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Elwood Gunn was a pastor, the semi-trained, semi-legitimate, semi-genuine leader of a small religious community that met in what had once been a cinema on the Caribbean island of St Timothy. I had recently arrived and, looking to make some friends, had gone along on Sunday mornings. There was always this awkward moment when old Elwood or one of his crew asked if there were any visitors, and although I had stood up and introduced myself the first week, I could feel them looking at me every week. The second time, I had stood up again and politely pointed out that this wasn’t my first time. Maybe they think all white men look the same, I don’t know.
Anyway, on week three I just gazed around the room when it came to that part, avoiding everyone’s eyes until eventually they gave up and moved on. As we filed out of the “church” Elwood grasped my hand in a firm, warm handshake. His hands were like the rest of him: big and well-padded.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I embarrassed you in there. You’ve been here before. Welcome once again.”
He asked me the usual stuff about why I was in St Tim, where I was living and so on, and then he invited me to a bible-study class on Tuesday night at his house. On the spot, I couldn’t think of an excuse, and I found myself agreeing and making a date. I wasn’t looking forward to it at all, but on the other hand it would get me out of the house for a couple of hours.
He lived in a tiny wooden shack set on its own up a side street off the main road through what people referred to as Town, because it was where the Post Office was, and a bank and FedEx and a couple of local fast-food dives. Elwood’s house was on a fairly large piece of land, overgrown and gasping for some rain. I knocked nervously and he appeared, wearing a black shirt with a minister’s dog collar, which I suspected was a stage prop designed to make him appear more like a pastor than his qualifications would indicate. Below the black shirt was a well-worn pair of baggy black trousers. His feet were bare, and I enjoyed as always the fact that the skin underneath was pale, even though the tops were as dark as you would expect in a black person. Or a person of color, or whatever term you have to use these politically correct days.
The door led right into the main room. At the back an open door showed a small kitchen and there were two more doors, which I guessed were the bathroom and bedroom. There was no one else there.
“Elsie might come,” he said, ushering me onto a small settee. “And Barry, maybe. Or it might be just the two of us. Which is fine with me. We’ll give them ten minutes. Cup of tea?”
As he went off to prepare what would no doubt be a mug of anemic Lipton’s with ten sugars and an udderful of milk, I looked at the books on illegal bahis the solitary shelf. Bibles, bible analyses and various Christianity-related books.
We chatted for 20 minutes about this and that until it was dark outside. He drew the curtains and locked the door.
“Just us, I guess,” he said.
On a little shelf below the coffee table I noticed some handwritten notes and I picked them up without thinking.
“Notes for a sermon?” I speculated.
“Exactly, Elwood said. I glanced at the heading, which appeared to say something I found hard to believe.
“Why anal sex is not wrong?” I said out loud.
“Some of the guys have been on at me to help them out,” he explained as he got to his feet and fetched a bottle of sweet sherry and two large wine glasses from a sideboard. “If the pastor says the Bible says it’s okay, their women might give it up more easily.”
“And what does the Bible say about it?” I asked flippantly. He filled the glasses with the rich, old-fashioned drink and we clinked them and drank.
“Nothing,” he replied triumphantly. “Never mentions it specifically. There’s a passage about a group of men who want to have sex with two male angels, which presumably would have meant anal sex, but it would have been rape, which everybody knows is wrong. So The Bible condemns that. But the general thrust of teaching is that within a marriage, anything goes as long as it’s consensual.”
“Within marriage,” I repeated.
“Yes,” he said. “That’s all that was allowed.”
“Was?” I queried.
“It’s my opinion,” Elwood said, “that when these texts were written, the New Testament being around 2,000 years ago and the Old Testament even more, things were different, and you can’t take everything literally and without discussion. There are many aspects of modern life that these writers would have had to think about if they were making their pronouncements now. Interracial sex, for instance. They’d have been all for it. Homosexuality: that would have been a hard one for them, just as it is now for many people.” He studied my face for a reaction and whatever it was he saw, it seemed to change the conversation.
“You know what?” he began again. “Let’s forget about the bible study and just talk as people. Tell me about where you are from. England, right?”
I told him about where I grew up and we got onto cricket and sport in general, and the atmosphere grew increasingly relaxed. The room was very warm; it was July in the Caribbean, and if you don’t have air-conditioning things can get sweaty. Elwood had the ceiling fan doing its best, but it wasn’t enough.
Suddenly he stood up and took off his shirt, revealing a big belly and the beginnings of breasts.
“You can do the same,” he said. illegal bahis siteleri “Don’t be shy.” I had to admit the temperature was uncomfortable, so I unbuttoned my shirt and escaped from it gratefully. Elwood sat next to me.
