With his big cock working slowly inside me, Pastor John closed his eyes in what appeared to be prayer. “Are you asking forgiveness for fucking me, Pastor?” I asked. “No,” he replied. “I’m asking forgiveness for what I’m about to do to you.”
“You’re coming with me, Martin, and that’s final,” my mom shouted at me on my first Sunday home from college for the summer. “Jesus, mom,” I complained. “I’m not a kid anymore. I don’t want to go to church.” Mom pursed her lips. “Do not take the good Lord’s name in vain, especially on a Sunday,” she admonished. “And you’ll go to church while you’re under my roof. Besides, there’s a new pastor at church. Pastor John. He’s younger than the last one. Has a wife and two young daughters. I think you’ll like him.”
I had no interest in Pastor John … until he stood up to give the benediction at the start of the service. Holy fuck, he was hot. He looked no older than thirty. With his trim beard, his dashing smile, and his muscles bulging under his white clergy robe, I wanted him in the worst way. His adoring family sitting in the front pew didn’t help matters. Unbeknownst to my mom, I had developed a predilection for getting fucked by hung daddies during my first year of college. I had bent over for several professors, but never imagined I’d be attracted to a man of the cloth.
“Stand up, Martin,” my mom ordered as she raised me by the collar for the closing hymn. I was struggling to hide my raging boner. I held the hymnal over my crotch as we sang. Upon the close of the hymn, Mom grabbed me again and pulled me down the aisle to stand in line to greet Pastor John as we exited the church.
“And who’s this strapping young man?” Pastor John asked my mom as he extended his hand to greet me. He shook my hand firmly and lingered as he held my gaze. It was like he could see into my soul. He finally released my hand, stroking my palm gently with his index finger as he pulled his hand away. “Your mom tells me you’re home for the summer,” he declared while placing a hand on my shoulder. “Yes, Pastor,” I replied, trying not to blush under his steely gaze. “Would you mind if I borrowed your son for the afternoon?” he then asked my mom. “We’re still getting settled in at the parsonage, and I could use a strong, young man to help me get some boxes up to the attic.” Mom beamed. “Yes, Pastor,” she replied ingratiatingly. “Martin will be glad to help.”
An hour later, I climbed the steps to the parsonage in a shady yard behind the church and rang the door bell. Pastor John opened the door and leaned against the door frame. Fuck, he was even hotter out of his white clergy robe. He was in a crisp white shirt that was partly open at the collar with a tuft of chest hair peeking out. He had on a pair of slim, khaki pants that couldn’t conceal the large bulge at his crotch. In his hand he held a tumbler of Scotch, which I could smell on his breath. Once again, I felt he could see into my soul as his eyes surveyed me.
“Come in, Martin,” Pastor John finally said. “Thank you, Pastor,” I replied. “No, call me John,” he insisted. “I like to be more … uh … casual here in the parsonage. Care to join me in a drink?” he asked while closing the front door and holding up his tumbler of Scotch. “Uh … no thanks,” I stammered. “I like beer, but I’m not much for the hard stuff yet.” John shrugged and led me into the living room, inviting me to sit on the couch with him. As I looked around, I didn’t see any of the boxes he had mentioned. I also didn’t see his family. “Mindy took the girls down to her parents in Tuscaloosa for the afternoon,” he informed me. “They won’t return until after dinner.”
“You … uh … said you need help with some boxes?” I asked. Placing his scotch upon a sofa table, John leaned back against the couch, unzipped his khakis, and pulled out a thick, hard, eight-incher. “Fuck the boxes,” he said. “I’d rather have your help with this big dick.” I was instantly salivating and wasted no time in leaning over to get that big cock in my mouth. “No, boy,” John admonished. “Get down on your knees and worship this dick like you need it.” I dutifully complied and was soon on my knees, slobbering all over that big tool and taking him down my throat. His precum tasted delicious, and I couldn’t wait to swallow his load, but John had other plans.
