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The Irreverent Reverend Ch. 01

By: gentlepuppy



They had agreed to meet at a local bar not too far from where she lived. He was not too familiar with this part of town but had arrived early. "Billy's Place" is what it said on the sign and looked like a kind of a hick sports bar. Jessica lived on the edge of the metro area and though it might have been fun to go downtown and really cut loose in a stylish nightclub, she chose this place for a first meeting. He did not mind, it was not the nightlife that he had arrived for; besides, her place was somewhere close by.

Arriving early, as usual, he sat in his truck and contemplated the evening's possibilities. He hoped that she would drive up so he could watch her enter the building; he could read a lot about a person from their body language. "She must be already inside," he told himself and wondered if he really wanted to go through with this. The first meeting was always a little nerve wracking, it got better with time, and he drew in a deep breath and wistfully wished for a drink. 

He shook his head and wondered how this was going to turn out. He had been out on several blind dates; some from an adult dating service, others from the more vanilla variety. This one was totally different. Not only would he be meeting a very sexy woman with whom he had been corresponding, but he would also be meeting her boyfriend. "Yes, it is too weird," he assured himself but the man reveled in pushing boundaries. Secretly, he wished the boyfriend would not be there, but he knew this meeting was pre-arranged and that the boyfriend was including in the plan.

Thinking the possibilities over and over in his mind, he grew increasingly contemptuous of the boyfriend; it was as if he was already becoming possessive of this woman, whom he had known only through email fantasy. "You think too much!" the man cursed, reached for his keys in an effort not only turn off the ignition, but his brain as well. "Ok, Showtime," he announced, opened his door, straightened his clothes, and mustered up his best look of confidence and swagger as he made his way towards the bar.

The sound of a jukebox was playing and as he looked around, his thoughts about the establishment were confirmed. It was a local dive that in recent years had covered the old Northwood tavern theme with televisions and sporting paraphernalia in a lame attempt to modernize and join ranks with the popular sport bar. It was fine by him, perfect in fact; the recent transformation greeted him like an old friend who had gone shopping in the big city and had returned with a new, and slightly ill-fitting, set of clothes. Billy's place had a definite feel, a warmth and he knew as he looked around, most of the people sitting on the stools circling the bar's inner radius, called this place home.

It was a weeknight, so it was not very busy and was not long before he spotted her. Fortunately, Jessica sat facing him and he recognized her immediately. Her blond hair seemed to jostle about her shoulders and on her thin frame she wore a halter top covered with a small jacket, a wide belt, a short skirt and heels. She smiled when she saw him and setting down her margarita, she motioned him to come over. He walked slowly to her table, she stood to greet him and he offered his hand to her and she let out a little giggle and said, "Don't be silly honey," and gave him a big hug. He hesitated for an instant and then reciprocated and felt the vibrancy of her thin body through his arms.

The hug lasted for a moment longer, or so it seemed to him, than a polite one but he did not mind. Breaking their embrace, she turned back slightly and looking across the table, she said, "Ricky this is The Reverend, the man I have been telling you about" and then turning back towards him, she said "The Reverend, meet my boyfriend Ricky." He cringed when he heard that word and wished for an instant that he was seated at the table. Nonetheless, he understood the arrangement and was there on his own free will, so he looked at the man, smiled and shook his hand.

He was a decent enough looking man, not a 250 lb shaggy teddy bear, nor a pencil necked geek; his demeanor was pleasant which helped set The Reverend at ease as contemplated the scenario of being naked with this man in the room. "I need a drink" The Reverend commented, trying to stop the whirl of his overactive mind; besides he was anxious to get to know the couple better. Conversation flowed smoothly; neither was pretentious and they laughed and joked, especially when Jessica started calling them; "Ricky and the Reverend." 

"This was going to be OK," he told himself as he sipped his beer made small talk. They were really easy to talk to and he was finding that he really liked them. He hoped that they liked him as well. Suddenly, he remembered that he had brought a gift and reaching into his pocket, pulled out a small box with a little pink ribbon and presented it to her, stating "I am sorry that I did not give this to you sooner, I must have been a little nervous and forgot." Her eyes lit up and she graciously took the box. "Usually, I bring flowers, but for you, my dear, I thought this would be something more appropriate."

Jessica beamed brightly, the hint of a blush washed over her cheeks and then with a mischievous twinkle in her eye she looked at The Reverend and repeated his words, "Something more appropriate did you say?" He could see the excitement rise in her body and she feigned coyness and said in a sugary sweet voice, "For meeee." 

"Yes" he breathed to himself, and he knew, that she knew, that whatever was in the box was something that a man does not usually give to a woman on the first date. In it, there would be something naughty, something that set her wicked mind whirling and she could hardly restrain from tearing off its wrappings like the antics of a frenzied lover.

Inside, she turned back the tissue and pulled out a pair of dainty and lace covered panties. There was hardly anything to the fabric; it certainly did not need a box this large, but she held them up to her lover and said, "Look Ricky, a new pair of panties." 

"Looks nice" he said and took a swig of his beer, hoping that she would set them back down and not flaunt them so openly in public. She paid no attention to any onlookers and said to The Reverend, while leaning across the table to give him a kiss, "Thank you, they are lovely." 

Her lips were soft and the kiss felt so good. She held his lips for a moment, then darting her tongue out, for just a moment, broke the kiss. Pushing back her chair she looked as if she was about to rise and The Reverend said, "I hope they are the right size," and then summoning all his courage added, "Why don't you try them on?" Her eyes were really ablaze now, and she stood up and smoothed the skirt down over her legs. This was the first good view The Reverend had of her. She was really a knockout. "Wow, what a sexy woman" he commented to himself.

Looking directly in his eyes, she took her hands and placed them on her waist. Locking his eyes with hers, she slowly slid her palms across her hips and down each side of her legs, stopping only at the hem of her skirt. "Try them on" she mimicked and then grasping the edge of her skirt slowly retraced the movements and mouthed the word in a husky sultry voice, "Now?"

He was at a loss for words and could not believe this was happening right in the middle of the bar. He had been to plenty of strip bars in his days, but had never seen anything quite like this. No lap dancer had ever captivated him so. The Reverend wondered whether she had been a stripper when she was younger, her movements were so enchanting. He reached for his beer, as if to create some sort of diversion and choked as her skirt rose even higher until the top of her stockings became visible.

Suddenly, her hands dropped to the side, her skirt fell back against her legs and she turned towards the ladies room. Stopping a few steps away, she whirled on her heels and with a big smile looked at The Reverend and said with a laugh in her voice, "Mister, I think I was mistaken. You are not much of a Reverend after all."

The Irreverent Reverend Ch. 02



Ricky and the Reverend exchanged glances and watched as she walked away. "She is one hot babe." The Reverend commented and Ricky just nodded his head knowingly and said, "Yep." They exchanged a little small talk and before long she returned, gave a little twirl on her heels and leaned over the Reverend and gave him a deep kiss. This one was much longer and more passionate than the first, her tongue darted out to explore his mouth and he opened his to greedily take her in. Placing his hand on the back of her leg, he ran his hand across the smooth fabric of her stockings and she began to purr.

Standing back, she broke the kiss and tossed a pair of panties into his lap and said, "I will not need these." She sat down and he took the panties into his hand. Immediately, he noticed that they were wet, not just damp, but soaking. Stumbling for words, he tried to be funny and said, "What did you do, use these as a washcloth?" She pouted for a minute and then regaining her coy expression, leaned forward across the table and whispered, "No, they are wet from my juices. When I went to the bathroom, I took my old panties off and played with my pussy." She was staring him straight in the face as she spoke. "I was thinking of you and your nice little gift, and since I was so wet, I played with myself and stuffed my panties inside my slutty little pussy." The color drained from the Reverend's face, never had anyone spoke to him so brazenly.

"Go ahead and smell them," she commanded. He took the panties off his lap and clenching them into a ball, raised his hand towards his nose. The musky smell was overpowering; the thin fabric had soaked up her wanton fragrance and he rubbed them against his nose breathing deeply in. The smell was intoxicating and he could feel the moisture on his upper lip. Opening his palm slightly, he stuck out his tongue and savored the taste of her juice.

He closed his eyes and breathed again and again before he opened them and returned her stare. She could see a difference in him now, no longer was there hesitancy in his eyes but from within him a slow transformation was taking shape.

"Look Ricky, we have found another panty sniffer," she laughed but he calmly took one last whiff and opened his hand, took the panties and calmly set them on the table. He then proceeded to fold them up neatly and placed them in his pocket. "Thank you, Jessica," he told her and then looking up said, "You smell wonderful." She smiled.

The jukebox had grown silent and stillness enveloped the table. Jessica broke the silence by blurting out, "How about a dance?" The Reverend smiled, stood up and reached in his pocket for some change. 

"Excellent idea," he replied and he took her hand and led her to the dance floor. He selected a couple of slow tunes, although he felt the need to really shake himself on the dance floor, he had only one thought in his mind and that was to hold this wild vixen close. She felt good in his arms, her petite body melted into his and it was not long before her roaming hands pressed hard against the Reverend's ass, pressing his pelvis into hers. She could feel the hardness growing in his pants and loved playing the part of a tease. Emboldened, he too caressed her ass and nuzzled his mouth against the softness of her neck.

The next song was even slower and though they were the only ones out on the dance floor, she did not stop him as his hands continued to squeeze her ass and roam across the back of her thighs. Looking over at Ricky, who was intently watching them, he whispered in her ear, "Doesn't he want to dance?" She squeezed him even tighter, pressing her pelvis more firmly against his and whispered back, "Don't worry about Ricky, he loves to watch me."

Turning her around so that her back was against the stage, The Reverend slipped his hand under her skirt and across the tops of her stockings. She opened her stance slightly as she felt his hand and purred into his ear as he brushed his hand across the flesh of her ass and slithered his fingers between her legs. Her motions became more fluid, and she writhed in his arms, almost catlike as she felt his hands on her flesh and his fingers probed the wetness between her legs.

He could feel the erectness of her nipples through her halter top and he lifted one hand and pressed her back towards him. The little nuggets poked against him and he growled, savoring their hardness, surrounded by the soft flesh of her breasts.

"Do you want to see how these panties look?" she mouthed to him as the last song finished and she flicked her tongue in his ear. "Yes" he replied and she took his hand and led them towards the rest rooms. Passing Ricky's table, she just said "We will be right back," and he said nothing, murmuring his assent. They turned the corner and in the little hallway leading to the bathrooms, she turned to face him and grasped the edge of her skirt and slowly lifted it up. This time she did not stop at the tops of her stockings but with a wicked look in her eye, lifted her skirt in a slow strip tease up to her waist.

"They fit perfect," she purred and turned, showing him how the lacy material rode up into the crack of her ass. As she turned back towards him, she felt her body thrown against the wall and tipping on her heels she slammed backwards. He was up against her now, pinning her against the wall; his hands gripped the cheeks of her ass tightly. She lost her breath and he was ravishing her legs and her ass with his hands. Regaining her footing she let her body uncoil and brought her hands across his back and dug her nail into his flesh. He let loose his grip on her ass then roughly pulled her arms down to her sides. Grasping each wrist, he twisted her arms behind her back and held them there with one hand.

She gasped again. Her body was pinned, her back was arched and her head pushed back. He moved his mouth to her neck and began kissing her savagely, alternating between his lips and his teeth. Her soft skin felt as if it was being attacked. Pulling down on her wrists and she further back exposed her neck and pushed out her chest. He coated her tender neck with the wetness of his mouth and the marks of his teeth; he explored the open flesh on top of her halter and across her chest. The flood of emotions was so incredible; she loved this feeling of helplessness, of submission, of desire mixed with fear and she felt her vulnerability as a woman.

He drove his knee between her legs and she stumbled, opening her legs wider as he lifted his leg and began to slide against her crotch. She could feel the roughness of his trouser as his motions ground her new panties deeper and deeper into her slit. Letting go her hands, she dropped down on his outstretched knee and he grasped the hair on the back of her head and kissed her. It was a wild primal kiss; their mouths were open and their tongues probed deeply. With his free hand he grasped her breast and squeezed it hard and she sank down further on his knee, bucking her crotch against him. Reaching forward he sought out her nipple, and tugged at it and pinched it harder as he increased the fervor of his kiss, nearly pulling the breath out of her lungs.

