Bad Pastor

While the people, places, and events found herein are all based on actual people, places, and events, I have changed them all so significantly so as to protect the innocent (and the guilty) that they don't really resemble reality. These are basically real-life inspired works of fiction.

*****

So here's the thing you need to know about me:

I used to be a minister. Yep, I was a bona fide minister at a big Baptist church in North Carolina for the last decade, up until just a few months ago. I started there just after graduating from Duke Divinity School back in '06. But a few months ago, I stepped down and moved to Los Angeles to manage a hotel (my original college degree was in hospitality).

Why the change, you ask?

Well, I could say that I did some things there that I regret. Nothing illegal, but some things that you could definitely say were unethical. But there's something that must be understood about those unethical things, because they all led up to a great big realization one spring Sunday morning.

That morning, as I stood on the chancel steps greeting the congregation, it dawned on me that I had fucked one out of every five women in that room. You figure that there were about 250 women in there, that's about fifty of them, and all fifty of them between the ages of 18 and 45, which meant I had, in the Biblical sense, gotten to know nearly half of the Millennial and Gen-X women in that room.

See what I mean about unethical?

Now, in my defense, I never cheated. I've been single this whole time. And I've always been a very sexual person. I did my fair share of screwing around in college. My fair share, your fair share, and Bob Thompson from down the street's fair share. I can't really define myself in one sexual identity, either. I guess bisexual with strong hetero leanings would probably be the best way of looking at it, because while I prefer women by a good sight over men, I've still taken a dick (or ten) up the ass, usually in the context of an MMF threesome, but not always, and enjoyed the fuck out of it.

And if you've now started getting judgmental about my sexuality, you can just fuck right off. Ministers are sexual people, just as much as anybody else. Maybe more, even, because people have such cracked out expectations of us that we repress it and then it comes roaring out like a damn lion. We're straight, gay, lesbian, bisexual, pansexual, asexual, transvestite, transgender, intersexual, you name it, there's at least one minister of the Word and Sacrament of the earthly Church of Jesus Christ to be found in each of those categories. You may not want to think about what happens when those solemn black robes come off, but we like sticking things in each other and getting things stuck in us the same as any other human being, and a whole lot of us do it in a fairly queer fashion, too.

Anyway, after banging my way through college (being in the University of Tennessee marching band provided for a LOT of chances to bang, because band geeks are a bunch of horny little fucks), and then screwing my way through Duke Divinity School (including one HIGHLY memorable moment during Christmas Eve service in Duke Chapel, and yeah, I'm probably going to hell for that one), I got called to be the associate minister for youth and a whole bunch of other responsibilities at this Baptist church. Now, I'm not gonna tell you which one, or which city it was in, so for simplicity's sake, we're just going to say it was First Baptist Church of Podunksville, North Carolina. Pretty much as generic as you can get with those names.

My first few months there, I hit a bit of a dry spell. Matter of fact, I'm pretty sure that first summer at FBC was the longest I'd gone without anybody other than Rosie Palm busting my nut since I was in high school.

But then, Labor Day weekend happened. I got invited out to the Outer Banks with a family from the church.

And that was the weekend I banged a thirty-five year old married former Dallas Cowboys cheerleader.

Let's take a walk down memory lane, shall we?

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I got to the end of my first summer at First Baptist, and I was exhausted. I had gotten there in May - right after graduation - and had started going without stopping ever since. Camp, VBS, mission trips, parties, lock-ins, you name it, if it had the youth and kids somehow attached to it, I was part of it.

Well, one of the families noticed that I was seeming a bit run down. Dan was a dentist who spent his time playing Marines in the Reserves; Jeri was a journalist. They had come to North Carolina from Dallas when she got pregnant with the younger of their two daughters, six years prior.

They had gone to college together, he had knocked her up during their senior year, they got married, she auditioned for and got onto the Cowboys' cheerleading squad. Mind you, that was a mere six months after she gave birth to their now seventh grader. Needless to say, this woman's body was ridiculous.

Anyway, they invited me out to the Outer Banks with them. At the time, I thought nothing of it, but given that there have been three further occasions on which I've banged Jeri since then with Dan watching, I have to think they knew what they were doing, that it was an audition of sorts.

