Chapter II: The Minister
The next few weeks passed uneventfully. Julie and I refrained from explicitly discussing our meeting with her step-father. I noticed, however, that she seemed to become somewhat more physically affectionate in the days afterward. Still, when I attempted to initiate sexual contact, she again shot me down. "Timmy, you silly! You know that I want to wait until we're married!" The fact that I had just witnessed her suck another man's cock--her own step-father at that--did not apparently change her commitment to chastity, at least as far as my chastity was concerned. Whenever I would attempt to broach the subject of what took place in her father's office, she simply giggled, and dismissed it. "That's just Daddy being Daddy,” she would say. “He's always been like that." I wondered if she might be in denial or even suffering from trauma due to such apparent on-going abuse by her step-father, but she appeared as happy and carefree as ever.
Perhaps because my own father had died when I was very young, or maybe because I have simply always been rather passive, I did as Ambrose Grant instructed: I withdrew from the university I had been attending, and I began an internship at his real estate firm, despite having no experience or particular ambition in the field. Over the next few months, I seldom encountered Mr. Grant at the office, especially since most of my work was off-site, helping to stage high end properties for photos and showings. I met his sons, Julie's step-brothers—30-year-old Lamech and 25-year-old Tamar—both of whom were friendly, out-going, and welcoming. Although I grew up in a non-religious ******, it turned out that Ambrose Grant was a practicing Baptist, and a big contributor to the local African Baptist Church in which he planned for Julie and me to be wed. To that end, he had arranged for the two of us to meet with the church minister for pre-marriage counseling.
Pastor Elijah greeted us in his office with a welcoming smile, a handshake for me, a friendly embrace for Julie, whom he had apparently known for many years. He wore a dark gray blazer over a black shirt with a clerical collar, and wire-rimmed eyeglasses. A handsome black man, he appeared youthful, but a smattering of gray in his short-trimmed hair suggested he was likely in his 40s. "A wedding is always a blessed occasion," he commented. "I am so pleased that you have decided to marry in the church. I officiated at the wedding of Ambrose and Julie's dear, late mother, and I am honored that I can do the same now for the two of you." I wondered if he guessed at the perverse nature of Julie's relationship with her step-father; I wondered if I should confide in him, seek his advice on how to deal with it.
Pastor Elijah spoke of the importance of marriage, of ******, of tradition. He said that our decision to refrain from physical intimacy was a sign of maturity and our commitment to a higher, more spiritual love. When he inquired about my previous sexual experience, I blushingly admitted that I had none to speak of beyond some occasional furtive teenage groping with whichever girls took enough pity on me.
"Please, do not be embarrassed, Tim," he assured me. "Self-restraint, abstinence, demonstrates strength of character. There is no reason for shame." I expected him to ask about Julie's sexual experience next, which might be the ideal moment to discuss the bizarre situation with her step-father, but instead Pastor Elijah asked us to stand and face one another. He came around the desk, and stood before us. "On the blessed day, you will stand before your loved ones and betroth yourselves to one another for eternity in the eyes of the Lord. Have you considered whether you prefer that I recite the traditional vows or exchange vows of your own?" We confessed that we had not given it any thought. "Well, discuss it, let me know what you decide. There is no rush. I’m a fan of tradition myself, but all weddings, like all marriages, are unique."
Taking Julie's hand, the minister exclaimed, "My! Julie, what a beautiful engagement ring. Tim, I must say, you have exquisite taste for such a young man." I did not confess to him that, as Julie conveyed the story to me, Mr. Grant took one look at the very modest diamond I had given her, and insisted that she toss it in the trash. "I cannot have my ******** wearing something that might as well have come from the bottom of a Cracker Jack box," he protested. He immediately arranged for Julie to pick out a more suitable ring using his account at Tiffany's. I pressed Julie on how much the new ring had cost, and she confided that it had been about $15,000. Sensing my displeasure, she protested, "But don't worry about it, Timmy baby. It makes Daddy happy to do nice things for me. The ring you bought was so sweet and thoughtful, but Daddy has a point. It was not really the kind of thing I can, you know...show off to people."
Continuing to hold Julie's hand, Pastor Elijah noted, "The engagement ring is an important token, of course, but it will be the exchange of wedding rings that really symbolizes your union. And with that, I will pronounce you husband and wife before your friends and ******. The wedding kiss follows, which acts a seal, a true sharing of souls." The minister caressed Julie's hand with a familiarity that made me uncomfortable. "The wedding kiss needn't be chaste, certainly, but you want to avoid it being, how should I say…lewd."
The clergy man leaned in and pressed his lips to Julie's, taking hold of her sweet face in his large black hands. "Something like that should be sufficient," he said, looking at me with a wide smile. "What you want to avoid is something, oh, like this...." With that, he leaned in again, but this time covered Julie's lips with his open mouth, clearly inserting his tongue deep inside. My mouth hung agape, but having already witnessed my fiancée sexually violated by one black man, I was uncertain how to react to her violation by another. Julie, I observed, appeared non-plussed, and returned the kiss.
