Communion of Man and Wife

After Church, the Pastor's wife, Sister Jean, corals up the married ladies who are staying for services afterwards.

Sister Jean is grey-haired and happily wrinkled and full of love and Christian cheer. She favors cottons and wools and soothing colors in her clothes. A modest gold cross around her neck.

Services have ended, those who depart process to depart.

Pastor Bob receives them, Sister Jean receives them. The congregants talk amongst themselves, filled with the Spirit, filled with Unity.

The unadorned, utilitarian church reflects and resounds with dozens of joyful conversations. Friends meeting in good cheer, sharing close spiritual bonds.

The church is non-specifically denominational. Simple white walls and wooden pews and accents; part of a larger church-and-school complex built decades ago for one denomination and having changed hands through many flavors of faith since.

Sister Jean's husband, Pastor Bob, has pastored up and down the First Coast and the Big Bend for decades. But using his Masters in counseling and his Doctorate in social work paid the bills for Pastor Bob and Sister Jean. Sunday services were a bonus.

Sister Jean knows which women will be attending after. "Ladies, wives, sisters," she greets them.

The mothers in the group have supervised their children's departure with this week's Sunday School Teacher, who leads the little ones downstairs to the Sunday School Room where they will be safely chaperoned with juice and crackers and taught Bible Stories.

Meanwhile, their parishioner parents, adults all and wise, follow Sister Jean and Pastor Bob out the church, through the breezeway, to the first floor of the small building connected to the church and previously both offices and school for the various denominations that denominated the plain church-and-school complex. Now, it is meeting rooms and storage for Pastor Bob and Sister Jean's simple Church of the Sunday Morning.

Some mornings, Sister Jean sings as they procession in casual order to the meeting room chosen for the after-meeting. Sister Jean prefers to gather up her "ladies, wives, and sisters" in big, interlocked chains of hands and arms, walking entwined together as they go with Sister Jean entangled amidst them, leading these women, some as young as their late twenties, but most in their thirties and forties.

Jean's energy and positivity and innocence is contagious, and often her "ladies, wives and sisters" sing with her.

"It's good to sing, Sisters," Jean often tells the women in her and her husband's flock. "Singing opens the mouth, opens the throat, and opens the heart."

Singing is an essential part of these sunday services. Pastor Bob and Sister Jean have not much to offer in terms of scriptural interpretation and sermons, but they make their sole Service on sunday full of music.

Bob plays piano and a number of other instruments, Jean sings and plays harp and other strange string instruments popular on the county fair circuit in the South East United States during the nineteen-seventies. Two of the younger fathers in the congregation play guitar and drums and bass, and two of the mothers sing and keep rhythm. It is thus these small-town neighbors, mostly strangers until they met on Sundays (to which they were mostly recruited by Pastor Bob and Sister Jean's work in the community as social workers), let their hair down, chill out, open their selves to unity and to things bigger than themselves built from that unity, by being together, by singing, by reflecting together, and when the adults were separated together, to celebrate what Pastor Bob and Sister Jean called the communion of the man and his wife.

This was the only time the congregants, never more than a dozen couples, thought that Pastor Bob's interpretation of scripture was insightful.

It was a ritual of Pastor Bob and Sister Jean's creation.

As Sister Jean would corral the women and seek to lead them into the after-meeting room together, so would Pastor Bob do to his "Brothers, Brothers! So good to see you after another week!"

The men of the church had never found a man such as Pastor Bob before who made it so easy to feel this spiritual connection. To understand the shared connection they all possessed as Brother Men, and the connection that each had to the pair-bonded woman in his life. Each couple having a similar bond, but each one different. "We can celebrate the differences or we can celebrate the shared, so for once why not celebrate the thing we all have in common?" Pastor Bob would ask them rhetorically, and it would make sense to their male ears and male hearts.

As their Fellowship would teach them in short order, Pastor Bob understood the true sacred rites, the ones that need not be spoken of and, as Pastor Bob would counsel, "truly, they cannot be, because they are so spiritual, it is only the experience itself that is high enough--that is, words are not high enough to even describe such sublime spirituality and connectedness, only the experience itself, the ritual itself speaks for itself. And it ain't talkin'!"

Pastor Bob would laugh then. He had a ready smile and a sense that most of creation was humorous. But the ritual he always took seriously.

Sister Jean took it seriously, but playfully. She preferred when Bob had all the men lined up shoulder to shoulder on either side of the closed after-meeting room door.

Then Jean liked to take her "ladies, wives, sisters" with her, past all the husbands and serious boyfriends standing there, opening the doors to the meeting room, and then closing the doors behind them, stranding Pastor Bob and the men outside.

The women usually laughed, or shared some shared joke that the men on the the side, Pastor Bob included, would strain to hear but never be able to quite make out.

Inside, the women would be putting the chairs into a circle, if no one had done so prior to Service, though Sister Jean usually had.

