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Grace Goes to Church

By: Jemma_Jane



**Authors Note**

Many Thanks to Estragon who helped me sort through the copy editing details of this story - and even called me the M Night Shyamalan of Pornography...okay, he didn't. But he hinted around that readers would like the twist. 

*

Grace had been dodging calls from her mother for a week. The only reason she could possibly have for calling is to defend her snake of a son. Grace definitely didn't have the time or inclination to be bullied into giving him another chance. No way. Her estranged husband Roland had fucked up so badly that reconciliation was impossible. Why waste breath talking about it? What reasonable explanation could he give for blowing the rent money at a casino last month? He hadn't even stuck around to tell her himself, just left a note blaming their lackluster sex life for his bad choices. Friends had eventually told her that Roland was currently shacked up with a cocktail waitress from the same shitty casino. No, Grace had nothing to say to him that a lawyer couldn't say better. But it would be just like that spineless bastard to have his super- Christian mother deliver more bad news. He probably wrecked their car.

She might as well get the conversation over with, and now was as good a time as any. She picked up. "Hello, Melinda."

"Grace! Where have you been? Are you free this Sunday? I need your help at church."

This was unexpected. "I am still not looking to join a church, Melinda." She thought they had put that matter to rest years ago. "Especially not that mega church you attend. It's creepy. Especially that Ken-doll pastor."

Melinda gasped. "Pastor Brett is not creepy! He is passionate about Jesus Christ. Everyone at Jupiter Hill looks up to him. His sermons are so inspiring. In fact that's the reason I'm calling. We need help at the church daycare on Sunday. There is a prayer-a-thon all day, and Pastor Brett will be closing with an excerpt of his new book, Faith and Morality in the Family. The church members will get to buy it a week ahead of its national release! It's very exciting. Anyway, so many of the women want to attend that we can't staff the daycare. I know you have worked in a daycare, so I thought you'd be perfect."

Nope, I'm not going to be doing that, Grace thought. She drew a breath to tell her so.

"Wait! Before you say anything," interrupted Melinda. "Remember you owe me a favor. Who paid your mortgage last summer when Roland was in between jobs? And for your replacement fan belt? And...." Oh, God, Melinda was obviously reading from the little loan ledger she kept on a white board next to her refrigerator. Grace hated being beholden.

"If I do this you'll stop talking to me about that mortgage loan and start talking to Roland," she demanded. "I'm divorcing your son. You need to stop calling me."

There was a long, disappointed, mother pause. "Maybe if you were a little more Christian in your behavior my son wouldn't be re-evaluating his choices right now." She said self-righteously, "I am trying to extend a hand to a soul in need and you should be thanking me."

"Thank you! Thank. You. For asking me to babysit all day Sunday. And then practically black-mailing me to do it. I am so glad you called!"

"Sarcasm is the lowest form of humor, Grace. See you Sunday around two. Wear something modest. I don't even know what to suggest, all I ever see you wear are jeans. We have a certain way of dressing at the church...I'll send something over. God Bless."

Grace hung up, seething. Horrible woman. Horrible Christian hypocrite. Though she was usually a live-and-let-live kind of atheist, Grace found herself wishing she could do something to shake Melinda's faith. She was so smugly certain about it. 

The next day the outfit arrived. It was atrocious, styled right out of 1985. It was white with cabbage rose print. There were puffed sleeves and lace insets. It ran from shoulder to mid-calf. It was definitely the most hideous thing Grace had ever put on. She consoled herself by thinking this would be the last time she'd ever have to see Melinda Rutherford. Or hear her.

She styled her dark hair in old-fashioned soup can curls and decided to leave off stockings as a small rebellion. The only white pumps she had were a little pointier than was strictly appropriate, but hey, what did she care?

Arriving at two, she discovered the daycare area a mess, and families waiting to check in their offspring and join the prayer-a-thon already in progress. Grace found out she could expect reinforcements around six and perhaps a break at seven. 

A dozen parents dropped off kids within the first hour and Grace ran around organizing activities and breaking up toddler fights. She noticed many of the church members looking at her oddly and eventually a well-dressed man pulled her aside and asked her who she was.

"Uh, I'm related to Melinda Rutherford. Sort of. She just recruited me to help with the kids for a bit."

