Tccs Pt 02 Ch 15 One Hot Librarians Faith Exchange

Based upon comics by The Pit and Stormbringer

The Coxville Curse Part 2: Chapter 15: One Hot Librarian's Faith Exchange

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October 16, 2009: Friday, the Day of the Pool Party

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Bobbie Sue stood by the door and let the last of the library patrons out, locking it behind them. "Staying late again?" asked the Coxville Public Library's Director. The Director gathered up her purse. She was a thin figured woman in her fifties. Skinny with almost no breasts and short cut hair. She wasn't a native of the county, but had been hired because she had a master's in library sciences. "When are you going to share your secret research project with us, Bobbie?"

"Soon," replied Mrs. Kindle. "I'm showing some of it to a visitor shortly."

"The Priest? I don't mind a man of god in here after hours." She headed towards the rear door and her car. The Director was dedicated, but not one to stay long past 5:00pm on a Friday night. "Have a good evening." The woman paused and let her gaze fall on Bobbie Sue's rear end fully displayed in tight yoga pants. Bobbie Sue half felt she'd be reprimanded, but instead the older woman's gaze lingered a little too long before leaving. The staff suspected she was a lesbian, but no one knew for sure. She'd divorced over thirty years ago and never remarried or had a boyfriend as far as anyone knew.

Bobbie Sue turned off the library lights and strolled over to her workstation. The air conditioning automatically turned down when the library closed, so she undid her blouse and removed it, glad the Director couldn't see the tight halter she'd worn beneath her top. She sat before her computer, but her mind had trouble focusing on her work. Her brain was thinking about black cock.

Sometimes it seemed like the more sex she had, the hornier she got. Big black cock didn't satisfy her, it only made her crave more like an addict wondering where her next fix would come from even before the black cock in her pussy quit spurting. Bobbie Sue sighed and sat back in the chair. She closed her eyes and slid her hands up under her halter top, her fingers rubbing her nipples. Her pussy quivered in need even after fucking her boss just that morning. Principal Long had called her in to his office during her study hall and ordered her to strip off her blouse and skirt. Soon thereafter, she was impaled on his cock, her legs wrapped around the back of his chair as she kissed the old black man passionately. They fucked the whole period with Long depositing a huge load of sperm in her womb before she leaped off his cock and milked a few remaining spurts of cum into her thirsty mouth. His seed tasted particularly good to her, though all black cum was addictively delicious. "I called you in this morning Mrs. Kindle to compliment you on your motivational skills. All three of the students that you took on the field trip have assured me they intend to graduate high school. I expect you to keep those students and others motivated." She had eagerly agreed.

Bobbie Sue was horny as she sat alone in the darkened library. She wasn't horny thinking about Long or even her

time on the island with Elton. Omar, and Bron. She was horny thinking about a man she had never had and likely never would. That man was Father Despre, a visiting priest staying with the Sisters of Mercy. He had contacted her several weeks ago and even over the phone, his voice had a sensual, soothing quality to it, almost hypnotic. At that time, she wasn't even sure he was black. She just enjoyed listening to his voice and his slight Cajun accent. He was interested in her research and the history of the old Cox plantation. They spoke several more times on the phone each time for a little longer. Bobbie Sue didn't want to hang up. Last night they had finally met. Bobbie Sue had nearly swooned the minute he stepped into the coffee shop. David caught her, and she thanked her husband telling him that she had stood up too quickly. Her hands were shaking nervously when she shook the black priest's hand. He gripped her hand tightly, his dark eyes staring into her green ones before slowly moving down to stare at the gold cross around her neck or was it the swell of her large bosom? Her own eyes looked down his very fit body before coming to rest on the primitively tied wooden cross around his neck. An interesting choice from the more opulent crosses she usually saw on priests.

They sat and chatted, but not for long. Her stupid husband was in a hurry to get to dinner. Bobbie Sue gave Despre copies of her notes to which he seemed quite grateful. They shook hands again and Bobbie Sue was reluctant to release his hand. The black priest was very... intense. He'd left her so horny, she'd even had sex with her husband that night which certainly didn't satisfy her.

Bobbie Sue forced herself to concentrate on her research. She had found a new document, the delight of every historical researcher. She finished scanning it into the computer and carefully removed the original letter. The letter had been found inside an old family bible. She sat down and read it again.

