2 comments/ 12701 views/ 11 favorites The Preacher's Grace By: BurningMonkey Grace rolled over and hit the snooze on the alarm. Stretching, she rolled back and snuggled into Sean's arms, kissing his chest. He sleepily rolled into her and gave her a morning kiss on the lips as his hand lazily moved up and down her bare thigh and hip. "Morning, hot stuff," he mumbled through a smile. "Morning, stud," she murmured back, then, "Mmmm..." as his hand traced its way slowly but purposefully across her naked ass cheek. "Keep that up and I'll be late." He took her hand and moved it down under the sheet to where his erection was growing. "Speaking of keeping things up, see what you did? And since it's your fault, I think you should do something about it." "Oh, I should, should I?" she asked archly as she slid down the length of him, grinning. "And, uh, just what do you think I should do?" Her head was resting on his belly now, her hand stroking his length rhythmically and smoothly. "A little mouth-magic would do wonders for my problem, I think..." he said just before she moved her head forward and engulfed the knob at the end of his shaft. "Ahhh..." he gasped. "Yeah, just like—ah!—like that..." She slipped her warm, soft lips up and down his turgid member, following it with her hand, licking and sucking on the ridge of the helmet, then the bulbous head itself, then down the shaft again, sucking hard on the upstroke, relaxing on the down stroke. .. It only took a few minutes of her concentrated attentions before his back arched and he let out a "Whumph!"; a warm flood of thick, creamy cum exploded in her mouth, and she swallowed, and swallowed again, holding the head in her mouth. She continued sucking softly and gently for a few minutes more, making sure she got every residual drop, and then finally released his slackening tool with a little pop. Still gripping the shaft loosely, she turned to look back over her shoulder and asked, grinning, "Um, was that sort of what you had in mind?" "Oh, yeah, baby," he said, catching his breath. "And now..." He moved forward, intending to do something more with her, but she forestalled him with an outstretched hand on his chest. "No," she said firmly. "No time. I have to get packed. Consider this your 'goodbye' quickie blowjob." She promptly rolled out of the bed and began to dress, briskly. He lay in the rumpled sheets watching her. "So I won't see you again until the fall?" Sean was a 'townie', someone she'd run into at a convenience store a few weeks back. Some flirtatious talk, and they'd gone for drinks; a few drinks, and they'd wound up here, at his place. That had been the first time, but there had been others since, culminating in last night's marathon sex romp, her "going away" party before she left campus to go home for the summer. "No, you won't see me again until September." If then, she added mentally, but didn't say. She tended not to stay with one guy very long; there were too many other good-looking—and good sexing—men and boys out there to find, and she didn't want to be tied down. It wasn't that she was a slut, exactly; it was just that this was all new and exciting, like a first trip to the amusement park: She wanted to try all the rides before settling on her favorite one. Since hitting college last fall an entire new world had opened before her. Suddenly freed from the constrictions of a small Midwestern town and out from under the watchful eye of her mother, Grace had discovered parties. And boys. And sex. And alcohol. And sex. And boys...frat boys, nerdy boys, jock boys, smart boys, hunky boys...and of course, sex. Her roommate, a second-year student named Andrea, had pitied her constrained upbringing and undertaken to introduce her to the wider world. At a frat party during the first two weeks of her arrival on campus, Andrea had introduced her to Todd; later that night, after much drinking and flirting, she'd discovered the wonders of mutual masturbation upstairs in Todd's room. He had wanted to go on, but she had refused for fear of pregnancy. The following day she'd gone straight to the campus health center and gotten a prescription for the pill, something she would never have dared do in her hometown where everyone knew everyone, or so it seemed. With protection safely in hand, she promptly embarked on a voyage of exploration, seeking out whatever opportunities for carnal learning that college had available—which turned out to be many more than she had ever imagined. Andrea had been particularly adamant that Grace learn how to give both a good handjob and a good blowjob, especially the blowjob. "It's a necessary skill, girl," the roommate had said. "It's the best weapon in your arsenal." "Every girl can fuck; you just have to be ready and willing. The guy does most of the work and you get to share the fun. And every girl can give a