The Ballad of Emily Jeffers Ch. 01

The Lord worked in mysterious ways indeed. Sometime later Pastor Brown was straining his eyes to find Able Jeffers' number in the telephone directory. The print was so small he had to get his secretary to find it and recite it to him as he wrote it down. Phyllis Owen was filling in for her mother Gladys who took a bad tumble the week before.

Phyllis was far from conservatively dressed, and Pastor Brown had that old feeling in his pants as she leaned over his desk and thumbed through the phone book. Her ample, yet firm bussom, swung back and forth scant inches from his face. Her perfume reminded him of a spring meadow and in his mind he conjured up young Phyllis stretched out on a blanket in nothing more than her birthday suit, breasts heaving, a hand extended to him with her index finger beckoning to him.

But he snapped back to his little office and his secretary's scantily clad body by the loud ringing of the phone just to the left of young Miss Owen's chest. He snatched it up like it would explode if he didn't and said hello. And in His mysterious way, the Lord delivered Able Jeffers to the good preacher on a platter, as they say. That Jeffers wanted a Couples Session because of his wife's wanton ways was plainly the Lord and Saviour at work upon the Earth.

Able Jeffers stumbled and muttered to the preacher, but in the end it was clear that Abe was unable to control his woman's sexual needs and was looking to the Lord to intervene.

"May God's hand rest upon you Abe," Pastor Brown said down the telephone line as Phyllis Owen realized she no longer needed to look for the Jeffers' phone number. Somehow or other the top button of her blouse was now undone and the nipple-tipped orbs were seriously threatening to escape the meager bodice. "You did the right thing coming to the Lord, Abe. And you have to trust His ways."

Jeffers said he would do whatever was required and wondered if his wife should also be punished for her lustful nature.

"The Lord will tell us in his own way," the minister said. "You'll have to trust that the Lord will provide and young Emily's need for contrition will be revealed."

Jeffers didn't know what any of that meant, but he'd put himself in Pastor Brown's hands, he said.

"The Lord's hands, you mean Abe. The Lord's Hands. Prayer and work among the flock is what God requires of your Emily," Pastor Brown said.

Abe promised to deliver Emily to the church the very next day. Brown watched Phyllis as he talked to Jeffers and the spring meadow scene was starting to play through his mind, but it was Emily Jeffers who was on the blanket and there was nothing demure about her body language - the way her legs were suggestively apart and her hands cupping her breasts. Phyllis caught him looking at her. She felt a rush of blood through her body and an engorgement of her nether parts.

Brown phoned Wendell Harper that night and they further refined their plan, both coming to the inevitable conclusion that neither could act upon that plan without first sampling Emily Jeffers' body.

"The Lord would find me negligent," Brown said, pretending a reluctance that Harper knew didn't exist. And likewise the banker conceded the need to defile the farmer's wife as a means of assessing her value.

"But you can't be present for the initial meeting," Brown said. "Perhaps a seat in the communion closet would suffice."

"The door ajar would work nicely," Harper said. "You bring me in for the second meeting as a financial advisor."

The next day, just after lunch, Abe Jeffers brought his wife Emily right up to Phyllis Owens' desk and said they had an appointment with the reverend. Phyllis looked Abe's wife up and down and didn't like what she saw. The woman probably hadn't thought much about what she wore, but to Phyllis it was just a little too much - or too little, if truth be told. The little white sundress didn't do much to hide the woman's most popular attributes, and in God's house that just wasn't right. Of course it never crossed Phyllis's mind that she herself wasn't wearing panties and had tried to show Pastor Brown her own attributes for a number of days now.

"Hypocrisy is one of our biggest challenges," Brown often said. That he'd seen Miss Owens' own fine attributes many times as she revealed them, well he never told her that because if her mother Gladys ever found out there'd be heck to pay. He and Gladys were the only ones who knew that the elder Owens' tumble happened when she fell backwards off the stage in the church hall while performing orally on the minister himself. He had personally wiped his own white cream off her startled face before calling an ambulance.

Brown found the right button on the phone and called out to Phyllis to show the young couple in to his office.

Young Miss Owens showed a particular reluctance, but in the end showed Able and his wife in. Brown had two chairs side by side set back a ways from his desk and angled just right towards the communion closet.