He continued to doggy fuck her with his leg, his hand roam wherever it pleased on her body and he grunted like an animal. Feeling an orgasm approaching, she pushed down against his knee, writhing and bucking on his leg. His hands were tearing at her breasts through the fabric of her clothes and he lifted his leg higher, stabbing her open crotch, fucking her pussy with his leg. Sensing what was about to happen, he pulled back and dropped his leg. Her body convulsed with the sudden loss of sensation and she slumped. He let her hair go and stood by to look at her. She had the wild look of wantonness in her eyes; there was a pleading and a raw look of desire. Her hair was ruffled, her make-up was smeared and her clothes were twisted about her body. 

"I think we had better be going," he instructed her and reaching forward took both breasts in his hands, squeezed them firmly and then turned to leave. She could do no more than to lean against the wall and wonder at what had just happened. She was just on the verge and could not believe the bastard had brought her so close and then left her.

"Nice panties," he said as he left the hallway and then turning he reached in his pocket and pulled out her soiled pair and bringing them again to his nose, inhaled her scent deeply and said "I like these too." He smiled and said, "Better hurry slut, we do not want to keep Ricky waiting." He walked away and she smiled to herself, hearing the word "slut" playing over and over in her mind. "Yes," she murmured to herself in approval, "Every good Reverend needs a slut from time to time".



The Irreverent Reverend Ch. 03



The Reverend returned to the table. Ricky looked up at him and smiled and said, "She is one hot babe." The Reverend sat down, took a long swig of his beer, and with a sense of wonderment in his voice replied, "She sure is." A couple of minutes passed in silence between them and then Jessica returned. She had touched up her make-up and sat down like nothing had ever happened, except for the little gleam in her eye that sparkled when the Reverend looked at her. "What do you say, Ricky?" she inquired, casting her eyes toward the Reverend. "He is nice isn't he, just like I told you," she prodded with the anticipation of approval in her voice.

"Do you like him?" he asked, not wanting to cave into the sugary way in which she was speaking.

"Oh, I think he will work fine," she reassured him and then looking back at the Reverend, asked, "Don't you?"

The Reverend hesitated for a minute and then replied, "I think so."

"Well, then it is all set," she gaily responded. "Why don't you go back first and get all your camera stuff ready," she instructed Ricky, giving him a distinct wink. "I will just go over the ground rules with the Reverend here while you get ready."

"What's the hurry?" he demanded, "I haven't even finished my drink."

"Please, Ricky," she pleaded with her small girlish voice again. "We will just be a few minutes."

"Well, I suppose," he replied and pushed back his chair and prepared to leave. Thinking for a moment, he turned to The Reverend and said, "What's this business about you being a Reverend, anyways?  You're not going to preach to us and tell us that we are sinners or something weird like that. Are you?"

The Reverend looked up at the man and said, "No, no, no, I am not a preacher or a reverend for that matter. It is just a little name she calls me. She thinks I look like a preacher man."

Jessica piped in, "And he calls himself a Dom!" with a twinkle of amazement in her voice.

The Reverend looked at her sternly, a little hurt in his eyes and explained, "I am just, what shall I say, learning the ropes."

Ricky just stared at the man and grunted "Humph," and said nothing. Jessica liked to watch how the men interacted, staring each other down, circling each other in this primitive mating ritual. She had told The Reverend that she had a boyfriend, he was not particularly anxious to try his first three way, he felt he needed to know the man better and after what happened outside the restroom, he was much more anxious to know her better first. She loved the flirtation and enjoyed coaxing them when they hesitated, teasing them onward, offering herself to each as their prize. She liked to see which one would put their guard down first, to watch as each of them became naked in front of each other, warily eyeing each other, checking to see which of them had a greater girth or more staying power. The true confidence of men, she had learned, could sometimes be only revealed, when they both were naked together, seeking a common pleasure in the pursuit of a willing female.

"I will take care of the tab" The Reverend added, giving Ricky his encouragement to leave. Underneath the table he felt her foot creep up his leg and push its way toward his crotch. 

"Ok" Ricky replied and he turned to leave. "Don't be late," he said sternly and left. 

"Now, my little preacher man," Jessica cooed. "It is just the two of us." She stabbed her foot further into his lap and worked to pry his legs apart. The Reverend opened his legs wider. He was enjoying this attention. Then the sharp point of her heel jabbed him. 

"Ouch, careful," he blurted out as the shoe struck him in the balls.

"Oh, I am so sorry" she exclaimed and then in her sweet girly voice said, "I can make it all better, make your hurt go away." She stood and took the chair next to his and set her hand on his lap, and began feeling with her fingers for the hardness that she knew would soon develop. The Reverend resolved not to be drawn in by the pretend sweetness in her voice, but feeling the blood flow to his cock, soon forgot his irritation. 

Fumbling for conversation to ease the growing anxiety he felt about being fondled under the table, the Reverend asked "What about those rules you were going to tell me about?"

"Yes, those," she replied dreamily. "I will tell you about them later," and she gave his now erect cock a big squeeze through his pants. "First, I want to see your cock."

"Not here," the Reverend exclaimed. He spoke his words clearly and swiftly as if to make a definitive statement, but she thought she detected a hint of questioning or a plea in his voice.

"Ok, then," she murmured, returning to her sugary voice again and smoothed her hand across his lap. "But we better get going," and she leaned over his shoulder and with her tongue circled the inside of his ear. The wetness of her tongue made the Reverend squirm in his seat and she slowly mouthed the words before jamming her tongue deep down his ear canal, "I want to suck your cock in the car."

The Reverend jumped but she held her tongue deep inside his ear until he could not take it anymore and shook her loose.

"Ok, we had better go," he said, anything to escape from her sultry torment.

They reached his vehicle, and she stood next to the passenger door waiting for him to open it. Now, for the first time, they were really alone. The parking lot was quiet and the only sounds were the idle movements of cars on the nearby highway.

He reached for the door but before his hand touched the metal, he was on her again. Their mouths intertwined and their arms wrapped themselves around each other. They were beyond speaking, no words could express their emotions, the primal had taken over; it spoke in a language all of its own.

She kneaded the front of his pants, and his hands were on the tight flesh of her ass. Feeling his hardness pushing against her, she pried herself away and pleaded with him to open the door and to get in the vehicle. The Reverend turned the key in the lock and opened the door. She lifted one leg to step in. Then she did for him, what no woman had ever done before, and looking him directly in the eye lifted her ass onto the seat while keeping one foot on the ground. 

Her skirt traveled up her thighs, and her legs grew wider until he could clearly see her new panties in the bleak glare of the streetlight. It was as if he had seen a magical creature, one, that after stalking fruitlessly for years in the jungle, had suddenly appeared and reaffirmed his belief that such a creature really existed. She settled on the seat, closed her legs and the vision faded. The Reverend closed her door, drew a deep breath of air and let out a low whistle. It was going to be an interesting night he thought to himself and smiled as he clambered into the cab and stroked the vehicle to life.



The Irreverent Reverend Ch. 04



"Ok, which way to go?" he asked as she slid across the cab's bench seat and snuggled next to him. 

"I am going to take you the long way home," she replied with a laugh and then turned to nuzzle her tongue again in his ear and whispered, "I want to suck your cock." 

The Reverend swerved a little as he took the car out of the parking lot and said, "Ok, but take it easy on the ears." She deftly opened his zipper and began to purr. He looked over at her as he felt her hand slip inside his pants and realized that this woman was having the time of her life. She pulled back the elastic of his briefs, there was no fumbling, no uncertainty; she had done this before and knew what she wanted. Pulling his cock out of his pants, she watched the street signs and felt the blood begin to flow. The motions of her fingers were slow; she did not want him to get excited too fast. Seeing the turn ahead for the county road, she instructed him to take the next right and go north.

Then she dropped her head to his lap and took his cock into her mouth. At first, she did nothing, just completely encircled her mouth around his limp member. She could feel it begin to grow, and poking at the roof of her mouth. Still, she did nothing. She waited, with the absolute knowledge of a huntress eyeing an unwary prey, that soon the kill and the feast would be hers.

When the thought of the feast so overwhelmed her she closed down tightly on his cock and sucked with all her might. Squeezing a wad of saliva in her mouth she coated his dick with her wetness and ran her tongue up its shaft. He had grown to more than she could hold and she pulled him back out of her mouth while coating his member with a fresh coat of spit. "Mummm" she purred as she covered her lips over his cock head's rim and dolloped another heaping of saliva. She dropped her head again over his shaft.

There were so many parts of a blow job that she loved, she could not pick her favorite one, but it was at the beginning that held her fascination. It was as if she was cradling in her mouth a new life, giving reason and purpose to this seemingly useless and limp appendage, this soft tissue on a hard body.

It is a power that women possess; the power to make a man fully a man. Women who understand and use this knowledge can harness the power within a man. He was now fully erect and lunged forward slightly with each downward stroke. Up and down over his cock she slid, touching, feeling every inch of his shaft. When she would raise her lips over the top of his cock, he could feel the coolness of the night air on the wet surface and he wished she would bury her mouth again around him and surround him with her warmth.

She lazily flicked her tongue across the very sensitive parts and dove her tongue into his little pee hole, the very hole she knew would be erupting shortly with her prize and her reward. She teased him in this way as they drove down the dark highway; she engulfed his shaft in her mouth, up and down and then back to his engorged head, flicking her tongue across it like a cruel whip. Never had he been so turned on, it was the most fantastic blow-job of his life. She was an expert cocksucker and she knew it. Her head moved up and down, faster now, increasing the rhythm of her ministrations. Sensing the tingling quivers in his body, she slowed and lifted her mouth from his cock. She did not want him to come this quickly, this was her game now, not his, and she was not quite ready yet.

With one hand she reached under her skirt and began stroking her pussy through her new panties. "The fun is not all for him alone," she thought to herself and with her other hand she took hold of his cock. She slipped her finger under the panty's elastic and began to lick his shaft again. Starting at the base, she stretched her tongue out fully and with a long cat like motion licked him. "Mummm" she purred again as she felt her finger reach her clit. Again and again she licked his shaft. First up one side, then down the other, then her tongue swirled across his meaty head. 

The sensations were overwhelming, and the Reverend seemed almost ready to blow again. Never before had he been so aroused by just a woman's tongue. She enveloped his cock in her mouth again and just held it in her warmth. When his trembling subsided she slowly began bobbing up and down again. Giving a man a blow job was always a turn-on for Jessica. She reached inside her pussy with her fingers. Her wetness was really flowing. 

To the edge and back again she brought him as they drove through the empty darkness. He wondered where she lived but did not care. He would take this road as far as it went. In her hands he had become putty. She cooed and purred coyly as she knew that as a man he was no longer the great hunter, the ruler of the earth, but he was, in this moment, completely hers. He was the prey, not the hunter and from his loins would come her rightful prize.

She became flushed thinking about her reward, and she lusted after the taste of his sticky sperm in her mouth. She inhaled deeply his musky fragrance and pulled with all her might, craving for the moment when with a great spasm, gobs of salty semen would fly into her mouth. She would eat it all and with great pride would swallow. She detested women who would desecrate seed and spit it out. She would not be denied the honor nor would she deny his.

Now, she wanted to taste his cum and recoated his shaft with another coat of the sexy slime that had built up in her mouth. The Reverend clenched his fingers around the steering wheel and stared intently into the future. 

"I walk to suck your cock" she hoarsely chimed and then buried her mouth around him again. "I am your dirty little cocksucker," she spoke again after a couple of more bobs. "I want to taste your sticky cum in my mouth," she teased. "I want to feel it flood my mouth and gag me," she continued in her relentless torment. "I want to feel it ooze out my lips, and cover my chin." She had worked herself into a frenzy. She loved talking dirty, she loved to watch the shocked expressions, she loved saying the words out loud that some were afraid to speak even in the quietness of their mind.

He was speechless. She stepped up the pace of her sucking. A wildness had come over her. There seemed to be almost an aura surrounding her. He did not know, maybe it was just the light from the dashboard, but as she savagely attacked his cock, coaxing and milking him with fervor and passion, he sensed that in this moment there was a mystical purity to her. She was in her element, she was alive.

He fought off the impending sensations, he wanted to hold on to this moment, to capture it for an eternity and yet he knew it was useless. She raised her head and mouthed in a husky voice that he barely recognized. "Give me your cum. I need to feel you explode in my mouth, I want to drink you in," she commanded and resumed her assault on his cock.

"I want to feel you in my pussy; I want to take you up my ass. Shoot your seed inside of me" she croaked.

He tried to speak but could not. Words had been stripped away. His mouth was open, but he was speechless. His whole being was centered on his cock. She held the words now. He was mute. It became an unexpected turning of the tables. For weeks they had corresponded and he led her through fanciful fantasies. Now it was her turn.