handjob; it just takes persistence and a little lube, though guys prefer girls who are better at it over girls that aren't. "But make a man blow his load in your mouth in under three minutes? That's special. You won't have to go looking for guys, they'll come looking for you once word gets around, and believe me it will get around. And it keeps the ones you like coming back again. It sets you apart." So she had undertaken to instruct and coach, using bananas, carrots, cucumbers, and on several occasions the loan of Andrea's boyfriend, Matt. They'd even staged some group encounters, where Grace could contrast and compare and learn how different guys liked different things. She'd learned to deep throat, and to swallow cum, the taste of which she had at first not cared for much, but which she eventually came to enjoy. And Andrea was right: the boys started coming—and cumming—in droves. And of course she was also into fucking, and giving handjobs, and getting her pussy licked and finger-fucked during all this. She learned all the positions, and many new techniques, and diligently did her kegels every day. She adamantly refused to do anal—that was just nasty in her mind, and she couldn't get past it—but she allowed every other orifice she possessed to be used, in whatever imaginative way some guy wanted to use it. She discovered new and different places for fun, too: between the stacks at the library; in the narrow greenway corridors between the campus buildings; in the theater; in a parked car (that one seemed to be popular); in broom closets and storage sheds; in alleys behind bars and pizza parlors; in the press box of the stadium; behind the stage curtains during an orchestra performance. And on one memorable occasion, sitting in the back row of a big half-empty lecture hall. She'd taken to packing extra hankies in her purse for clean-up, and she'd needed several that day—she had cum twice, and he'd had a gusher. She packed away her jeans and took to wearing sweats and yoga pants and skirts exclusively—they were easily accessible for spur-of-the-moment activities. And she discovered her fetish for semi-public sex, someplace where there was a risk of being caught. Not too big a risk, of course; she didn't want word of her activities to make its way home to mother's ear. Her mid-term grades were, predictably, disastrous, and she realized that if she wanted to continue her 'other' studies she would have to apply herself more to her academics. Since then she'd curtailed her adventures, but not ceased them. Final marks at the end of the first semester were acceptable, so she continued with her balanced approach: study hard, then party hard. So far it seemed to be holding up well. Or at least well enough. And now the school year was over, and she had to go home. She sighed as she left Sean's and headed back to her dorm to finish packing. A long, dull summer to look forward to, with nothing much to do and low probabilities of getting laid; her town was too small, and the risk of her mother hearing about it too great. ********************************** "Are you ready, Grace?" her mother called from the bottom of the stairs. She sighed as she took one last look in the full-length mirror, checking to make sure she would pass her mother's muster; nothing too revealing, you know... "Yes, mamma," she called. "I'll be down in a minute." She swung out the doorway, grabbing her wide-brimmed hat from the bed on the way, and bounced down the stairs. This was the first time she'd worn this sun-dress, and it felt good. It was light and breezy, silky against her skin, and if the wrap-around style showed just a little too much décolleté and the full flouncy skirt ended an inch or two higher than would meet her mother's rather straight-laced opinion of "appropriate", still it wasn't risqué enough to be outright objectionable. As a finishing touch, she'd added a thin gold chain that dangled down into the deep valley between her full, firm breasts, drawing downward the eye of anyone who looked at her—or at least it would draw the eyes of the boys in that direction, and that was her target audience. At the bottom of the stairs her mother waited, looking Grace over with a critical eye. She seemed on the verge of saying something, but in the end she merely turned and led the way out the door. The ride to the church was uneventful, and as they pulled into the lot and parked Grace waved to Jenny and Kristy, her two friends from high school who were also back home for the summer. "I'm going to go talk to the girls for a minute," Grace said as she exited the car. "I'll see you inside, mama." Walking over to her besties, she gave and got hugs all around. "Wow," Jenny said, stepping back and giving Grace a thorough look-over. "You look hot!" "Oh, do I?" Grace said in mock innocence, turning and twirling. "I didn't