Fred Phelps (Creator of Westboro Baptist Church) Erotic Fiction
Fred Phelps had a long day of picketing soldiers funerals, and just wanted a soft pillow to lay his weary head. He entered his Kansas home tired, yet rock hard from all the chaos. “Where do I put all these signs” he gruffed, then promptly threw them at his pool boy Emanuel. Emanuel was a tall, mocha man with a chest as smooth as God’s magic wine.
‘Let me help you slip into something more comfortable’ Emanuel lisped, while tenderly pulling off the ‘God Hates Fags’ shirt Fred so desperately loved. Fred was drenched in sweat and needed a good pat down. He’d been a dirty boy, and Emanuel was to cleanse him like a jizz apocalypse.
‘The towel smells like lilac...the devils anus’ Fred belched while softly being lowered onto the velvet couch. Maybe it was the hint of anus in the air or the soft touch of sweat..who knows, but suddenly Emanuel unzipped his boy shorts to reveal his sweet cinnamon stick ‘I want you to suck it.‘ Fred looked puzzled. He’d known Emanuel for years, yet had never been confronted with his picket sign... bouncing in the wind like God’s words over Mount Vesuvius. Fred looked into the volcano hole and saw a drop of holy water pouring forth. He could feel his own cock raging beneath his cargo khakis. Suddenly, with a burst of energy , Fred began sucking Emanuels shaft like it was his calling. Fred could feel each vein rubbing against the roof of his mouth, churning and pushing. He wanted more. He wanted to be pounded like a Bible during a sermon. Emanuel grabbed the back of Fred’s head and shoved him further on his cock. ‘Suck it harder you faggot!’ With those words, Fred unzipped his own pants and began fingering his asshole, needing it to be fucked.
Emanuel released his penis from Fred’s mouth cave. ‘I want you to beg for it’. Fred then pulled his khakis down to his white kankles, then kneeled on the couch exposing his burial tomb, waiting to be resurrected with Emanuels cock. ‘Please, fuck me like a bad boy’, Fred yelped into the ether. Emanuel stood there, staring into the dark hole and placing a shroud of Turin gently over his shaft. He got harder looking at Fred’s quivering asshole. Suddenly, Fred’s ass cheeks were parted like the Red Sea, and Emanuel shoved his rock hard cock into the dry path. Emanuel pounded for hours, and Fred was taking it like an offering plate. Sweat rained and moans poured. Finally, Fred could feel lightning in his balls. This was the moment, the heavenly moment his genitals had been begging for. This was The Great Flood. Fred’s dick burst open like the doors of the Ark after 40 days. He released his inner animal into new found territory. His seed poured onto the velvet couch. ‘Oooh God Yes!’ Fred moaned, then quietly fell against a soft pillow. For the first time he was calm. The only sound was his heartbeat stifled against velvet.
Emanuel quietly zipped his boy shorts and put on his shoes. Fred tried calling out, but was in a powerless post-orgasm state. ‘Will I see you again’ Fred sighed. Emanuel looked at Fred with warmth and finally spoke, ‘No. For I am your guardian angel, watching over you but never intervening’. Then he sprouted wings and flew out the door like a gust of wind.
Fred never saw Emanuel again, but itched his loins every time he felt velvet.
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