Preacher Man

"What do you need me to help with, Preacher Man?" I asked, a little louder now as I reminded myself we were alone.

"Nothing." He shrugged. "The place will need a good cleaning eventually, but not today."

I glanced at him, judging. "Seems pretty clean already," I mused, trying to toss it off casually. I remembered how his butt had felt under my palm, up by the Chambermaid's Purse. I was suddenly feeling good, the silent stillness of the rainbowed sanctuary making me think about possibilities. About breaking that silence. About being naughty. In short, I was feeling frisky. I moved slowly, deliberate in my too-small shirt and my tights, hiking my butt up on the back of a nearby pew. "Very clean, in fact. Immaculately clean, you might say."

His eyes narrowed. "What are you doing?"

"I'm wondering," I shrugged, still going for nonchalance, "whether we should actually be working on something else." I arched my back slightly and waited for his eyes to dip. "Like, making the place a little dirtier."

He flinched as if I'd struck him, his face going all severe. "Shannon..." he began, a trailed-off warning in that last syllable.

"What?" I made my face into the picture of innocence, glancing up at a huge image of the Virgin Mary in dazzling stained glass while taking the hem of my shirt and flapping it as best I could, fanning the still air. "Fucking hot in here." I stood that way for a moment longer, until he dragged his eyes back up to my face. "Like, really hot." I gave it one more beat, my pussy plucking at my mind like the highest note on a guitar, quietly played, and then I peeled the shirt up my bare abdomen and over my simple black sports bra, an old comfortable one. Still watching him, I tossed the shirt onto the floor. "That's better."

"We can't do this," he told me flatly, his eyes angry. And on my tits, I noticed.

"Oh, come on," I scolded him. "It's just you and me here. Trust me, I'll put it back on before I leave. Nobody will see me leaving St Bede's in my bra." I laughed, my recklessness growing. "Besides, I don't mind a bit if you look, Preacher Man."

Looking guilty, Mike whipped his gaze to the ceiling, for he had indeed been scoping out my body. And why not? My tights were a light grey, with no underwear and some fresh pubic grooming, so I knew I'd be showing the camelest of cameltoes. And I could tell from the feel of my tits that my nipples would be showing. He could see all of me, and I grinned wickedly. I wanted him to.

"Let me tell you a story, Mike," I purred, warming to the situation. I knew I was already making him hard. "Remember how I told you I went to Catholic school? I made out with an altar boy once. In the back of the church. He loved it." He had, too; he'd stained his jeans. "You were probably an altar boy too, weren't you?" He said nothing, standing there with his eyes toward heaven. So I flicked my eyes down, and I wasn't surprised that his dick in the loose shorts was pointing where his eyes were. I cleared my throat, feeling sweat roll down toward my belly button. "Want to make out in the back of the church, Mike?"

"No," he said at once, but he knew his penis was telling a different story and his hand crossed over to adjust it, with no effect at all. "This is a church, Shannon."

"This is a church, Shannon," I mimicked, all high-pitched, and despite himself Mike blushed. "It's fine, Mike. I'm just teasing," I lied. "I have no intention of defiling your sacred space. Of getting naked and fucking you on the altar. The thought never, ever entered my head." I snickered. "I'm sorry." No, I wasn't: more lies, and of course that meant God was really, really pissed at me now, but who cared? I was already headed to hell, anyway. I smiled, then reached out a hand to caress his face. "Lead you not into temptation, right?"

He sighed when he felt my fingers, and in his eyes I could see it: his memory, just a couple days old, of my lips wrapped around his cock. Instinct told me to stay quiet, to let his memory and his penis work on his will while I waited with his face at my fingertips and my body exposed.

He wouldn't resist. He'd already given in, once. And besides, he could probably smell my cunt. All I had to do was wait in the stuffy, multicolored church, and let him decide.

My fingers drifted along his face, gently over his jaw, beckoning. I hooded my eyes and parted my lips, just so that he would know I was open for business, though after I'd swallowed his cum the other day there couldn't have been much doubt. Subtly I watched his chest rise and fall, and when I matched my breathing to his I saw his face quickly tighten as he ground his teeth.