Circling the top of his twitching cock, she crooned "I want you to fuck me, to taste me and stick your tongue deep in my wet pussy." She buried her head again in his lap and then raised her mouth to say, "I want you to push your tongue deep inside of me, inside my pussy" and then after taking a deep swallow of his cock, whispered hoarsely, "and in my ass."

That just about brought him over the top. The thought was so utterly nasty yet so secretly appealing. He could not hold back anymore. She had moved in for the kill. He heard in her coarse breathing, the passion in which she was devouring her prey.

Suddenly a bright light filled the cab. He was blinded and he froze. Glancing down at the speedometer, a panic ripped through his body. She felt him tense and sat up as a blaring siren began to wail. The color flushed from his face and the blood drained from his cock.

He desperately tried to push his partially hard cock back in his pants while slowing his vehicle down and moving to the side of the road. The flashing lights speared repeatedly into the cab; they were disoriented by the strobe like effect. They sat, panic stricken, pulses beating rapidly and did not say a word.

Then, out of the darkness came a cold hard sound; "CLANK, CLANK, CLANK." The police officer knocked on the window.



The Irreverent Reverend Ch. 05



Chapter 5: The police officer inspects Jessica and the Reverend.

The Reverend took a deep breath and rolled down his window. He turned to look at who was making his acquaintance but found only the blinding ray of the officer's flashlight pierce his eyes. The Reverend turned from the light and watched as the beam searched the occupants and the interior of the vehicle. With his light, the officer strip searched the man; his wand of light probed each article of clothing from his head to his foot; he felt naked and exposed, although fully clothed, by the strange way the light fondled him. When the officer was finished with the Reverend, he took his light to Jessica. He performed the same ritual with her, stopping for what seemed a long time on her legs and her skirt which was still bunched up near her stocking tops. She did nothing to hide herself.

"Damn him," her mind screamed and then "asshole." She was not afraid of this man, she had done nothing wrong and besides she had grown accustomed to the brazen stares of men as they looked, ogling her, fondling her with their dirty minds. Usually, Jessica really got off teasing men, leading them on, flirting with them, and tormenting them with the lewd fantasies that erupted in their minds with so little as a flicker of her eyes and a smile or a brief flash of her thigh.

It was a power trip for her, although she had not really analyzed it. She had learned this lesson early in life, on the streets, or more accurately, while still in school. It still amazed her how quickly a man could be turned into a bumbling mass of putty and follow her like a dog, intent only on their primitive satisfaction. She had been labeled as a "slut" early in life and though this role was one that she never aspired to, her life had been hard and she found that a brief display of her charms opened doors for her.

Sometimes the doors that opened and men being the rough creatures that they were, lead to back alleys and dead ends, so that in time Jessica learned how to moderate herself, to keep men on the edge, in a state of semi-flaccid denial, to be careful not to let them become fully engorged, because then the tables would turn and there was no telling what they would do.

It was different with the Reverend. He was so unlike any other man she had been with. The teasing and flirting on the dance floor had really made her hot and their little encounter by the bathrooms played over and over in her mind. Intuitively, he was the kind of man she knew she could trust. He was the kind of man that she could submit to and somehow she knew that he would always be there to catch her if she fell.

This is why the leering gaze of the officer pissed her off so. She was not going to allow this uniformed donkey take control of the situation and her man. Besides, the taste of the Reverend's cock still lingered in her mouth and she wanted it back. 

"Good evening officer," the Reverend blurted out as his disdain for this unwarranted search brought him to his senses. He could take the pompous pretenses of some hillbilly cop but he would not allow Jessica to be subjected to such abuse. The officer grunted and returned the blinding light to the man's eyes and simply said, "Your driver's license and your registration."

The Reverend fumbled in the console for the registration and he turned on the overhead light. With the cab's light, the flashlight's glare and the rear spotlights were diminished, and he was relieved. This renewed his confidence and he felt as if, in some small way, he was fighting back. The officer was now outlined, standing before him. He was a tall man, at least 6 foot and bore the resemblance of one who had allowed the sallow of age form over what was once a muscular physique. He carried the standard issue police gear on his belt and in his hand, lightly clutched at the tips of his fingers, was his Billy stick. As the Reverend turned to present his papers, the officer leaned forward so that his face was now illuminated. 

The Reverend studied his features; his face was smooth and hard, with ruggedly chiseled bones that rose like an alpine glacier above the hollows of his cheeks. These harsh features did not bother the Reverend; in each of us we are given only a structure, a foundation that builds each passing day, etching the erosion of time in our creases and lines. It is in the eyes that we see the real person; eyes which reflect a lifetime of emotion, days filled with laughter and hopeful expectation, nights of tears and sorrow, and the omnipresent thoughts guiding our waking hours. Each of these emotions sculpt our face as we travel on our journey and, like a great sand dune built by our buffeting life journey, they carve their impressions on us, into us, and when, we become old, our faces, although worn and drooping, hold the secret to what our days on this earth have really been like.

But the Reverend did not like what he saw in the man's eyes; they were tinted, frosted to prevent looking inside. Coarseness covered his features; a layer of grit dusted and muted whatever light might lie underneath. Yet perched on each peak of his rugged landscape there was a look of confidence, like a solitary flag staking out ownership of an inhospitable and desolate territory. Confident and menacing was the face that craned and glared into the Reverend's car.

He waited silently as the man perused the license. "Your car was all over the road on that stretch of highway back there, the officer drawled, lifting and pointing his Billy club towards the empty highway behind them. "Been drinking tonight?" he questioned. "Or is something else going on?" he intonated.

"I just had one beer, I swear," the Reverend reported, "and that was awhile ago, must have been at least an hour ago."

"Humm," the officer grumbled as he took the flashlight and plied the light once again on the man. "One beer should not make you swerve all over the road like that." These questions were becoming a sort of a game now; the Reverend could hear a cold enjoyment in the officer's voice. "You are putting this pretty little miss in danger, don't you think" he said as he basked Jessica in the light once more, the center of the beam resting on her crotch. 

"I am sorry, officer" the Reverend said, "I know that I was not speeding."

The officer drew himself back up, out of the of the cab's interior light and yelled, "I will decide whether you were speeding or not" and then returning his sneering face back through the window he took his club and pushed it through the open window, into the cab, stopping only when its tip was just inches from the Reverends lap. "What do you call this?" he demanded.

The Reverend looked down and saw that the zipper on his pants was still open; he had not had time to close it in the trembling rush to pull over. "I asked you why you were swerving," he demanded again. Shocked, the Reverend said nothing. His mind was whirling. He knew the answer of course, but how could he justify this to an officer of the law?

Beside him, in a meek voice that grew stronger with each syllable, he heard Jessica say, "I can explain, Officer." 

"Now we are getting somewhere," the officer exclaimed, the amusement returning to his voice and he took the light and shined it once again on the woman. She had done nothing to straighten or pull down her skirt and her legs remained spread open on the seat in a most casual and provocative manner. 

"It was all my fault, really," she explained and the Reverend cringed when he heard her tell the story. "I was giving him a blow-job, I am sorry sir." The officer said nothing and waited for her to continue. "I think he was about ready to blow and he must have swerved a little." Jessica's voice had changed back into her charming little miss tone that she mimicked with Ricky back at the bar. The Reverend was beside himself. How could she be speaking like this? It was like he had entered a dream and was falling endlessly down a deep hole.

"I will not do it again," she continued. "I promise to be a good girl." The Reverend could not believe the confidence and the moxie of this woman. She was taking on the cold arm of the law single handedly, owning up to the crime herself, pointing the finger of blame on herself, and away from a man that only hours before, she had never met.

"A good girl do you say?" the officer mimed, as the level of amusement rose in his voice. Removing the Billy club from its position above the Reverend's open pants, he pulled back and slowly walked around the vehicle to the passenger side. As he passed the front headlights, they saw his full appearance. In his stride, in the way he sauntered around the vehicle, they clearly saw that this was a man intoxicated with his badge who was drunk with confidence both on and off duty. 

The officer stood outside the passenger door and probed Jessica again with his flashlight. From this new vantage point, Jessica's stocking tops and the fancy nylon lace of her panties sparkled in the light. She held her ground firmly and did not close her legs. Never before had the Reverend met such a courageous woman. How she could bear this scrutiny without flinching was beyond him. 

"Get out of the car," barked the officer. "I want to see what a good girl really looks like." He held the light steady on her, not on her hands or eyes to watch for the sudden movement of a criminal, but the beam remained firmly planted between her legs. She felt the heat of the powerful light on her legs and wondered if it was just the light, or something else.

Jessica reached for the handle, opened the door and lifted her right leg up over the threshold and down onto the gravel pavement. The Reverend heard a soft crunch as her heel ground into the dirt and when her stance was steady, she swung her left leg through the door opening, and scooted her bottom off the seat. Her legs were now totally open to the officer's leering light and her panties pulled tightly against her moist pussy. The Reverend was in shock, he must really be dreaming, twice in one night he had witnessed a woman flashing through a car door, first to him, and now to the greedy eyes of the police.

Slowly she swung her other leg through the door opening and standing upright, her skirt fell back to mid thigh and she was decent once more.

"My, my, my, ain't you a purty lady," the officer sang. "Now stand over there in front of the car," he barked using his loud voice again. He pushed the Billy club against the small of her back as she passed him, directing and speeding up her movements.

"Crunch, crunch, crunch," the Reverend heard as she moved in front of the vehicle. "Turn around," he ordered and she stood facing him, her back to the hood. "Mumm, mumm," he hummed "Just a good little girl," mimicking her sugary little voice, and then in a deep bellow, exclaimed, "That likes to give blow-jobs."

The Reverend wished he could see her face, to see her reaction, to know what she was thinking. Did her eyes still exude the strong confidence with which she made her confession, or were they now filled with fear that gripped the Reverend.

"Move your legs apart," he commanded and raised the club to prod between her thighs. With the wooden shaft he pried them apart. "I think you rather look like a cocksucking whore, a slut, not a good little girl," he pronounced. "This was unacceptable," screamed the Reverend inside his head. He could not allow this to proceed. He must rise to action. For weeks Jessica had charmed him and after what had happened back at the bar, and the amazing road hummer, he would not stand for this man to treat her so.

"Hey," the Reverend shouted from behind the wheel. "What's going on here," he demanded. "What are the charges officer?" There was strength and a confidence in his voice. In an instant, the officer's flashlight whipped across The Reverend's face and blinded him again. He heard the ominous crunch, crunch, crunch of the gravel, but this time it was not the petite steps of a high heeled shoe, but the heavy grinding of a boot.

"Get out of the car," the officer screamed and before the Reverend could move the officer had flung open the door, grasped him by the collar and yanked him out. Falling to his knees he felt the sharp edges of gravel bite his legs. "Up against the hood," he barked and letting loose a swing of his club he struck across the Reverends back. Wincing in pain, the club hit him squarely across his kidneys. Searing in pain and unable to raise himself, the Reverend began to crawl and tried to scramble like a wounded dog dragging itself out of striking range of an irate master.

Reaching the front of the car, he tried again to rise up and grasped the front bumper for support. "Hands on your head," the officer barked and the Reverend struggled to stand. 

When in state of shock our normal sense of consciousness is lost and we enter a sort of dream-like world. The Reverend must have entered this world, because in his mind's eye this same little scenario, one he had seen on countless variations of cops and robbers, played over and over in his head. He knew what was coming next and was powerless to stop it.

"Legs apart," he officer barked. The Reverend heard these words and he shuffled his feet apart slightly only to hear a whoosh of slicing air and the painful strike of the Billy club against his calves. He shrieked and cramped in pain, the Reverend struggled to open his stance but the force of the blow was too great and with his hands still intertwined on top of his head, he fell forward smashing his face against the hood.

A sugary warmth filled his mouth and the Reverend wondered for a moment what this taste could be until a new pain in his jaw and upper lip filled his mouth with blood.

"Don't move," the officer ordered. There was finality in his words. The officer had tired of this game, the Reverend heard it in his voice, and for a brief moment he thought this ordeal would be over. Directing his attention to the woman, he stepped in front of her and stood in the headlights path. Glaring at him with a hatred that boiled, a hatred that longed to smother and extinguish him with the molten lava of her soul, she held firm her gaze and looked dead center into the eyes of this garish creature.