We got out there on Friday night, at around dusk. There was still enough daylight to go out to the beach, and that was the first time I got a good look at Jeri's insane body. She strutted down to the sand in a thong bikini that would've given a blind man indecent thoughts. She had a couple of little dimples around her belly, but those were the only signs that she had ever been pregnant.

I found myself walking behind her with Dan on the way down to the beach, mesmerized by her swaying tight ass, each gently sun-kissed cheek bouncing a bit as she walked. I guess I must've been a little less than subtle, because Dan chuckled and said, "I do have a smokin' hot wife, don't I?"

"Oh, gosh," I said, my face turning instantly red. Over time, I would grow comfortable enough with the members of the church to say "shit", "fuck", and so on around them, but three months in, "gosh" was about the strongest word I was gonna say. "I wasn't - I mean - I was just -"

Dan laughed. "Don't worry about it, Paul," he said. "She's got a great ass. She knows it. She expects men to look at it. You think she'd wear that thong if she didn't?"

"Yeah, but she's a member of my church," I protested.

With a shake of his head, Dan rolled his eyes. "And you're a man who, unless I'm very much misjudging why you were staring at my wife's ass, enjoys the company of women."

"Well..." My voice trailed off. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Dan clapped a hand on my shoulder. "Look all you want, my man. It's a great ass to look at."

I spent that night looking at her ass. The next morning, too. But then, disaster struck.

Well, you could look at it as disaster. You could also look at it as good fortune. It's really up to you.

Dan decided to order in Carolina BBQ for lunch, and I partook heavily of that and of my good friend Samuel Adams. I then laid down on a towel, put my sunglasses on, and between my full stomach, the mild temperature, and the pleasant offshore breeze...

"Paul... oh, God, Paul, you need to wake up."

I groggily opened my eyes to see Jeri looking down at me with distinct concern written on her face. "Huh?"

"Paul... when did you lay down?"

I thought about it a minute. "Uh... one...ish?"

Jeri closed her eyes and shook her head. "Paul, it's nearly four. You've been lying on the beach for almost three hours, and I bet you didn't put any sunblock on, did you?"

I had not. "Uh-oh," I muttered. "Uh... how bad?"

"Well, I could pour a can of Cheerwine on your stomach and it would blend right in."

That sounded bad.

Half an hour later, I was back at their beach house, lying staring at the ceiling on my bed. Dan, taking one look at my torso, had dissolved into nearly-choking laughter and then said he was going to take his daughters to go get ice cream. "I will leave you in the tender loving care of my wife," he informed me. "Good luck."

"What the hell did Dan mean by good luck?" I asked Jeri, as I lay on my back, eyes closed, contemplating the world of pain into which I was about to enter.

"He meant that I use some fairly unconventional sunburn remedies," she replied, thrusting a bottle of water into my hand. "Drink that."

"I'd rather have a beer," I grumbled.

"NO MORE BEER," Jeri said sternly. "That would just make it worse."

"Fine," I muttered, closing my eyes and sipping the water. "What do you mean by unconventional?"

I heard a plop and felt something cold and viscous hit my belly. "I mean I apply Greek yogurt to the entire burnt area and let it just sit for a while," she told me. "Smells a little weird, but it helps soothe the area quite a bit. Then, we wash that off and recoat you with mentholated aloe."

She lightly dug her fingers into the yogurt and ever so gently began to spread it upward, toward my shoulders. "Now, this is just a temporary fix," she said. "It won't do any healing, but what it will do is draw enough of the heat out of your skin to provide you with some relief from the burn."

As her fingers gently danced over my roasted flesh, I could feel it doing exactly that - everywhere the yogurt touched, my skin began to feel a little cooler. Of course, that was not the only effect that her touch was having.

Like I said, it had been a few months since I had gotten laid - less than twenty minutes before graduating from Duke Divinity School, as a matter of fact, but that's a story for later - and so I was, shall we say, a little pent up. And I gotta say, having the touch of a woman's fingers on my bare flesh - especially a retired Dallas Cowboys cheerleader who was still hotter than the surface of the sun even at 35 - well, it made my second-in-command come very quickly to attention.

Now, in the interest of full disclosure, I'm not Peter North. Hell, I'm not even Tommy Gunn. My dick, fully erect, is just shy of seven inches, and that's only if it's diamond-cutter rock hard, and it's not right after the holidays, so I don't have any extra padding down there, hiding some of its length. At the end of the summer, yes, I was at minimal body fat, which meant that when it sprang up, it went to its full potential.