know." Kristy laughed. "Well, it seems college has changed you; you used to be so buttoned-up, almost mousy," she said. "I like the new you." As they walked towards the church, Jenny said, "I can't wait 'til we get together and talk. I have some pretty good stuff to tell you both." Grace smiled. Jenny had always been the most flirtatious member of the group, almost wild if "wild" had any meaning in the context of their small town. It wouldn't surprise her to hear that Jenny had a couple of boyfriends at school, and she looked forward to hearing all the juicy details of her conquests. She was quite sure that the other two girls would be surprised, maybe even shocked, at the stories Grace could and would tell... They parted inside the door and made their way to their respective customary seats with their families. Grace's mother scooted over a little to give Grace room to sit comfortably, then turned her concentration to the front. Another boring ho-hum sermon, Grace thought, and prepared herself to suffer through it. But when the preacher emerged her interest suddenly picked up. "Who's that, and where's Pastor Elmont?" she whispered to her mother. "Pastor Elmont is ill," came the whispered response. "This is his replacement, at least for the next few months." Grace liked what she saw. He was young and good-looking with nice dark hair, and dark hypnotic eyes, and nice shoulders... As he launched into his prepared speech, she kept noticing his hands. They were strong and graceful, and she couldn't help but wonder how those hands would feel running all over her body. She felt a little tingle start between her legs, and scolded herself: This is no place to be thinking that way. But still... When the service was over, she met up again with Jenny and Kristy. "Oh, boy!" Jenny said, pretend fanning herself. "Did you see him? What a hunk! I wouldn't mind him putting his shoes under my bed!" Kristy concurred. "He's a hottie, all right. Too bad he's a preacher. They get so weird about sex, most of 'em, like it's something terrible and to be avoided at all cost. Right up there with stabbing babies, or something. Unless you're married, of course," she added as an afterthought. "Then it's okay. But only to have children." "Is he married?" Grace asked. "No, I don't think so," Jenny answered. "At least I haven't heard that he is. And he's not wearing a ring—I checked." Jenny's family sat closer to the front than those of the other two girls. "He's fresh out of seminary, just got his divinity degree, or so I heard. This is his first assignment." Jenny's mom was also the first to get all the good gossip, which Jenny dutifully passed along. "First assignment? He must be lonely, here, then..." Grace said, speculatively. "Away from his family, his friends...I think I'll go and say 'hi', welcome him to town." Jenny and Kristy exchanged knowing looks, and burst out giggling. "You go right ahead, girl," Kristy said through her smile. "Best of luck. We'll be rooting for you." They both burst into giggles. Waving away her two friends dismissively but a little sheepishly, Grace strolled over to where the new preacher, Pastor Ken, was greeting and speaking with his congregation outside the church door. She waited patiently as he finished greeting and speaking to the elderly Johnson couple, and when they finally moved away she stepped up and smiled. "Hi. I'm Grace Carmody. Welcome to our little town," she said brightly, holding out her hand. "Thank you," he responded warmly, enfolding her hand in both of his and holding it there. "My name's Greg, Greg Newman. It's nice to meet you. Are you a regular attendee, or are you just visiting? I confess I haven't memorized all of the names of the congregants, yet." He chuckled self-deprecatingly. "It's a lot to absorb in such a short time." His eyes up close were even more mesmerizing than from a distance—dark pools of mystery, hinting at hidden depths and secrets. And dark as they were, there was fire underneath; she had seen it during his sermon, and she saw it again just now, up close. His hands around hers, touching hers, felt good. Very good. They were warm and gentle, though she felt strength in them, too. The moment when she would ordinarily have expected him to release her hand came and went, and he continued to hold it. Maybe I should break contact, she thought. But that would be rude, wouldn't it? And it could possibly create an embarrassed awkwardness she was reluctant to provoke, so she simply surrendered to the simple pleasure, however long it lasted. "Yes, I imagine it is quite lot to get your head around," she said conversationally. "My family attends here, and I grew up in town, but I'm just home from college for the summer." She noticed his eyes drift down to her neck, then lower, following the slim gold chain, lingering a moment where it disappeared between her