Seeing that she was no longer going to play coy with him, he spat on the ground and took his club and began to tease about her body. "Ain't you a feisty one," he chided as the wooden shaft flicked her hair up and off her shoulders and felt its way across her breasts and over her nipples. She did not say a word but stood still and defiant. He took the club and twirled it across the smooth nylon of her inner thighs and tugged up on her skirt, toying with her. As he lifted his stick higher and higher, she felt its cool surface move above her stockings and she felt herself cave. Behind her fierce eyes and defiant demeanor, she prayed the officer would not notice that she was really trembling inside; her only thought was to go to the Reverend and cradle his wounded body in her arms.

The cold smooth surface of the stick was having an effect on her, however. She fought to repress it, the mere thought horrified her. There was an awakening and her thirsty desire reared. She had toyed with men all her life but her body had been cold. For years she had worked on coaxing the erotic sensations from her body, trying to allow herself to let go completely, in relentless pursuit of the ultimate orgasm. She had tried toys, felt the loving touch of a woman's tongue, had worn leather, slept in lace but the men, the simple minded brutes never completely satisfied her.

She was in charge of her orgasm and she played with herself every day. Her clitoris had grown extremely sensitive and she liked to keep herself on the verge at all times, she craved the erotic sensations filling her body and fingered herself all day long. For years she worked on coaxing her sexual feelings out of hiding, learning to give in and respond to them completely.

Now, it was as if she had created a monster, a monster that could overtake and devour her. Her nipples had swollen with the first touch of his club and the stroking on her upper thighs created a longing that she fought with all her might, frantically trying to push this pulsing dragon of desire back into its cave. She wanted the Reverend and did not like what the officer was doing. She trembled and her wetness grew.

Jessica was an expert at playing the cat and mouse game of flirtation; teasing then pulling back in coyness; luring, then demurring until she felt a man's passion rise. Her devilish charms would not work with this man. This was her game and she played it well. If she liked the man, she would bring him to full arousal in a rhythmic crescendo so that he would finally tear the clothes from her body and she would splay her legs wide and feel his hardness penetrating her, she would take each stroke and beg for it harder and faster knowing it was her that created the frenzy between her legs. The officer was different; she had never met a man so brutal who spurred the horse of his passion with such viciousness. He would not be putty in her hands. She was at a loss. He was in control. 

He needed no reminding. He had known it all along.

The teasing assault of the Billy club continued as the officer stroked her thighs higher and higher. The wooden pole was now under her skirt and its shaft slid back and forth against her thin panties. She tried to block her mind but all she could think of was grinding her heels deeper in the gravel so she would sink lower against his pole. She hoped he would not notice but her hips began to tremble as her mind swayed with fear and passion. He pushed the Billy club firmer now, pushing her new panties into her slit and she felt herself dropping herself against the wooden probe.

For once in her life she felt guilty about being turned on. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the Reverend hunched over the hood of the car and she could hear his staggered breathing. Still, her wetness grew as the cold wooden shaft pushed between her lips.

Then, he withdrew the club from between her legs and brought it to his nose to smell her and with a gleam in his eye, he raised the club to touch her cheek. She could feel the warm wetness on the cold stick. He looked at her and in this cruel court, she had taken the law into her own hands, her own loins. He allowed her to become her own jury and she was wet. The sticky wetness felt cool on her cheek as he rubbed the Billy stick across her cheek. She had lost, convicted. She was wet.

He smiled and moved the wooden shaft to her breasts and began to circle them, trace their shape through her shirt. With the club, he flicked her nipples, teasing her with this clumsy baton and watching as they responded to this attention. "Such a good little girl," he cooed and then dropping his club, took a step forward and grabbed a handful of hair and pulling her towards him drawled in a loud whisper, "In these parts, we only allow good girls. Then lifting up with his hand, he pulled her hair so that she had to practically stand on tip-toes and added, "In these parts, it is a crime to be a cocksucking whore."

Holding her firmly in his clench, he dragged her back towards the squad car. Stopping in front of the car where the Reverend lay immobile on the hood, like a nocturnal animal blinded by headlights and had became a road kill hood ornament, the officer lifted the club once more. With a simple upswing, the officer directed the club between The Reverend's legs and struck him in the groin.

He caved. His eyes popped. A torpedo had struck him and he felt an implosion that sucked the very breath of life from him. His groin exploded and in his balls he felt the searing pain of a battlefield. He gasped but his blood filled mouth choked and gagged him. Even his cry had been stolen from him and he slipped against the cold metal of the hood, unable to breathe.




The Irreverent Reverend Ch. 06



Chapter 6: Jessica is taken by the police officer and the Reverend rises to save her.

Blackness engulfed the Reverend. He lay mute and crippled. The night sounds swept by him, sounds from with the darkness; a stir in the bushes, a whisper of wings. They brushed against his throbbing body, then quiet, a deafening quiet that rang in his ears, smothered his breath and buried him in the gravel. He lay crumpled and beaten. Time stopped, he passed out.

Then, from somewhere he heard a sound. It was barely audible, a whisper in the darkness. He listened and it was gone. It was another night sound skipping by and it vanished. He heard it again. It was louder and clearer. It was not a sound from the darkness; it called to him from within. Like a voice. It called his name. He struggled to hear the words; they bounced over him. He focused his attention; it was there and was gone. He recognized the sound and he searched for recognition. New life surged in him, someone was calling his name. 

Help was on its way and he opened his eyes. His breathing returned to normal and he felt the cool air enter his lungs. "Who was it?" he wondered in excitement, "I know this person," he told himself. The voice became louder and louder. Raising his head, he felt a fresh blood trickle across his face. The warmth awoke his senses. "They are coming," he knew and reached in the file cabinets of his mind, searching for the memory, tearing open the drawers, seeking out recognition. "Whose voice is it?" he pled. The events of the evening were erased from his mind and as if born again to hear a voice calling to him. The sound grew stronger, clearer until suddenly, like a balloon rapidly inflating with air, the memory filled his mind and the recognition burst within.

It was Jessica. Of this he had absolute knowledge. It was her voice. She was calling to him. She did not call with the blare of returning cavalry, she shrieked from the abyss of her nightmare. She had not awakened The Reverend to rescue him, he voice sought him out from the darkness. This recognition exploded inside the Reverend. He glanced self consciously around to see if others heard it as well. There was no one. He was alone in the blackness. He tried to find her, to hone in on her with his very soul, to hear her voice and to know that she was OK. Vigor pursed through his veins. He struggled to rise and willed himself up.

Now the Reverend spoke. His voice grew strong, clear and purposeful. He called out her name. Over and over again. It was primal, like the beating of a drum. "Jessica, Jessica, Jessica," he called. He returned her cries in a voice that echoed in the darkness. She called and he answered. Never had The Reverend known with such unquestioning certainty what he must do. It was beyond logic or emotion, it was an immutable course of action. Jessica needed him and he would save her.

Inside the vehicle, the Reverend fumbled with the keys and turned the ignition. The engine whirred and the dashboard lit up. This activity pushed him to the present, into what had just happened. The safety of the vehicle startled him. It was as if he had been dropped from the sky or awakened from a nightmare. He looked in the mirror and saw a gruesome appearance, but it did not register, there were only the wild eyes that returned his glare with a steady look of determination. He spun the wheel and sent gravel flying as his vehicle now leapt onto the highway and sped in pursuit.

"Think, think, think," the Reverend pleaded. "Where will I find her?" he wondered and carefully watched the road side as if expecting to see her standing caught in the headlights like an unwary animal. He saw nothing and raced back towards town; the blackness of the sky was as empty as his plan for saving Jessica.

A small bead of light became visible at the far end of the road. His heart began to beat as the light brightened and approached him. "Another car," he exclaimed and within him a hope grew with the beam of this light. Brighter and closer it became. "He must tell them, warn them" The Reverend thought to himself. The sound of the vehicle rushed at him, its headlights filled the cab, and then it whooshed by, leaving only the searing red of the taillights in his mirror.

"Get a grip" the Reverend told himself. He would never find Jessica by being this jumpy. "A plan, you need a plan," he told himself and his mind was blank. The occasional billboard grew more frequent, soon he would be back in town. The Reverend slowed the vehicle as he entered the sleepy community. Other than the streetlight's phosphorescent glow, the only lights visible were at the all-night convenience store. He wheeled into the parking lot and shut off his vehicle. Lights from the store filled his cab and he realized that he was back in the real world now. Tipping the rear view mirror forward, he inspected himself.

His face was gruesome and looked as if he had just left a bar room brawl. The cut, where his teeth had torn into his upper lib was deep but the bleeding had stopped. Dried and caked blood drooled across his cheek and down his chin. Dust from the roadbed covered him and his fly was still open. He reached for the door handle; inside he could wash up, collect himself and perhaps learn something.

The Reverend exited his vehicle and strode across the deserted lot. A young kid eyed him warily as he swung open the door. An open copy of Hustler lay on the counter behind him. He stared at the Reverend with popping eyes. "What ever happened to you, Mister?" he blurted a mixture of shock and laughter in his voice.

"Restrooms?" the Reverend replied, not having the time or patience to titillate this buffoon with an explanation. The kid pointed to the back of the store and watched closely as the Reverend made his way to the back. Inside the men's room, he studied his cuts in the mirror. He turned the tap on hot and grumbled as the handle just twisted idly in his hand. "Okay, cold it is," the Reverend mumbled and proceeded to splash his face with the icy water. He blotted himself dry, dapped the blood on his coat and zippered his fly.

When he felt reasonably presentable, he left the room and approached the counter. The kid just stared but seemed calmed by the change in the Reverend's appearance. He waited for the Reverend's to speak. "Where is the police station in town?" the Reverend asked in a confident voice. The kid looked at him and with a laugh in his voice replied, "There ain't no police department in this town Mister. Not big nuff for one of those."

Unphased, The Reverend continued, "Who is on duty around here?"

"Well," the kid drawled, "the sheriff patrols these parts and a couple of deputies." Nothing more was offered in explanation. 

"Where is their station then?" the Reverend inquired, a growing annoyance in his voice.

"Station?" the kid retorted as he pondered the question. "I guess the courthouse would be their station," he replied unsure of his answer.

"Where is that?" the Reverend asked.

"It is way over in Smithville, bout 30 miles down County 13," he replied with a point of his arm through the front window, out into the darkness. "Don't think them deputies hang around there much, mostly, they just work out of their squads."

The Reverend said nothing. "Thirty miles" he thought, that was too far away. "Where could that bastard have brought her?"

"Want to make a call" the kid offered, pointing to a phone behind the counter.

"No" said the Reverend emphatically. He pondered.

"Isn't there some other place where the deputies go?" the Reverend asked "Like where they gas up or store their vehicles or something?"

The kid thought about this for a minute and the Reverend hung on to the edge of this question, hoping that maybe here he would find a clue.

"Well, there is the Maintenance Shop down off 42 about 5 miles from here," he offered "but you won't find anyone there, not at this time of night." He looked up at the clock and the hands read 2:30. 

"Thanks" the Reverend replied and turned towards the door. "Where's 42?" he asked, almost as an afterthought, he did not need the kid's directions, he knew he would find it, he had to.

"Take a right at the third light" the kid replied and watched with his mouth open as the Reverend pulled open the door and left.

Firing up his vehicle, the Reverend eased out onto the deserted streets and made his way under the blinking yellow lights. County 42 turned to gravel shortly after leaving town and the Reverend drove slow and steady, watching intently through the windshield. He saw only an occasional out building and the blackness of the night. Several minutes later, a faded sign, pockmarked from a careless flurry of pellets, appeared in his headlights. "County Maintenance Facility" it read.

The Reverend turned off his lights, lightly braked and coasted into the lot. The building was windowless and three large overhead doors were located on the larger building. In front, looking like a metal appendage was a smaller structure, like an office with a door and a sidewalk leading up to it.

The Reverend took a minute and allowed his eyes to adjust. He noticed two vehicles take shape from the darkness. One was a small compact car, neatly parked along the row and there, at the end of the sidewalk, parked askew as if the driver had arrived in a great hurry, was the patrol car. The Reverend drew a breath; he did not have a plan, only the conviction. Inside he would find Jessica.

Stealthily, he exited the vehicle and passed by the front of the patrol car. He placed his hand on the hood and as if taking its temperature. The engine was still warm and through the cold metal of this machine, the Reverend also felt the warmth of Jessica. She was alive and she was here. The heat reached into his hand and confidence surged within him. He started towards the sidewalk, approached the door and placed his hand on the knob.

The handle turned and the Reverend was surprised to find it unlocked. Pulling it towards him so that it would not creak, he slipped inside. Inside was a small hallway; two rooms like offices flanked the corridor and at the end, another door. This door was solid metal but held a small square glass panel at the top. A dim, flickering light emanated from the window. He listened and heard nothing. Quietly, he approached and peered through the glass.

