My Pervy Pastor

I'm composing this, in my head, in church. It's Sunday morning, and I'm in the front row, directly in front of the pastor. He directed me to this particular spot, in much the same way that he commanded me to bend over and accept his heavenly host, not 15 minutes ago. I haven't set foot in church-aside from weddings and funerals-since childhood, and here I am in the front row, with the pastor's seed freshly planted in my womb, my naked lips slick and oozing with his semen. I can see the bulge of my panties where he stuffed them into his pocket. The pastor's wife is sitting placidly at my side, while my own husband, equally oblivious is at work. 3000 miles away.

Two Months Before...

We had just closed on the place and were doing our first walk through as new homeowners. It was my first home, my fortunes improving markedly with my marriage to Roger, my new, slightly used husband. We had both been married before, and both felt that we had really upgraded. Anyway, the day was Tucson Winter warm, and I was scurrying around the property with my phone in hand taking pictures to jog my memory for things I wanted to work on. Someone hailed us from the churchyard to the east of our property line, and Roger walked over to chat with them. He does that. He is super-gregarious, and I am pretty happy to be a hermit. Outside of work, I'm shy, socially awkward, I try to be invisible. I'm here on a post-doc, running a decent-sized optics lab, ridiculously well-funded, and I shepherd shy, socially- awkward grad students, my tribe, though the week...

"Naomi, come meet our new neighbor!"

Mr. Fucking Hail Good Fellow well met. I'm thinking "top of the list is getting rid of this fucking chainlink and putting up a nice block wall..." But I smiled and reached my hand awkwardly over the top rail, and we shook hands. He was handsome, tall, maybe latino but with lighter skin than mine, and it turns out that this was his church. He is the priest. Pastor. Reverend, whatever.

" Reverend Carlos!" Roger says emphatically.

Carlos says:" Carlos. Just Carlos is fine."

Locking eyes with me, and STILL holding onto my hand, he adds, "That is, until I start seeing you in Church, just Carlos is fine."

Later, Roger asks: "What did you think of him?"

I know who he means, but I play dumb for some reason. The fact is, the feel of his hand gripping mine, the weight of his steady, appraising gaze, gave me a little frisson of ...what? Sexual attraction, certainly. Danger, maybe?

"Our Neighbor. Reverend Carlos."

I recall: "Carlos, is just Carlos is fine."

"Oh, him. I decided to be honest. "Honestly, he creeped me out just a teens...It was like that cliché, "undressing me with his eyes."

"Oh, cmon, Naomi, that can't be a novel experience for you..."

"I can think of one other time that I got that vibe since we've been together-in Madrid,..those drunk firemen from Pamplona...at the hotel...They gave me the same look and you remember how that almost went." I shuddered, remembering the fetid garlic, cigarette, and booze breath, the drunken pawing, if one hadn't fallen and broken his nose that could have been gang rape territory. Not one of my fantasies. "Well, at least he has his teeth. Not an obvious meth head."

"He liked you! "Roger said with a leer. "His eyes were locked on your ass when you walked away."

My people are from Veracruz and the shape of my face, the kinkiness of my hair, and my prominent butt, all belie my genetic links to western Africa. The slave trade. Mexico has never publicly acknowledged just how many slaves were imported to work the sugar cane along the coast. But it was a large number, probably as many, if not more, than the US did.

Roger chose to buy me implants for our wedding present, as way to sort of balance my profile, top to bottom. I had agreed to about a C cup. I walk around with double Ds. Apparently the surgeon told him that "they always come back wanting more, so just start off with more..."

"Funny, I think, I got the sense he was taking my top off with his-long eyelashes...those lashes fluttering against my throat... shivers from the warmth of his breath."

Aloud, I say "well, he probably doesn't get out much. Easily distracted by a new civilian. Probably just trying to decide if my soul can be salvaged or if I am just going to burn in hell. With all of the other scientists. Probably has a quota. Must save X souls per quarter or no holy water for next month..."

Roger snorted. "All I'm saying is when we were chatting, He kept track of you."

"Well, fine, and that brings up my punch list. First thing is new 6 ft fence, cement block if we can afford it, or at least redwood... I don't want to ever want to have a conversation with neighbors again!"

But the side fence wasn't what got done first. It turned out that the heat pump was roached, so we dealt with that first. Roger was home a lot for the first 6 weeks after we moved in, and I saw the Reverend, as I came to think of him, most days when Roger and I would be having coffee on the front porch, or cocktails in the evening on the high deck in back. I would acknowledge his wave, but he didn't approach, and neither did I.