"So you are not currently a member of the congregation?" he asked.

"No. Do you want me to leave? It's fine if you do. I'll go, its fine by me."

"Oh, No! No, not at all. In fact, I have great news. Pastor Brett invites you to join him in his offices!"

Grace was momentarily dumbstruck. "He does? Why?"

"Pastor Brett is always interested in meeting with young people to get their points of view. He wants you to share with him, and he, in turn, will share with you."

Grace wasn't into it. "I'd rather not." Suddenly she realized the opportunity she might be missing. This could be an amazing way to discredit Melinda's hero. "Wait, maybe I could meet him for a few minutes. But my break isn't until seven."

"Nonsense!" the man said agreeably. "My wife is happy to step in, she knows the children well, so it's no trouble. Come with me now."

Grace followed him, wondering at the way her body was on high alert. Her senses were just tingling as they made their way down a long hallway. Along the wall she saw oil paintings. Most were of Pastor Brett. She could recognize him easily after seeing him on billboards all over town. He was probably in his late forties. His hair was blonde but beginning to silver. He had a trustworthy smile and easy authority, a personality that had earned him millions. His wife, Brandy, was often in the photos as well. She was a big boned, motherly type, with gigantic hair. She favored high-necked, floral print dresses similar to the one Grace was wearing.

The man himself was sitting behind an impressive desk in his office. She was shown into the room and deposited at the center of a large blue and gold carpet. The wall behind the desk was dominated by a stylized pieta in Venetian plaster. She felt the gaze of the Pastor like a physical thing, like a mantle of awareness. Pinning back her shoulders, she did her best to meet the challenge bravely. Yes, he looked like the man smiling down from advertisements, but his charisma really could not be captured on film. 

Magnetism. That's what he had. He rose up from his chair, looming above her. She didn't know if she should feel afraid or awed. She looked up to see if a light was beaming down on him. He literally seemed to glow with confidence and conviction. He held out his arms to her in welcome.

"People are talking about you, my dear. A new face in the congregation is always welcome. I wanted to extend my personal welcome," he boomed.

Grace found herself blushing. "It's nice to meet you, but I'm not actually planning on joining your church. I'm just here to fulfill an obligation to my mother." Pastor Brett really was overwhelmingly handsome up close. The sincerity that didn't translate to photos fairly oozed from him in person. She found herself intensely flattered that he had sought her out to greet her in person.

He nodded in understanding. "Yes, Melinda Rutherford. Not to be unkind, but she's sort of the church gossip. She has been telling several of the ladies that her son is leaving you because you are... well, never mind."

Grace hated that Melinda was badmouthing her to Pastor Brett. She drew up indignantly. "Wait, she said he is leaving me? Because why? No, I am definitely the one doing the dumping here."

Pastor Brett looked sympathetic. He causally strolled to the door and clicked it shut. "That makes more sense," he soothed. "I've met Roland and agree that morality does not come naturally to him. He has a lot to learn. But in spite of that, I simply cannot accept that you are frigid and unwilling to accept your wifely duties."

Grace felt like a blood vessel in her forehead was going to burst. "That bastard! Our infrequent sex life was more his fault than mine. When a man betrays your trust, you hardly want to give him a blow job later." She abruptly realized who she was talking to. He didn't look discomfited by her outburst, but then, how often did people really bring up blowjobs around him? "I'm sorry, Pastor. I didn't mean to say that."

Pastor Brett smiled, hitching his hip on the desk in front of her. "I'm just a man, Grace; you can say anything to me." It was true, he was radiating goodness and she felt compelled to confide in him. 

"It's not that I don't like sex. I do. Or I did. But Roland has turned into such a wretched man that he doesn't deserve it anymore."

"But you do, don't you?" said the Pastor. "I can relate, you know. My wife and I have four young children. I don't believe in intercourse when a woman is breeding, it's an unnatural experience for the baby. So I often go long lengths of time without skin on skin contact. The frustration can make you crazy."

She gazed up at him. Golden, big. Surely he was too handsome to be a man of God. "So what do you do?" she asked, believing he was about to deliver an inspirational speech on self-control or responsibility. She jumped when his hand reached out to caress her jaw. 