The old minister met the young couple just by the chairs and shook both their hands, and gestured them to sit.

"Welcome, welcome," he said as the Jeffers got comfortable. He walked back around his desk and as Phyllis walked out she noticed the communion closet door was ajar. She promptly closed it and left the room, closing the office door behind her.

Brown smiled at the couple, placed his big hands on the desk in front of him, and bowed his head.

"Let's begin with a prayer, shall we," he said. "Close your eyes now and let the god Lord touch you."

As the preacher said whatever came to him off the top of his head, he arose silently and tiptoed over the where Harper was hiding and opened the door again. Just ajar. Wendell Harper's face was a leer and his pants held a boner, as they used to say when William was a boy.

The prayer ended, the pastor cited some scripture, mostly what he could remember about going forth and multiplying, begetting and begatting, and this one lying down with that one.

Abe Jeffers looked thoughtful. At least as thoughtful as a simple man can look thoughtful. And Brown figured that maybe somebody as stupid as Abe probably still thought about things, but the thoughts weren't likely that deep or that profound.

Emily Jeffers, on the other hand, just looked confused and Brown had to explain to her what beget meant, that go forth and multiply meant having children, grandchildren, and populating the Earth.

"The good Lord doesn't frown on sexual relations between a man and a woman," the pastor explained. "It's the Lord's own way and he expects us mortals down here on Earth to procreate. Sometimes a woman feels the need for a man inside her more often than is good for their relationship."

Abe figured that was his opening.

"Emma here, why she's one of them there women reverend," he said, sneaking a look at his wife from the corner of his eye. "There's no keepin' her satisfied, father. Take a whole herd of bulls to look after her."

He sat back, satisfied that he'd made his case. Emily Jeffers sat straight as a runway model, her long blonde hair thrown back over her shoulders, her ample breasts high and firm. Pastor Brown could see the big, dark nipples poking through the Indian cotton. Pastor Brown kind of agreed with Abe she might be difficult to satisfy, but figured even if a good Christian man died trying, he be in heaven one way or the other.

"Mrs. Jeffers," he began, sat and thought for a moment. "Mrs. Jeffers, the good Lord's love is unconditional, but sometimes he creates special women like yourself whose gifts must be, ah, spread wide, so to speak. And He spoke to me and said 'Brother William, thou must deliver into the service of thy God she who is known as Emily Abigail Jeffers, that she may go forth and tend to the needs of men.'"

Pastor Brown had gone through church records to find Emily's middle name. And it did seem to lend a heavenly authority to his story.

Emily looked all around the room, back at the preacher and then pointed to her breast.

"Me?" she asked. "God was talking about me?"

Brown nodded.

"He asked for you by name," he said. "'That I might put her wanton ways to good works,' is what he said one night in a vision. God said to me 'She is a human vessel made for the enjoyment of men. Send her forth to slake the carnal appetites and thirst of all our Black brothers.'"

Father Brown thought he heard a small cough from the communion closet and quickly amended his heavenly quote to include certain white men as God might anoint with His blessings.

Abe was confused.

"The Lord wants Emma to get done by a buncha big Black dicks, pardon my French, Padre?" he asked. "That don't hardly seem right. Least not in my my books. It ain't fair, is all."

"Your Emily is well endowed with womanly assets by the Lord your God, Able Jeffers," said Brown, with a bit of heat in his voice. "Now he wants to spread those assets to the poor men in need. Race is not an issue, as you heard from the very mouth of God that certain white men will be granted the privilege to partake of your wife's body as well."

Able protested more.

"Emma's my wife, reverend," he said. "I says what gets done with her body. Not nobody else."

There was a bit of heat in Abe's voice, but Pastor Brown anticipated this and the coup de grace was God's financial contribution to Able Jeffers, a small monthly stipend the minister figured would just cover his booze expenses.

Jeffers pondered this and came to figure that the Lord might just be on to something. Abe could drink to his heart's content, his wife wouldn't be after him all the time to do the dirty, 'cept maybe a couple times a month which Abe figured was normal, and if the Lord didn't mind too much, Abe might be able, so to speck, to find a few customers for her on the side.

Emily Jeffers was still looking confused, and Abe had to spell it out to her in plain English that God wanted her to fuck a bunch of Black guys who would pay the pastor a small token to go towards the church's debt.