Withdrawing his long, dark pink tongue from Julie's mouth after several moments, Pastor Elijah commented, "Well, my dear, you are as fine a kisser as I remember." Remember? He must have kissed her like that before, I realized to my horror. He ran his hands down her body, cupping her firm, young breasts. "And you are still built for sin, I must say, you sexy little trollop."
"Now just a moment," I protested.
The minister shot me a withering look. Julie simply snickered. "Oh, Timmy, don't be like that. Eli and I go way back. He's practically ******." That made me wince as I had already seen how some of Julie's ‘******’ treated her. Pastor Elijah turned his attention back to my fiancée's lovely, alabaster bosom, reaching into her blouse with a large black hand, and fondling her fleshy breasts.
"Timmy," he said. "Do me a favor, and unbutton your intended's top for me, so that I can admire her beauty properly." A soft whimper escaped my throat, but I stepped behind Julie, and began undoing her blouse as instructed, starting with the top button. She arched her back so that her breasts stuck out proudly for the perverse pastor's pleasure. With the last button undone, Julie shrugged out of her top, revealing a lacey white brassiere supporting her pale, rounded mounds.
"Go ahead, son," Elijah cajoled me. "Continue. Unhook your fiancée's bra for me, would you?" His tone and demeanor were completely nonchalant, as if instructing men to undress their girlfriends for his pleasure were an everyday occurrence. “I understand that you don’t have any experience undressing a hot woman,” he taunted, “but I’m sure you can figure it out. You seem like a bright young man.” I unclasped Julie's bra, and slipped it from her breasts.
"Ah," sighed Pastor Elijah in appreciation. "It has been too long since I last saw those ivory beauties." Clearly, this wasn't the minister's first time having his way with my fiancée. How many men, how many black men, I wondered, had taken advantage of her? I stood back, watching passively as the handsome clergyman lowered his mouth to Julie's bosom, taking one ruddy nipple between his lips as he rubbed the other one between his long fingers. Julie mewed in pleasure at his manipulation of her hardened teats. I watched with equal parts shock and interest as her small hands ran over his groin, caressing the growing bulge of his crotch.
"Make yourself useful, Tim," the pastor said, "and help Julie out of her skirt, would you?" Feeling powerless to do otherwise, I knelt behind my beautiful fiancée, and reached around to unbutton the waist of her plaid skirt. Unbidden, I slipped it down around her lovely legs. "Now," said the black minister, his hands roaming over Julie's smooth, white flesh, his breathing heavy with desire, "remove those silky panties for me." I complied, realizing as I did so that this was the closest I had ever been to Julie's naked sex, and that it was at the direction and for the enjoyment of another man.
I remained on my knees behind Julie, entranced by her curvaceous buttocks, when, suddenly, I noticed two long, brown fingers appear between her legs, probing her vagina. She widened her stance, welcoming Elijah's violation of her pussy, the very thing I had been denied for so many months. The mound of her vagina was neatly trimmed, and the lips a pinkish blush. I heard her moan as the minister inserted those fingers inside her, screwing them around and around.
"You know, Timmy," Pastor Elijah informed me, "your bride has the most wonderful cunt, just made for the pleasure of a black man. Of course, I have had the pleasure of fucking it many times thanks to the magnanimity of Ambrose Grant, but I never seem to tire of it." Peering down at me, he then said, "Since you're on your knees already, son, why don't you bow your head and kiss my feet in subjugation, like a good boy?" When I hesitated, the pastor raised one foot to my shoulder and pressed my face down to his other foot. I applied my lips to his black leather shoes, realizing as I did so that he wore Ferragamo's, which must have cost well over a grand. Mr. Grant's contributions to the church seemed to extend beyond sharing his step-********'s pussy.
With my lips pressed to Pastor Elijah's shoes, I lost my view of Julie's violated sex. Just as I tried to raise my head to continue watching, the minister pressed his foot to the back of my neck again, this time forcing my head to the floor, maintaining the pressure on the side of my face. I could see nothing beyond his shoes and Julie's white heels. I could, however, hear the lewd smack of lips as the couple made out above me, my presence irrelevant to them.
"You know you want it, baby," the perverse man of the cloth said to the woman I intended to marry. "Go on, and fish that bad boy out." I heard the sound of a zipper being undone, followed by a happy squeal from Julie. Were I more of a man, I would have put an end to this debauchery right then; instead, I lay with my face pressed to the floor, my virgin cock grown stiff in my slacks.
Julie's heels disappeared from view, as Pastor Elijah lifted her off the floor. An excited yelp suggested that he had impaled my future bride on his black erection. If I had any doubt, he put them to rest with a satisfied moan. "Praise Jesus," he declared. "This sweet white pussy is as fine and tight as ever! You filthy whore! Just can't say no to black dick, can you, slut?" Julie stammered, "N-n-n-n-ooooo!" as the black man began bouncing her up and down on his member, their combined weight pressing my face painfully to the carpeted floor. "I l-l-l-love b-b-b-black dick," Julie exclaimed.