Once the chairs were in a circle facing inward, Sister Jean would open the doors, and each woman streamed out, one by one, slowly, find her man (always the one in pair-bond with her, there was never any casual exchange), and take him by the hand, leading him gently to the chair she chose for him.

She would then stand behind him, touching his shoulders. Sister Jean was always last, and when she lead Pastor Bob into the meeting room, he always closed the door behind him.

Jean, after she lead her husband to the last open chair, instead of standing behind, would then slip to her knees in front of her husband.

This was the sign that the other "ladies, wives, sisters," were attending on, that is, the signal they were waiting for, the ritual beginning they cherished, and as Sister Jean sunk to her knees before her husband, so would each lady before hers.

The chairs were arranged in a circle tightly enough to fit all of the men around the circle, seated facing in, and all of their pair-bonded women, kneeing in their church clothes, facing out, close enough to give them just enough room for comfortable movement, but close enough to always be aware, out of the edges of peripheral vision, what the couples to their left and right were doing.

"Amen, Brothers and Sisters," Pastor Bob would begin. He would speak a few well-chosen Bible verses to meditate on, often tongue-in-cheek ones.

He would talk about the way spiritual lovers struggled to maintain a spiritual connection in the modern world. "Too often, Sister Jean and I would hear from Parishioners that they struggled to make time to be together like a man and a woman ought. So many years ago, Sister Jean and I realized that to help these people most, we would make them make the time!"

He would talk about all that this Fellowship gathered and present had already shared that morning in receipt of God's communion and covenant with them, "God's communion with man, and now is time for man's communion with woman. Let's all take a deep breath."

And all these responsible, spiritually-seeking, sexually healthy adults would breathe the same air together. Hold that breath together. Exhale it together.

"Another act of communion and fellowship and unity," Pastor Bob reflected for them.

"Woman, take in the sight of thy man. Brother, show thy truest self to thy wife, and be not afraid for she is thy helpmate," Pastor Bob would quote, and the women would at those words, begin undoing the buttons or closures on her man's pants, and her man would lift his hips from his seated position, allowing his wife to pull his pants and his underwear down, as if they were in the privacy of their own bedroom, and tuck them down at his ankles.

The lights were soft and low, but not dim. As every woman casually and ritually exposed her man's penis, she could not help but notice the penis being exposed to her left and the one to her right.

Mere, normal curiosity would lead her to noticing the penises of the other men further to her left, and to noticing the penises of the other men, further to her right.

"Suffer him to be pleasing in thy sight," Pastor Bob incanted, "for in the beginning we were created of one flesh, and that flesh was cleaved in Heaven to be reunited in love on Earth."

As the women noticed the cocks of the men next to theirs, and of course noticed the familiar cock of their own lover, the men also could not help but notice the lovely faces of the women kneeing in front of the men next to them, could not help but notice their own wife's smiling face and lovely décolletage, as well as the lovely and excited faces of the women kneeling in sisterhood and fellowship and solidarity next to their wife, as prepared and ready as their wife herself was. As bold. As calm.

And in all that energy, the cocks twitched.

The ones already hard twitched. The ones hardening hardened faster. The soft ones started to grow. When the women noticed a cock stiffening, even if it was not their man's, they could not hide their interest.

"Hate not anything that the Lord created, for it is the work of the Lord," intoned Pastor Bob. "As thou wert breathed life into by the Lord, so didst thou Brother have the Lord kiss him with breath," and the women understood that it was Righteous for them to look and to enjoy the sight of all these cocks, stiffening in a circle around them.

Pastor Bob's was small, but Sister Jean always knew the right time to start fellating him.

"We honor this time to bring man and woman together, to commune in the love and the mystery of their bond."

Pastor Bob would then continue, often along the lines of quoting, "the long-forgotten book of Sara, chapter five verse fifteen, 'for it is a goodly thing for a man to know his wife each week, and to know her and love her so she may receive her love when her moon is in any house, for it is not unclean but it is holy for her to eat of him and drink of him and thus to know him properly as woman and wife.'"

And in that sacred space of a dilapidated, square, semi-run-down church reception room, each Sunday morning, the women in the congregation, kneeling at their man's feet, kneeing amongst all their sisters who also kneeled for their men, would begin to suck their man's cock, using whatever style they practiced.

"Amen," Pastor Bob would then intone, and often it was an "Ayyyyy-mennnnnnnnnnnn," or some other slurring of the ancient word, because his wife, Sister Jean, would be sucking his cock and knowing his cock with her hands and her mouth.

But his Amen was always answered by the men in the congregation, who themselves often responded with more of a slurred "Ayyyy-mennnnnnnnnnn," feeling their own women sucking them, feeling their kneeling, submitting, giving, loving women love them, in public, in the open, with no shame or fear.

The women would not answer Pastor Bob's Amen, as their mouths were full and busy.

As the blowjobs commenced and continued, Pastor Bob spoke and sermonized no more, making only the sounds that Sister Jean made him make.

Some men sat back, some helped guide and connect with their lover by a hand in her hair or on her head. All were not shy about watching the women to their immediate left and right suck the dicks of their own men.