Friday night

It was dark when I got to my empty home from the lab and I slipped in, kicking off my clogs at the door thinking: Cocktail hour. Roger had flown out that morning, and planned to be gone for a few weeks, in Canada. I pulled off my top, flicked on the kitchen light, and dressed in bra and jeans, poured a generous measure of tequila over ice, squoze a lime, stirred with my finger. Heaven. A tap at the dark kitchen window almost made me drop my drink. I gave a little shriek and started before I recognized Reverend Carlos.

Quickly donning my top, I opened the kitchen door and looked at him expectantly.

"Uh, sorry to frighten you, Naomi, I just wanted to check on you, see that you were ok..." He trailed off. " With the Mister gone, and all..."

"Oh, you scared the (I caught myself from cursing) DAYLIGHTS out of me, but aside from that...I'm fine. This is our life: Roger often gone, and me left home alone. I'm fine. But its sweet of you to think of me!"

There was a slightly awkward pause. "Um, I was just making myself a drink, would you like a soda or something?" I assumed that he was some sort of evangelical straight edge-no booze, no sex before marriage, but recognized that I actually knew nothing about his beliefs.

"Well if you can keep a secret...I'd like what you're having. I was born in Jalisco, so tequila is sort of in my blood. I just wouldn't, you know, post a picture of it on Instagram..."

"Fair enough. I don't know anything about your church. Or you, for that matter-I confess that I was surprised that you drank, and I'm a little surprised that you're in my kitchen without a chaperone!"

He laughed at that, as I beckoned him inside and set to pouring and squeezing. He had a bag slung over his shoulder which he pulled off and set down. As I faced the counter, my back to him, I watched his face in the mirror of the kitchen window. He gave every appearance of checking me out. The realization was flattering. I took my time making his drink, enjoying the covert attention.

When it was ready, I turned to him and handing him the glass, looked squarely in his eyes. We clinked glasses, saying "Salud!" in unison, and smiling. We each took a big gulp, nervous, I think, and then another, almost draining our glasses.

"Listen," he said, "I interrupted you, you were changing out of your work clothes-that bra looked wonderful on you, by the way-why don't I make the next round and you can change. Meet you on the sofa?"

"Ohhhhkay,... Blushing at the confirmation that he had indeed seen me through the window, wearing only a lacy demi bra- "But I'm good. Feel free to make another round, though, estas en tu casa and all that."

"Well, I just thought you might want to "slip into a little something more comfortable.""

"Reverend, are you FLIRTING with me?" I asked, my mouth agape.

"Well, maybe. Sure. Yes, obviously I'm flirting with you. Why shouldn't I? I thought you were attractive when I first laid eyes on you and have just been waiting to talk to you alone. By the way, the clothes thing..." He reached into his bag and removed two parcels "...that reminds me...Oscar, the mailman? He dropped these two packages at the church yesterday cause he didn't want them left out at the gate, and I'm finally getting them to you..."

I could see the distinctive Victoria's Secret logo on one and Venus on the other.

"So, hey why don't you try it on... maybe wear it for our next drink. On the couch." He said with emphasis, a cajoling, wheedling tone creeping into his voice.

"Yeah right. You've seen as much of me in my lingerie as you are going to tonight.

I reached for the parcels, but he said "nuh, uh, uh" holding them behind his back.

"Oh come on, what are we high school?"

"Promise you'll model whatever is in here, and I'll give them to you." With that he turned his back to me, and placed them on the top shelf, above the wine glasses, knowing that they were safely out of my reach. He poured us each other drink, hip checking me aside to reach the ice. Quickly, I began to climb up onto the counter to grab the packages, but not fast enough!

He reached under my arms and pulled me right back off the counter, my back tight against him. He clamped one arm around my chest, pushing my boobs straight up, and with the other hand lightly caressed my side.

"Ticklish?"

I was giggling uncontrollably, aware that my top had ridden up, and I was frustrated too, struggling to free myself. And to be honest- a little aroused. Flashbacks of a certain boyfriend in high school whose idea of foreplay was almost exactly what we were doing now.

"Lemme GO, Carlos!"

"Ok." And just like that he set me down and stepped back away from me. I turned to face him, panting a little, glaring at him. He regarded me with a look that I would describe as speculative, assessing: hungry. I watched as he took in the prominent state of my nipples, bullets bursting through the bra and the top, my breasts heaving with the strange adolescent cocktail of emotion and sensation. Without saying a word, he plucked the two glasses off the counter and handed me my fresh drink. I tossed it off like a shot, all pretense of civility gone. He followed suit and turned to pour again.