After several minutes, Pastor Elijah lifted his foot from my face, turning to lay Julie across his desk, his shaft buried deep in the pussy I had been denied. I scurried backward, and looked up at his long, lithe figure bent over Julie's body, her legs wrapped around his waist. As he continued to rut, Elijah undid the belt of his slacks, letting them drop around his ankles. He looked over his shoulder at me, and said, "Don't just kneel there like a white retard, son. Make yourself useful: reach between my legs and massage my big fat black balls while I fuck your beautiful bride. Go on, now."
The minister still wore a pair of black silk underwear, his cock and balls jutting out of the fly. I did as he instructed, and reached between his thrusting legs, taking his large testicles in my hand, feeling their fullness bloated with seed. I rubbed them between my fingers gently, fearing his wrath if I grasped them too firmly. "What do you think of that, slut? Your loser white boy is massaging my big nuts for me, making sure I can unload a nice big load into your whore womb." Julie simply moaned. "White boy sure knows his fuckin' place," Elijah chuckled. "Just like your Daddy said."
The pastor was right. I was a loser. A wimp. If I was too weak, too passive to defend Julie against such men as this, I was useless to her. I had sucked her step-father's filthy black prick, and now I was rubbing the black balls of the very man who would officiate at our wedding. The most perverse part of all this was not Julie being sexed by her step-father and her minister; it was that some small, vile part of me believed that this was my proper role, assisting these men in their use of my bride's body. I belonged on my knees, facilitating their orgasms, tending to their needs. Whatever else these men might be, at least they were men. I might as well have been a eunuch.
"Kiss my black ass while you're back there, son," Pastor Elijah instructed me. I hesitated only a moment before pressing my lips to his rounded buttocks. "Do it right, boy," he yelled. "Pull down my fuckin' underwear!" In order for me to do so, the minister had to momentarily pluck his thrusting prick from my fiancée's cunt; once his briefs were down, he plunged right back into her womb. Meanwhile, I slathered his black ass with obedient kisses just as he had directed, all the while continuing to pull at his magnificent balls with my right hand. I was willingly debasing myself for the satisfaction of the man who was fucking the woman I loved. Some small part of me recognized that I was doing this because it was my proper place before a stronger, dominant, more virile man, a black man, just as it was Julie's proper place to spread her legs for his pleasure. I wanted to fight the urge, but confronted with his aggression and confidence, I could only obey.
"I have to confess, baby," I heard the pastor hiss to my beloved, "I know it is a sinful indulgence on my part, but I do so enjoy putting faggots like your white boy in their proper place, on their knees, kissing a brother's African ass!" He roared with laughter at that, while Julie giggled at his naughtiness. All the while, I continued to lather his ebony buttocks with kisses. Strangely, the humiliation began to turn me on, and I reached into my slacks, starting to stroke my own dick. As I listened to the sound of the minister's oversized fuckmeat sloshing around inside Julie's vagina, driving her into a sexual frenzy, I rubbed my little, white knob with one hand, while my other caressed my tormentor's bloated testicles. When Elijah looked over his shoulder at what I was doing, he raised a foot and slammed it down on my crotch. I screeched, sounding more like a schoolgirl than I liked. "No sinning in my church, you disgusting faggot!" he shouted. "Your job is to make sure I enjoy a good cum, not wanking your pathetic little tallywhacker! My dick matters, white boy, not yours! My cum matters, not yours!"
From her position on the desk, I heard Julie say, "Listen to him, Timmy, baby, please. He's a minister. He knows all about sinning and stuff like that." I removed my hand from my now aching crotch and focused all my attention on the pastor’s buttocks. “That’s better, faggot,” he encouraged. “Now, spread my black cheeks, son. Get a good look at my shithole.” I did so, parting the globes of his ass to reveal the dark brown, puckered anus ring deep in the musky crack. “That’s the stuff, boy. Now, go on, go on and kiss my black asshole. Show me what a fag you are for a black man’s butt.” Wrinkling my nose at the offending odor, I inserted my face between his cheeks, and pressed my lips against the clergyman’s hole. I was so weak and timid and pathetic that I was allowing men like Pastor Elijah and Ambrose Grant to treat me like their prison punk.
As I continued to make out with his sphincter, the minister drove his mammoth prick deeper into Julie’s womb; as he rutted, his ass would slam back into my face. I could hear the constant squish of his bloated prick plugging Julie’s ravaged, leaking pussy. It was obscene, but it was the nearest I had ever gotten to actual sex. Even from this vantage—on my knees, behind the copulating couple—I knew that I was incapable of fucking my beautiful fiancée with anything near the energy and virility that the perverse minister was. I simply was not man enough.