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My dearest brother Jonathan,

Tonight, was a good night. We did it. We drove out the followers of the devil, Prospero. We met in the stables, some two dozen of us, proud Southern white men all gathered to listen to Franklin Cox speak. Mr. Cox was flanked by his brother's sons-in-laws, Caleb Summers and Joshua Small, all victims of the devil Prospero who had stolen the virtues of their wives in this very stable, now corrupted by the foul seed of the black devil (Bobbie Sue shivered for the library was built on the very spot where the plantation's stables once stood).

Franklin Cox extolled us while Small and Summers passed out the robes that would hide our identities. Soon we were all mounted torches burning and galloping towards the West side of the Cox plantation where the niggers lived. We ignored the outer buildings for we still needed the good niggers to work the fields and galloped straight towards the center of their village where the bald-headed fiends dwelled. Well, Johnny Reb, I can truly say we caught the niggers off guard and fired some of their homes before any realized we were even there. I saw Lewis Parker shoot a fleeing woman in the back when she ran nekkid from a burning home. Her mate, I believe it was an uppity negro named Falstaff ran out of the hut with a spear. He was nekkid too and I couldn't believe the size of the phallus swinging between his legs. I'd heard rumors of course, but there is nothing like seeing the like in person. Though, I'd had no intention of killing that night, I believe god raised my hand and pulled the trigger for me. Falstaff fell dead and another nigger Pertrucio fell soon thereafter to another bullet. Then the devil's pagan mother appeared, Tituba. The foul witch that had caused us so much pain. I raised the pistol again, but curse my luck, the gun misfired. She was nekkid, but for a cloth around her hips and I must say, I've never seen a finer looking female specimen for a woman in her fifties. If she'd been one of Madam Dietrich's proper nigger whores, I would have paid a few pennies for a romp with her the next time we visited Dietrich's brothel in Bar's town. Of course, Tituba was not a "proper" nigger, but an evil witch and mother of demons. In her hands was a pagan staff carved like a serpent with the top of the staff being the shape of a serpent's head and painted black. It is said, her obeah staff was carved from the very branch they used to hang her son! Even as my gun misfired, I watched her swing that staff at a passing rider, knocking him off his horse and falling to the ground, not getting up. The temerity of the black witch! Another rider managed to force her down with his horse, the former slave Caliban rushing to her side and helping her to her feet.

Franklin Cox fired his gun in the air and we rode up to him gathering around him in a semi-circle, rifles, pistols, and a few cavalry sabers aimed at the growing number of former slaves emerging from the huts. Many were nekkid and as I stared at the long black phallus's, many near a foot-long dangling, I wanted to shoot them all. Cox stood up in his saddle and told them that it was time for them to leave and if they didn't we'd be back, night after night. They stared at us, the hatred in their eyes returned with equal hatred in our eyes. Cox sat back down in the saddle, pulled the reins on his horse turning it back towards home and we followed.

Well Johnny Reb, I can proudly say that the next day, Tituba and some forty followers of her son's, hightailed it out of town and were seen heading East. Though I must confess, a part of me wishes they had stayed awhile longer so that I could shoot some more. You have no concept of what an abomination in the lord's eyes those males are with their shaven heads and their horse-sized phalluses. They should all die, and I promise you Johnny, this new group, this movement sweeping the South is the means to accomplish just that. I urge you to join our new Ku Klux Klan. I fully believe that it is the only thing that can save the South now before it's too late.

Your brother in family, god, and rebellion, Jake Kindle, 1886

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The letter both saddened and disturbed Bobbie Sue. Jake Kindle was a direct ancestor of her husband's and the family bible the letter had been found in, was in her very house. There was racism and there was RACISM. This letter was filled with hatred and death. Tears had rolled down her cheeks the first time she'd read it. David had looked at her like she was crazy, he just shrugged it off as an event that happened in the past. "At least my family never owned slaves, we were too poor," he said, shrugging again. Bobbie Sue wasn't so lucky, there were slave owners in her ancestry. Bobbie Sue was religious, but not too devout. Still, she crossed herself and brought her cross up to her lips to kiss as she prayed that mankind would find a better future. She heard a car door slam outside the library and her heart skipped a beat even as her "Amen" left her lips.