"I'm not leaving until I see you modeling your new underwear." He said mildly, as though it was the most reasonable request in the world. And whatever it is from Venus, too, of course. I think that's fair, after all. I have kept them safe from theft, and delivered them all the way over here."

"Gee, you're so right, whatever was I thinking to deny you?" I said, my voice dripping sarcasm.

Roger called then, and I excused myself, retreating to the bathroom to take the call. I was standing at the sink, facing the mirror, when I saw Carlos stealthily approach, the two parcels in hand. Our house has no internal doors-Roger hates doors-and usually its fine, just the two of us. But now, I was really regretting the lack...

"Hi honey!"

"No I haven't opened them yet. Carlos from next door dropped them off a little bit ago."

"Uh, yeah, surprisingly, he stayed for a drink... and he's still here."

I locked eyes with Carlos in the mirror. Then, responding to Roger: "Yeah, but that's YOUR fantasy, not mine. None of that cuck shit appeals to me at all."

"Listen I'll open it tomorrow and model it for you. We can skype, maybe, if you have enough signal. Or I'll email you a selfie..."

"Honey, I'm not going to do that while there is a strange man in my house..."

Carlos was standing right behind me at this point, almost touching, and he reached around me, and gently took the phone from my hand and switched it to speaker mode.

"Hey, Roger, we have you on speaker now. Listen, once I get her out of her work clothes, I'll make sure to take some pictures of her in the new outfit, OK, my friend? Bye now." And Carlos ended the call.

"Now," he said, his voice low and dangerous in my ear, "I expect you to get out of your daywear, and change into what he ordered for you in these two parcels. " He set a timer on my phone.

"You have 10 minutes. I'll be waiting in the living room."

In a dreamlike state, I found myself pulling my t-shirt off again, unclasping my bra, and pulling off my jeans and socks. I opened the VS parcel and adorned myself with the red, lacy bra, the matching suggestion of a thong. Next, from the Venus parcel: High black pleather boots, over the knee. A black pleather coat, that came to just above the top of the boots, midthigh. It was a " dress-up" outfit of the sort that Roger described to me in his fantasy line-up, not a thing to be worn outside the home. But in this case, my home was no longer a sanctuary. I had let the wrong one in...

Since we were doing this, this dress-up ritual with photography, I applied lipstick, and was doing my eyes when the timer went off.

I silenced the timer, selected camera mode, and walked out to the living room. Carlos was sitting on my sofa, but he rose at my approach and handed me a fresh drink. I traded my phone for the glass and downed it. Carlos was ogling me and directed me to pirouette. A little drunkenly I complied. I was somewhere between giggly and bowel-loosening terrified.

Carlos was snapping pictures.

"Sit there," he ordered. "Undo the buttons."

"Lean back. Spread your legs. Show me."

So I hooked a finger in the thong's gusset and moved the strip of fabric to one side. He got close, standing between my legs and captured me with my own camera, looking wanton and slutty.

Gesturing at my top, he commanded: "Show them to me."

I complied, prying my breasts up, spilling out and over the bra, the coat pushed wide open.

"Kneel"

Kneeling before him, my back to the sofa, he stepped in so that his crotch was right at face level.

"Take it out, " he hissed.

With trembling hands, a curious mixture of excitement and dread, I released his rampant penis. He was, unsurprisingly, uncut, and without being told to, I began to masturbate him by pushing the silky foreskin fore and aft as he captured it all through the viewfinder of my own phone.

When he began to tense, I drew him, just the head, delicately into my mouth...

He tossed the phone onto the couch then and entwining his hands in my tight curls, began to shove himself inside, choking me with his dick down my throat.

I panicked, and tried to push him away, tried to breathe, sobbing and choking and gasping as he let go down my throat, spasm after spasm of his semen...

The final few ropes he applied to my face and lips, just, I'm sure, because he wanted to see it, see his cum on me.

He rubbed himself across my lips. Had me unlock my phone so that he could record the sight of my cum-smeared lipstick, mascara running.

Then he glanced at his watch, swore, and left.

The next day I woke up feeling awful. My telephone was ringing and someone was pounding at the door.