Inside, he saw what appeared to be a dispatch desk. Seated behind the phones and microphone was a woman. She did not look up but stared intently at a small television monitor. The monochrome images reflected a strobe of light through the dark room. The Reverend could not see the screen but the woman was mesmerized. She was slouched in her chair and looked to have one hand between her legs. The Reverend realized that she was playing with herself. His mind whirled. "Jessica is here and this woman sits stroking herself" he bellowed to himself. The Reverend had now lined up the clues. It was Jessica on that screen, on the other end of the camera, and this woman, this deviant was watching and arousing herself in voyeuristic pleasure.

She writhed in her chair, absorbed in pleasure, her fingers stroked frantically, she plunged them deep inside and then back out again. Then, out of nowhere, he heard a deep voice, a voice he immediately recognized as the officer's come over the intercom. "Pamela, get in here" he barked. She withdrew her hand, stood, smoothed her skirt and opened the door behind the desk. When the door slammed shut behind her, the Reverend opened the inner door, made his way towards the dispatch station, stood behind the desk and looked at the screen. 



The Irreverent Reverend Ch. 07



The images were black and white and had the grainy appearance of an old movie. The screen was small and the Reverend realized immediately that he was viewing a security monitor and that somewhere in the garage behind him, the camera was pointed at Jessica. Looking deeper into the screen he saw how the bright lights reflected off the shiny concrete floors and how the screen's hazy images cast an eerie and macabre shadow across the scene.

Along the perimeter, he could make out the shape of a large machine, what looked to be an old and dilapidated snow plow, resting dormant, like a prehistoric mammoth caught and worn by the ravishes of time. Strewn about the screen's frame there were racks of shovels, buckets and stacks of burlap bags; everything appeared old and antiquated. It was like he was looking back into time, or into a museum where time had stopped but the sloth and callousness continued to thrive even when life had stopped. It was what he could expect from this back woods maintenance facility and everything appeared quite normal, except for what the Reverend saw in the center of the screen.

The camera was focused on a large wooden table. The officer stood next to the table, he was shirtless and beads of perspiration glistened on his body. Strewn about the floor, he saw Jessica's shirt, torn and heaped next to her shoes. Several black leather objects lay on the floor, as if carelessly dropped. The Reverend could not identify them; they looked to be items one would find in a horse barn or a blacksmith's shop. Curled on the floor, the Reverend recognized a bull whip, coiled like a snake ready to strike.

Jessica was on the table. Her hands were behind her back, shackled together with the officer's handcuffs. Her long hair had been pulled back in a crude pony tail and bound with a rope. The other end of the rope wrapped around her handcuffs and pulled her head back unnaturally, stretching her neck. Her skirt was bunched about her waist and she was kneeling on the table. Her face and breasts smashed against the table, her ass lifted in the air. Stockings still encased her legs. Nowhere did the Reverend see her panties. Her posture looked unnatural, she was contorted; restraints held her upper body down and only her will held her lower body up, open and exposed. Her ass was splayed upwards and she looked inhuman, like a circus freak with the neck of a bird and the webbed toes of a fish. The stretch of her back formed an angle to the table and her ass pointed like a cannon towards the sky.

He saw her face in the camera. Her eyes and mouth were scrunched in indescribable emotion. Her face was filled with both surrender and passion. She seemed at peace but did not wear the look of serenity or calm, rather beneath her quaking flesh it was as if she had found, after a lifetime of searching, a lost happiness that had been buried under a lifetime of silt and she was desperately clawing her way downward towards it, searching for a lost treasure. Each shudder of her body moved her a little closer a little deeper. Her mouth was forced open by a gag, her legs spread apart and her body obeyed her forced position but it were her eyes, only her eyes betrayed her. They were clenched closed. They remained defiant and would not open.

The Reverend struggled for understanding. The officer stood beside the table. In his hand was a flogger and the strips of leather dangled and flew through the air at her body. Redness like sunspots blurred her back, legs and her ass. She was not bleeding but heat seared her skin and lightning bolts sizzled across her flesh. The man swung, the leather fluttered and slammed against her exposed ass. Again and again the officer swung the whip. Again and again he lashed her body. The Reverend gripped the desk. 

There was no volume and he looked about the desk probing deeper into this visually horrifying scene. Below the screen, a label worn and blackened with grime, read "audio." The Reverend flicked the switch and the sounds from the garage filled the room.

"Yes, this is what good little girls like," the man chanted with malice in his voice. His whip whistled through the air and a sharp "crack" resounded in the speaker. Jessica did not scream, only a muffled sound could be heard, like air pushing of air out of a pillow as it is struck with a fist. The Reverend knew he needed to do something but remained frozen in his chair. The officer lashed her and taunted her. First on one thigh, then the other he whipped her. Then, between her open legs the whip struck and her whole body shuddered. Still, there was no sound, only muffled air exited her lips.

The Reverend studied the woman on the table, the woman whom he had recently fallen in love with. He struggled to understand. He was witnessing a scene out of a medieval torture chamber, and although her body was contorted and bound in an unnatural fashion, there was a primitive essence to what he was seeing; he was watching the most basic of urges, animalistic and natural and it sprung from a time before we learned to cover our bodies.

He gazed at her face and pleaded for understanding, for a sign, for a shard of insight into this spectacle. The whip coursed across her body, stopping only momentarily as the officer dragged the leather across her flesh or he moved about the table to find a new area of skin that did not glow in redness. He expected her to fall flat on the table with the power of each stroke. Each blow of the whip was sent with the same strength that pushed the Reverend into the dirt back on the highway, yet Jessica held her ground. 

Her body shuddered and she stood firm, lifting her ass into the air after each "crack," repositioning her self, readying herself, exposing her ass for another strike. Though her eyes remained clenched, there was peace in her face, like the calm of a skipper who resolutely held the wheel of an endangered ship as the storm's fury broke over its bow, wave after wave, crash after crash.

It was then that he realized that she was enjoying this. The man struck and she received. Her knees were splayed open on the table and after each crack of the whip she arched her back and pushed her ass higher, reaching for each lash, beckoning the whip's force with her exposed womanhood.

A strange emotion enveloped the Reverend. He was swished away in a dark tunnel, back in time. There, he saw himself in a dark booth staring at a screen, much like the one he was watching now. The tiny room was dank with the foul smell of rotting semen and he dared not touch anything. In front of him was a tiny camera and images filled the screen. Inside, he saw the pretend dungeon of a pornographic movie and watched as men dressed in leather whipped beautiful women bound in rope, chains and sexy clothes. It was in these booths of his youth, that he let go the veil of decency that seemed to choke his life and where he held his penis in his hand, stroking it feverously and furtively, in his tiny black cell, staring at the screen, impatiently pulling for an orgasm, trying to coax his seed onto the screen, into the movie's dungeon, on the body of the waiting woman who was tightly tied, spanked and penetrated.

The Reverend could feel the blood begin to flow in his loins. His balls were swollen from the impact to his groin but the warm feelings grew as he watched Jessica in voyeuristic pleasure. It was like the old days there in the porno shop and he felt his hand move instinctively towards his pants. He felt ashamed of what was happening but felt powerless to stop his hand. The Reverend fought these feelings, but he knew from experience, once it started, he was doomed. The primal force would overtake and overcome him. It would win. His hand moved towards his crotch and he felt the hardness of his cock straining against the cloth. It was happening. He was entering the forbidden zone. Yes, he was a sinner. He was drawn into the screen.

The officer moved to the end of the table. Crouched on the ground, almost underneath the table, the Reverend noticed Pamela, the dispatch woman. He had not seen her before. She did not move but watched the action. A look of fear and longing filled her face. The officer dangled the whip between Jessica's legs. He slowly danced the leather strands back and forth in an arc, swinging their tips back and forth against her exposed pussy and inner thighs. After each rotation, Jessica seemed to open her legs further guiding the implement away from her legs and centering the attention on her open lips.

The whip gathered momentum and he struck harder and harder. Jessica's muffled puffs became moans, the leather lashed her pussy and the man whipped her again and again. The Reverend watched her body shake after each blow. She involuntarily tried to close herself when the whip hit, each time reopened her legs, pushed her pelvis back towards the man, and opened her vulnerability. The peace in her face was contorted and the Reverend watched as Jessica writhed on the table, bound with no attempt at escape. She lay peacefully on the table and through this penance; she tried to cast off her body in a lost effort to find release.

The Reverend reached towards his crotch and squeezed his cock through the constraints of his trousers. Jessica began to quiver as the pussy lashing increased. The Reverend moved his hand toward his zipper as her body began to quake in orgasm.

Just then, the officer stopped. The "crack" and the "ahhh" from the speaker grew silent. Jessica slumped on the table. The Reverend did not move. 

"Untie her," the man barked and Pamela lifted herself from the ground and released the rope from her hair. Throwing a ring of keys on the table, he motioned to unlock the handcuffs. The dispatch woman's touch was soft and delicate as she ran her hand across Jessica's flesh, feeling the heat from the punishment. When her hands were free, the officer barked "turn her over." The woman gently turned her onto her back, all the while cradling her with her hands.

The officer stepped forward and grasping Jessica's ankles gruffly, pulled her towards the table's edge so that her legs dangled down and her ass rested on the corner. He reached for a cord of rope and then secured each wrist to the forward table legs and over her head. Jessica did not move. The Reverend watched and waited.

"Now get on your knees and suck a real man's cock," he ordered. Pamela knelt in front of the man, let down his zipper and pulled his penis out. It was a gruesome appendage, long and pointed, with a drape of foreskin covering its end. She took his cock in her mouth and began to suck. While Pamela sucked his cock, the officer reached for the whip and now began to tease Jessica's nipples. The leather danced across their erectness like the tentacles of a squid. Then he struck. She winced. He struck again. First one breast and then another. The meaty flesh jiggled and she bit her lip, searching for a way out of that place, that secret garden of her mind where the pain opened the door to pleasure. The officer did not look at her face. He did not know where she was or where she wished to go. He focused his attention only his cock, now engorged in the Pamela's mouth. On the table, Jessica was merely a toy, just another helpless animal, like those the man had teased and tormented in his youth. It was a primal game, yes, but there would be no release for Jessica, only the man's twisted and shallow sadistic pleasure.

When he had enough, the officer pushed Pamela away, moved to the end of the table and stood in front of Jessica's spread legs. The Reverend jumped to his feet. He fumbled with the erection in his pants, pushing it down and away, awakening to his senses like when, in the tiny dank booth, the last quarter would be spent, the screen would go dark, the movie's fantasy would stop and he would rush to exit that dank place of forbidden fantasies.

Jessica did not move. Her eyes remained clenched. Her body lay open and vulnerable to this man, he would penetrate her, this she knew, and when the touch of his cock would engulf her, the erotic sensations would fill her body and she would give way to them, but he could not penetrate any further than the furthest reaches of her womb, he could take her as men have callously taken and discarded women since the beginning of time, but this man would never reach her heart. In her clenched eyes she held the keys to this sacred place and no man would enter unless she unlocked the door.

The Reverend moved towards the door. As he turned, almost as an afterthought, and hastily looked about the dispatch desk for a something, anything he might use. He must hurry, Jessica was about to be raped and with the conviction of a crusader he strode towards the dungeon's door and flung it open.

The dispatch girl looked up in shock and horror yet did not utter a sound. She looked beseechingly towards the officer but his eyes were half closed and glazed over in his sadistic fantasy. He had not heard the Reverend enter, his hands were on Jessica's hips and he was a man who was now thinking solely with his cock and he toyed with Jessica as he rubbed its head against her wet and swollen entry. 

The Reverend strode towards the table and almost tripping over the bull whip coiled on the floor, he bent down and picked it up. Another memory of his youth came racing back to him, this one much older, from a time more innocent. As he grasped the wooden handle and felt the braided leather uncoil, he recalled purchasing such a whip from the State Fair in a bazaar called "Mexican Village." He remembered pleading with his mother for the whip, for what reason he did not know. It would be his only souvenir and this is all he wanted, he begged. It was a strange souvenir, for a boy who had not yet reached puberty, and even he did not know why the whip held such fascination. His mother relented and all summer long he would practice making the whip's tail crack in the back yard.

Now, he unfurled the whip and summoning this fragment of memory into his hand, he sent the leather tail soaring through the air and pulling back with his wrist the leather stretched towards the officer and a resounding "CRACK" echoed in the garage. The officer twisted his head back in rage. The two men locked eyes. There were no words, only the steely glare of their eyes and for a moment time stood still and the two men engaged in a test of wills. The Reverend was the first to move and he spoke only with his arm as he coiled the whip and let another "CRACK" sizzle in the officer's ears.

