The Rent-A-Slave

"And it's true," he continued, taking my head in his hands and pushing me down on him with some force, "that Christians who associate too closely with Jews run some risks. Jeremiah, on the other hand, is a fine young man, though his appetites are . . . a bit bizarre . . . um . . . as I've been told . . ."

The Reverend paused. I peered up at him. His eyes had a faraway look, and he was licking his lips.

He went on, "He's right, of course, about Christian marriage as one of the paths to grace." He stood, turned around, and bent over. "Eat my ass, Brenda. Even if you're less turned on by Jeremiah than by Dr. Rosenberg, his Christianity should weigh heavily with you. Your first consideration must always be the salvation of your soul."

The Reverend was a bear of a man, hairy all over. I explored his furry crack, and when I found his asshole I licked, enjoying the way his hair tickled my face.

"Mm," he said. "Put your finger in."

I wetted a finger, worked it into his ass, and hunted around for his prostate.

"Yes," he hissed. "That's so fucking fine. Lick me again."

I pulled my finger out and looked at it. It was damp and dark brown. "I think there's poo in there, Reverend," I sighed.

He looked around just as I was putting my finger in my mouth. "Oh, God!" he moaned as I sucked it clean and planted my face in his crack again.

Now he was grunting and straining, and his asshole was pushing out into me.

"Fuck!" he gasped. His hole opened up, and I could put my tongue inside and taste the shit that was forcing its way out. It came out slowly, pushing my tongue down and sliding into my mouth with a kind of majestic grandeur. It was awe-inspiring, one of God's miracles.

His shit wasn't wet and soft like Dr. Rosenberg's, but hard and solid. It was straight and long, too, as big as Jeremiah's cock. Soon it was as far in my mouth as it would go, and more than half of it stuck straight out, like my face had a big brown penis.

The Reverend turned around and stared. "Praise Jesus!" he said. He reached out, grasped the turd in his hand, and pulled it out an inch - then pushed it back in. Gently, so as not to break it, he fucked my face with it, and I managed to take it a little farther with each thrust, till I was deep throating his shit.

Soon, of course, it started to come apart in my mouth and his hand. Once some of it broke off back in my throat, and I had to cough bits out. The pieces that came off in his hand he rubbed on my face.

"It's a big step you're contemplating," he said, jerking off has he watched me chew up and swallow a chunk of shit, "entering a monogamous relationship. Are you sure you're capable of it? At this stage in your life it may be unwise even to try."

He was getting shit on his cock, but he seemed not to care. With my mouth full, I said, "I don't know, Reverend." Thinking it's not polite to talk with your mouth full, I swallowed and went on. "But it's only Jeremiah that wants a monogamous relationship. Dr. Rosenberg doesn't care what I do with my spare time, as long as he gets to fuck and defile me when I'm with him."

The Reverend smeared shit on my tits. "Now that I've had a chance to think about it more carefully," he said, "moving in with Dr. Rosenberg seems like a great idea." He turned me around so my elbows were on the chair and put his cock in my ass. Slick with his shit, it slid into my stretched hole easily.

"You're so firm in your faith," he went on, "and the light of grace shines so brightly in you, I can't believe there's any danger to your soul. And think of the good you could do. Why, you might bring him to Jesus!"

"Oh, Reverend, that would be so wonderful!" I sighed, picturing Dr. Rosenberg sitting beside me in church listening to the Reverend Edwards preach. "Fuck me harder!"

The Reverend hammered my ass, panting with the effort, till finally he spun me around, plunged into my mouth, and filled me with spunk, which mixed with his shit to make a sticky brown Reverend Edwards soup. I swallowed it down, thinking how lucky I was to have such a wicked great pastor.

Me and Reverend Edwards showered together in his private bathroom and washed the shit off each other. Afterwards I grabbed a towel, and by the time I patted him dry he was hard again.

"Reverend?" I simpered, holding his cock in my hand.

"Yes, my child?"

"It's so hard to make ends meet when you're a cum dump. You need all this filthy underwear, and toys . . ."

"Say no more, Brenda," he said, smiling. "This congregation is a generous one, and collections have been good." He went around behind his desk and opened a drawer. "Maybe three hundred?" he said.

"Maybe five," I said. "Eating shit's an expensive kink."

He swallowed, reached into the drawer, pulled out a thick wad of bills, and counted out five hundred dollars.

"You will come for your Bible lesson next week, yes?"

Inflamed with love for our Lord, I said, "I wouldn't miss it for the world, Reverend!"

After me and the Reverend said goodbye, I went home, sat on my sofa, and thought. I didn't turn on any porn, or get a beer, or even masturbate. I just thought - harder than I ever have before in my life.

At four-thirty I went to my bedroom, threw some things into an overnight bag, and changed into a fuck-me dress with nothing on underneath. I looked up Dr. Rosenberg's home address in the phone book: it was on the same street as Betsy's mansion. I drove over there and knocked on the door of his big white house.

He opened the door and stared hard at me, then at my bag. He stepped back to let me in.

"Come to the bathroom," he said.

"Let's talk about money first."

"What do you mean?"

"You want a live-in sex slave. Did you think you were going to get one free?"

"I gave you your job back."

"And you pay me for doing that job, with something extra for fucking you at the office. Now what are you going to give me to fuck you at home?"

He sighed. "You're a shitface whore."

"This is news to you?" I pulled my dress off: my nipples were hard and my cunt was wet.

"A ten percent raise," he said, staring at my tits.

"I go from eight hours a day to twenty-four, and you offer me ten percent? You should triple my pay." I slid a finger into my slit. "Mmm, my li'l pussy's purring."

"You won't be fucking all that time," he said, staring at my shaved mound "Twenty percent."

"I'll be on call. Twenty-four hours a day."

"Fifty percent."

Turning around, I said, "Maybe I'll move in with your wife after all," and bent down to scoop up my dress, showing him my big ass.

"You'll have days off. Eighty percent," he said.

I advanced on him slowly and grabbed his cock through his pants. "Double my pay," I breathed. "I'll use a lot of the extra money to buy filthy underwear and exotic sex toys. There's this toilet I saw online with a head cage underneath . . ."

"Double," he said.

"Done. Now do something unspeakably awful to me."

He grinned at me, showing his teeth. He was endlessly inventive when it came to ways to defile me - pussy juice was running down my legs as I thought about it.

But Casey was right. It's important to make a man pay.

Especially if you're crazy about him.

*****

If you got this far and liked the story, please take a moment to cast a vote. And watch this space a few months from now for Brenda's next story, "The Taming of the Shithead."