“You want it up your ass?” he asked, pulling his cock from my mouth and playfully slapping my cheek with it. I nodded as John stood up, grabbed me by the hand, and led me upstairs. I thought he’d fuck me in the guest room, but John led me into the bedroom he shares with his wife. “I love fucking a guy on the bed where I fuck my wife,” he confessed. “It makes me feel so … naughty.” John’s hands were all over me as we stripped out of our clothes. He lowered me onto the bed and was soon on top of me, his hard cock pressing against my tight hole. With his big cock working slowly inside me, Pastor John closed his eyes in what appeared to be prayer.
“Are you asking forgiveness for fucking me, Pastor?” I asked. “No,” he replied. “I’m asking forgiveness for what I’m about to do to you. And I told you to drop the Pastor shit,” he admonished. Suddenly, it was like a great awakening took place inside of him. He seemed possessed. With his big cock now all the way inside of me, John went from zero to sixty in about three seconds and began to jackhammer me furiously. There was a violent rage behind his eyes, a desire to destroy me or my hole … or both.
“Yeah, faggot,” he grunted. “You like this big cock in your pussy, huh? Tell me you like this big cock,” he demanded. He was pounding the shit out of me, and my head was banging against the headboard unrelentingly. I gave out a muffled, “Mmm hmm,” in agreement, but that didn’t satisfy him. “I said … do you like this big cock in your pussy, faggot. Speak up. I can’t hear you.” Mustering my breath in between his merciless thrusts, I exhaled as hard as I could, “YES. I fucking love your big cock.” He gave a satisfied grin, pounding me harder. I raised my head to kiss him, hoping that might slow his pace some, but my effort was futile.
“Don’t kiss me, faggot. I’m not your boyfriend,” he admonished. John then pulled out of me, flipped me over onto my stomach, and mounted me from behind. “Yeah, this is the view I like,” he announced. “Watching my cock wrecking your cunt.” He was able to go even deeper in this position, and I was loving it. “You like being used like this, faggot?” he asked. Not waiting for my response, he continued, “Yeah, you worthless cunt. The only thing you’re good for is being a cum dump for married men like me.” The intensity of his fucking was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. He couldn’t last much longer at this pace, was my thought. And I was right.
“SHIT, faggot. I’m gonna bust,” he announced urgently. John’s hands were on the small of my back as he raised himself higher and gave my hole some deep, final thrusts. “Aww, FUCK. Here it comes, faggot. Open that pussy for it.” And instantly his body began to convulse as I felt his warm load release inside me. “SHIT … FUCK … DAMN,” he exclaimed as his balls continued to empty, filling me with his seed. He pulled out of me with a violent thrust, his load spilling out of me and onto the sheets. He rolled over and stretched out beside me.
“Whew,” he exhaled. “I fuckin’ needed that.” And instantly it felt as if Pastor John had returned to his normal self. Whatever had possessed him, had finally relented and released him. “I’m … uh … sorry if that was too intense for you, Martin. I get a little crazy when I fuck a guy. I’m not like that with my wife.” I told him that I understood fully, and that I actually loved being fucked hard like that.
“Shit,” he exclaimed while looking at his watch. “I’m leading a Bible study in an hour. I gotta shower and change. Maybe put these nasty sheets in the wash, too,” he laughed. He pulled on a pair of boxer briefs as I got dressed, and then walked me downstairs. His cock was still hard and straining against the front of his briefs. I wished he had time for another round, but I felt confident that I’d be back another time soon.
“Hey, Martin?” John asked as I stepped off his porch. “Be sure to tell your mom we had a good talk and got you all straightened out, OK?” He was smiling, like it was some kind of joke. “I don’t understand,” I replied. “Oh, your mother asked me to talk with you because she thought you might be a faggot,” Pastor John confessed with a smile. And then with a wink he added, “Lucky for me, she was right.”
Stories are fiction and intended for readers 18 and up. All characters are assumed to be legal, consenting adults.
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