He didn't answer her question directly. "Melinda wonders if you might be a lesbian. In the past you have forgiven Roland his little episodes. Is there someone else? Why are you drawing the line so firmly this time?" His words were fatherly, but his blunt finger was suddenly tracing her upper lip. She had the appalling urge to open her lips and touch it with her tongue. 

"A lesbian! Hardly. I've been going without while Roland runs around with his new girlfriend!" she blurted. "And I don't want him back anyway, he's a rat!"

"Grace, Grace, Grace. All this anger is unhealthy. What if Roland can be changed? He can change, you know, with the Lord. And so can you. You just have to let go of all this resentment." It was absurd, how persuasive he was. She didn't want to let him down, but was not about to let go of her anger toward her husband.

"But it's not fair!" Grace worried she sounded childish. His hand had traveled down to her neck now. It was strange. Maybe it was his form of faith healing. In a way it was working. She never would have believed she'd be discussing her marriage issues with this pseudo-celebrity while thousands of worshipers waiting for him to begin services downstairs.

He was wearing a suit, charcoal gray. His shirt was cream colored, his tie patterned with subtle pinkish-blue angel wings. He wore a thick gold ring with an embedded diamond cross. He was massaging her upper arm now. 

"It should be fair. Can't we think of a way to make it fair?" He suddenly urged her to stand. Taking her by the hand, he led her over to a window overlooking the parking lot. Rows and rows of cars lined up in every direction. "See that? All these people think I know the path to salvation. Maybe I do." He stood behind her, caressing her upper arms through the puffed sleeves of her dress. He pressed his entire body lightly against her and she gasped. He was hard all over.

"I know that a man must be satisfied in life to know God in heaven. I know that a man cannot live with sexual frustration without it impacting his professional and personal life." His hand moved to her hair, pushing it to one side of her neck. He leaned in and whispered against the shell of her ear. "It is a man's nature to seek release. It is a woman's pleasure to give it."

Ohhhhh, God. Her panties were suddenly drenched. In the space of a heartbeat her body was overwhelmed by desire. She shifted, feeling the lips of her labia slide against one another. She felt embarrassed, wondering if she was the only one feeling this. Was he just giving her marital advice?

No. His long erection pressed against her behind. He held his throbbing member still for a moment, then flexed forward into a suggestive grind. "A woman like you was made to please," he rasped. "In biblical times a woman submitted to her man. It's against your essential nature to hold yourself from men. God only makes bodies this perfect when he intends for a woman to share it."

It felt perfect as he ran his hands up her rib cage. He moved lower, sliding over her flat belly and around to grasp her hips and bring them harder against him. Desire pounded through Grace's veins. "Even underneath your proper clothes, I can see that you are perfect. The way you fight it is a huge turn on. You are begging for a man to master you." His hands began to toy with the buttons near her throat. "May I?"

"Yes," she croaked. The desire to be obedient to him was overwhelming. 

But he didn't undo her buttons. Instead he began to pull her dress up by the fistful. And up. And up to her waist. Her cotton panties now pressed directly against his hard dick. Wait, when had he unzipped? She looked down saw that his pants were around his ankles, partially covering his shiny loafers. His big hands were stroking her thighs, cupping her ass. He pulled her cheeks apart and nestled deeper. "Like that?" he murmured.

She was breathing rapidly. It felt like he was going to burst through her panties and ram inside her any second. She was shocked to the core that he was doing this to her, but felt like she'd die if he stopped. His will was so strong; she wanted to bend to it. She moaned softly.

"You do like it!" he exclaimed. "I knew you would when I spotted you downstairs. I could smell the lust on you. Here." Now his fingers were pressing against her panties from the front. Moving up and down, abrading her clit against the cotton. "You're a born whore. You can't help it. For the right man you'd have been the perfect wife. But Roland doesn't know how to harness your passion." Pastor Brett did. God, he did. His hand was making rough circles, slipping behind the sopping material to bury itself in her short pubic hair. She squeaked. "Good, I like that you are quiet. Be quiet for me when you come," he commanded. 

There was a low bench next to them. He urged one of her legs up, bending it to offer him free access to her pussy. "Mmmm, I wish I could bury my cock inside you." He said. Two of his fingers entered her up to the knuckle. They swirled teasingly, before beginning a more serious penetration. 

"You can," Grace whispered, then bit her lips tightly to keep her screams inside.