When Julie cried out suddenly and loudly, I realized that it was because the ****** pastor was releasing a load of his virile sperm deep in her womb. With his balls in my grasp, I could feel the excess nut ooze out of Julie’s ravaged pussy and coat my fingers. It was thick and gelatinous, with a strongly acrid odor that hit me with a rush. “Goddamn! Goddamn! Goddamn!” shouted the clergyman, incongruously taking the Lord’s name in vain as he reveled in his satisfying orgasm.
I felt my own tiny prick dribble a small amount of watery semen in response to Elijah’s bold sexual abuse of my beautiful blonde fiancée. As I remained kneeling on the floor, I heard the black minister and my beloved exchange sloppy, wet kisses in their post-coital bliss. Elijah’s previously bloated testicles seemed to deflate in the palm of my hand, depleted of their potent seed.
After several minutes, the pastor took a step back, withdrawing his well-drained prick from Julie’s pussy with a wet plop. He turned and looked down at me approvingly. “Ambrose told me you had potential, son,” he said with a grin, “and I can see what he meant.” His obscenely long brown cock hung flaccid between his legs, fuckslop continuing to ooze out of the prodigious, apricot-sized head. “Time to put that cuck tongue to work, boy,” he laughed. “Get to cleanin’ that mess up, now.”
As humiliating as I had found it when Ambrose Grant had forced me to suck his grotesque prick clean, a part of me thrilled to the idea of being made to clean yet another black man’s jizz-coated rod. I reached for the pastor’s drooling cock, only to be greeted with a smack to the side of my head. “I’m a man of God, you dumb, white faggot,” the pastor hissed. “Not a disgusting, Godless sodomite. Keep your perverted cuckold hands off my man dick. I want you to suck my seed out of your whore fiancée’s snatch! Get to fuckin’ work, you degenerate!”
In all the time we had been together, I’d never been allowed any more access to Julie’s beautiful pussy than the occasional chaste grope through her clothes. Now, here I was, on my knees before her sex, freshly-fucked by another man, raw and distended and dripping generous wads of the minister’s pungent fuckslop. Julie remained upon the desk, looking down at me, her legs parted wide in anticipation.
“Oh, go on, Timmy, baby,” she cooed. “It’s okay, really. Pastor Elijah really did make a terrible mess that needs cleaning.” The depraved pastor took hold of me by the tip of my ear, and dragged me between Julie’s open thighs. “Get to work, white boy,” he instructed firmly. “Show your bride what kind of husband you’re going to be.”
I tried not to think about what the pastor meant by that comment as I sniffed at the swampy result of their fornication. Although twenty-years-old, this is the closest I’d ever been to any woman’s pussy, at least since I was born. I lapped at the lips of Julie’s sweet cunt, swollen with the pastor’s rough use. I inserted my tongue into the gaping cavern left by the black man’s leviathan of a dick. A thick porridge of salty semen dropped into my mouth, sliding down my throat like a raw oyster. I suppressed a violent gag as more and more of his seed spilled onto my tongue from the recesses of my fiancée’s womb. I was weak and compliant, eager to please both Julie and the man who had just fucked her with such vigor and skill. I was what Pastor Elijah had called me: nothing more than a white faggot.
“Oh, Timmy!” Julie giggled. “You’re doing such a good job. I always knew you would.” With Julie’s encouragement, I licked and slurped at her pussy, even wrapping my lips around her swollen clitoris in order to suck it clean of the pastor’s splooge. My fiancée ran her fingers through my hair affectionately as I knelt between her legs, submissively cleaning the cummy mess of her pussy.
Pastor Elijah, meanwhile, had pulled his trousers up, and stuffed his big black pole back in his underwear. He leaned beside Julie on the desk, watching me devour his seed. “I have to tell you children,” he commented, “it will be a pleasure to officiate at the joining of such a loving couple. This is exactly the kind of devotion I like to see in young, white couples.” I looked up at him quizzically. “You are marrying into one of the city’s best black families, Tim. One of the best families period. It is important that you, well, know your place. I can see by your eagerness to please, to follow instruction, that you do. Julie’s father will be gratified to hear that his impressions were correct.”
The pastor gently pushed my face back into Julie’s sloppy cunt, smearing my mouth onto their co-mingled juices. “It is very important to Ambrose that you do not interfere in his very special…relationship with his lovely ********,” he explained. “You wouldn’t think of doing that, would you, Tim?”
Sandwiched between Julie’s thighs, I shook my head no, smearing the pastor’s slop over my face. Julie clapped her hands. “Oh, Timmy! I knew you would be the perfect boy for me! That’s what I told Daddy. He liked you right off the bat!”
As I continued lapping at Julie’s sticky snatch, Pastor Elijah continued, “After the exchange of rings, I will pronounce you husband and wife. Then, Tim, you will kiss the bride in front of the entire congregation, and your marriage will be sanctified in the eyes of God…and of Ambrose Grant, which is of even more importance. What do you think, son?”
I raised my head from Julie’s gaping cunt, my face thickly spackled with the holy man’s gelatinous sauce. “I can’t wait, sir,” I answered quite honestly. “I can’t wait to make Julie my wife!”