breasts before coming back up to hold her own. She felt that tingle start again between her legs, and a thought came into her head, a half-formed idea. But did she dare on it? "I was wondering..." she began casually. "I'm taking a Women's Studies course on the changing role of women in the American scene, and I'd be interested in hearing your views on the changing role of women in the church, where it's been, where it's going, and whether or not you think we're headed in the right direction." He smiled. "Why, I'd be delighted to discuss that with you, Grace. Right now, though, I have to make some visitations. I'll be back in my office around three o'clock, however; would you like to come by then? We can talk at length about it." "Um, sure," Grace answered. "That would be fine." The tingle increased with the intense look he gave her, and they stood regarding each other as the silence stretched between them. Finally he released her hand and said, "Until then. It was nice to meet you, Grace." He turned and walked into the church, beginning to loosen his tie as he went. When she got back to the car her waiting mother asked, "What were you and the new preacher talking about?" "Oh, I was just telling him how much I enjoyed his sermon," Grace answered innocently. "I said I'd like to know more about the subject, and he said he'd be available this afternoon to discuss it. I think I might come back. He's very...spiritual." Grace had no idea what the sermon had been about; she hadn't paid the slightest bit of attention. But she knew that if she couched her visit to the church in religious tones, her mother wouldn't object. "Yes, I thought it was quite good," her mother said distractedly as she navigated her way through the lot to the street. "And he does have a very forceful delivery." She glanced at Grace. "So have you taken an interest in faith, finally? I've been praying for that for years, you know." Grace looked out the window. "Oh, well...maybe I just needed to hear it the right way. Pastor Greg is more...interesting than Pastor Elmont. His presentation, I mean," she amended. "Well, I hope he can get through to you. Lord knows I've tried and failed..." her mother muttered, not quite to herself. Oh, I'm sure he can...'get through to me', Grace thought, assuming he wants to. Of course there was always the possibility that he might not want to, that he was just as upright and straight-laced and weird about sex as Kristy's dismissive evaluation would describe. But the way he'd held her hand, and the intensity of his gaze, and that single drifting—and lingering—glance down to her cleavage, all gave her an inkling of hope, at least. Grace puttered around the house until almost three, then quickly packed a few things into a carry-bag and called, "I'm off to the church," as she went out the door. She was wearing jeans and a knit polo shirt, the rather sober and nondescript uniform she'd adopted since she'd arrived. But on the drive over, she pulled off the road onto a little-used side lane to put her plan into action. She quickly shucked off the jeans to reveal the tiny red satin thong she'd donned at the house, just large enough to conceal her slit and clit. She replaced the jeans with a very short, flouncy skirt that barely covered her ass. Skinning out of the polo shirt, she unhooked and discarded her bra and pulled on a tight, cropped, midriff-showing t-shirt that had a strategic tear down the middle of the front to show off her cleavage. She was already wearing sheer thigh-highs topped by lacy borders; they ended several inches below the hem of her abbreviated skirt, exposing a nice expanse of creamy skin. Checking her look in the mirror, she nodded with satisfaction; her nipples, already hardening at the thought of what she was doing, tented the jersey fabric of the T enticingly. Finally she added a light raincoat that would fall down as far as her knees. The weather wasn't cool, but she needed it to hide her outfit from any casual eyes that might see her walking from the car to the church. Taking a deep breath, she pulled back onto the main road and proceeded to the church. Wrapping the raincoat around her before she left the car, she walked quickly to the church and through it to the office in the back. Doffing the raincoat and slinging it over her arm now that she was confident no one would see, she reached back and pulled the barrette from her honey-blond, mid-back length hair, drawing two hanks to the front to drape down along the outsides of her breasts. Ready at last, she took a deep breath and knocked. "Come in," the voice called from the other side, and she turned the knob and swung the door open. The office, which she had never seen before, was small and rather Spartan, but clean and neat: pale walls with a few prints, a bookshelf with a few volumes, the desk, and two side chairs...that