He laughed softly. "I know I can. I can do anything I want with you. But I don't betray my wife that way." Her pussy was making crass, wet sounds under his ministrations. "Oh, Grace. I can't believe all this is for me." 

She blushed, knowing he was referring to the thick juice that was dripping between his fingers. She was going to come. She was going to burst into flames.

Abruptly he turned her, gathering her skirts and her leg over one arm. Holding her open he pressed his impressive dick against her center, applying pressure just where she craved it. It was just what she needed. Her body bowed and quivered as she silently shook with a powerful orgasm. He pressed her head into his chest and held her through the storm.

He petted her hair. "There. That's good. Now it's my turn, right Grace?"

Her eyes fluttered open. Dazed, she stared up at him. "Your turn," she parroted. He abruptly left her and gathered his trousers up in an efficient movement. He strode over to his desk, settling into his massive leather chair. He crooked a finger. 

Grace had taken only two steps when Pastor Brett barked at her to halt. "Don't walk! Crawl!"

Grace felt her knees tremble and she briefly fought the urge to defy him. Surely this was too humiliating. She had never crawled for a man and never would, her inner voice asserted. However it didn't feel wrong. In fact, it felt incredibly right, she realized as her knees hit the carpet. The lazy way he watched her, so pleased and approving from his leather throne, made her feel sexier than she ever had in her life. If only she wasn't wearing that nightmare of a dress. 

She paused, sitting back on her heels. Her fingers impatiently tugged at the oversized buttons of the dress. The giant lace collar fell open quickly, and she quickly shimmied from the stiff shroud. She continued her crawl dressed in nothing but a white satin bra, white cotton undies, and her pointy white high heels. The straps of the bra fell down around her elbows, threatening to expose the large globes entirely. A little twist on her part made the cups fold downward, freeing her soft, white tits. She looked up at him through her lashes, hoping he was enjoying the sight. 

Instead he was frowning. "I prefer to leave breasts covered," he said stiffly. "They are for the purpose of feeding children, not meant to be sexualized."

Grace felt a little of the spell wear off. She looked down at her breasts, her best feature in her opinion. They were swaying as she moved, big with small pink nipples. He really didn't want to touch them? She arrived in front of him and sat on her heels. Shoulders back, she displayed herself to him. "Are you sure you don't want to touch them?" she asked coyly.

But Pastor Brett did not immediately begin to pinch and fondle them as she craved. "In the future you will wait to disrobe until I have requested it. If I request it," he chided. "I prefer if you follow directions explicitly." 

Grace still thought he was kidding, "Or what?" she breathed. "Or you'll punish me?"

Pastor Brett was looking deeply into her eyes, conveying his regret. "Yes. I'll have to. Otherwise you won't learn."

"How will you punish me?" she asked, her center moistening again at his game.

He reached to his desk, rifling in an upper drawer. Slowly, he pulled out a wooden ruler. "With this," he told her. "Put your hands at your sides."

Her body obeyed as if by instinct. He brought the ruler up until it levitated just below her left breast. Anticipation zinged through her. A second later he delivered a sharp slap to the underside of her breast with the tool. It stung. She yelped.

"Remember, be quiet for me," he reminded pleasantly. He then slapped her breast again, harder. She whimpered and he seemed to like that better. He switched hands and gave her right side the same treatment. The sting made her want to shrink away, but she knew instinctively he would punish her more severely if she did so. He raised the ruler again and anticipation shot through her. Would he do it even harder?

"I don't want to hurt you," he told her. "I just want you to be a good, proper whore. There is a difference, you know, between streetwalkers and women who use their talents for important purposes. I am offering you this opportunity, but there are rules." Smack. "Babies suckle breasts." Smack.

Grace suddenly spoke up, "I can't have babies!" she gasped. "I wish I could, but had some medical issues as a kid and...I can't now." This had always seemed like a sad thing to her, but she wondered how Pastor Brett would react. She looked up at him and saw his kind, sympathetic face was back.

"Ahhh, that explains so much. No wonder you don't embrace the Lord. I think we just found the source of your anger and misguided independence." He put down the ruler. "Well. This changes things."


Grace Goes to Church



"It does?" She hoped he would not send her away. Her body throbbed for more of his attention.