Next Chapter: The Bachelor Party
The next few weeks passed uneventfully. Julie and I refrained from explicitly discussing our meeting with her step-father. I noticed, however, that she seemed to become somewhat more physically affectionate in the days afterward. Still, when I attempted to initiate sexual contact, she again shot me down. "Timmy, you silly! You know that I want to wait until we're married!" The fact that I had just witnessed her suck another man's cock--her own step-father at that--did not apparently change her commitment to chastity, at least as far as my chastity was concerned. Whenever I would attempt to broach the subject of what took place in her father's office, she simply giggled, and dismissed it. "That's just Daddy being Daddy,” she would say. “He's always been like that." I wondered if she might be in denial or even suffering from trauma due to such apparent on-going abuse by her step-father, but she appeared as happy and carefree as ever.
Perhaps because my own father had died when I was very young, or maybe because I have simply always been rather passive, I did as Ambrose Grant instructed: I withdrew from the university I had been attending, and I began an internship at his real estate firm, despite having no experience or particular ambition in the field. Over the next few months, I seldom encountered Mr. Grant at the office, especially since most of my work was off-site, helping to stage high end properties for photos and showings. I met his sons, Julie's step-brothers—30-year-old Lamech and 25-year-old Tamar—both of whom were friendly, out-going, and welcoming. Although I grew up in a non-religious ******, it turned out that Ambrose Grant was a practicing Baptist, and a big contributor to the local African Baptist Church in which he planned for Julie and me to be wed. To that end, he had arranged for the two of us to meet with the church minister for pre-marriage counseling.
Pastor Elijah greeted us in his office with a welcoming smile, a handshake for me, a friendly embrace for Julie, whom he had apparently known for many years. He wore a dark gray blazer over a black shirt with a clerical collar, and wire-rimmed eyeglasses. A handsome black man, he appeared youthful, but a smattering of gray in his short-trimmed hair suggested he was likely in his 40s. "A wedding is always a blessed occasion," he commented. "I am so pleased that you have decided to marry in the church. I officiated at the wedding of Ambrose and Julie's dear, late mother, and I am honored that I can do the same now for the two of you." I wondered if he guessed at the perverse nature of Julie's relationship with her step-father; I wondered if I should confide in him, seek his advice on how to deal with it.
Pastor Elijah spoke of the importance of marriage, of ******, of tradition. He said that our decision to refrain from physical intimacy was a sign of maturity and our commitment to a higher, more spiritual love. When he inquired about my previous sexual experience, I blushingly admitted that I had none to speak of beyond some occasional furtive teenage groping with whichever girls took enough pity on me.
"Please, do not be embarrassed, Tim," he assured me. "Self-restraint, abstinence, demonstrates strength of character. There is no reason for shame." I expected him to ask about Julie's sexual experience next, which might be the ideal moment to discuss the bizarre situation with her step-father, but instead Pastor Elijah asked us to stand and face one another. He came around the desk, and stood before us. "On the blessed day, you will stand before your loved ones and betroth yourselves to one another for eternity in the eyes of the Lord. Have you considered whether you prefer that I recite the traditional vows or exchange vows of your own?" We confessed that we had not given it any thought. "Well, discuss it, let me know what you decide. There is no rush. I’m a fan of tradition myself, but all weddings, like all marriages, are unique."
Taking Julie's hand, the minister exclaimed, "My! Julie, what a beautiful engagement ring. Tim, I must say, you have exquisite taste for such a young man." I did not confess to him that, as Julie conveyed the story to me, Mr. Grant took one look at the very modest diamond I had given her, and insisted that she toss it in the trash. "I cannot have my ******** wearing something that might as well have come from the bottom of a Cracker Jack box," he protested. He immediately arranged for Julie to pick out a more suitable ring using his account at Tiffany's. I pressed Julie on how much the new ring had cost, and she confided that it had been about $15,000. Sensing my displeasure, she protested, "But don't worry about it, Timmy baby. It makes Daddy happy to do nice things for me. The ring you bought was so sweet and thoughtful, but Daddy has a point. It was not really the kind of thing I can, you know...show off to people."
Continuing to hold Julie's hand, Pastor Elijah noted, "The engagement ring is an important token, of course, but it will be the exchange of wedding rings that really symbolizes your union. And with that, I will pronounce you husband and wife before your friends and ******. The wedding kiss follows, which acts a seal, a true sharing of souls." The minister caressed Julie's hand with a familiarity that made me uncomfortable. "The wedding kiss needn't be chaste, certainly, but you want to avoid it being, how should I say…lewd."
The clergy man leaned in and pressed his lips to Julie's, taking hold of her sweet face in his large black hands. "Something like that should be sufficient," he said, looking at me with a wide smile. "What you want to avoid is something, oh, like this...." With that, he leaned in again, but this time covered Julie's lips with his open mouth, clearly inserting his tongue deep inside. My mouth hung agape, but having already witnessed my fiancée sexually violated by one black man, I was uncertain how to react to her violation by another. Julie, I observed, appeared non-plussed, and returned the kiss.