The officer turned to face the man. His cock pointed at the Reverend like a weapon drawn. The men locked eyes again. They stood facing each other. Out of the corner of his eye, the Reverend surveyed the scene. Jessica body was writhing softly on the table and strewn on the ground, next to Pamela was the officer's belt with his billy club and holster. As his cock began to droop, the rage in the officer's eyes softened, his confidence returned and a dark smirk formed on his lips.

Pamela cowered and fear filled her eyes. Jessica tried to lift her head but could see nothing. The two men stared, saying nothing. It was like a duel out of the old west, gunslingers warily eying each other, looking for the slightest movement, watching for the signal, glaring at each other with intimidation and force.

The officer's erection drooped and his apprehension faded. "The man standing before him was nothing," he told himself and he smiled. "I have dropped him to the ground and I will do it again," he told himself as he slowly reached down for his belt and the tools of his trade. The Reverend knew that now was the time and reached back with his bullwhip and sent the coil hurtling through the once again. This time he had a target in mind. The air between the men was electric as the braided leather sizzled. The whip's tail cut with a vengeance and as the officer grasped his holster, the leather wrapped around his cock, coiling around his droopy appendage like a snake encircling, snaring and suffocating its prey in a deadly grasp.

In one fluid swooping motion, The Reverend pulled back with the whip and the officer's feet gave way and he crumpled to the ground. Not only had the bullwhip bit its cruel lashes in the officer's cock, but when the Reverend pulled, he nearly tore the bastard's cock off. His cries of pain were unbearable. They echoed in the hollow garage's shell with the horror of a man falling into the roasting fires of hell.

The Reverend paid no attention. He walked over to the table and brushed his shaking hand against her face. She opened her eyes and they looked deeply at each other. No words were spoken. None were needed. He untied her arms and scooped her up in his arms. Pamela rose, meekly gathered the woman's belongings and placed them gingerly in the cradle of Jessica's stomach. As the Reverend made his way towards the door, she called out, "wait." She moved warily towards the officer still writhing and screaming on the floor and fumbling through his pockets, she retrieved Jessica's panties. "She said these were a gift," and handed them to the Reverend. He took the panties gratefully and Pamela returned under the table, crouching and waiting.

"Thank you," Jessica whispered with tears. He pulled the door open and they were gone.



The Irreverent Reverend Ch. 08



The "crunch, crunch, crunch" of the Reverend's heels echoed in the dark lot. He did nothing to soften his footsteps. Jessica shivered in his arms. He held her tightly and felt her naked flesh curled tightly around him. An innocence and purity emanated from her, and though they had just left the scene of horrific ordeal, he imagined himself carrying a kitten or a new born baby.

When he reached the car, she cringed as he pushed her gently against the cold metal of the car door and reached for the handle. Her reaction was odd, he noticed, considering the torture she had just been submitted to, and there was something inexplicably different about the woman in his arms. He muttered "sorry" and moving as quickly as possible, he swung the door open, placed Jessica in the seat and covered her with his coat. Striding around the vehicle, he opened his door and twisted the key. Jessica had already slid over next to him and he felt her warmth at his side. He spun the vehicle around and when he touched the county road, draped his arm around her. 

The Reverend did not speak. He listened to Jessica. She uttered no words but her body emanated little sounds, bubbling like a spring. It sounded like water held trapped deep in the earth, gurgling as it percolated from captivity deep in the ground. Her whole body seemed to be crying and tears flowed from every pore. The Reverend was confused and as he sat next to her and listened, he wondered whether he had saved or stolen her. He knew not the answer, but he was sure of one thing, she was safe now, and that she was with him.

"Where do you live?" he asked as they left the blackness of the night and entered the deserted town. She snuggled closer to the Reverend, comforted by his question and gave him directions. They passed Billy's Place and looking into the lonely neon sign flashing in the dark window, he thought back to what seemed another lifetime ago, heard her laugher at the table and the memory of their sexy dancing and flashing him outside the men's room rekindled a surge in his loins, like a gentle nudge, and he realized that he was still semi-erect. 

It must have been returning to the safety of the deserted town, far away from the dark ordeal out there on the county road and the in back woods maintenance facility that allowed the apprehension to drop from the Reverend. A new emotion was engulfing the man. He felt the pulsing of sexual tension. He was a warrior returning from battle and next to him, cuddled around his arm was his booty. He felt the lion roar inside of him; he had captured his prey and she would be his prize. A dark smile crossed his lips and he pulled her tightly as they drove down her street and she whispered, "this driveway."

He wheeled the vehicle next to a big garish pick-up truck parked in the driveway. Its frame was elevated above huge knobby tires and it looked freakish like an oversized geek with high water pants. The Reverend's anonymous vehicle was dwarfed by the clownish truck; he assumed its owner was Ricky.

The Reverend drew in a breath and remembered that the night was not over. Her home offered false security. They would not be alone. Inside was Ricky. After their daring and heroic rescue, he returned home only to find that her castle had been penetrated and another man was waiting behind her folds. Fear was behind the Reverend now. It was a stream that he had crossed several times in the night. There was no river too wide. He would meet whatever obstacles he found on the other side. He had brought Jessica home and the lion was ready to rout out her lair.

They sat quietly for a moment and then he silenced his vehicle. As the sound of the motor died away, apprehension began to fill the Reverend. It was as if the lion's purr had been silenced as well. Uncertainty crept back into the man and he struggled to hold onto the pulsing sensations in his groin. The instant of decision loomed and grew like a thundercloud in the quiet of the car. "Would she thank him for the ride home and be gone in the night?" he wondered. It was moments like these that tormented the shy man. The tension at the end of a first date was always unbearable. Too many times he had sat, stretching out each syllable of small talk into a paper thin ribbon, watching for a sign, waiting for an indication that if he snuggled a little closer, she would respond with a kiss.

Granted, tonight was a completely different sort of date, one with the expectation that the evening would start with a kiss, not end with just one, but, after all that had transpired, his ingrained sense of propriety took over and he politely waited. Besides, there was something still nagging his brain, how Jessica looked when she was on the table, how she responded to the officer's ministrations, how, at a deep place in her soul, she had thrived on her punishment. Frankly, the Reverend began to have second thoughts about whether he had really saved her but when she slipped her hand into his, interlocked their fingers and whispered, "Come inside, lover." His confidence was restored. The Reverend opened his door and together they slid out of the car and pattered up the sidewalk to her home. 

The door was unlocked, left open as if someone or something was waiting, baiting them to enter. A TV blared and beer cans littered the table. In one corner a camera was set up on a tripod, and the Reverend looked at it in disgust, thinking back to the garage and the camera there. Ricky lay strewn on the sofa, his legs askew, his mouth gaping and he snored loudly. She breathed a sigh of relief. He was drunk and passed out.

"It is OK," she whispered and with their hands still clenched together she led him across the room towards the stairway. She started up the stairs and he followed her closely. Each step was painful as the aches in his calves and groin was agitated by the climb, but to him, each step was a penance bringing him closer her. His whole attention was focused on Jessica as she moved steadily above him, leading and guiding him as they ascended the dark stairway. The lean tone of her legs rippled and her ass giggled with each step. The redness of her flesh had faded, although in the dim light the Reverend could see the dark marks of the lash. At long last, this was truly a stairway to heaven and his heart danced. Stopping at the top of the steps, she opened her bedroom door, turned and embraced him.

It was a magical moment; a fairy tale ending after a long and difficult saga. It was this moment that he would remember most vividly when the passing of years mellowed the horror of this night; it would become a favorite page in his life's book and when his stirring urges seemed gone forever, he would open up the book, reread this page and feel his passion and joy return, unfailingly, like spring blooming in his heart. Its effect on him would be as poignant then as it was now. He embraced Jessica and felt her nakedness, her complete vulnerability and she opened up herself to him and her love poured forth. He had ascended the ladder and knew that he had arrived. Beneath him were the ragged cliffs, he had scaled the walls, and now, at summit, she waited.


He loved the thrill of entering, the first step inside a woman's bedroom. It was this way with all his lovers. The door never opened easy. He learned when to tap and when to pound, when to plead with droopy eyes and when to cajole with witty banter. The incantation was never the same, each door a little different; he gave solemn offerings, he told colorful stories, but mostly he waited, for he knew that time alone held the key to life's treasures. He blinked and her door swung open. Inside were her things; the shoes, the tables, the lamp; books stacked on the bedside table and on the floor. Almost everything about a woman may be gleamed from her bedroom. It is here that she paints the picture of her life, where she goes to escape the world, where she weaves the fabric of her soul and where she surrounds herself with those things and people most precious to her. She had opened her chamber and revealed her bed. Tonight it would be his throne.

He looked around and drank in Jessica's ambiance. She lit a candle on the bedside table. The light illuminated the room. She motioned to him and curled her hand towards him and the bed. She quickly slipped under the sheets; there was no need to undress, except for her stockings, she was naked and her bundle of clothes had been dropped on the floor. He looked around and began to remove his clothes as well. There would be no sensual strip-tease tonight, no impassioned tearing or seductive revealing. He undressed like he was preparing for a shower and glanced up at her as she intently watched. There was softness in her eyes. No trace of the long night could be seen. She watched; without expectation, without embarrassment, without voyeuristic pleasure and waited. It did not matter to her if his penis was two or twelve inches, if his abs were chiseled or jellied, if he had hair or was bald; not that these things were unimportant, later they would rear their head, but tonight, they had vanished, and seemed almost silly, inconsequential, and superficial. 

Something had happened to her between the back hall of the restroom and when the door had slammed shut in the maintenance garage. She needed this man in her bed, now. He had started a fire in her that only he could control now. The Reverend slipped under the covers and she wrapped herself around him. The litheness of her movement surprised him. They were intertwined in an instant and she moved with the speed of a spider. Now was her turn. It was his wounds that she was intent on mollifying. He had been hurt out on the highway and she ignored the fact that she had been used and tormented. She reached to her bedside table and took out a bottle of baby oil and began to massage and salve him.

The Reverend lay still and allowed her hands full access to his body. Only then did he realize that he was shaking. The softness of her skin and the coolness of the oil relaxed him. On his shins, still too painful to touch, large purple bruises had formed. The pain in his back and groin, forgotten since he rose from the gravel, now throbbed deep inside. She stroked and massaged him, like a mother cat caring for her kitten. Her fingers traced long wet licks across his flesh and he purred. 

Something did not feel quite right, pondered the Reverend. He could not place his finger on it; the feel of her touch had momentarily turned off his brain. Gently, her ministrations moved towards his crotch. She lightly spread the oil on his thighs, and careful not to apply to much pressure, she lifted his scrotum and massaged around his balls and the tender place between his sack and his anus. His penis was semi-erect and even though the flow of blood to this sensitive area made his testicles throb, he enjoyed the sensations. She took his penis in her hand and began stroking and massaging it as well.

It was the strangest of hand jobs. He could feel from her touch and the look in her eyes that she was fondling him like a doctor, not a lover. She coated his penis completely and ran her finger under the lip that formed at the top of his head and over the top across the thin slit at its peak. She rubbed his stomach, just above his shaft in circles that grew wider and wider until she reached his chest and delicately circled his nipples. The sensations were very erotic and he squeezed his penis, pushing it upwards, flaring its head.

The night's trauma disappeared and he felt his passion rise. It was then that he realized what was wrong. He had suffered several blows from the officer's billy club during the night; his shins had been battered, his back and groin ached of internal injuries and his lip had been cut and was bleeding. This was nothing compared to what had happened to Jessica. "What was he doing laying here?" he wondered in shock. 



The Irreverent Reverend Ch. 09



The Reverend took her hand and stopped her. He pressed her against the bed and rose to his knees, leaned forward and kissed her. It was a deep kiss and the force of it pushed her head into the pillow. He did not kiss her with unbridled passion, there was no frenzy to his tongue; it was long, slow, and deep, a kiss that came not from his penis but from his heart. She needed attention, the loving ministrations of his hands, the caresses of his heart. It was her body that was striped from the whip and he wondered what wounds bled in her soul.

He took the baby oil and the strong yet gentle touch of his fingers touched her. He kissed her face and cheeks, blotting up the tears that had dried there. His hands stroked her neck and under her chin. He moved to her shoulders, her breasts, and across her stomach. His hands ran along her sides and he stroked her body with an intentness that flowed from his heart to his hands. She cooed and gurgled as the air escaped from her lungs. He returned to those spots that elicited sounds, touching and massaging her, listening for the moans and sighs. He was thrilled at how sensitive she was. He had massaged cold lumps of flesh far too often, but she, under his fingers, danced.

