in either hand, playfully shaking them, smiling at Peter. Again, he had but a few thrusts when Gloria slapped Geraldine's ass and said, "Enough! Up!"

"No!" cried Peter, half-mad, now. "No!"

"What do you want, Pastor Peter?" asked Gloria. "Just tell us."

"Don't stop!" Peter moaned.

"No, what do you want me to do?"

"Do it, now..."

"What? Do what? You have to say."

But the best Peter could do was plead, "Come on my thing. Stay. Stay on me."

"It sounds like you would like Cynthia to fuck your dick? Is that right?"

Peter nodded.

Suddenly, they pounced like cats. On the three sides. And their faces had surrounded his dick. The tongues came out, flicking, teasing, tantalizing, but only occasionally under the great swollen head of his cock. He moaned and thrust and moaned, head whipping from side to side in frustration.

"Peter?" called Gloria, in an even, quiet voice.

He looked at her. She was pinching her nipples cruelly, playing with them, readying herself. She said, "Watch me."

She bent over him, one slender hand closed on his hot, longing cock. Holding his gaze, she began to masturbate him. Slowly but surely, a little faster, now. He moaned and thrust, staring at her.

With the other hands, she pulled her nipple far, far out, stretching it cruelly. But her hand did not cease its quickening rhythm. And her face had come very close to the penis.

Peter cried out-a weird, long cry of unbearable pleasure, but fear, too. Fear of this monstrous whelming up from his body that seemed to build and build. Now, Gloria's slender white hand raced up and down on the slick rod so its full red knob butted out and up, then disappeared into her hand, then butted again.

Peter screamed. Every muscle contracted, wrenching at his bonds; his head shot forward, staring; his hips jerked.

And then, he saw the shooting gobs of white cum striking the smiling face, coating the closed eyes, dripping from the lips, even striking the pale shoulder and golden hair.

"Yow!" laughed Geraldine, watching, her hand buried deep in her pussy, rubbing with wild excitement.

And Cynthia, her hand, too, flying back and forth in her cunt, gave a wild laugh and cried, "Happy Fucking Halloween, Pastor Peter!"

And Pastor Peter Sproul Packer, at the moment, could have slipped into the arms of death, a smile on his face, to confront God or Satan, having experienced all life had to offer any man. Or, at the very least, could have fallen asleep.

But Gloria, wiping the thick cum from her face, said, sardonically, "As usual, girls!"

They knew what she meant. "I haven't come either," said Geraldine, her long fingers paused in the assault on her pussy.

"Me, either," sighed Cynthia. She went and knelt beside Peter. His eyes were closed, his breathing regular, his long penis laying flaccid across his belly, at peace. She said, "Do you know how to suck pussy?"

"Shit, no," said Gloria from behind her.

But Cynthia was persistent. She swung one long, pretty thigh over Peter's face and squatted down. She half-turned and, reaching down, gave his balls a sharp slap. He screamed and opened eyes. Filling his gaze was the slick pink pussy, framed in golden hair. Had he been able to recognize it, he would have identified the buried length of the thick clitoris, swollen and throbbing with a slight pulse.

"No!" he moaned, then shrieked: "Get hence! You have done the worst of your foulness! Return thee to the Devil!"

Silently, Cynthia rose. She turned to the others. "Get his legs strapped over." They seemed to understand. As she walked off, they began untying his ankles from the struts of the 'X.'

By the time she returned, Peter was quite awake, yelling in protest. Each of the women had taken a foot, and, lifting his legs, bent them far back over his body. His crotch was obscenely splaying in the air. Then, they pushed his ankles down to his wrists.

Pastor Peter squealed, his parts on display as never before and his buttocks, too, wrenched savagely wide, so he felt his anus partially pulled open. Suddenly, he was begging them, incoherent, speaking of sin and shame. They merely used the ropes untied from his ankles below to tie them, above, next to his wrists. The tall pastor was bent in two, his long, handsome legs, with their black hair, arching over him. And at the very center of attention were his dangling monster dick and outsized balls. He sensed the scene presented to their gaze and groaned in shame.

"Look at me!" Cynthia commanded. She had returned with a curious new attachment. It was black, tightly strapped around her waist, jutting up a full seven inches from its bed of pussy hair. It was a giant penis of ebony, carved in a lovely backward arch, with a fat shining head, and its whole length ribbed with savage vertical ridges. It looked like some hellish horn to pierce the toughest hide.

"What?" he asked, breathless. "What...?"

"Don't you recognize it, Pastor Peter?"

"The Devil's own tool," he murmured. He resolutely closed his eyes to block it out. See no evil.

The women were fond of Pastor Peter, and not without mercy. Cynthia positioned herself between his thighs, then first carefully wet the tender, innocent anus with her own juices. Gloria knelt and bent forward to take the limp penis into her mouth. It still filled and over-filled her, and, as she softly sucked it, swelled and stiffened with a fierce resiliency. Peter's hips began to stir.

"Well, at least one of us is ready to come, again," sighed Geraldine.

Cynthia positioned the huge slick head of the dildo against its target. She thought to ease it in. But the head was the largest part and there was nothing to do but give a sudden, powerful thrust of her loins to sink the monster shaft three inches deep in the Pastor's ass.

A wild frenzy of jerking and twisting, crying out in protest and terror, was to no avail.

Cynthia pushed. The huge intruder slipped in still further. Peter now groaned, gasped as though suffocating, barely able to speak, to plead. When, at last, she could be heard, Cynthia said, quite casually, "You know what you have to do, Pastor Peter. Satan's strumpets aren't going anywhere."

So wide apart were Peter's legs, up the sides of the 'X,' that Gloria was able to squeeze in, kneeling over his face, her soft thighs on either side of his face, her very damp, swollen pussy over his lips.

There was no closing his eyes. For, below, Cynthia had begun a Satanic ravishment of his virgin asshole, a merciless rhythm of penetration that made his belly seize with cramps. But his big penis nevertheless rose to ramrod attention even as he groaned his despair. It could hardly be otherwise, with Geraldine's long tongue lazily grooming its fat red head, circling, tickling maddeningly.

And so, when Gloria gingerly lowered her throbbing pussy onto his lips, not knowing what to expect, and commanded, "Lick me, Pastor Peter," his tongue moved, awkwardly at first, but soon stroking her innermost flesh, his lips nibbling at her clit with infinite gentleness. "Shit!" she cried, in most unladylike fashion, "he's doing me! Oh, my fucking clit!"

She was jerking her hips, mashing her pussy against his lips, and raking her stubby tits with her fingernails as she came.

In the end, Pastor Peter had licked his three lovely parishioners into frenzied climaxes. By itself, his mighty mast stood yearning. Only occasionally, Cynthia, as she fucked him nearly into hysteria with the cruelly ridged dildo, leaned forward to give his weeping glans a flick or two with her tongue.

When all three witches had come, they turned to the Pastor's plight-the red cock weeping pre-cum, helpless to satisfy its own crazed desire.

And so, the last game, the last lark, began. Being best equipped, Gloria volunteered, bending over Peter's neglected rod with a big grin. Her blue eyes holding his gaze, she cuddled him between her massive, pale breasts and tantalizingly massaged him till he yelped with ecstasy, awkwardly but definitely trying to fuck her breasts, until the geyser erupted, and hot sperm shot onto and between her waiting pink lips.

The Devil knows, every Halloween should end with a treat.