The Ballad of Emily Jeffers Ch. 01

Harper may have been old, but he was far from finished. He slid his meat through that hot, wet, velvet hole with a fever and passion he hadn't felt on 20 years. He lasted about 10 minutes but finally slammed in hard one last time and felt a an orgasm rise up out of some deep place and run through his internal man parts and up through that long shaft before spurting time after time way up inside Able Jeffers' wife. And as if they were both running from the same power takeoff, Emily's pussy parts tingled and swelled, pulsated and twitched, and opened and closed as she clutched and milked Harper's meat. She moan and screamed, and Pastor Brown heard a far off knocking sound that barely registered as maybe Phyllis wondering what was going on.

Pastor Brown sensed what was happening inside the Jeffers woman. The banker was loosing his load in the other end of her body. The minister couldn't help himself as his white cream rose up through his body and and spilled into the woman's mouth — so much of it she pulled back slightly to allow more room.

The pastor's spurting cock surprised Emily at first, and she looked up at the old preacher as he unloaded his balls in her mouth, his face was that of a man in rapture. An old biblical print was on the wall almost directly behind him and she was almost certain she saw in the glass the reflection of God as he pulled his pecker from her climaxing pussy.

But it was all sort of vague because her body was dealing with too many things at once. She swallowed quickly as Father Brown shot a final thick white strand of his baby juice onto her tongue. Her clit throbbed and her entire sex spasmed from too much stimulation.

Later she told Pastor Brown that she thought God looked a lot like Wendell Harper, the guy who owns the bank up on the corner of Main and Montgomery.

"I thought God's cock would be bigger, though," she said.

Harper's legs were all rubbery as he backed out of Mrs. Jeffers' body. His pecker head plopped out of her hole, letting a torrent of his white seed spill out of the now-cavernous baby tunnel he'd so recently stretched out. His eight inches had hardly softened, and with his gaze focused on the utterly amazing sight of Emily Jeffers spasming nether region, there was little chance it would deflate in the near future. He almost fell backwards over the chairs, but managed to recover and slip back into the closet where he grabbed a communion napkin to white the copious amounts of Mrs. Jeffers juices off his cock, balls and thighs. As he was dressing in the confines of the closet, Emily had collapsed on the desk, her breasts flattened out on the oak veneer, her face sideways against the wood, and her blonde hair covering her face. Pastor Brown tucked his rod back in his boxers, and shuffled around to retrieve the woman's dress as he tried to fasten the pants. He almost collapsed when he turned around to witness the plundered pussy so recently defiled by Wendell Harper, aka God. The old fart's thick white ball juice was still dripping out of Emily Jeffers. It had already formed a large puddle on the floor, and what hadn't cascaded straight down had slid down her right thigh, almost to her knee. And yet there was one long rope of Mr. Harper's baby-making goo suspended from somewhere way up inside Emily's body. The string of cum was maybe four inches long, a big drop at the bottom, lengthening and thinning out as it swung gently from her gaping orifice. Brown didn't look away until it was a foot long and finally snapped, half splatting on the floor and the rest going back up inside her.

And she didn't move for maybe three or four minutes.

"She just rested there, moaning a little," Pastor Brown said later. "I took her dress around to her and pulled some a that yellow hair off her face. I looked down and it was like she was drooling on the desk, the corner of her mouth tight up on the wood and spit comin' out."

Of course he then realized it was his own seed, a tiny bit she hadn't swallowed.

Finally she pushed herself up, her big tits swinging, her back end jiggling a little.

"She looked down and saw that little bit of juice on the desk and bent right back down and slurped it up," The reverend said.

He showed her where the washroom was and she went in and cleaned up some and put the dress on. While she was doing that, he hauled old Harper out of the communion closet and pushed him out through the door to the choir room where he could slip down some stairs and out a back door.

When Mrs. Jeffers came back out of the washroom, she was still flustered, but under control. Her swollen mound pushed up against the dress, but the pastor figure maybe it did before anyway.

He motioned Emily Jeffers back to her knees on the carpet, unlocked the door to the front office, and knelt with the woman again, praising God for the blessed body He had created for the use of men.

"We thank Thee mightily, Lord," he said. "Now lead us to the road upon which Thou means for Emily Jeffers to travel. Give us a sign, oh Lord."

Emily was awestruck as she knelt there, big lips apart between her legs. After Harper had finished pumping her on the desk, she'd looked around to see who had done her. She was satisfied God had planted His sacred load in her, and felt special for the first time since Wilson had filled her with his white stuff three times in one evening. And although she'd had Wilson's pecker in her mouth, he'd always pumped his seed up inside her belly. The taste of the juice that had come out of Pastor Brown's gushing Black pole was a new and wonderful thing. And she had half a mind to milk another big load out of him in that place between her legs where God had spewed his spunk.

But Pastor Brown had other things to do and he drove her out to the farm where Abe was passed out on the big stuffed sofa.

I'd been talking most of two hours by then. A small crowd had gathered round where we were in the back of Owens, and Andrea had brought another pitcher back. But that was gone. The kid who'd driven the wrecker was a few seats over and he caught Andrea's eye, made a tipping motion with his hand and held up two fingers, then pointed at me, then himself.

She came back a few minutes later, placed the beer in front of me.

"Thought that was you," she said. No smile though.

"Hey Andi," I said. "You look pretty great."

We had a history, and while 99 per cent of it was great, the other one per cent was not so good. There was hurt look in her face, but she didn't say anything. Worked her jaw like she wanted to though. Then just turned around and went back to work.

Jack had pulled a couple more tables together. But it was getting late at Owens Bar and Grill. I'd been driving most off the day and I still had to find a motel room for the night. But everyone wanted to hear the rest of the story.

"You can crash at my place," Jack said. "Tomorrow's Saturday so you don't have to be anywhere. Stay another night and finish up the story for these boys here."

A bit of a cheer went up, and despite my perceived need to be somewhere else, Jack and the boys convinced me. In fact I was sort of touched by it all.

"But I want you to promise you'll tell the part about when Newt Follows won that two grand at the race track," I said. "You were there for that whole debacle, so you got to tell."

I heard a cough behind me.

"You gonna tell about how Old Man Harper had to get the sheriff in that time the boys from Arrow Head County came over all horned up for Emma?"

I pushed my chair back, kind of swung it around. I knew that voice. There, lookin' like they'd left him out in a wind storm for 15 years was Sammy Turple. Him and Jack and me'd been best pals back then.

I got all choked up as the memories rushed back and hit me like a semi through a cloud of black flies on a downhill grade.

"That you Sammy?" I managed. "Is that really you?"

He nodded, tears brimming his eyes.

"You old bastard," he said, getting up and coming over to me. I stood up, grabbed his hand and pulled him in for a big hug. "Where the hell have you been, Lawton. Why'd you just up and leaves us all here?"

Over his shoulder I saw Andi at the bar. When Sammy said that last part about leaving, she just looked down at the bar rag in her hand. I thought I saw her shoulders heave a couple times before she turned away. I saw her face in that big long mirror behind the bar, but I was too far away to tell if those were tears.

"You really comin' back tomorrow night Law?" Sammy said. "You really here at all?"

"I'll be hear Sammy," I said. "I'll be here."