His hand now moved towards her pelvis and she arched her back as it approached. He marveled at her belly button ring and flicked it back and forth with his forefinger and wondered that he had not noticed it before. It was a strange place for a piercing and he pressed his fingers into the tight knot and twirled the ring with his finger. He had never studied one before, at least in person, and after a few moments of teasing and toying with it and listening to her moans, he decided that it was sexy after all.

Into his hand, he squirted a large puddle of oil and held it for a moment to warm it. He placed his palm below her piercing and began to rub her solar plexus. He massaged her in a circular movement, slowly moving lower and onto her hips. She instinctively spread her legs and opened herself to him. Closer and closer his fingers approached and the Reverend stared intently at her vagina. She was completely shaved and he took in her beauty. "It is really a delightful body part," the Reverend thought to himself and he looked at the overlapping folds and to the spot where her clitoris was hiding.

She began writhing on the bed, and started to scoot herself forward. If his hand would not go any lower, then she would go higher. He spread the oil evenly and began the trek down her thighs, trailing his fingers across her tender inner thighs. He dipped his finger into the reservoir of oil that had pooled in her belly button and retraced his movements. Again and again his hand traveled down, deeper and deeper between her thighs. He traced the crevice where her inner thigh met her vagina. His fingers pushed deeply along this line, pressing the contours. She opened her legs wider; she wanted to feel his fingers inside her, her clitoris, still hidden beneath the folds, flared in passion.

He wavered, unsure whether to proceed. She was ready, of this there was no doubt. She lay flopping like a fish in a boat, her skin glistened with the oils and moisture gathered at her entrance. He waited. Then he moved lower on the bed and kneeled between her legs. He lowered his head just inches from her vagina, drew in a deep breath of air and pursing his lips he blew a stream of warm air at her opening. She gurgled as his breath struck her and she involuntarily clenched her vaginal muscles. Her lips opened and closed like a clam searching for food on the ocean floor. He drew in another breath and shot another stream of air. Her lips began to drool and his warm air sent shock waves through her body. The sensation was so subtle and yet so powerful, like the blowing of air against your flesh in a sauna.

She arched her pelvis again and her hands flew to his head, pushing him down. Again and again he blew the air, harder, faster, touching her only with his wind, fucking her with his breath. He took her hands off his head where they tussled and pulled his hair and stretched them out above her head. He moved forward quickly and kissed her again, pulling her arms forward, stretching her taut. 

He was not sure why he did this, but her reaction was quite favorable. It felt right and there was passion in their kiss. Maybe it was the way she pushed his head towards her waiting pussy that made him react so. He was going to touch her there, he was going to lick her, he was going to fuck her; of this there was no doubt. But, damn it, he was going to do it on his own terms and he stretched her arms further, pinching her wrists in his grasp and kissed her deeper. Her body was on fire and she struggled for air amidst his kiss. 

She could not breathe and he opened his mouth and with a powerful movement of his diaphragm, sucked her air out of her lungs and into his mouth. Her body grew limp and he pushed his air back into her mouth. His mouth completely encircled hers, there was no opening, no escape and he mashed his mouth on hers. She fought this strange invasion but his air, their combined breath stood at the opening to her esophagus like an army. Her walls caved and into her lungs he poured himself. Again, he sucked deeply and drew the air out and filled himself until there was nothing left and exhaled deeply until her chest was ready to explode. It was the strangest sensation, the man was fucking her with his breath, he was inside of her like no man has ever been.

Breaking the kiss, he reached his hand between her legs and grasped her pussy. In his palm he cradled her vagina and squeezed. She thrashed, he squeezed and then slipped his middle finger between the folds. It went in. He plunged deep. She was so wet, in an instant he was inside her and with a force that lifted her hips, he pushed up and in as far as his finger reached. He kissed her again, a wild and savage kiss and she reacted the same. With his palm, he pressed against her clitoris, and mashed his hand into her sex. He fingered her roughly, and shook his hand on her pussy with the quiver of a vibrator. Pulling out, he traced along her clitoris and slammed his finger back in. He was thrilled with her reactions, she was a sexual dynamo and quivered and flopped as if each movement of his hand had struck her with a cattle prod. 

With his other hand he twirled her nipples. They were erect and firm and squeezing them gave him pleasure. She reacted positively to this and he twisted them and tugged them. He moaned and he was delighted with her response. Her breathing was ragged. He had one hand on her breast and the other in her pussy when she gasped, "I wish it was you back in the garage."

He stopped. His finger slipped out. "What did you say?" he asked, her nipple slipped from his finger. "I wish it was you back there, in the garage." Her words shocked him. He did not comprehend. He reached for her nipple, absentmindedly twirled it and thought.

The scene from the maintenance garage played back in his mind. There she was, tied to a table, whipped, almost raped, and she endured a savage punishment to protect him from the officer. She had submitted to the stinging whip and the cruel words admirably, like a hero; but he wondered, who had really saved who? He thought that he had saved her, but had he really? In his mind's eye he watched her, he saw the whip as it bit into her flesh, he saw it strike her legs and he watched, in surprise as she opened them wider, how she did not hide from the pain but readied herself for more. He saw the look of lust and ecstasy on her face. "Had he really saved her?" He felt a twinge in his cock and saw himself there in the garage, looking at that screen, like an old blue movie, and he realized that she was not really being raped and abused but that she was thriving on being taken by the officer. Down deep, he knew this to be the case and yet he had refused to believe it.

He looked at her now. She lay beneath him and there was a longing and a pleading to her face. In her eyes, eyes that were once clenched closed; he saw a plea, a vulnerability, a desire. "What did she say?" he said to himself and he looked at himself. His arms strained as he held her wrists taut above her head, his kiss did not stop at her lips but forced himself deep into her lungs. He could feel his desire to pleasure her on his own terms, not hers.

In the deep dark hours of this morning an awakening occurred. A change took place inside the Reverend. He was not discovering something new about himself, for this thing already resided within him. Crouching, dormant and waiting, like Pamela under the table, it lived in darkness, thrived in the dank video booths and in moments of weakness it broke free of the Reverend's cloistered life and reared its head. "Was it really weakness?" he wondered as he threw open the door that so many times he tried to slam shut.

The shyness he usually felt around women vanquished and a power surged inside. A confidence took over his body, and the thunder of hoofs from a victorious army filled his ears and he saw himself, although weary and bruised, on the lead horse.

She looked into his eyes and waited. A transformation had taken place in her as well. Her words had led him to the edge of an enormous precipice. Now, they both teetered on the brink, ready to leap, ready to shred the final shards of and shackles of convention. She trembled and waited. He was a different man then the shy man who sent her sweet emails looking for a thrill. He words dangled him over the cliff; she held his eyes and waited. In the darkness of this long night, she too had learned something. The secret she struggled to hide and fought to expose revealed itself tonight. There, in the garage, on that coarse wooden table, she had become the object of her deepest fantasy. So often she craved this vulnerability, this desire to be taken, to be used, to be fouled with the seed of men, to become an empty vessel that could not be filled and whose shell cracked when held in their rough hands. When this happened she felt free; when the binds of her body were cut, her heart would soar and she would find peace. Her sexual prowess and independence was a cover-up for what she really desired. She felt her life to be a charade, an endless Halloween of deceit, a mask contorted against her face so when she left her room, she would blend into the crowd.

The officer had stripped the mask with the first lash of his whip. His power was complete. There was no cajoling or flirtation as the hard metal of his squad car closed in around her. There was no teasing or playfulness as he stripped off her clothes. She submitted. She had no choice. She allowed him access to her body. She received his punishment and felt the wetness between her legs. But she did not give in completely. There was more to her fantasy. It was a last chapter, one more door, the final gate that she did not think a man could ever reach. Here, the last door remained closed; a savage and selfish man like the officer was powerless to open it. It was against this door that she threw her body and with her eyes clenched closed. Now, with open eyes, she looked up at the Reverend, his body loomed above her and she waited. Would he be the one? Does he have the strength to open the door? 

The seconds turned to hours and looked into his eyes and saw his hesitation, his confusion. Her words were simple and they held the key. "I wish it was you back at the garage." She uttered to him like a prayer. Now, she felt herself falling, dropping with abandon and fright; each lingering second propelled her further into a hopeless abyss. He stood above her, staring, questioning, and wondering; his mind ran the string of words over and over as if to test it for strength or seek out any hidden flaw. The words were all that linked them now.

In her heart, she believed him to be ready. She had felt his power explode outside the restroom and witnessed him confront the officer. He had brought her home, victorious, and now she offered herself completely to him. Desperately she wished he would grasp the rope, her life line and pull her up. Still, she fell. A great battle went on in their brains; it was fought on foreign territory and if the contest had been waged in their hearts, there would be no fight, no equivocation, no doubt, no shame. He looked at her and she looked at him. The instant turned to hours. Still she plummeted, only he could save her now. If only he would take her words, hold them fast to his heart, and then she would return to his arms, to safety, and rebound like a bungee.



The Irreverent Reverend Ch. 10



ES TO FINAL CHAPTER

"This is the final chapter, and it does, at long last, contain the steamy sex scenes, however, I realize I have done you, my gentle reader, a disservice for the manner in which this tale has been sliced in time, category and delivery. To understand how Jessica and the Reverend are now able to unite and how their transformation is possible, I recommend searching out and following the preceding chapters first." 

*

He arched his back and breathed deeply. His nostrils flared; he drew in the room's air, filled himself with each trace and nuance emanating from her chamber. Her arms were stretched above her head and he released his grip then stepped back and threw the covers off the bed. Without a word he moved to her legs and peeled off her stockings. His hands moved swiftly, filled with confidence. She lay still on the bed and felt dangled in mid-air, unsure whether he was going to reach over the edge and rescue her or take his departure. He stepped off the bed and she trembled. "Was he taking these stockings home as a souvenir?" she wondered.

He moved to the head of the bed and grasping her arm tied a knot around her wrist. He secured this to the headboard and then did the same with the other. At the foot of the bed and he gruffly pulled her legs and her body down, so that she was outstretched and tight. He paced, circling with the single minded intentness of an animal marking his territory. 

His hands became animated as he stretched his fingers, rolled them into his palm and pressed his palms together. His hands readied, he touched her. There was tenderness in his fingertips, but he curled his fingers so that only his nails scraped against her flesh. Though he had not spoken a word other than an occasional grunt, she felt in his touch, his hands firmly clenched around her lifeline and she knew that she was no longer falling.

He stood at the foot of the bed and pushed her legs apart so wide that each foot dangled over the edge. Eyeing her dressing table, he opened the top drawer, it was not polite curiosity, rather the drawer was flung open and he pawed the contents, looking for something, searching for an item, though he had never entered her room before, that he was now intent on recovering. He slammed shut the drawer and opened the next. Reaching inside, he took another pair of stockings, she had many, and set about to bind her legs in the same manner as her hands. Still, he did not say a word. She watched him breathless as he stalked about the room. "Something has happened," she told herself, "he is no longer the timid man she met at the bar." He took in every detail of the room, looking, exposing, and rummaging through her private boudoir. 

Reaching for his jeans, he slipped the belt out of the loops, folded it in half and smacked his palm several times, gently at first, then harder. Reading his lips, "This will have to do," she heard him say. 

"My precious," he spoke and kneeled on the bed next to her. Her eyes were glued to him and she waited. "It shall be so," he whispered, and took her face in his hands and squeezing her cheeks lifted her head off the pillow. He brought his mouth down on hers, hard, wet, with a primal savagery. They kissed. He shot his tongue in her mouth and their lips danced; his tongue a rogue minstrel darting between their mouths in a dervish whirl. She struggled to return his oral embrace, to keep time with the rapidly moving blur of mouth and tongue. He gripped her shoulders and pulled her further down the bed, springing the elastic of the stocking and her arms even tighter.

His hands were all over her body now, the oil allowed him to move quickly, and his short nails clawed her flesh. From her neck to her feet, his hands moved covered her. He touched every part of her, nothing lay hidden; his hands pushed under her back, and she arched as his fingers plied the area between her shoulder blades, followed the knobs of her spine and kneaded the small of her back.

Kneeling between her legs, he took his left hand and smoothed it over her stomach, reaching for the pool of excess oil that had formed in her belly button. Coating his hand, he moved his palm with slow deliberation across her swollen pussy, taking care to brusquely push against her engorged clit, past her vaginal lips, entering them only a fraction of an inch, and proceeding past this opening to her ass. His fingers dawdled only momentarily on her anus then explored further, following this cleft until it disappeared at her tailbone.