Withdrawing his long, dark pink tongue from Julie's mouth after several moments, Pastor Elijah commented, "Well, my dear, you are as fine a kisser as I remember." Remember? He must have kissed her like that before, I realized to my horror. He ran his hands down her body, cupping her firm, young breasts. "And you are still built for sin, I must say, you sexy little trollop."
"Now just a moment," I protested.
The minister shot me a withering look. Julie simply snickered. "Oh, Timmy, don't be like that. Eli and I go way back. He's practically ******." That made me wince as I had already seen how some of Julie's ‘******’ treated her. Pastor Elijah turned his attention back to my fiancée's lovely, alabaster bosom, reaching into her blouse with a large black hand, and fondling her fleshy breasts.
"Timmy," he said. "Do me a favor, and unbutton your intended's top for me, so that I can admire her beauty properly." A soft whimper escaped my throat, but I stepped behind Julie, and began undoing her blouse as instructed, starting with the top button. She arched her back so that her breasts stuck out proudly for the perverse pastor's pleasure. With the last button undone, Julie shrugged out of her top, revealing a lacey white brassiere supporting her pale, rounded mounds.
"Go ahead, son," Elijah cajoled me. "Continue. Unhook your fiancée's bra for me, would you?" His tone and demeanor were completely nonchalant, as if instructing men to undress their girlfriends for his pleasure were an everyday occurrence. “I understand that you don’t have any experience undressing a hot woman,” he taunted, “but I’m sure you can figure it out. You seem like a bright young man.” I unclasped Julie's bra, and slipped it from her breasts.
"Ah," sighed Pastor Elijah in appreciation. "It has been too long since I last saw those ivory beauties." Clearly, this wasn't the minister's first time having his way with my fiancée. How many men, how many black men, I wondered, had taken advantage of her? I stood back, watching passively as the handsome clergyman lowered his mouth to Julie's bosom, taking one ruddy nipple between his lips as he rubbed the other one between his long fingers. Julie mewed in pleasure at his manipulation of her hardened teats. I watched with equal parts shock and interest as her small hands ran over his groin, caressing the growing bulge of his crotch.
"Make yourself useful, Tim," the pastor said, "and help Julie out of her skirt, would you?" Feeling powerless to do otherwise, I knelt behind my beautiful fiancée, and reached around to unbutton the waist of her plaid skirt. Unbidden, I slipped it down around her lovely legs. "Now," said the black minister, his hands roaming over Julie's smooth, white flesh, his breathing heavy with desire, "remove those silky panties for me." I complied, realizing as I did so that this was the closest I had ever been to Julie's naked sex, and that it was at the direction and for the enjoyment of another man.
I remained on my knees behind Julie, entranced by her curvaceous buttocks, when, suddenly, I noticed two long, brown fingers appear between her legs, probing her vagina. She widened her stance, welcoming Elijah's violation of her pussy, the very thing I had been denied for so many months. The mound of her vagina was neatly trimmed, and the lips a pinkish blush. I heard her moan as the minister inserted those fingers inside her, screwing them around and around.
"You know, Timmy," Pastor Elijah informed me, "your bride has the most wonderful cunt, just made for the pleasure of a black man. Of course, I have had the pleasure of fucking it many times thanks to the magnanimity of Ambrose Grant, but I never seem to tire of it." Peering down at me, he then said, "Since you're on your knees already, son, why don't you bow your head and kiss my feet in subjugation, like a good boy?" When I hesitated, the pastor raised one foot to my shoulder and pressed my face down to his other foot. I applied my lips to his black leather shoes, realizing as I did so that he wore Ferragamo's, which must have cost well over a grand. Mr. Grant's contributions to the church seemed to extend beyond sharing his step-********'s pussy.
With my lips pressed to Pastor Elijah's shoes, I lost my view of Julie's violated sex. Just as I tried to raise my head to continue watching, the minister pressed his foot to the back of my neck again, this time forcing my head to the floor, maintaining the pressure on the side of my face. I could see nothing beyond his shoes and Julie's white heels. I could, however, hear the lewd smack of lips as the couple made out above me, my presence irrelevant to them.
"You know you want it, baby," the perverse man of the cloth said to the woman I intended to marry. "Go on, and fish that bad boy out." I heard the sound of a zipper being undone, followed by a happy squeal from Julie. Were I more of a man, I would have put an end to this debauchery right then; instead, I lay with my face pressed to the floor, my virgin cock grown stiff in my slacks.
Julie's heels disappeared from view, as Pastor Elijah lifted her off the floor. An excited yelp suggested that he had impaled my future bride on his black erection. If I had any doubt, he put them to rest with a satisfied moan. "Praise Jesus," he declared. "This sweet white pussy is as fine and tight as ever! You filthy whore! Just can't say no to black dick, can you, slut?" Julie stammered, "N-n-n-n-ooooo!" as the black man began bouncing her up and down on his member, their combined weight pressing my face painfully to the carpeted floor. "I l-l-l-love b-b-b-black dick," Julie exclaimed.