"God chose me?" she said. Stuck back about 20 minutes in the conversation.

"It's what we bin tellin' ya Em," Able said in exasperation. "You just spread them pretty legs and Pastor Brown and the Lord will do the rest. Get good and lubed up with your woman juice 'cause them Back bucks has peckers big as bats."

Emily's eyes went wide at that last remark. She visualized Wilson Smith's big cock. Then she visualized a baseball bat. The little hooded pleasure bud at the top of her wet hole tingled. Unconsciously she held her hands about a foot apart and then looked down between her legs, wondering if something that big would fit up inside her.

Abe's big concern was how much he'd get out of it. And truth be told, he was a little upset with himself for not thinking of puttin' Emma's body out to work for him a long time ago.

"The Good Lord beat me to it," he thought. "Emma's ripe for the pickin' and God saw it afore I did."

They all bowed their heads in prayer again, Pastor Brown asking for guidance. He threw in some amens, some yeas, a few thous, and snuck more than a few peeks at Emily Jeffers as she bent over. Her perfect melons with the baby nobs on them were jiggling in that thin white dress, and her hands were kind of between her legs, not quite touching herself. But close. And you know she wanted to.

Pastor Brown finally suggested Abe head on home and get to work on his chores. Emily needed some prayin' right about now and the reverend would drive her home later on. Abe nodded but suggested that since they were all in a business relationship maybe the pastor could advance him a couple twenties as a good faith gesture.

Pastor Brown heaved a mental sigh, but was smiling as he pulled out $60 and handed it to Able Jeffers who snatched it quickly — like it would vanish in thin air if he didn't.

Abe made ready to leave but just as he got to the door, he turned to his wife.

"You do as the good reverend says, Em," he said. "Him and the Lord tellin' you what to do now. Do like they tell ya."

Then he was gone. Strode right past Phyllis without looking and out the door. "Straight to John Williams' store. Budweiser and a quart of JB," the preacher predicted to himself, mentally smiling.

Emily Jeffers was now sitting alone, looking around and wondering what she and Pastor Brown would pray about. They'd done prayed twice already, but she supposed there was other things.

Pastor Brown stood up, now that Abe was gone and the door was closed. He motioned for Mrs. Jeffers to stand, and he took her hand and led her across the room to a little carpeted area where he got sinners down on their knees.

He felt a little electric jolt when he took Emily's hand. Her eyes went wide at the feel of it and she looked over at the pastor askance, like he'd had one of those trick buzzer things hidden in his big Black hand.

"God's sign," said the pastor, in reference to the tingle that passed from one hand to the other. "God's here with us and wants you to kneel and pray to His name."

"What do I say," she asked the preacher as she knelt on the carpet, pulling her dress up a bit as she got down. Pastor Brown's mind went back a few years when Gladys Owens was younger and a bit more ambulatory. He could see her on that same carpet — hands and knees with her dress bunched up around her big breasts praying to beat the band and Pastor Brown mounted on behind her thrusting his Black manhood into her large, meaty womanhood.

"Just tell the Good Lord you'll do his will, accordin' to what He done told me in a vision," the pastor said. "Maybe think up some of the things God might want you to do in the way of ministrations to the flock here in the Hollow."

Then he had to tell her God didn't mean for her to have carnal relations with sheep — flock was another word for followers of God.

So they set about prayin', with Pastor Brown startin' off explainin' how he'd talked to Emily and how she was willin' to do His work, even if some white men had a hankerin' for some of her nether parts or jiggly teats.

He stopped and gave her a nudge with his elbow.

"Go on," he whispered. "God's awaitin' on ya. He's got no time to waist."

She gave a little nervous cough, swallowed a few times. Brown felt her body heat like he was kneeling beside the stove. Her fragrance was all woman, from the soap in her bath that morning, to the woman juice seeping out from between those nether lips that were just ahangin' between those creamy white thighs inches away from him.

"Lord, thank you for wantin' to use my woman parts in your service," she started. "Pastor Brown says how You want all the big bucks to put their things up inside me and shoot their white stuff in me. I knows they's other ways of ministerin' to them big Black boys. I never done it but I'm a willin' to take guidance."

Brown turned to her. She was kneeling, hands together in prayer, eyes closed. She seemed to have finished so Brown started up again.