was all. Afternoon sunlight filtered pleasantly through a single window, which Grace was pleased to see was frosted. "Hello, Pastor Greg," she said brightly, and sat in the nearest side chair after pushing it slightly farther from the desk, draping the raincoat over the back of the other. She sat on the front edge and reclined a little, allowing her bare thighs to extend out, though keeping her knees together. The Preacher's Grace The young preacher looked up from the papers he'd been working on and blinked. "Well. Grace. It's nice to see you again" he said after a moment. "I wasn't sure you'd...come." Was there a little emphasis on that final word? Grace wasn't certain, so she stayed quiet and smiled as he leaned back in his office chair and placed the pen to his lips. They simply sat for a few moments, the silence stretching. Grace could feel his eyes making a slow, thorough tour of her clothes and body, from her hair to her boobs to her navel to her short skirt and toned thighs and back up again. Finally he said, "I must say you're dressed somewhat...provocatively, for a visit to a preacher." A little smile played there, and was that a twinkle of amusement in those jet-dark eyes, or was it interest? She spread her legs apart just slightly; she was certain that from where he sat he could see up the continuous stretch of skin from the lacy tops of her stockings up her inner thighs to her shaved bikini line and and the little sliver of red cloth that barely hid her cootchie. "Do you think there might be a reason for that?" She asked coyly, though at the same time thinking, here it comes—the disapproval, the outrage, the stern lecture... She didn't think he'd tell her mother about this, though; somehow she'd gotten the impression that that just wasn't his way. It was, frankly, the only reason she'd even considered taking this dangerous gamble. But what happened next both surprised and delighted her. He slowly rose from his chair, laid the pen on the desk, and walked around from behind it to face her squarely, leaning his butt against the edge. Gazing down at her with his hands resting to either side, he asked in a low voice, "Was there a reason for it, Grace?" She leaned forward, giving him a plentiful look down her valley where the tear in the t-shirt gapped open. She knew her nipples were hard in anticipation and poking out, clearly visible under the fabric. Looking up archly from under her brows, she murmured, "Um, would you like there to be a reason?" He cocked his head a little to one side and lowered his eyelids slightly. A slow, sly, lustful smile grew on his face, almost a leer. "Maybe you should show me what you might have wanted to...provoke," he said softer yet. From her forward position his crotch was no more than a foot in front of her face, and about on the same level. Without taking her eyes from his, she slowly reached forward and ran her hands up the outside of his thighs, from knee to hip. When he didn't move or object, she ran them back down again and moved to the inside, drawing them up, up... When he still didn't move or speak, she took her courage in her hands and moved them all the way up to where she could feel the bulge of his cock through the fabric. His only response was a short, sharp intake of breath when her fingers glided along what seemed to her to be a very nice bulge. She slowly caressed the length of it, from tip to root, and back again; already semi-hard, she could feel it stiffening even more under her hand. "I think I got the reaction I was looking for," she breathed, her eyes still locked on his. "Maybe..." he said slowly, still not moving, "maybe you should look a little closer. Just to be sure." She reached for his belt, pulling out the tongue, then unhooking the buckle, then pulling it open, all in slow motion, watching his face the entire time. When he still said and did nothing, she continued to unbuttoning the waistband, grasping the zipper, and slowly, slowly pulling it down, down, down, all the way to the bottom. Spreading the flaps apart, she reached in and caressed his hard-on through his boxers, stroking it, gently squeezing it... "Closer yet, I think," he instructed, barely above a whisper. She moved her hand up, then down again under the elastic of his shorts, until it encountered the warm, smooth flesh-tube that was his member. She grasped it firmly and pulled it forth into the open air, swaying gently, fully erect. The head pointed at her as her fingers stroked it, the skin taut and slightly darkened. Without prompting she leaned forward, finally taking her eyes from his, and licked the ridge slowly all around, flicking out to catch the tiny pearl of pre-cum now glistening at the tip. She continued her circuit a few times, then opened her lips to engulf the bulbous knob, gently and gradually gliding farther and farther down the taut