And, well, when you go to the beach in non-lined basketball shorts with no boxers on underneath...

To say that it caught Jeri's attention quickly would be an understatement. She must've caught a glimpse of it out of the corner of her eye, because she slowly turned to look at my crotch, a chuckle building in her throat as she did so. "My, my," she said with a mischievous laugh, "I do believe the pastor is packing heat!"

I didn't say anything. I mean, what the hell could I say? I had this feeling that anything that came out of my mouth would be the wrong thing, so I just kind of smiled weakly and cast off a sheepish shrug.

Jeri looked at me, then down at my dick, then back up at me, locking eyes with me. "I think," she purred, "that I need a better angle to do this properly."

I could've moved, I suppose, but first of all, I had a sunburn that was less than comfortable; secondly, my torso was covered in Greek yogurt; and third, I'm pretty sure that all the blood that would normally have been circulating in my brain to allow me to exercise critical thinking skills had gone south to create my body's miniature recreation of an Easter Island statue. So I didn't move.

Meanwhile, Jeri had gotten up onto the bed. She lifted her left leg over me and oh-so-gently lowered her crotch onto mine, grinding a bit against me as she did so. Now, remember, I'm only wearing basketball shorts at this point, so the only thing keeping my dick out of her pussy are those shorts and the tiny thong bikini bottom she's wearing.

"Hmmm, that's very nice," she sighed, rocking against me. My head fell back and I stared at the ceiling, gritting my teeth in an attempt to maintain some modicum of control. It was no use, though. The gentle rocking conjoined with the knowledge of just who was doing the rocking along with several months of it being just me and my hand tonight (that song was all the rage that year) set me off, and with a low, anguished moan, my dick unleashed a torrent of cum, bursting out and bubbling up through my basketball shorts.

"Oh... my," Jeri said, looking down at the goo now stuck to the front of her bikini bottoms with no small amusement. "Now, Pastor Paul, I know for a fact that your contract says you're supposed to practice good self-care, and it appears to me you haven't really been doing that."

I lifted my head and looked at her in disbelief. I had just prematurely blown a load all over her crotch, and she was lecturing me about not getting laid enough? What the hell?

"As it is," she continued as she dismounted, "it looks like you've made a mess out of both our clothes, so they're just gonna have to go in the wash, aren't they?"

And without warning, she grabbed the bottoms of my shorts' legs and yanked them downward, pulling them off and leaving me exposed. "Why, it looks just as nice as it felt," she murmured, tossing my shorts toward a hamper in the corner of the bedroom with the precision of Steve Nash at the free throw line. "I better get my dirty clothes off too!"

Hooking her thumbs under the waistband of her thong, she slid it over her ass and let it fall down her legs to drop around her ankles. She was waxed bare, with not even the most errant of hairs appearing anywhere in the vicinity of her pussy - indeed, about what I would've expected from a former Cowboys cheerleader.

"Now I just feel out of balance," she groused, shaking her head. "I better get the rest of the bikini off."

And so she did, pulling the top up and over her head.

I've realized that, with all the talk about Jeri's ass, I've yet to mention her tits, and I am most apologetic for that omission, because her tits are glorious. They're fake - they have to be, there's no way her tits could've turned out as perfect as they are, especially not on a frame as small as hers - but they had to have been done by the best plastic surgeon in Texas, because they are absolutely fantastic. I would estimate they come in at about a 34D, and they're perky and just bouncy enough to be convincing.

This was the first time I had gotten to see them unencumbered. Always before now, I'd been imagining what they looked like under the tight sweaters Jeri usually wore to church to ward off the chill of the ubiquitous air conditioning, but even the most fervid moments of my imagination - and there had been several - could not compare to reality.

"That is MUCH better," she chirped, dropping the bikini top to the floor. "Now, where was I?"

Climbing back on the bed, Jeri slung her leg over me and dropped her crotch back onto mine. For a moment, I thought she was just going to slide my still-hard dick right inside of her, but instead, she ground her pussy against it, sliding down so that its lips parted on either side of my dick, wrapping it like a hot dog bun. Leaning down, she resumed massaging the yogurt into my burnt chest.