Bobbie Sue forced herself to calm down as her heart rate grew. What had she been thinking dressing like this? The hardworking woman usually dressed professionally, but attractively. Today, she'd worn tight yoga pants and a halter top with no bra under her work blouse. Her reddish blonde hair wasn't piled up on her head, but hanging down her shoulders. Not an unusual outfit for a gym, but not a proper one for meeting a priest alone in a closed library. She was exposing her figure for his eyes, hoping he'd want her like some Jezebel tempting a celibate priest! She began to regret her decision and considered pulling the blouse back on or not answering the door even as she ran to the window to look out to make sure it was him. Too late! Father Despre saw her and waved. She feebly waved back.

Despre hadn't dressed like a priest for his meeting with her either. If anything, he had dressed down. Sweat pants covered his lower torso and Bobbie Sue could see the swinging bulge of a massive black cock beneath the material. He wore only a tee shirt, that hugged a well-developed chest and left his muscular arms bare. He had some strange tribal armbands around his biceps, a strange pendant necklace, and his humble wooden cross around his neck. As she watched, even as he waved, the big black man suddenly staggered as if hit by an invisible force. Bobbie Sue was startled, but he waved her off that he was all right even as he drew himself up to his full height. She gasped again at what she saw. His sweats were now bulging out from the pressure of a huge erection beneath them. His huge cock appeared desperately to be trying to break free of its confines. He stopped and stared off into the distance, in the direction of the suburbs outside town. The black priest turned away from her and when he turned back, she saw that he had adjusted himself, the swollen outline of a thick black log bulging straight up from his crotch to above his navel.

"Father, are you all right?" she asked running to the door and unlocking it.

"I'm fine," said Despre, though he still looked a little dazed in her estimation. Sweat had broken out on his forehead and it was clear his cock was still hard. It even jerked as she stared at it.

She looked up and found his dark eyes were taking in her figure, her bare belly, the clear outlines on her nipples under her top. Why hadn't she worn a bra? It was cruel to tease this man. "Are you sure, Father?"

Despre looked down her body again and embarrassingly she felt her nipples harden even more under his gaze. Not just the nipple, but her entire areola had puffed out to the point they ached. He didn't look put off by her outfit. Instead, he grinned. That was another thing she found different about this strange priest, he seemed happy, not stern and uptight like all the other priests she'd met. "It's hard to explain, but I'm sensitive to various energies and I just felt a strong one when I was outside. It's a gift from my god." He didn't tell her that those energies were sexual waves and this blast had been a strong one. It was still coming. Somewhere out in the suburbs, multiple men and women were sending off strong sexual vibes that were building in an increasing crescendo. "I must say, you look fantastic, Mrs. Kindle." He stared openly up and down her body, even bending his head to get a better view of her ass. Her body involuntarily turned to present him a better view.

That really turned the faucets on, she thought wishing she could squeeze her thighs together. "Thank you, Father and please call me Bobbie Sue. I worked out a little after class today before meeting you here."

"Well your routine pays off, Bobbie Sue."

"You should meet my sister Sammy, she's a real fitness nut. You obviously know quite a bit about staying in shape too, Father." To her horror, Bobbie Sue's hand and reached up to squeeze his bicep. She yanked it back in embarrassment.

Despre chuckled. "You have something to show me?"

"Yes," she gasped. Her hands wanted to come up and pull the halter off over her head before wiggling out of her yoga pants. "The letter, of course. Follow me."

Bobbie Sue sat at her research desk and handed Father Despre the letter. "It's depressing," she warned him even as his eyes skimmed down the words. He nodded in response. "This was written by a direct ancestor of my husband's."

"Thank you, Bobbie. May I have a copy?" he asked handing the letter back to her.

"Of course, Father."

"Please call me, Papa. It's a more common term for a priest where I come from."

"Certainly, Papa Despre." Sitting had put her eye level with his amazing bulge. It hadn't shrunk an inch. "Papa," she whispered staring. He said something, but she was too enthralled by his bulge. "Excuse me, Papa?"

"I have something for you."

And I want it, she thought watching the outline of his cock throb. "What's that, Papa?"

"Information, Bobbie Sue. I think I know where your slaves went."

That got Bobbie Sue's attention. She looked up at him. "What's that?"

"The name Tituba rang a bell for me. Go to the Damballahislandresort.com on your computer."

Excited, Bobbie Sue quickly typed in the URL into her search engine and the Damballah Island Resort page filled her screen. It was a typical Caribbean island resort page, with palm trees, luxury hotels, couples in bathing suits strolling down the beach, etc. The island was small, slightly larger than Key West with a small city on one end and the resort on the other. The resort was new and had been built with funding from Sam-Edi enterprises. "It looks lovely."

"It is, I've visited there often. Click on the history link."

