Sensuous Stories (3 page)

With reverence, James would lay out the
hosts in front of him, tie a scarf around his neck and spray the
hosts with his seed. He didn’t think of it has his seed anymore
rather as His seed. It was no different to the host, just an added
extra.

Through his duties as parish priest, he
became aware of the pain and misery of this female parishioners.
They prayed and prayed for salvation and worked tirelessly for the
Church, sometimes with black eyes and swollen bellies. He knew his
holy semen would help them, but confronted their resistance to
break their marriage vows.

He believed that just like everyone else,
they were ensnared by the Devil, caught up the lie that sexual
pleasure was wrong. It was his mission to show them the truth and
heal their misery. And allow them the experience of the holy
semen.

At first the good women of the parish
resisted him. They’d come to see him, wanting spiritual comfort and
sympathy, but he could see how they would gaze at his body, their
eyes out of focus with long repressed lust. Didn’t they know that
lust was the highest expression of worship of the Lord? That the
shifting wetness between their legs, the aching need to be filled
and stroked was evidence of His divine purpose for them? He had to
show them.

Their resistance didn’t last long in the
face of his relentless sympathy and support. He knew, when he
wrapped his strong arms around a weeping woman who cried about the
latest atrocity of her brutish husband, it was only a matter of
time before his comforting hands eased her out of her clothes and
onto the carpet of the presbytery floor.

There he’d push her legs open and lower his
mouth to her wet slit wanting to taste God’s evidence of her holy
lust. As she cried out God’s name while his tongue circled her
clit, he’d unzip his trousers to squeeze and pump himself. Before
he’d come, he’d make sure his semen wouldn’t be wasted. He
understood the fear of pregnancy so he made sure his semen found
her mouth or her breasts.

There were some parish women who quickly saw
the benefits of his holy ministrations. Mrs Deleany in particular
seemed to need a great deal of the healing benefits of his semen.
She came most days to the presbytery to pray with him and take in
his seed. She confided in him that she believed his semen made her
happier and healthier, especially when he shot off in her anus.
When he knelt behind her and rubbed the lubrication she supplied
onto his cock while she begged him to hurry and get that hard, long
tool into her, to drill her and shoot his spunk into her, he had a
moments unease that perhaps she didn’t really have the appropriate
reverence for his semen, but her cries of rapture convinced him she
experienced the glory of God with every thrust.

It was the same with Mrs Andrews. She
connected with spiritual ecstasy when he straddled her and pushed
his cock between the breasts she held together, all the time
exhorting him to come hard on her tits. She’d rub the holy semen
into her skin with a beatific smile on her face while he rubbed her
clit, bringing her to cry out her gratitude to God.

Now after many years of serving God and the
Church through parishes throughout the State, James had achieved
what he thought of as a reward for his tireless work. The parish of
St Stephens, in the eastern suburbs just near the beach, was a
pleasant, leafy place, full of interesting sights and sounds. The
main street consisted of restaurants and shops reflecting the
cultural diversity of the city. On any day as he strolled down to
the beach, he’d see exotic Sikhs, orthodox Jews or dark Ghanaians
in colorful tribal robes.

Even his housekeeper was from India.
Although, when he thought of her, a sense of unease prickled under
his skin. In all his years spreading God’s word, he never wanted
for himself anyone he blessed with the holy semen. Always his
happiness and contentment came from knowing sexual congress and the
ingesting of his semen led to his parishioners leading happier
lives, closer to God and to their own purpose in life.

But when he saw Lakshmi he knew he would be
tested. Her dusky skin smelling of turmeric and cloves and her
black eyes that looked at him with cautious uncertainty, blotted
out all thoughts of God and His word. All James could think of was
how his semen would look splattered across her breasts or even more
worryingly, how his cock would feel enveloped by her silky
wetness.