Such a bummer, I reflected, to have to feel so guilty about sex. With any other man, I'd have been getting reamed out already; this guy was busy having an existential meltdown right before my eyes, and I was just drawing a breath to try to help things along a bit when, almost imperceptibly, he leaned forward with his own lips parting.

Game on.

This kiss was different than before, hungrier, less tentative; there was no more mystery, at least not on my end. I knew, now, that we'd fuck. There was passion in his lips now, and I licked at them gratefully, tasting the dried sweat there. He took a step toward me, his cock prodding at my belly now, and I reached comfortably to rest my palms on his hips. After a pause, I felt his hands on my back, the bare part beneath my bra strap, and when his fingers touched my flesh I tasted the gust of his sigh, warm on my tongue.

He tasted good again.

We stood like that for a few minutes, our kisses deep and wet as our bodies swayed slowly together. I noticed dimly that he kept pulling back from me, and it took me awhile to realize the poor guy was ashamed of his hard-on. So, my fingers now digging slowly past his waistband atop his butt, I trailed my lips along the side of his face to whisper in his ear. "Hold me," I pleaded, my words humid against his skin, and finally he closed the gap and we came together with a firm, slithery resolution.

I was groaning into his mouth now, my pussy weeping into my tights as I ran my foot up his leg, struggling to open for this man. His dick was rebar against my body, and I was thrilled at what I was doing to him. I drifted back over to his ear. "Just like that."

"Shannon," he managed, all choked, so I glued my lips back to his. I had no need for him to talk. There was nothing useful he could say with a voice like that. I felt his lips open wide, our tongues lashing in one of those kisses that leave both chins sloppy with spit as my foot crept higher up his leg. I was leaning hard against the back of the pew now, pressing forward into him. My hands had found their way straight down the back of his shorts without me even realizing it, his strong cheeks tight under my gripping fingers.

I backed off, searching his face for doubt but knowing that the rod I felt poking my belly would trump it even if I found any. My hands massaged him under his shorts, and I risked a smile once I felt his own fingers reciprocate, tentatively, on my own ass. "Makin' out with the altar boy," I crowed quietly, my lips finding his again in a pair of trailing kisses; I moaned, then, when his fingers crept up to my waistband.

Now he took over, his face diving into the hollow of my neck, and I giggled when his scruff tickled me there. He licked at me, his mouth sampling my collarbone, and I wound my hands lazily over the back of his head and held him to me as the light prismed all around me, his hips beginning to move in a soft, insistent rhythm.

Seemed I wasn't the only one going on instinct.

I closed my eyes, feeling myself let go now, knowing he could handle me. My hands twined in his silver hair as his lips roved back toward my neck before, hesitating, they nibbled downward. I wasted no more time, bringing my hand to my own shoulder, hauling down my bra strap to give him my tit. His chin followed the sweaty lycra down the swell of my breast, his breath drifting over my skin, and I heard my own sharp gasp when his lips closed tight around my nipple and started sucking.

I had him in a near-headlock now, my arm keeping him pinned right where his mouth was giving me such rushing pleasure while my other hand clawed at my bra, trying to drag it down to my waist. My brain was a hot mess, begging to be naked for this man. His lips were making distant smacking noises as my nipple reached dark and trembly into his mouth. "Fuck yes, Mike," I quavered, at last freeing my other tit and then stretching down his back to get his shirt off. "Oh, fuck yes." The Virgin Mary glared down at me in clear disapproval from her stained glass as I gasped, but whatever.

She could go fuck herself.

He lifted his head off my chest, his face streaming sweat, raising his arms so that I could undress him. I saw a thin body and a fine carpet of white chest hair as I whipped his shirt off and then moved in at once, my lips all over his chest and abdomen while my hands began to claw at his shorts. I was out of control, the smell of his sweaty skin all around me as his hands cupped my tits, his fingers busy on both nipples at the same time, but I was on a mission.