Quite frankly, I had all but forgotten that that was the purpose of this exercise, but the touch of her fingers to my fried flesh quickly reminded me. "Ow," I muttered, wincing momentarily.

"Whoops, sorry," she apologized. "Here, let me distract you."

Jeri began sliding gently up and down on my dick, and yep, that sure did serve to distract me, alright. "Oh God," I whispered. It felt so good. Something inside my brain started ringing alarm bells, saying things like, SHE'S A MARRIED WOMAN, and OH, HEY, DIPSHIT, HER DAUGHTER'S IN YOUR YOUTH GROUP, but just right at that moment, I did not give one flying fuck.

She abandoned massaging the yogurt into my chest, and as she slid forward, slid off the end of my dick. As she began to slide back downward, the head of my dick came into contact with the lips of her pussy, parting them slightly, and then she pushed downward, pushing her pussy down onto my dick, her hot, wet, soft folds enveloping it all the way down to the base.

Jeri exhaled slowly, shakily. "Oh, my," she sighed. "That's very nice."

Meanwhile, the ethical center of my brain was still trying to sound the alarm, but it was being overridden, as I came to the most pleasant realization that, for the first time in months, my dick was balls-deep inside a tight, wet pussy. I tried to say something, but all that came out was a low, primal growl.

"Yeah, that's right," Jeri sighed as she started rocking back and forth, sliding her pussy gently up and down my dick. "You like that, don't you?"

"Uh-huh..."

God, it felt so good. Her tight pussy gripped my dick, making it swell as she bounced up and down. "Have you ever fucked an older woman before, Paul?" Jeri growled as she picked up the pace a bit.

I really hadn't. Sure, I had had sex with girls in college who were a little older than me - like a few weeks, or a couple months - but there had never been a ten year age difference before. And as Jeri fucked me - yes, let's be real, I was just laying there, and she was definitely fucking me - I began to wish I had drunk the Kool-Aid of older women before.

"I'll take that as a no," she panted, as her face began to flush. Reaching down, she began to gently stroke her clit. "Oh, yeah, God, you've got a nice dick, Pastor Paul," she moaned. She was full-on riding me now, bucking up and down like she was on a mechanical bull. For my part, I had a death grip on her waist, holding her up in the hope that she didn't fall down on my barbecued chest - although I can think of a worse fate than her magnificent tits striking my tender flesh.

Speaking of those tits, the way they were bouncing was absolutely mesmerizing. Her nipples were prominently erect, paying heed to just how aroused she was. Her eyes were closed, her cheeks rosy, and her hand motions were now becoming erratic as she got closer to orgasm. "Oh, God, oh, G... G..." Her moans trailed off, and unable to hold back any longer, I began to buck up against her, slamming my dick into her as hard as I could.

"OH JESUS CHRIST," she wailed as her orgasm overtook her. She flailed forward, her breasts mashing against my chest. It hurt like hell, but I was so close to orgasm that I barely felt it. "OH - OH - OHHHHH -"

Her pussy contracted and pulsed around my dick, gripping it, pushing and pulling me closer and closer to the edge, until finally, I pulled her hips down as tight as I could, pushing my dick in as far as it would go, and exploding.

That first orgasm I had had a few minutes before had been a relief, but this one was just an all-out explosion. "AHHHHHHHH!" I howled, like a wild animal, as I flooded her pussy with cum. "AH, AH, AH, AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

I don't know why I started laughing. Maybe it's just because it felt so good. Maybe it was the relief after so many months. Maybe it some perverse reaction to the pain I was feeling in my chest, but I just lay there, laughing helplessly, as Jeri, still trembling, slid off my dick and moved forward to sit on my hips. I could feel my cum and her juices flowing out of her, pooling on my pelvis just above my dick. "Jesus Christ," she sighed, shuddering.

I had to concur.

The next few minutes were kind of a daze, as Jeri rolled off of me and disappeared into the bathroom. She reemerged wearing shorts and a t-shirt, carrying a warm, damp washcloth. She gently wiped the Greek yogurt off of my torso, and then cleaned the pool of cum off my pelvis. She took the washcloth back into the bathroom, and reemerged with a bottle of aloe vera.

As she started gently rubbing the aloe into my chest, I began to drift off - between the sunburn and the explosive orgasms, I was feeling a little spent. But then, just as I was about to fall asleep, I felt something wet and warm wrap around my dick.