"Absolutely," his blue eyes were focused on her heaving tits. "Everything has a purpose. So why do you suppose you were granted these big, succulent tits if they were not meant to nurture?" he mused.

Grace felt like a first grader who knew the answer to teacher's question. "I know! Are they for...arousing you, Pastor Brett?"

He tilted his head to the left thoughtfully. "Hmmm, that is quite a thought. Perhaps so. I have always made a point to stay immune to them. Perhaps you can how me how they can be used for my pleasure." He waved his hand at her, giving her permission to move more freely. 

Grace brought her hands up and fully cupped her red and abraded tits. She fingered her small nipples, like little pink eraser tips. She pinched lightly and used her grasp to jiggle the larger area.

Pastor Brett smiled. "I like that. Can you do it harder?" She did, feeling like a string connected her nipples to her pussy. With every pinch she felt an answering jolt deep in her slick canal. When her poor nipples could take no more, she fully palmed her breasts and smooched them together. Afraid to disturb the avidly watching man, she decided to silently convey her point. Sticking her tongue out, she began to lick the imaginary cock between her cushioning boobs.

Licking his lips, Pastor Brett shifted forward. "I see now why men are so attracted to large breasts. Now, stop that for a minute and crawl closer. Keep your head down."

Grace complied, moving between his splayed legs. She stared at the floor while he fiddled with his belt buckle. He opened his slacks and she could see them slide down to the floor again. His boxer briefs followed. 

She could all but feel his cock calling her name. In her normal life she would have taken control now, knowing just how to please. But Pastor Brett was different. He had different needs. He would tell her how to begin.

"Here, now," he said, his voice gentle. "I didn't get a shower this morning, what with all the preparation for the prayer-a-thon. Why don't you lick my balls clean for me? They are very sweaty."

Grace obediently moved forward, working her face into the vee of his legs. His balls were big and warm, resting well beneath his semi erect penis. She longed to lick it like a lollipop, but figured she had some penance to do first. Her lips opened and her tongue snaked out, running over the wrinkles of his testicles. She drew one into her mouth, laving it in a way she imaged he would like. She moved to the other one. "Get the underside," he instructed from above. Grace with thorough, removing the salty tang from him systematically. She didn't think he was deriving sexual satisfaction from it, exactly; he was just making sure she knew her place. Below him. His servant. Any command he gave, she felt primed to follow.

"Good!" he praised. Now stand for a second and let me give you your reward." She did, and he pulled her onto his knee. "You are learning! Now I want to prove that I can learn from you." With that, he leaned forward and touched his smooth face to her nipples. He rubbed it around, opening his mouth to let his teeth grace the small tips. Grace moaned. Sparks kindled behind her eyelids. She felt so grateful to him, so lucky that hers were the only breasts he deigned to fondle and suck.

"More please!" she begged, her breath ragged.

"Shhhhh, quiet. Remember my parishioners are out there." He nipped her lightly and made her jump. "They would think I was bestowing an honor on you before you are ready."

"I'm ready!" she whimpered. His hand was between her legs now, inside her panties. It just rested there and she carefully denied herself the pleasure of moving against it. 

Pastor Brett released her nipple and made eye contact with her again. "Are you? Are you ready to accept Jesus Christ into your life? And my cock into your mouth?"

"Yes! Yes!" she affirmed. 

He guided her off his knee and back onto the floor. His penis rose in front of her. It was pink and thick enough that her fingers couldn't quite close around the girth. The head was an impressive purple mushroom that bounced playfully against his hairy belly. She eagerly tasted it, teasing a clear drop from the tip with her tongue's ministrations. Her circling hand worked his shaft roughly as her hot mouth laved his head. She tucked it into her cheek and ran her tongue down the underside. She moved up, letting his heavy shaft fall between her big breasts. She pressed the pillowy mounds around him and moved up and down. His cock bumped her chin and she leaned down to let it hit her extended tongue as he let her use her breasts to pleasure him. He praised her. He said she was skilled. A good whore. Made for this.

She felt his fingers in her hair, urging her down, challenging her to take more of his dick. Soon she gave up control entirely and let him thrust himself deep into her mouth. She worked to keep her throat relaxed as he buried himself roughly, again and again.