I needed him naked.

His jogging shorts were trying to come down over his bony hips, but his dick was so hard it was getting everything all hung up. Good Lord! I exulted as I finally got his waistband clear. His cock sprang up like a catapult flinging a stone, but in this case my hand got a tiny drop of precum flung across it as I looked straight into his eyes, our lips an inch apart, and cradled his shaft. This thing's harder than it was the other day! and I felt my lips curl into a wide grin, his penis shuddering in my hand.

We stared at each other, his eyes flaming at mine, wanting me more than he'd ever wanted anyone else, and between that and his cock in my hand I nearly came right then. When I spoke, I didn't even recognize my own voice, a tight and breathless whine. "Fuck me, Preacher Man."

He licked his lips, opened wide in a face gone feral, and then his pawing hands left my tits and pushed my tights contemptuously down, the crotch lining sticking obstinately to my soupy vagina. I was vaguely wondering how I'd get them off over my shoes so that I could spread wide for him, when he squeezed a shocked gasp out of my by seizing my arm and turning me roughly around. He said nothing as he pushed me hard, bending me over the back of the heavy wooden pew, my ass bare and taut before him.

In shock, I raised my eyes to the front of the sanctuary, where Mike's altar waited serenely beneath the disapproving eyes of a giant crucifix, and the little Catholic-school girl inside me quailed just a little. But no sooner did I have the thought than that Catholic Shannon got drop-kicked out of there by the other me, the part that wanted her cunt plugged tight. So I closed my eyes, my feet as wide apart as the puddled tights would allow, shivering as I waited on a silver platter for him.

The wood of the pew pressed into the fronts of my thighs, high up, and I already knew I'd have a long, harsh bruise all across. But I didn't care as I braced my hands before me, on the seat polished smooth by decades of Catholic backsides. I heard myself gasping, a glance up under myself showing me the glimmer of my own juices on my inner thighs reflecting the stained glass... before he stepped up to me, his shadow falling between my legs. And then?

I just closed my eyes and whimpered.

My skin tingled. I was completely primed to cum on this man's dick, so when he rested his left hand on my ass and used his right to steer his fat penis toward my swollen cunt I gave a low, even groan at his touch. The pressure on my slit was sudden and hot and focused, a concentrated assault on my senses, and then with a sudden slick rush I knew he was inside me, my pussy parting for his cock. "Yes," I whispered, pushing back, wanting all of him.

"Oh God." His voice was low, almost awed as he plunged the rest of the way inside me, and this time when I looked up past my hanging breasts I saw those tight balls of his nestled against my body.

"Yeah, baby," I coughed, savoring the dull stabbing ache of his cockhead deep inside me. I was shifting my hips, feeling how well he fit me, a grin splitting my face. "Goddamn, you feel so good."

He didn't answer, at least not in words; instead, he just spasmed his dick in my pussy, and once I moaned he pulled slowly out, then back inside me. My mind was centered on nothing but him and his penis, remembering its veiny weight from the other day, its sharp flavor on my tongue, and above all the heady rush I'd felt at the power and force of his spurts. I gasped, realizing I was about to feel that same force from the other end, and that thought drove me without much more buildup right over the edge.

"Yeah, baby," I chanted as we fucked, my body already twisting in perfect rhythm with his thrusts. I heard the dull, slapping clap of our thighs meeting, took one more glance past my tits at the way his balls swung at me, and then shut my eyes tight against the solemn glare from the crucifix. "I'm cumming, Mike," I bit out, and then the back of the pew drove another grunt from my lungs as my legs gave way.

Jesus, the power of him! All his body's pent-up desire and need, all the years of denial, all of that he was pounding out into my cunt, thrusting maniacally, the pew making horrible juddering squeals as his pumping hips drove it across the floor. That left me, powerless, pinned between the solid wood below me and the solid cock behind me, crying out in helpless orgasm as my body went crazy. Tears dripped from my eyes, off my chin and onto the seat of the shaking pew, the wet pink cloud overwhelming me like a flamethrower blast straight up from my pussy.

