By Mr. P. Blakk
The very next day, I got a text from the Pastor telling me to get ready for work. He wanted me there early to make a good impression on Larry. He told me to shave, take my makeup bag, get my slut attire that had been closely curated by the Pastor himself, and the tallest heels I had.
At this point, my husband and I kept up appearances. But he suspected something was going on with me. I used to try to initiate sex all the time and then stopped abruptly after the gangrape. We would sometimes hang out like friends would, but it was nothing to me now. A detail he started to notice.
Of course, instead of doing something about it, perhaps he could have rescued me during that first year, he just retreated into his gaming and porn. The only time we would keep up the appearance of our marriage was Sunday at Church. The Pastor expected me every single Sunday without excuse and he wanted me there with my husband.
The reason for that was cynical. He loved to screw me or make me swallow a load in the office and then send me out to my husband soiled. We got away with this by my "volunteer" status at the Church. Since I was there to help with the service, we'd always get 20 minutes alone.
One of the psychological effects I experienced with the Pastor's servitude was that I would now orgasm regularly. I always orgasmed when I had sex with the Pastor now. It didn't matter what it was, I always orgasmed. However, during the gangbangs, I would orgasm repeatedly with sometimes achieving multiple orgasms.
People did notice the change in me, but many chalked it up to the fact that maybe I had finally found confidence in myself due to the Pastor's work with me. Well, they weren't totally wrong. My time with the Pastor had absolutely fucked my brain up. I felt like I could no longer fall in love. I just wanted the Pastor to be happy so he didn't punish me.
However, I had discovered a power over men. I never wielded it, but sometimes could see that I could have if I wanted. A great example was when one of the men at my original gangrape offered to move me away from the town into the city and get me a job so I could start over. Apparently, guilt is a real mother fucker. Yeah, no shit.
I remember considering it, but the Pastor had me. Not just with the videos, but he mentally had me. I knew I had power over men because it wasn't the only offer. Others wanted him removed as Pastor of our Church due to his controlling nature.
Others wanted me for themselves. But I always refused. My mind was fucked up by the Pastor and I couldn't leave. I kept thinking he would release the videos of me acting like such a slut for these men and would end up staying every time.
The videos were quite horrible. The Pastor loved to watch them with me. Often forcing me to masturbate to my debauchery on the screen. I was always allowed to orgasm if I announced it. The only time I didn't have to announce it was if I was bound and gagged. Other than that, I was to always, and I mean always announce my orgasms. It was quite humiliating when you were being gangbanged by a room full of men to announce that you were orgasming.
Even with all that humiliation, during the scenes, it appeared that I was not only an active participant, but begging for it. I would yell for them to keep going, or go harder. There were even recordings where it appeared that I was organizing things. I was telling men where to go and where to cum on me.
For that first year as the Pastor's sex slave, sex was in fact the totality of my existence. Little did I know that years of abuse had made me quite durable. Especially in bed. I could really take dick. In every hole. At the same time if they wanted, and they always did. And even when not in some sexual act with the Pastor or other men, I would be wearing a number of toys to sexually torture me with.
But things were changing now. Had the Pastor gotten tired of me? Finally? Was my wish going to come true? Well as nervous and pissed off I was at being made into a stripper and hooker, I was excited. That was the fucked up part of my brain that was excited. From what I knew, strippers were never trifled with or roughed up by the customers or trouble would really kick them in the balls.
I packed a bag with some lingerie that looked like stuff I had seen in the stripper tutorials that the Pastor had sent me. It also gave me an idea of how to move on stage with heels. I had danced lots of times for the Pastor and his friends so I felt I could get a grip on a good routine. I had also watched makeup tutorials for strippers. That was helpful.
When the Pastor finally arrived, he was in too good a mood. It was scary to see him
that
happy. I always wanted him happy since punishments were often severe if he was not, but this type of "happy" equally scared me. He looked like a fat fucking bully on the playground ready to fuck with someone.
The car ride was far and I kept wondering if the Pastor was going to take 3 hours out of his day to drive me there, come back, drive there to pick me up and come back? Would he eventually give me my own car? I'd take anything with 4 wheels that takes me from A to B.
As soon as we got out of town he told me to suck him off while he drove. He came after about 50 seconds of me having his cock in my mouth. And he came a ton. This was also a huge alarm bell. The Pastor was as excited as a pubescent teenager who couldn't hold his load. Then, as I wiped my mouth and took a sip of my water, he hit me with it.
"So I was thinking, I don't want you to work in hours," with a shit eating grin on his face.