After several minutes, Pastor Elijah lifted his foot from my face, turning to lay Julie across his desk, his shaft buried deep in the pussy I had been denied. I scurried backward, and looked up at his long, lithe figure bent over Julie's body, her legs wrapped around his waist. As he continued to rut, Elijah undid the belt of his slacks, letting them drop around his ankles. He looked over his shoulder at me, and said, "Don't just kneel there like a white retard, son. Make yourself useful: reach between my legs and massage my big fat black balls while I fuck your beautiful bride. Go on, now."
The minister still wore a pair of black silk underwear, his cock and balls jutting out of the fly. I did as he instructed, and reached between his thrusting legs, taking his large testicles in my hand, feeling their fullness bloated with seed. I rubbed them between my fingers gently, fearing his wrath if I grasped them too firmly. "What do you think of that, slut? Your loser white boy is massaging my big nuts for me, making sure I can unload a nice big load into your whore womb." Julie simply moaned. "White boy sure knows his fuckin' place," Elijah chuckled. "Just like your Daddy said."
The pastor was right. I was a loser. A wimp. If I was too weak, too passive to defend Julie against such men as this, I was useless to her. I had sucked her step-father's filthy black prick, and now I was rubbing the black balls of the very man who would officiate at our wedding. The most perverse part of all this was not Julie being sexed by her step-father and her minister; it was that some small, vile part of me believed that this was my proper role, assisting these men in their use of my bride's body. I belonged on my knees, facilitating their orgasms, tending to their needs. Whatever else these men might be, at least they were men. I might as well have been a eunuch.
"Kiss my black ass while you're back there, son," Pastor Elijah instructed me. I hesitated only a moment before pressing my lips to his rounded buttocks. "Do it right, boy," he yelled. "Pull down my fuckin' underwear!" In order for me to do so, the minister had to momentarily pluck his thrusting prick from my fiancée's cunt; once his briefs were down, he plunged right back into her womb. Meanwhile, I slathered his black ass with obedient kisses just as he had directed, all the while continuing to pull at his magnificent balls with my right hand. I was willingly debasing myself for the satisfaction of the man who was fucking the woman I loved. Some small part of me recognized that I was doing this because it was my proper place before a stronger, dominant, more virile man, a black man, just as it was Julie's proper place to spread her legs for his pleasure. I wanted to fight the urge, but confronted with his aggression and confidence, I could only obey.
"I have to confess, baby," I heard the pastor hiss to my beloved, "I know it is a sinful indulgence on my part, but I do so enjoy putting faggots like your white boy in their proper place, on their knees, kissing a brother's African ass!" He roared with laughter at that, while Julie giggled at his naughtiness. All the while, I continued to lather his ebony buttocks with kisses. Strangely, the humiliation began to turn me on, and I reached into my slacks, starting to stroke my own dick. As I listened to the sound of the minister's oversized fuckmeat sloshing around inside Julie's vagina, driving her into a sexual frenzy, I rubbed my little, white knob with one hand, while my other caressed my tormentor's bloated testicles. When Elijah looked over his shoulder at what I was doing, he raised a foot and slammed it down on my crotch. I screeched, sounding more like a schoolgirl than I liked. "No sinning in my church, you disgusting faggot!" he shouted. "Your job is to make sure I enjoy a good cum, not wanking your pathetic little tallywhacker! My dick matters, white boy, not yours! My cum matters, not yours!"
From her position on the desk, I heard Julie say, "Listen to him, Timmy, baby, please. He's a minister. He knows all about sinning and stuff like that." I removed my hand from my now aching crotch and focused all my attention on the pastor’s buttocks. “That’s better, faggot,” he encouraged. “Now, spread my black cheeks, son. Get a good look at my shithole.” I did so, parting the globes of his ass to reveal the dark brown, puckered anus ring deep in the musky crack. “That’s the stuff, boy. Now, go on, go on and kiss my black asshole. Show me what a fag you are for a black man’s butt.” Wrinkling my nose at the offending odor, I inserted my face between his cheeks, and pressed my lips against the clergyman’s hole. I was so weak and timid and pathetic that I was allowing men like Pastor Elijah and Ambrose Grant to treat me like their prison punk.
As I continued to make out with his sphincter, the minister drove his mammoth prick deeper into Julie’s womb; as he rutted, his ass would slam back into my face. I could hear the constant squish of his bloated prick plugging Julie’s ravaged, leaking pussy. It was obscene, but it was the nearest I had ever gotten to actual sex. Even from this vantage—on my knees, behind the copulating couple—I knew that I was incapable of fucking my beautiful fiancée with anything near the energy and virility that the perverse minister was. I simply was not man enough.