Bobbie Sue clicked on the link and started reading the story of the founding of Damballah Island.

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The following is an excerpt from the history section of the Damballah Island Resort website:

The ship's hold was hot and crowded with former African slaves. The male's heads were all shaved and were nude but for loincloths in the heat. The women were dressed the same, large breasts exposed, heaving and wet with sweat. If slavery had still been legal, the blacks would have brought a fortune as they were all prime physical specimens in their twenties and thirties except for the priestess Tituba who was 56 at the time, but had the figure of a woman 20 years younger. There were some children and half the women were pregnant. Only one was having difficulty with the heat. The ship's crew allowed her on deck to cool off. The men ogled her and offered her money to lay with them, but she refused. One man wouldn't take no for an answer and was lashed by the ship's captain who restricted the woman's deck time. The others were allowed to come up on deck in small groups as night fell. This had been their lot since the ship left Charleston a week previously.

The ship was called simply "HOPE" and it was a former slave ship with a large hold. The only differences between these blacks and their slave ancestors was that the free blacks weren't shackled, and they were heading in the opposite direction then their captive ancestors had traveled. They were going back to Africa for repatriation. The Portuguese captain, a man named Antonio Carlito had taken the last of their money with the promise of passage to Liberia. But he had no plans to keep his promise.

Captain Carlito anchored Hope off an uninhabited island in the Caribbean. He told the blacks that they could go ashore, stretch their legs, and look for food and water. His men rowed the former slaves to the white sandy beach while the ship gently rocked in the lagoon. The last rowboat contained the few possessions of the migrants which the sailors tossed on shore while the blacks were gorging themselves on the black berries native to the island. Tituba ran to retrieve her prized book from where it rested on the sand with the water lapping at its pages. She picked it up clutching it protectively to her breast while watching the Hope hauling the rowboat on board and soon afterwards the anchor.

Captain Carlito's last words to the stranded blacks was, "You can swim the rest of the way to Africa, you heathen niggers." and the ship turned, sailing back West.

The following is an excerpt from Captain Antonio Carlito's log from Hope dated June 4, 1887. It is translated from the Portuguese and contains obscene language, Readers should be advised before continuing:

My conscious is clear as I watched my men take the niggers to the shore. In truth, I had not sought to abandon them until that moment. The idea came to me as I watched the witch Tituba rowed ashore, her hand clutching the satanic black snake staff staring back at me accusingly as if she knew my intentions. I hated them. Not because they were niggers. Half my crew are niggers and good sailors all. I hated them because they are not Christian, not a one of them. The males have shaved heads as a sign of solidarity to some messianic figure, the refer to as Prospero or sometimes Damballah. Like our lord Jesus Christ, their Prospero was executed, but unlike the true son of god, he did not rise from the dead. They are ungodly creatures of the devil and deserve what is coming to them. I've heard the evil chants coming from the ship's hold nightly as they beseech Satan to guide them. Worse than the chants are the sounds of them fucking. Constantly fucking, their moans of pleasure rise from the hold. My men listen and watch through the hatch while they fuck. I too have watched and what I saw only convinced me more of their fiendish nature. The men all bare the cocks of bulls and their balls are filled with semen to match. They are more animal then men. At any given time, two or more are fucking. The women are as wanton as the men and seem to enjoy the giant devil cocks of the males. Furthermore, many seem to share or swap their partners and I have seen women sometimes servicing two males, taking one male in her mouth while the other fucks her from behind. I have watched them nearly every night and I need no more proof that they serve the devil then this, yet further proof they provided. As the Hope sailed away, I turned my glass back on the island. The niggers had gone mad! I stared intently at them. I could see their mouths smeared with black juice from the berries they had consumed. I could see the lust in their eyes. I could see their erect bull cocks. Every male was erect and looking towards the nearest female to bury their huge nigger cocks in. The women were just as mad, rubbing berry juice onto their breasts as they grabbed the nearest nigger cock and guided it into their mouths or their womanhood's. Only the witch wasn't engaged in the wanton act of fornicating. Tituba was standing in the water watching us sail away, clutching the book to her breasts and holding the staff out from her body. The last thing I saw was her turning and walking out of the water as the nigger called Caliban rushed her, his giant cock bobbing before him. Soon Tituba had joined the others riding Caliban's huge bull cock, her screams of pleasure coming to me across the water. I wished I had just dropped the lot of them in the ocean rather than witness this demonic madness.