Abruptly he stood and, without allowing her to release him from her mouth, leaned her head back against his desk drawer. Legs bent, he face-fucked her savagely. Grace felt overwhelmed, but let it happen. Tried to make it good for him. She maximized the position by grasping his buttocks and letting her fingers play suggestively in the cleft.

After several minutes of pounding he let loose a low growl and shot a hot spurt of cum into her welcoming mouth. He pulled out then, letting his hot ejaculate fall on her cheeks and open, seeking lips. 

"You look good like that," he praised her. "I could look at you like this every day. Marked by man. Here, lick it off," he used his finger to clean the semen from her face and urged her to suck it from his finger. Grace did so, trembling. She was just realizing that their interlude was about to be over, and she hadn't had the pleasure of feeling his cock inside her.

He seemed to sense what she was feeling. "Are you disappointed, little girl? Do you think you deserve more?" She did not answer his rhetorical question, just arched her back as he played with her nipples absently. "I have to go down now. You have helped me clear my mind. I am going to change the world today! But you can wait here, if you like."

"You'll come back?" she asked eagerly. "Can we do...more?"

He smiled fondly. "Your spiritual and physical journey is not complete. He opened his drawer again and she flinched, worried he was getting the ruler out again. Instead he withdrew a black velvet mask and some kind of silk rope.

"Here, I have an idea. Stand up." Grace did so. He dropped the mask over her eyes, encasing her in darkness. "Now lean over my desk." Again, she complied. She wondered if he would whip her with the rope. But no, he was looping it around her wrists. Not too tight, just firmly. It then felt like he was securing it to the far side of the desk, leaving her lying naked over the mahogany, or nearly so, apart from her white panties, which by now were probably translucent with the liquid of her own excitement. She was face down, awaiting his pleasure.

"Wait here." He told her, letting his hand stroke over her buttocks and thighs. "You are so gorgeous this way. I will be thinking of you while I am away. Be quiet. Do whatever is asked of you. Bless you my child."

"Yes, Pastor Brett. Please hurry." She knew she had no right to ask, but her vagina was throbbing and her hands were bound, so she could not give it the attention it deserved herself. She listened as he righted his clothing. He practiced a few lines of his sermon, seemingly having forgotten her presence across his desk. Soon the door clicked and she knew she was alone.

She stayed that way for over an hour. Still incredibly turned on, body on high alert for the sound of Pastor Brett's return. In time, the sound came. 

A door opened quietly behind her. Not the same door she had entered through, one from a corner of the room she had not noticed. 

"Pastor Brett?" she whispered. She felt him move behind her and his hand went unerringly to her weeping pussy. He ripped her panties away and she bleated her excitement. He toyed with her clumsily, the delivered a hard slap to her flowering labia. She loved it. She spread her legs in invitation.

He was breathing jaggedly as fumbled with his clothing. She felt his cock against her behind. It felt a bit smaller than she remembered, but she reminded herself he had just had an orgasm in her mouth an hour prior. Maybe he needed some time to recover before he could get his full length back.

He grunted as he entered her in one easy stroke. No condom. She gloried that he wasn't worried about her having any nasty diseases or if she had lied about her ability to get pregnant. He knew she would always tell him the truth. They had a bond.

He was fucking her hard, pulling her hair. Groping her breasts. Sweating and swearing. 

It seemed strange that he was swearing so much.

"Fuck, motherfucker, yeah, fuck." He chanted. His pounding style reminded her of a cave man. A primal mating for the purpose of satisfying a returning conqueror. She reveled in her ability to please him. The feeling buzzing through her was better than an orgasm. She felt utterly mastered and used and valued. A man needed this, and she was providing. She reveled in the feeling of the rope at her wrists, the helpless openness of her position. She surrendered fully to his brutish lovemaking and experienced the first ripples of her own orgasm around his hammering cock. Moments later he came, a big hot load that filled her like a custard doughnut. He remained inside her, grinding in circles, until his flaccid penis slipped free.

"Was that good? Was that what you wanted?" she asked him, anxious for a word of approval. He didn't respond at first. She heard him adjusting his clothing. 

He walked around the desk and fiddled with the lashing of the rope. When she was free she sat up slowly. She didn't remove the mask, awaiting instruction. He came back around and gathered her against his button down shirt. Lovingly, he removed the mask. 

Grace gasped.

Roland grinned down at her. "Hello, Grace. I want you back."