"Lord, tell us Thy will. Speak to me if you wish. Tell us what to do we beseech Thee."

He pretended like he was listenin' to God's reply, noddin' and sayin' 'uh-huh,' 'amen Father,' and other nonsense as it came to him. Emily now had one eye open watching the preacher.

"Whad he say, Preacher," she asked. "I heared you talkin' to Him but I couldn't make out what He was sayin' back."

The pastor explained that God asked her to take her clothes off so he could see her better and show her body to the angels lookin' down on her at that very moment.

"And He said, 'Emily Jeffers, lie thou upon the desk and minister in the ways of thy mouth upon my disciple William Brown. Close you thy eyes and feel the Lord Himself enter thee and fill thee with his seed."

Emily was breathing a bit faster and Pastor Brown, who helped her to her feet, had grown stiff in his pants at the intoxicating scent that was wafting from her sex.

"God wants to put his thing in me?" she asked. "On your desk?"

The pastor nodded, and cleared one end of the old wooden monstrosity. He nodded to her to pull her dress up and over her head. And she did it with a bit of a mischievous smile, catching Brown's eye as he blushed under his Black skin. She may not have had any brains but she knew what she had and she knew what men wanted.

Emily felt the blood course through her body, the tingling in her clit spreading as the engorgement swelled her mound, puffed out her already large and dangling lips, and turned the moistening to a deluge as her body produced the necessary slippery juices to lubricate a cock.

With the dress now tossed on the chair, Emily Jeffers was in her natural state. She was in her element. She was so aroused her 'man hole' pulsed all on its own. It dripped down her thigh as Brown leaned her across the desk, her plentiful and jiggling posterior point squarely at the banker, and her most popular feature clam-like between the top of her closed thighs. Harper almost fell of his chair in the closet, but quickly recovered. He improvised a plan. The Jeffers woman thought god was going to ram his pecker up into her, so by God, he'd be God!

The banker watched as the pastor dropped his drawers and pulled out his giant Black meat, already almost hard and drooling just a bit of his own juice. Although Harper couldn't see her face, he suspected wide eyes and mouth agape at the sight of the reverend's rod.

Brown wasted no time and thrust his hips forward and his nine-inches into her mouth. She gagged at first, but in seconds she caught on and began sucking the shaft like she'd been born with one in her mouth. And that sweet juice that was seeping out of it, well she never tasted anything so good. The pastor began a low moan and his head went back and his eyes rolled up. Mrs. Jeffers' hand went back under her body and as she spread her legs she thrust two fingers inside her baby hole, releasing a torrent of juice and affording the banker with the most incredible view he'd ever seen in his life. He wasn't much of a thinker. Didn't philosophize often. But at that very second, cock in hand, he knew that wars were fought over the likes of what was between Emily Jeffers' legs. That swollen piece of flesh was indeed what life was all about. The centre of the world. He vowed he would own it.

Wendell Harper walked out of the closet naked. He wasn't young anymore, and some things had slipped quite a bit, but his manhood was a respectful eight inches and it was fat — and it was hard as a bank vault door and it was ready to make a deposit. There was only one place it was going, and that was up inside Mrs. Jeffers' soon-to-be-popular body, and the jizz that was currently packed away in his balls was goin' deep inside the church's new moneymaker.

Pastor Brown must have heard Harper tiptoe across the floor. Or felt a slight change in the air currents. He opened his eyes, startled by the sight of the sagging old white banker sneaking up to the voluptuous body of the woman whose tongue was at that very second swirling around the big knob of his hefty Black meat. Emily drew her hand back out of herself and her fluids spilled down her fingers and wrist, their odoriferous essence filling the air like essential oils.

Fortunately the reverend had his hand behind the woman's head, so when Harper slid his pole up inside her sopping body, she couldn't turn to see who it was and the reverend's rod didn't pop out of her mouth. But her body jerked and her pussy twitched and clutched at the intrusion.

Emily was now filled from both ends, big pulsing cocks inside her virtually inexperienced body. Her breasts swung, her mouth sucked, her tongue licked, her pecker hole was soaked and pulsating, her clit was all puffed up and tingling, and big balls were smashing hard against that swelling bud as Wendell Harper slammed against her like a jackhammer, his bulbous head smashing against her cervix like it wanted to get through.