On his next pass, he re-lubricated his hand from her belly and followed the same line, slower this time, more direct, and with greater pressure. This time he stopped at her anal opening and his finger spun a slow circle around her anus. She had only recently begun to explore this area, and was still highly sensitive, both mentally and physically. There lingered, in her mind, the idea that this was dirty and a forbidden place, so when she found a man confident and strong enough to push himself in there, the juxtaposition of emotions promised her a life changing orgasm.

He wasted no time, she noticed, and her muscles instinctively twitched as his finger approached. A smile crossed his lips as he watched how a push of his finger would cause her hips to buck. She was so sensitive and responsive. He pushed, she bucked; he pulled back, she relaxed. He had no idea that these games could be this fun. He played with her, teased her, and noticed that every action of his met with a reaction of hers. Never had he been with a woman so alive, so attentive to his touch. He toyed with the opening to her ass and then, in one smooth motion, he buried his finger deeply. She gasped and he pushed further, splaying his other fingers out of the way, invading her as far as possible.

Now, with his finger deep in her ass, he twisted it; first to the right, then to the left, and, returning it to center, his thumb entered her pussy. He slipped right in, she was so wet and he pushed deep inside her. The warmth of her sex filled his hand and then, as he felt her juice drool and pool in his palm, he clenched his fist and raised her hips off the bed. He held her with just his middle finger and thumb, her pelvis followed his instructions, and, like a well trained horse she arched her back, anticipated his movements, and raised herself in the air. "Yesss," she squealed, her cry tangled and barely intelligible. 

He held her aloft for a moment and then set her down on the bed. With his free right hand, he returned to her breasts and to her outstretched nipples. There was no foreplay now. He pinched her nipple between his thumb and index finger and her body shuddered. He marveled at her reactions. He pinched the other nipple and pulled on it until snapped between his slippery fingers. Again, she exhibited the same reaction. He was getting the idea of this now and dug one hand simultaneously in her ass and pussy and with the other, tormented her breasts, squeezing them savagely and pinching her nipples. She cried out and flipped on the bed, tugging with her wrists, unable to escape. She writhed and pulled against the stockings and the bed's frame. He persisted, and her body became a lightning rod under his fingers, each small motion of his amplified in her.

Her eyes were closed and he watched her carefully. Her eyelids were not clenched, as before, and although her body flopped and tugged at the stockings binding her limbs, he sensed peacefulness in her countenance. It was starting to make sense. He felt a quiver begin within his left hand and he pulled his fingers out. The lack of stimulation drove her crazy. Her pelvis bucked, seeking his hand, mourning the loss, she was so close now. He watched as her hips calmed and he smiled. "Humm," he thought and flaring his nostrils he inhaled deeply, taking in the air and all that he could of the woman bound beneath him.

When her breathing became regular, almost normal in its rhythm, he brought his face to hers and blew a warm stream of air, like the one he used to stimulate her vagina, on her mouth and face. She opened her mouth, and received his air. He blew again and coated her lips and the inside of her mouth with his stream. When he had exhaled completely, he brought his lips closer to hers and licked her. He made big cat licks, using the flatness of his tongue, and covered her lips with long, flat, wet licks. Her tongue darted out to meet his and he pulled back. His tongue darted, in a little game of cat and mouse. He teased her with his tongue, coaxed her with kisses and when she pursed her lips or reached out with her tongue, he pulled back.

"Lovely, absolutely adorable," he commented and leaned back to view her. Her skin, coated with perspiration and oil, glimmered in the candlelight, and the traces of the whip and his fingernails had dispersed themselves into a general reddish glow. Her breasts bobbed on her chest and every moment or so a slow rocking movement circled her pelvis. Her lips were flushed, both on her mouth and on her vagina. A quiet had come over her body as he ran his hands through her hair.

She rested, felt him combing her hair and was content. It pleased him to see her this way and he paused and admired her before he stepped off the bed and retrieved his belt. The Reverend coiled the buckle around his palm and leaving about two feet loose, he dangled the leather over her body. He rotated his wrist so that the belt made wide arching strokes over her; she felt only air, a butterfly kiss, as it grazed her surface. Back and forth in a pendulum, he swung the belt, from her legs to her shoulders. Each time he made a pass, the belt moved a little closer until it touched her flesh, first on the raised flesh of her breasts and then across her stomach and hips.

He coiled several more inches in his hand and then closing his fingers into a fist, he began to whip her, gently at first but gaining in tempo. He watched her eyes and face intently as the tap of the belt grew in volume and sharpness. Special attention was paid to her breasts. Each nipple was extremely sensitive and he struck only above and below. Next, with his free hand, he pinched her nipple, and she gasped, and he tugged it towards her neck, exposing the underside of her breast and her delicate flesh to the rapid pace of the leather. Then, he grasped the other nipple, pulled this breast forward and a series of "cracks" sounded there as well.

Her breath grew ragged and he sent the belt down on each nipple, its swollen tip took the blow and jabbed into her like a finger. Faster then slower the leather strip landed and she writhed under his watchful eye. Across her stomach the belt landed and her panting became exaggerated. Lower and lower, the belt inched down until he crossed her belly button and passed by her piercing and its metal ring marking the place like a signpost, the danger zone below. The slaps penetrated this zone, past the invisible tan line and on the smoothly shaven area just above her pussy. Her pelvis arched slightly to meet the leather. The "slap, slap, slap" echoed in her room and then he moved the belt lower hop scotching to the tops of her thighs. She felt the sting strike her tender flesh as the belt wrapped around her thighs.

Her face bore a grimace but her eyes remained calm. Nowhere, did he see the tightly clenched eyelids that he witnessed back in the garage. He dragged the belt across her, it almost tickled, and, when her cheeks relaxed, he raised his fist and sent the belt flying again. It struck her legs, her stomach and her breasts. He drew it across her again and alternated teasing with its tail and tormenting with its sting. He thought back to the garage, it seemed lifetimes ago, and realized that, for the second time in one night, Jessica was bound, exposed, and forced to endure a man's punishment. There was something very different about this scene. A communication on a deep primal level was happening between Jessica and the Reverend. He struck and she received, he pushed and she opened, and when she faltered at the edge, he drew back and she reopened herself.

It was not as if he hadn't played this game before. He had. There were times when he flung the door open and allowed the dragon to snort its fire freely. He was certainly no expert, but had delighted in tying clever knots and composing simple designs with clothespins. He had spanked, pinched and listened for the hidden "yes" in the "no" but had always stopped long before tears welled. During these times, they were lonely travelers, moving on private one way streets and his only memory was how they seemed to meet and then fade away, with only traces of red tail lights in his mirror and fading colors on her flesh.

Tonight, with Jessica, it was different. She was bound on her own bed and had fully given herself to him. It was as if she could anticipate his every move, and he could anticipate hers. They had not spoken more than a dozen words to each other since leaving the garage, but with their bodies, they freely talked. He was vigilant as he watched the pain mix into pleasure and with each strike of the belt he felt a power welling up inside of him, each muffled cry a pulse in his soul. He was not the officer in the garage whose quest for domination had become a vicious tornado, a man whose void twisted and shattered everything in its path. No, tonight the Reverend had found life and although the passage they walked was dark, he was her guide and her fire glowed brightly, their darkness gave way to light.

A tingling arose on his back. It started low and crept up his spine where it spread out across his shoulders like a mantle. It was pure animal sensation, primal, beyond words, before thought. The hairs on his back stood erect. He was covered in quills, bristling, and ready to defend or to devour. He had become a grizzly bear inside, infused with instinct, ready to command and to control. Deep breaths filled his lungs, his nostrils flared and his eyes bore into hers. Letting go of himself he gave way to the animal within.

The Reverend reached for her legs and swiftly untied the stockings and pulled her legs up, over her head and refastened them at the headboard, next to her arms. Her body was now bunched up, her knees at her elbow, her ass raised off the sheets and her swollen pussy lifted in the air. He restarted his lashing. The soft flesh of her buttocks and the tender skin on the back of her thighs had been waiting. Here, surrounding her most sensitive parts is where she craved the stinging; here, protecting her vulnerability is where the belt strikes would be the fiercest.

Firmer and harder he swung. "Crack, crack, crack," sounded the belt and he darted from one side of the bed to the other, alternating his blows, listening to her moans echo the staccato of each lash. Her eyes were closed and his never left hers, the thin veil of skin did nothing to hide her, with each stroke she led him further and he followed, prodding her forward. 

The pain in his scrotum, where he had been mercilessly clubbed hours before, began to throb anew, his blood pulsed and his hormones raged. He struck harder, she writhed on the bed, and he watched each lash ripple through her body in wave after wave of sensation; the waters of pain surged towards an ocean of pleasure and her vaginal lips oozed and rippled with contractions like breakers as they rose, curled and crashed against the beach. 

Her ass was glowing and traces of welts could be seen in her flesh. Looking up, he noticed the eerie dance of candlelight giving way to daylight. Fear gripped him and he realized that dawn was approaching. The light of the day caused him to feel naked and he sensed that soon the sun, the great adjudicator of darkness, would find him and strike back, scorch him for the transgressions of his darkness and exile him into the reality of the day.

Harder and harder he struck, with an increased vigor, each "crack" became a feeble attempt to scare back the approaching light. He sought the protection of the cave, this dark place where the sins of the flesh were atoned in hedonistic pleasure. He felt the animal snort fire as it warily eyed the opening and he knew that he must open the cave before the light of day would expose its carnal existence. There was not a moment to lose. The animal's lifespan was counted in hours, not years and the creature must return to darkness, to safety before light filled the room. He raised his belt and struck. She recoiled and her hips trembled. He struck again and her legs shook like a great mountain bowing before an earthquake. The opening quivered and the crack grew wider. He struck again. He did not know how much pain she could bear, but it was here, between her lips that the belt landed. He lashed and she clenched. He lashed again and waited for her to recoil and then open herself wider. Again and again, he pummeled her sensitive opening. Again and again, she opened herself to his assault. He whipped her with an endless flurry and like bats in the hour before dawn; the whir of his belt clouded the entrance of the cave as they descended from the darkness and sought refuge in the cave.

She had left long ago, gone to a place deep inside, and the pain hardly registered now. She had entered her own cave and felt a weightlessness and freedom. Her body had become a shell and her soul, propelled onward by the pain, soared with freedom. She had dropped over the edge and was now spelunking in her soul. He had pushed her and though she could not see or move her limbs, she knew that she was safe and that he alone held her lifeline. He wished he could follow her but each lash of his whip sent her further and deeper in the cave. There were only her eyes, and though closed, he knew that through them she could signal. Once more his belt landed between the tender and swollen pussy lips and then, he stepped back and watched as a great eruption shook her body. Now was the time, he could wait no longer.

He crouched like an animal and positioned himself in front of her gaping hole. There was no thought of foreplay, no tenderness, no teasing. He would not toy with her now, he had no desire to slide his cock across her open lips and feel her wetness lube him, he would not bounce himself against her engorged clit and slap her with his throbbing appendage, no, now was the moment and he felt pure manhood, animalistic in its most basic urges propel him forward. He lunged and jabbed himself into her. With a single stroke pierced her and entered her fully.

She shuddered as she felt him expand in her loins. The anticipation of the long night was finally shattered. He was inside her now. Pulling out, he stabbed her again, sliding his cock effortlessly into her like a knife slicing flesh. Recoiling, he stabbed her repeatedly, each stroke harder and deeper. He now slammed himself into her and through she shuddered at the impact, she felt herself pushing to meet his onslaught, forcing him deeper and when he pulled back, she followed the path of his retreating cock with her pelvis lifting and readying herself for his next stroke. 

He slammed into her and she strained to open herself wider, to split the walls of her cave, to give way to the battering ram that stormed her door. His pelvis ground into hers, his hips pounded her petite frame. She groaned as each impact filled her loins and emptied her lungs, yet he paid no attention; she was surrounded and captured, her defenses were breached and she lay frenzied and ecstatic in her surrender. Again and again he plunged into her, the tyranny of his cock ruled the night.

This man was no longer the Reverend, there was nothing cautious or conservative about him, a new entity embodied him tonight. He was ancient, primordial and had become pure animal. With each thrust he entered her and with the single-minded intentness of an animal pursing its prey, he pushed and clawed into the musky damp earth, forcing his way deeper and deeper into the cave. He pulled back and slammed into her with his pelvis extended like a missile, so he could squeeze into her cave, his cock engorged in this wet and warm cavity and his soul craving release within her primordial womb.