skin of the head until it was fully inserted in her mouth, her lips just under the ridge. With one hand stroking slowly, she sucked at the velvety glans and licked the tender frenum, reaching out with her other hand to draw out his balls, cupping and weighing them gently. "Ah!" was the only sound he made as his head rolled back. "Ahhh..." She started to suck and lick in earnest, bobbing up and down along the top third of the shaft while following her mouth with her hand in a loose twisting motion, making sure to catch the ridge of the helmet on each pass. So soft, so warm, so smooth and tight... He stayed motionless for a few minutes, obviously enjoying what she was doing, then he bent forward at the waist and inserted both hands down inside the top of the t-shirt where it gapped, forcing it to gap even farther as his hands worked their way down the outsides and undersides of her breasts, cupping and stroking and squeezing those firm but pliant orbs of flesh, the hard little gumdrops of her nipples pressing against his palms. It was her turn to gasp through her nose as his thumbs and fingers found those stiff little nubs, pinching and plucking and rolling them between his thumbs and forefingers. After a few minutes of tit-play and knob-gobbling, he withdrew his hands from her shirt, put them under her armpits, and lifted her up to her feet. Grabbing her behind the head with one hand, he mashed his mouth to hers, tongue pushing between her lips and teeth to tangle with her own. His other hand dropped down to lift up under the short skirt, finding her already-wet pussy in its red silk sheath. He stroked and massaged her sex through the silk, locating and pressing the swollen bud of her clit. "Mmmm! Mmmm!" she moaned into his mouth, attacking his tongue in turn, hand returning to jerk and stroke the hard flesh pole protruding from his pants. He broke the kiss and pulled back a little. "I think," he said huskily, "that you've been a very naughty girl. You need to be...chastised, in the name of the Lord..." He took hold of her shoulders and turned her to the desk, pushing her down so that she was half bent over. As she held herself up on her hands, he flicked her skirt up over her ass to rest on her lower back. Running his hand across her smooth, firm cheeks, he plucked at the tiny string that issued from between her legs to join the equally tiny string that encircled her waist. "Oh, yes," he breathed, "a very naughty girl..." His palm glided tenderly over the tight skin of her rump. "You must come to Jesus, child, and...repent..." He slapped her on one cheek, a glancing blow—not hard, just enough to sting a little. She bit her lip and looked back at him over her shoulder. "Yes," she gasped breathily. "Yes, Pastor Greg...Show me the way; bring me into the light." He gave her another glancing slap on the other cheek, then two more in quick succession. With each blow she jerked forward a little and gasped. He ran his hand smoothly across her stinging ass, caressing, soothing. "The ways of the world," he said as he slipped his hand down between her upper thighs, "are steeped in sin." She spread her legs slightly to give him better access as he caressed her pussy through the now-sopping fabric of the thong. "They are pernicious," he continued as he slipped the fabric to one side, using his fingers to massage and stroke the damp, smooth, delicate petals beneath. "You must be purged," he went on as his fingertips slowly circled her engorged clit, "of licentiousness," as he eased his thumb between her lips and found the entrance to her vagina, "and lust," as he pushed his thumb deep into her slick, tight tunnel. I am going to fuck a preacher! she thought. Right in the church! The idea was so deliciously wicked and hot that she could already feel herself on the verge of orgasm. "Yes, Pastor...yes..." she gasped out. "Show me what I must do." Stepping up close behind her, he pulled the thong string to one side and slid his cock between her legs, rubbing it back and forth in the channel of her labia to lubricate it. She bent down farther, arching her back to give him a better angle, and reached back between her legs to catch his throbbing rod and guide it. When he was situated at the entrance to her hot, wet pussy, he said, "You must let the Lord enter in..." At the word "enter" he pushed forward, sliding into her like a hand slowly filling a glove. Oh, so big... she thought. She hadn't expected him to be this big, or feel this good. She could feel her muscles clenching around his thickness, gripping and holding it as it slid home, adjusting to this invasion. It ratcheted up her arousal several more notches, bringing her closer to her peak. She moved her hand forward a little between her legs and started rubbing her bliss-button in rapid little circles. Just a little more... He shoved the t-shirt