He tried to banish thoughts of her from his
mind and concentrated on his parish duties. Although he had only
started working in the parish for a few weeks, already one or two
parish women had realized the benefits of his spiritual comfort.
Mrs Howard had shown commendable understanding of the power of his
semen and had his cock out and in her mouth a few short minutes
after being shown into his study by Lakshmi.

Mrs Howard’s mouth could have been made for
the glory of God. James closed his eyes and prayed as she took him
in as far as her throat would allow and sucked him hard. He jerked
as an image came into his head of Lakshmi doing just that, on her
knees with his cock sliding in and out of her delicate mouth. He
opened his eyes just as he came and saw Lakshmi standing at the
crack in the doorway, watching. Her hand was at her breast,
kneading.

James came with a roar, pumping the holy
semen down the throat of Mrs Howard. She seemed delighted with the
whole experience, as he knew she would be, and made an appointment
with him for the next week for more spiritual counseling.

James felt a fraud. God was not in his mind
when he came. This was not how he should be offering spiritual
counseling. He worried and worried, tried to avoid Lakshmi as much
as possible, but couldn’t avoid his dreams. She would visit him
every night. He’d wake with his holy semen spurting onto his sheets
after dreaming of her riding him, her cunt undulating around him,
squeezing and sliding up and down his thick pole. She’d tip her
head back in ecstasy and he’d feel her long, black velvet hair
sweep against his thighs.

One night when he woke, she was there,
fucking him, doing exactly what he’d dreamed of. Her dark eyes
glittered in the dim light and she grabbed his hand and pushed it
against her small breast, her nipple sharp and hot.

“
Fuck me, holy man,” she
murmured. “Fuck me now.”

He groaned with despair and wild, ravenous
hunger. God was lost to him as he grasped her hips and thrust up,
over and over, feeling the tight, squelching heat of her glorious
cunt. All night he had her, his semen in her every orifice and
across his own skin and in his mouth. They slid against each other
rubbing, pushing, crying out their need and hunger to God. But
James didn’t think God was there to hear them.

Over the next few months James lived in a
state of confusion and anxiety. He felt further and further away
from God, but experienced more transcendent pleasure with Lakshmi
every night, than he’d ever experienced through his parish work.
But he knew this pleasure was not about spiritual comfort. He
didn’t feel God’s presence when he fucked Lakshmi.

But when she came to him and told him she
was pregnant, a fierce joy filled him. It was exactly the same joy
he experienced the first time God showed him the truth about sexual
pleasure. This was meant to be. God had made Lakshmi his vessel for
His son. James was overjoyed.

His son would be the new Messiah.

He reassured her when she looked at him
doubtfully and told her the Bishop and the Cardinal would have to
believe him now. Indeed, after he hung up the phone to the Bishop
it was only a short time later that the Bishop appeared at the
Presbytery with some of his advisors. One was a nice young man with
kind eyes. The young man asked James if he’d been under any
pressure lately. He was so sympathetic, James told him the whole
story of his holy semen and the spiritual counseling he did with
the parish women.

James saw the Bishop pale at his words, no
doubt overwhelmed with the reality of the Second Coming. When the
young man suggested that James may need a long rest after carrying
the burden of God’s truth, James felt himself relax. The young man
was right. He did need a rest. Perhaps Lakshmi and he could go on a
holiday and wait for the birth of the Messiah.

James beamed at the Bishop and his entourage
and threw an arm around Lakshmi. Doing the work of the Lord had
never felt so right.

Strawberry Flavored Joy

Gina Davies sighed inwardly and thinned her
lips. This was the last time she’d rescue a stray waif as a favor
to her English friends. She liked being hospitable, she liked
meeting new people, but she did not like housing morose depressives
with nothing to say. Even if he did at first bowl her over with
lust. That had long since disappeared in the face of his relentless
gloom.