I let Carlos in and stumbled back to my bed. He followed me back and pushed me face down on the bed, legs spread wide. He spit and drooled on my sex, working it in with his fingers, preparing the soil. When he entered, it was still a shock, but not too painful. I wasn't ready, or even remotely interested in sex in my state, but at least the saliva had helped. Again, he didn't last long which made me think that he wasn't getting much action at home. Or simply that he had a strong non-consent kink that he couldn't normally exercise. Or maybe, he found my body appealing. When he pulled out and rose off me, I heard the snick of his phone recording the scene. I drifted back to sleep., vaguely aware that he was doing something in my closet.

Later, when I finally got up, showered, made coffee, I found an outfit laid out on the sofa, and a note: "Tomorrow church is at 0900. You need to have this outfit on-nothing more, nothing less, by 0830. I'll come again and then you'll walk next door and sit in the front row, center."

The outfit was the new boots, a sweater dress from my closet, a normal pair of panties. No bra.

Sunday Morning. I got up and resignedly dressed in the prescribed manner. My breasts were prominent, and obviously braless. "At least I have panties," I thought.

I left the door ajar and Carlos pushed it open at 0831. He told me to bend over the back of the sofa and he reached up and slid my panties down, and off. Pocketed them. This time I had lubed myself with coconut oil, and had masturbated, bringing myself off for the first time in a very long time. I was ready to be fucked. There was no discomfort. When he parted my lips with the head of his cock, I pushed back against him, and he bore down, pressing against the small of my back with all his weight, grabbing my hips, handfuls of my tits. I was cumming almost as soon as he entered, shrieking, demanding, begging for all of it, for the fear and the loss of control. Craving the novel sensation of having a man want me badly enough to risk his standing in the community, his job, his marriage. It was heady stuff, and my orgasm, one long rolling wave crashed around me and I sagged over the back of the couch when he came and pulled out. He wiped his cock on the back of my dress, zipped up, reminded me where to sit, and then left.

I defied his orders and put on a fresh pair of panties, and a bra.

When I walked through the church foyer, Carlos was on one side, and his wife was working the other, greeting the congregants as they came though. I selected her side and introduced myself as the neighbor on the west side. She smiled uncertainly, so I repeated myself in Spanish, and that turned out to be the right approach. I went up and sat in the "welcome newcomers" place and managed not to embarrass myself during the interminable service.

For obvious reasons, I slipped out as soon as I could afterward, eschewing the post-service coffee time.

An hour or so later he texted:

"You disobeyed my instructions. Put on the red high heels, and the black kimono that's hanging in your closet and come here now to atone for your sins"

I shivered when I read it. Shed my clothes. Donned the kimono-a black silk robe, really, and the shoes that again, I never wore out, but were only for dress up.

I walked, in broad daylight, onto the sidewalk, and to his church.

I let myself in, and seeing him standing before the altar, made my way through the gloom to where he waited. He was on a raised dais, when I got there, he dropped a cloth bag over my head, and someone came up from behind and forced me to my knees, then pushed me forward so that my chest was flat on the dais, my ass in the air. A third man murmured something about "tetas, and culo" (tits and ass, basically) as he secured my hands outstretched in from of me.

Then they started to spank me.

When I was good and wet from the punishment-which was exquisite, BTW- they took turns, one after the other fucking me from behind. I recognized the shape and feel of Carlos, but I never learned who the other two were. Someone thought to take one of the candles and wetting it thoroughly in my now dripping cunt, used it to stretch my ass. Then they took turns fucking me there.

I was super frustrated of course as I was never getting enough useful friction, sustained, and where I needed it, to cum.

Eventually, Carlos directed the guy to undo my hands and turning me over, my back now propped against the dais, ripped open the front of the robe. I wasted no time frigging myself, and two of the guys made themselves useful by sucking my tits. My orgasm, when I was finally allowed to have it, was epic.

****************************************************************

A few days later, and a few more conventional sessions with Carlos, and our...affair abruptly ended. Covid happened. Roger scurried back from Canada, and literally didn't leave the house for months. I never told Roger about all that had transpired while he was gone for that long weekend... I wanted to punish him for arranging it, all of it: the oversized tits, the suggestive remarks to Carlos, the cuck fantasy. I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. But the affair had awakened some latent bad girl animal: I was insatiable. I routinely sucked Roger off under the desk during zoom calls. And masturbated discretely during my own zoom calls with the lab nerds. Eventually, I relearned how to be satisfied with Roger. From the liaison with Carlos, I had learned that I liked force, so I introduced the CNC kink to our little fantasy world. Roger would destroy my clothes, bind my hands, choke with his cock down my throat, melt wax on my ass...