He gripped my hips hard, his ass driving his dick far up inside me with hard, hammering thrusts until, as I blinked back up out of my sex haze, I became dimly aware he was starting to lose his rhythm, his body faltering with the approach of his own orgasm. "Cum in me, goddammit!" I raved, certain of nothing in this world except that my vagina was where his cum needed to go, and I heard a strangled gasp burst out of him as he pummeled me deep, reaching way up inside me, his fingers digging into my hipbones as he let go.

I imagined, in my overheated state, that I could actually feel the thick semen boiling up his shaft and out the tip, blasting past my cervix with a hot, delicious feeling of completion. I know I definitely felt the jiggling twitch of his dick, the vicious bite of his nails into my flesh, and the shuddering impact of those last brutal thrusts, his body plastered against mine as he emptied his balls into my pussy.

And all the while, the guy on the cross glared down at us coupling viciously. I know I didn't care, and in that moment I figured Mike didn't either. I looked slowly back over my shoulder, seeing our mingled sweat and, above it all, my Preacher Man's face all lit up like an angel.

* * *

"That's it, Gina," I announced loudly, tossing my car keys into the bowl by the door as my phone connected with hers, "no more young cock for a bit. Jesus. How old was the oldest guy you've fucked? Like, what was the gap?"

"The gap?" She snickered in my ear. "Between my thighs and filled by cock, that's what the gap was."

"Seriously."

"Seriously?" She sighed, ruminating. "Forty-five years or so? I was a college freshman and I fucked my roommate's grandpa." I clammed up. Gina had a way of silencing that kind of conversation.

Fifteen years Mike had been a deacon. His balls were heavy after all that time, and I helped him empty them. We fucked everywhere. We fucked on trails. We fucked in the shower. We fucked in the car. We fucked at my house. He fucked me on my back, on my knees, on my belly. I took him in my cunt, my mouth, my hands, and once, just teasingly, across the trembling pucker of my asshole. He came in me several times. He came on my hands, my tits, my ass, my back, my face, my hair. We laughed when he shot it right into my eye, having missed. We teased and poked and prodded and licked, until finally we lay all fucked-out with the summer breeze blowing through my bedroom window.

He stirred, the afternoon sun glinting silver off his hair. "So. Father Ken won't be in the Rectory tonight." I blinked several times, still trying to recover from my orgasm, my brain groping for context. "He's over in Easton all weekend, helping Deacon Greg over there." He smiled through his sweat. "I'll be alone..."

"Oh!" I giggled. "You're inviting me for a sleepover, Preacher Man?"

His replying smirk was sly.

* * *

I stole out of the Rectory early the next morning, very mindful that I needed to be away from there long, long before anyone saw me or my shitbox Honda, left a few blocks away. If I wasn't careful, I would put Mike in really serious jeopardy. I paused in the foyer to make sure my shades were on, even though the sun was only just rising. I thought I heard a rustle outside the front door, but probably not; what I did hear was Mike's footsteps upstairs on his way to take a piss. I smiled at the delicious soreness deep inside my cunt, his drying semen caking my inner thighs. He came a lot, and I'd given him plenty of opportunities last night.

And I'd gotten him to call me bitch, at last.

Definitely I'd need to start seeing some older guys, I mused as my hand reached for the doorknob. I pulled the door open cautiously, the bluish morning light poking in, and as I stepped quickly through the doorway my eye was caught by a pink post-it note on the door. I frowned as I scanned it. 6:30, it said. I'm taking your car. I'll have it back B4 noon. ILY! -M with a big, loopy heart at the bottom corner.

My footsteps scuffed on the concrete porch as I made for the steps with a sense of unease in my belly, when all of a sudden I heard a gasp from the driveway. "Holy shit! Ms Boyle?"

Vivid hazel eyes stared up at me from the petite chick just slipping into Mike's car, and my heart sank as her little lips curved into a crafty grin. "Um." I blinked behind my shades, my voice faltering as I realized who his daughter was. "Good morning, Maria."

* * *

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