The room was full of the sounds of uninhibited cocksucking by partners who knew how to please, knew their particular partner's pleasure points, knew their man's penis and was proud enough of him and his penis to show them off.

The slurps and licks and gags and sucks and all the other wonderful, salivating sounds of cocksucking, were matched by the many moans from the many men who each loved the woman who was sucking his cock, loved her with a deep and spiritual closeness, loved and was proud enough of to show her to the world of trusted, Spiritual confidents sharing similar Spiritual journeys.

Show and share with them, and show and share her with them, as each She shared each Him with them; the way their dicks looked going into their wives mouths, the way their wives looked as they took their husband's dick between their lips in that sacred and profane connubial kiss. Here in God's loving house they shared it all without shame or fear and shared it all without shame or fear with Him, who created them and their bodies and their nerve-endings and their needs and made it Good and Holy. The way He blessed them in feeling each week after the ritual was further evidence of His perfect Love and of the Righteous Banquet that He set out for them. Each week a spiritual time to ensure spiritual-sexual connections and to bless that connection through public display and delight.

A spiritual fellowship, all of whom felt truly Blessed that they found a Pastor who, with his wife, could help them make the time to join together as a couple, renewing their spiritual relationship to God each week, and no matter how chaotic the previous six days had been, thanks to this Church they could renew their spiritual relationship to each other as a couple, and to each other as a loving, supporting, accepting, nurturing community.

Each week, the faster-cumming men usually, regularly came the fastest. Most orgasmed inside the mouths of their fellatrix. The purpose, Sister Jean would counsel them privately, was for woman to eat and taste of her man's seed, to absorb the love for her that was contained therein.

Sister Jean explained that the ancients did not know that a healthy male's ejaculate contained vitamins, enzymes and minerals that a woman's body needed, but they knew when a woman was regularly swallowing her lover's come, her mood was happier and she was a better member of the village community.

"So from her knees she honored him in the sight of her Sisters in the Church, honored and loved him," Sister Jean would quote to them.

Some meditated and reflected on Sister Jean's words while they shared this bond of love between themselves and in the plain sight of all their Fellowship. This intimate love that each woman did in her turn in private to her partner, this intimate love than few originally thought could feel even sweeter and taste even greater when rather than be hidden, it be shared.

Each Sunday, the first men who came in their wives or serious girlfriends' mouths, ignited and inspired the wave of orgasms that would circle round their sacred group of worshippers, meeting each week to engage in the Holy Sacrament of Cocksucking.

Meeting each week to suck off or get sucked off in front of all their friends and fellow parishioners and the couple who were their Spiritual Gurus.

Watching and being watched, loving and being loved. Close enough for a shared intimacy, for a shared energy. Man to woman, individually, and all the men to all the women, united in appreciation and acceptance for the many facets and bevels of their divine, diamond-shaped and diamond-shining sexuality.

In turn and in order decided by none other than Nature, filling their woman's mouth with seed. The medium-speed cummers following the faster-cummers. Perhaps inspired by the sight of those orgasms firing off into the mouths of other women in their divine Circle. Seeing only the beautiful back of the head of a woman on the other side of the circle, seeing her work her neck and shoulders in her particular rhythm, while feeling one's wife's particular rhythm on one's own cock. Seeing this other woman from the back of her head as she receives the spasms of her man's passion: her head still, then jumping slightly as she takes once, twice, thrice--squirting into her mouth, pumping into her mouth, blasting into her mouth--a release of energy of passion of Truth into the shared air that they are all breathing (when these kinky exhibitionists and voyeurs are remembering to breathe), the orgasm by their friends into their friends' mouths making all of their orgasms, had and yet-to-be-had that morning, feel warmer and safer and more sacred.

Wives cuddle the softening cocks of their men, honor them in their mouths, after swallowing the come from those cocks. Honor the cock that is up close to their hands and mouths, that they just loved into a sticky, squirting mess, while they watch the last cummers filling the last mouths to taste their Second Communion of the morning.

Pastor Bob is one of the medium cummers, and each week he and Sister Jean reliably watch the last few of their flock celebrate their love in front of all of their closest friends. Sister Jean might add a soft word to help inspire a faster finish, "Oh, she looks so lovely!" perhaps, or a "yes, don't hold back, give it all to her, she wants it," a "show her you love her, come in her mouth," and somehow Jean would always hit the right note, and the afterglowing congregation would watch a wife receive her sacrament, would see by example what they themselves were but minutes or moments ago, would see the beautiful miracle of a man coming in a woman's mouth, and she catching his come in her mouth, tasting this essence of him, and doing so for all to see the pride and abandon she felt through his climax and their love, and swallowing his come while all the others watched her swallow.

And when the last cock had come in the last wife's mouth and the last mouthful of cum had been swallowed, Sister Jean would intone a sweet "Amen," over it all, and everyone would laugh and giggle.

"Amen," they would call in response, feeling bonded to their partner, bonded to their Church, and bonded to their God, and it all feeling like one and the same.