“You don’t mind if I get under the fan?” he asked. The next thing I knew he was stroking my chest and then kissing it, with one hand on my waist. Then he was sucking my nipples, which sent electric pulses to everything between my legs. I leaned back and sighed, not knowing what to do. None of it felt bad – the physical sensations were nice, in fact.
“So how do you feel about interracial sex?” he asked.
“Great,” I said. “All for it.”
“And a man having sex with a man?” he continued.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Don’t have much experience.”
“Kiss my chest,” he said, sitting back. “Kiss my stomach.”
I did as he asked. I licked a nipple and stuck my tongue in his navel. His hand touched the back of my head and gently pushed it downwards, down towards his tempting black trousers with their cargo of sinful delights.
As if reading my mind, he sucked his stomach in and unbuttoned, then unzipped.
“Put your hand in there,” he said in a deep, smooth voice. I put my hand into the darkness of his trousers and felt his lumps through his underpants.
“Right inside,” he purred, pulling the waistband of his grey briefs to assist me.
I wiggled my hand into the murky depths and felt his swelling cock. I wrapped my hand around it and felt it grow. Then Elwood stood up and removed his clothes completely, standing there in front of me with a full erection. His cock was not just long but fat: thick and sturdy, dark and menacing. He knelt on the settee with a knee either side of me and his hands on the back, either side of my head. His insistent cock swayed gently in front of my face, demanding to be sucked. I kissed the tip and took his plums in my right hand. They were full and ripe, heavy and thrillingly masculine. I wanted his spunk so badly. I had a very primitive urge, a female primitive urge, to be mounted by a rampant male.
“You can suck me off in the bedroom,” he whispered. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
We walked the few steps into the bedroom, where sat an exhausted old single bed, sagging and disheveled like its owner, and, also like him, no doubt full of tales to tell of naked men and excitement, domination, submission and depravity. A slight smell of cologne masked what I imagined to be the heady aroma of sweat and semen, armpits and crotches, penises and anuses.
Elwood lay on his back, hands behind his head, waiting to be served.
“Take off your pants,” he said, and I obliged as he watched. I hoped he would like my body as much as I liked canlı bahis siteleri his, although for different reasons.
I went down on this stocky, virile black man. I licked his cock from balls to tip, I sucked his ballbag, I licked his crotch and was bout to lick his ass when he ordered me to suck him. So I did. I took his big, fascinating member in my mouth and sucked and squeezed and stroked the shaft and my left hand strayed between his legs to rest in his crack, just to be there in his sinful abyss. As he started to become more excited he pushed me off and knelt stride me again. I loved this masterful position where he could do whatever he wanted. He teased my mouth with his salivating cock. He ground his asshole against my thigh, marking his territory with his scent. And then he spoke.
“You want me to fuck you, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I whispered weakly.
“I saw it in your eyes the first day,” he said. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Lots of people are attracted to someone in my position. And I thought about you, too. I thought about you sucking my cock. I thought about wrapping you in my arms and making you my little woman. Fucking you, squirting my spunk all over you. And I am going to fuck you. But not today. I want you to think about this and come back and ask me to do it. Okay?”
I was a little disappointed, but it’s hard to be too disappointed when you’re in bed with a wonderful hunk of a man who is driving you wild with desire. Whatever he wanted to do was okay with me.
He moved back a little and looked me in the eye.
“I’m going to wank on you,” he said. “I’m going to shoot my spunk into your lap and it’s going to get everywhere between your legs.”
I think my eyes may have rolled up into my head with the rude, dirty, depraved thought of it. Elwood took his magnificent cock in his right hand and gave it just a few tugs and then unleashed his white torrents into my pubic hair. He got close to my cock head and gave that a burst at point blank range, then he pushed my legs apart and raised them so my crack as exposed to him and he deposited the rest of his load in there, his white semen smothering my little brown hole. He poked his finger into it, just to get some of his spunk inside me as a taste of things to come. And then he ran his hands around my whole sex area like a masseur with a special oil for a special place.
He didn’t let me use the bathroom. He sent me off into the night with the smell of his semen rising up through my waistband and reminding me of the fabulous experience I had just had. When I got home I raced into the bedroom, undressed andwiped my hands through his sex gel. I put my hands to my nose and inhaled deeply. And I masturbated, quickly and urgently, starting off in top gear and shooting my load up my chest to my neck.
I resisted the urge to text him immediately. I would do it tomorrow when I had calmed down, which was what he wanted. I would make a calm, rational decision to proceed with this sexual relationship.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
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