up, pushing it up onto her upper chest to let her luscious globes bobble free underneath. Cupping one in his hand, he began a slow but steady thrusting, powerful, deep, gradually picking up the pace until he was pounding in and out of her at a good clip, and for several minute there was no sound in the room but grunts, and groans, and the rhythmic slapping of bodies as his abdomen met her ass on each stroke. He squeezed and tweaked her nipple with the one hand and tangled her hair in a twist with the other to give himself more leverage, drawing her head back and up. Grace felt so delightfully decadent, so depraved, bent over a preacher's desk while he plowed her from behind. The sensations from his nipple-play shot like little electric sparks on a wire connected directly to her cunny, joining and enhancing and reinforcing the exquisite feelings that were emanating there from the slide and glide of his cock in and out of her tight walls and her own drubbing of her clit to wash through her entire body like liquid fire. When it happened it was like a tidal wave. A low moan began in her throat, growing louder and higher in pitch; her fingers on her clit sped up, whipping back and forth like a mad violinist. Finally she screamed, "I'm...I'm cumming! I'm cumming, Lord!!" as her climax crashed over her, driving her under, tumbling and tossing her about like a rag doll amid fierce breakers of pleasure and euphoria. Chest heaving, she sank lower on trembling arms that no longer seemed strong enough to support her. Understanding what had just happened, Pastor Greg slowed his piston-thrusting, and slowed again, and at last he stopped, standing with his rod buried deep, feeling the spasmodic clenching and contracting of her vaginal walls. Then he withdrew entirely, and she had a sudden pang of loss, emptiness where a moment ago she had been full. He pulled her upright, kissed her shoulder and the hollow of her neck, and whispered in her ear, "Are you cleansed, child? Have all the evil, lustful, wicked demons been driven from your body?" She weakly nodded. "Y...yes...yes, Paster Greg," she managed to mumble around sucking in great lungfuls of air. He nodded in turn. "Good, that's very good, child. And now, it's time for you to take communion..." He turned her to face him, and pushed her to her knees. "Taste, child...open your mouth wide, and taste the goodness of virtue..." She dutifully did as instructed; this was something she knew and enjoyed. He thrust his glistening prick between her warm, soft, flushed lips as her hand came up to encircle the shaft, and he began pumping once more with shorter and shallower strokes. She brought all of the skills she'd learned in the last year to bear, stroking, twisting, sucking, licking... it was only a minute or so until he froze, gave a sharp cry, and suddenly her mouth was filled with warm, salty semen. She felt his cock pulse and throb as the thick juice of his balls emptied itself into her. She swallowed, then swallowed again, sucking gently on just the head to encourage the last few drips and spurts. Finally she released his knob with a small slurping sound, and looked up into his dark, dark eyes. He drew her up again and sat her gently in the chair, leaning in for a long, slow, sensuous deep kiss. "You have been saved," he said low, "but the devil is ever prowling the world like a devouring lion. I think we need to schedule regular sessions to make sure you stay on the path of righteousness. Don't you agree?" She nodded a scarlet flush burning in her cheeks and neck. "Twice a week, I think," he said, straightening and pulling up his pants from around his ankles. "Twice a week would be good. I'll mark it on my calendar." He finished snapping, zipping, and buckling, and then went around his desk to flip open a notebook. "Tuesdays...and...Fridays. And Sundays, depending on if things are slow; we can play that by ear from week to week... Would that be alright?" She nodded again, beginning to breathe normally, now. "Good," he said. "Well, Grace," he said, looking up and smiling. "I'm happy you came by today. Your soul was in grave peril, and I think we're well on the way to saving you from the evils of the flesh." She rose, straightened her skirt, pulled down her shirt, and took up the raincoat. "Tuesday, then," she said. "I'll see you Tuesday," as she shrugged the garment on. "I'll be looking forward to it," he replied, and watched as she opened the door and exited the office. On her way back to her car she was already thinking about what she would wears on Tuesday. And at some point she would let him know that she was on the pill; she wanted to feel him gush deep inside her belly. Maybe this won't be such a dull summer after all, she thought. And after considering it a few minutes more, decided this was one story she wouldn't be sharing with Jenny and Kristy.