She’d tried everything to bring him out of
what ever was torturing him. She cooked, supplied good wine, took
him with her to meet her friends, tried to connect him to new
experiences and new sight and sounds. In a state of considerable
sacrifice, she even dragged out her walking boots and took him into
the bush. While she might live on the edge of a National Park, that
didn’t mean she liked walking in it. She much preferred gazing at
craggy cliffs and mist in the valley from the safe environs of a
glass fronted café, with a strong espresso in front of her. But she
hoped fresh air, waterfalls and panoramic vistas would give him
some vim and verve. Nothing worked. He remained a tall, dark,
brooding presence in her spare room.

Not that she had anything against tall, dark
and brooding. Gina was a red blooded woman who wasn’t averse to
romantic stereotypes, particularly when the stereotype in question
was at the end of a brief four week holiday and would leave, back
to chilly London. He’d spent the first three weeks travelling
around, going to the Northern Territory and the Kimberley’s and now
was ensconced in her house, allegedly because they not only had
mutual friends, but because he wanted to spend some time in the
Blue Mountains bush walking and abseiling. So far he’d shown no
interest in either.

She’d tried questioning him about where else
he’d been, thinking he’d show some enthusiasm for Kakadu or Uluru.
At one point she thought she saw some actual passion in his eyes,
which made her momentarily hopeful, but he still only managed one
syllable responses to her questions. She wondered if he’d really
been to all those places. Maybe he’d holed up in some hotel
somewhere, spending the last three weeks watching television and
wanking. Although even that seemed to require energy she didn’t
think he had.

When she first saw him, standing on the
railway platform at Katoomba, she’d said a prayer of thanks to the
Stray Waif Goddess and blessed her friends for sending her a
perfect holiday fuck. Just the kind of man she liked. Neat. Tidy
clothes and if she wasn’t mistaken, ironed jeans. She’d licked her
lips with anticipation, impatient to peel him out of them and
tousle that dark, combed hair.

Gina helped him load his backpack into her
car, all the time chatting about their friends and what he might
like to do. At first she discounted his lack of response, thinking
he must be tired after the two hour train trip from Sydney, but
after he’d had a brief nap and a reviving glass or two of wine, she
realized he had nothing to say.

After two days of torture, Gina shut herself
into her bedroom, stretched herself across her bed with the phone
and a stiff whiskey and called her friend Liz in London.

“
What’ve you sent
me?”

“
Why? What’s
wrong?”

“
He’s not the most
scintillating of companions. Has he always been like
this?”

“
Are we talking about the
same person? Adam Taylor? Tall, dark and gorgeous?”

“
Yes, yes, he’s very good
looking, but he has nothing to say. The phrase blood from a stone
could’ve been coined just for him. Is he depressed or something?
Had some major life catastrophe?”

“
He split up from his girl
friend recently, but he wasn’t too upset. It was one of those
relationships that just fizzled out.”

“
Doesn’t surprise me. I
can’t imagine how it got going in the first place.”

“
Gina, this sounds bizarre.
Adam isn’t like that. He’s a rather nice, intelligent, happy sort
of person. Maybe a little over controlled, but nothing neurotic.
Are you sure your usual effervescence hasn’t overwhelmed him? You
can be full on when you want to be.”

“
He was like that when he
got off the train. Maybe he’s having some early mid life crisis. I
just wish he didn’t have to have it in my spare room.”

They chatted some more, Liz, as usual,
bemoaning the lack of decent men and Gina thinking she’d love to be
in London. It was her home away from home. The cold and the
conversation suited her down to the ground. Not that she wanted to
live there, but she had the best sex of her life with a buttoned
down city type who was an animal in bed. The experience had made
her permanently hot for repressed Englishmen.

Gina hung up the phone and let her mind
drift to the memory of James. A sip of whiskey bought to mind his
fabulous mouth. Smooth but with a welcome kick. He’d lie her back
and open her legs then run his tongue around her clit, down into
her pussy and up again until she’d beg him to fuck her. She’d never
begged for anything until she met James. Just when she thought she
could take no more, he’d thrust two fingers into her and suck
strongly on her clit. She came so hard he told her later his
fingers went numb.