When Julie cried out suddenly and loudly, I realized that it was because the ****** pastor was releasing a load of his virile sperm deep in her womb. With his balls in my grasp, I could feel the excess nut ooze out of Julie’s ravaged pussy and coat my fingers. It was thick and gelatinous, with a strongly acrid odor that hit me with a rush. “Goddamn! Goddamn! Goddamn!” shouted the clergyman, incongruously taking the Lord’s name in vain as he reveled in his satisfying orgasm.
I felt my own tiny prick dribble a small amount of watery semen in response to Elijah’s bold sexual abuse of my beautiful blonde fiancée. As I remained kneeling on the floor, I heard the black minister and my beloved exchange sloppy, wet kisses in their post-coital bliss. Elijah’s previously bloated testicles seemed to deflate in the palm of my hand, depleted of their potent seed.
After several minutes, the pastor took a step back, withdrawing his well-drained prick from Julie’s pussy with a wet plop. He turned and looked down at me approvingly. “Ambrose told me you had potential, son,” he said with a grin, “and I can see what he meant.” His obscenely long brown cock hung flaccid between his legs, fuckslop continuing to ooze out of the prodigious, apricot-sized head. “Time to put that cuck tongue to work, boy,” he laughed. “Get to cleanin’ that mess up, now.”
As humiliating as I had found it when Ambrose Grant had forced me to suck his grotesque prick clean, a part of me thrilled to the idea of being made to clean yet another black man’s jizz-coated rod. I reached for the pastor’s drooling cock, only to be greeted with a smack to the side of my head. “I’m a man of God, you dumb, white faggot,” the pastor hissed. “Not a disgusting, Godless sodomite. Keep your perverted cuckold hands off my man dick. I want you to suck my seed out of your whore fiancée’s snatch! Get to fuckin’ work, you degenerate!”
In all the time we had been together, I’d never been allowed any more access to Julie’s beautiful pussy than the occasional chaste grope through her clothes. Now, here I was, on my knees before her sex, freshly-fucked by another man, raw and distended and dripping generous wads of the minister’s pungent fuckslop. Julie remained upon the desk, looking down at me, her legs parted wide in anticipation.
“Oh, go on, Timmy, baby,” she cooed. “It’s okay, really. Pastor Elijah really did make a terrible mess that needs cleaning.” The depraved pastor took hold of me by the tip of my ear, and dragged me between Julie’s open thighs. “Get to work, white boy,” he instructed firmly. “Show your bride what kind of husband you’re going to be.”
I tried not to think about what the pastor meant by that comment as I sniffed at the swampy result of their fornication. Although twenty-years-old, this is the closest I’d ever been to any woman’s pussy, at least since I was born. I lapped at the lips of Julie’s sweet cunt, swollen with the pastor’s rough use. I inserted my tongue into the gaping cavern left by the black man’s leviathan of a dick. A thick porridge of salty semen dropped into my mouth, sliding down my throat like a raw oyster. I suppressed a violent gag as more and more of his seed spilled onto my tongue from the recesses of my fiancée’s womb. I was weak and compliant, eager to please both Julie and the man who had just fucked her with such vigor and skill. I was what Pastor Elijah had called me: nothing more than a white faggot.
“Oh, Timmy!” Julie giggled. “You’re doing such a good job. I always knew you would.” With Julie’s encouragement, I licked and slurped at her pussy, even wrapping my lips around her swollen clitoris in order to suck it clean of the pastor’s splooge. My fiancée ran her fingers through my hair affectionately as I knelt between her legs, submissively cleaning the cummy mess of her pussy.
Pastor Elijah, meanwhile, had pulled his trousers up, and stuffed his big black pole back in his underwear. He leaned beside Julie on the desk, watching me devour his seed. “I have to tell you children,” he commented, “it will be a pleasure to officiate at the joining of such a loving couple. This is exactly the kind of devotion I like to see in young, white couples.” I looked up at him quizzically. “You are marrying into one of the city’s best black families, Tim. One of the best families period. It is important that you, well, know your place. I can see by your eagerness to please, to follow instruction, that you do. Julie’s father will be gratified to hear that his impressions were correct.”
The pastor gently pushed my face back into Julie’s sloppy cunt, smearing my mouth onto their co-mingled juices. “It is very important to Ambrose that you do not interfere in his very special…relationship with his lovely ********,” he explained. “You wouldn’t think of doing that, would you, Tim?”
Sandwiched between Julie’s thighs, I shook my head no, smearing the pastor’s slop over my face. Julie clapped her hands. “Oh, Timmy! I knew you would be the perfect boy for me! That’s what I told Daddy. He liked you right off the bat!”
As I continued lapping at Julie’s sticky snatch, Pastor Elijah continued, “After the exchange of rings, I will pronounce you husband and wife. Then, Tim, you will kiss the bride in front of the entire congregation, and your marriage will be sanctified in the eyes of God…and of Ambrose Grant, which is of even more importance. What do you think, son?”
I raised my head from Julie’s gaping cunt, my face thickly spackled with the holy man’s gelatinous sauce. “I can’t wait, sir,” I answered quite honestly. “I can’t wait to make Julie my wife!”
Next Chapter: The Bachelor Party
