The Reverend Aaron Aikens really wished he could cum right now.
It was obvious just from looking at him. He was hard as a rock, and the head of his cock was an angry, purplish red as he stroked up and down the shaft. But somehow, no matter how close he got, no matter how hard he pumped his fist over the sensitive flesh, he just couldn't cum.
He wasn't the only one, either. He saw out of the corner of his eye that the other men from his Light of the Lord Television Ministries had the same expression on their faces that he knew must be on his own, that mix of pleasure, arousal, and frustrated delight as they drifted on the edge of orgasm, not quite able to release. Like him, they sat there with their cocks out, stroking away but unable to get off.
With his other hand, he reached down to fondle his balls. They felt heavy, swollen with cum and aching for release, but something was holding him back. It wasn't a lack of stimulation--his fingers couldn't stop working pre-cum and saliva into his skin as he stroked and stroked (and where had the saliva come from? He tried to remember, but every time he chased down a train of thought, his hand slid back up around the tip of his cock and another surge of pleasure pushed it away.) He knew he should be able to cum--hell, he'd never thought he'd see a day when just looking at his secretary Mona's heavy, full, double-D-cup tits wouldn't pop his rocks off, but there she was, fondling his production manager's breasts while Lisa, the wife of one of his fellow ministers, licked her tits...and he still couldn't cum!
But he couldn't stop, either. It just felt too good to stop. His hand wouldn't let him stop, it just kept moving all on its own. He thought that maybe at one point he'd tried to hold his hand still and remember exactly why he was jacking off in the middle of a room full of men of faith, maybe connect the dots and figure out how the dinner party he'd organized to celebrate the success of their latest revival had turned out so strange...but his hand just kept moving, the pleasure just kept surging, and pretty soon the idea of deliberately turning away from that pleasure just to think about things that probably weren't that important anyway seemed like madness.
"Hi, Aaron," Tina said as she walked up to him. She'd ripped her dress off at the waist, and her panties seemed to have vanished. Or maybe she'd never worn any--Tina was good at seeming like a chaste, sweet young thing, just the kind of girl next door you'd want to lead your choir, but Aaron had held enough "closed-door meetings" to know that she was a wildcat in the sack. She seemed to be reveling in the attention she got from all the fundamentalist ministers in the room, but there was something about her eyes. Like she couldn't not enjoy this anymore...a throbbing pulse of pleasure chased the thought out of Aaron's head.