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A Phoenix Fiction Writer Rising From The Ashes of Nonfiction




Getting Religion 
by Michael T. Martin

I went over my options for the day. It seemed as empty as my vagina. Grocery shopping was imperative. I did like pushing the cart slowly up and down the aisles while eyeing any men with subtle glances and pursed lips to entice them, arouse them and make them uncomfortable as I pulled back my shoulders to extend my cleavage while turning away from them with a butt wiggle. Men were so fun to play with, so easily excitable.

But I need more than stupid games. My husband has been away on a business trip for the whole week. This is my school fall break, so as a teacher I had complete freedom for the entire week to play and no one to play with. I was too young at 32 to spend the day moping or mopping around the house by myself. My husband wasn't the greatest lover anyway and there were so many men who might be.

His business trip was opportunity pounding on my door, an opportunity for a hot new man to play with. Lord knows I need to fondle a new man who I didn't already know how he would react and behave. I desperately need a hard hot dick I can hold in my hands, rub all over my body, savor in my mouth, before feeling it reciprocating into me, preferably attached to an enthusiastic male in his twenties with a ripped body, and if he has a sexy face, hallelujah.

I love the smell of new men, but sitting alone at my kitchen table with only the scent of a morning cup of coffee made this all an idle improbable daydream. I really, really, needed a man but I didn't expect that would occur. It seemed I didn't have a prayer. The only thing that was hot in my life now was a fucking cup of coffee. Please God, I need a new conquest, I want my blood to be hotter than my coffee.

The doorbell rang echoing throughout the house. I wiped off my hands and went to answer the door. As I looked through the viewport I saw a trim young man about my height, maybe thirty years old at most and wearing a clerical collar. He was alone.

“Maybe there is a God,” I thought to myself as I opened the door to him, smiling, “Yes?” Fresh air brightened my morning.

“My name is Richard Love,” he said, “I'm the new pastor at your neighborhood church and I'd like to talk to you about Jesus Christ.”

I stepped back beckoning him in. My vagina began throbbing.

“I was just having some coffee, I'll pour you a cup.”

The Reverend followed me into the kitchen and I placed another chair alongside mine at the table and patted it for him to sit. I grabbed another cup along with the rumbling percolator to fill two cups of coffee. I sat next to him, turning so we were more face to face. My t-shirt covered my cleavage, but I pushed out my chest to strain the material as much as I could.

“You're the pastor at the church around the corner?” I asked leaning forward placing my hand on his thigh.

“That's right, and I would encourage you to come to our services this Sunday.” His eyes alternated from my face to my breasts.

“Reverend Love,” I began, “Richard, may I call you Dick?”

“You may.”

Dick was exactly what I was after.

“Well, I haven't been to church recently, my husband mostly worships money and I like to consider my body my temple.” I turned my shoulders back and forth to emphasize my body, bouncing my breasts.

“I understand,” he said, having difficulty speaking, “it's a busy world and weh, we lose sight of religion. Do you believe in God?” He was no longer even trying to look at my eyes. I wasn't wearing a bra and my rising excitement pushed my nipples against the restraining t-shirt.

“I do now,” I answered. He was definitely the answer to my prayers this morning. He put his palms together prayerfully in front of him and looked earnestly at me.

“I pray for your sins in the name of Jesus Christ.”

I scooted closer to him and took apart his hands and placed them palms down on my chest.

“Do you practice laying on the hands?”

He squirmed awkwardly and tried to remove his hands but I held them tightly, sliding them down onto my breasts, leaning closer into him. I could smell his sweat and feel his hands warming.

“I would like to practice laying on hands,” I persisted.

“We don't practice that, unfortunately, we are more concerned with the spiritual relationship with God.” He tried to remain solemn but his voice quavered.

“Do you have the spirit of God?” I asked, letting his hands return palms together but I still held his wrists.

“I believe we all have the spirit of God within us,” he replied.

“I would like to have the spirit of God within me,” I winked at him, “if you are the spirit of God.”

“Mam, I think you misunderstand.” His face trembled. I wondered if he knew my perfume was named “Diablo.”

“Don't you work with sinners? Or do you only preach to the choir?” I pursed my lips as if I was pouting.

“Well, yes, I mean …” he answered, looking fixedly at my eyes.

“I'm a sinner,” I wrinkled my nose, “and I have needs.”

I leaned much closer to him so that his pressed-together hands also pressed against my breasts and my lips softly touched his. Maybe it was my hot heavy breathing that spooked him. He leaned away from me and stood, pulling me up with him as I refused to release his hot hands. Staggering backward he was quickly blocked by the sink counter so his upper body leaned away but I pressed my lower body against his as I kept pursuing his lips. I could feel a pointed hardness.

“I think you misunderstand,” he repeated. He seemed to be trying to climb onto the counter while I bounced slowly on the balls of my feet so rubbing against him.

“Don't you believe in God?” I asked, arching an eyebrow, pressing my cleavage toward his face.

“I believe in Jesus Christ and the Father.” His words spilled out mechanically.

“God sent you to me. I prayed and you came.” I rotated my hips pressing against his. I could feel his delicious hardness right through my skirt. I released his hands so I could pull the skirt out from between us, I wasn't wearing panties.

“Please, I am a man of God,” he pleaded.

“And God sent you to me, don't you see?” I pulled with my hands on each side of his head smothering his face with my forty inch bust, “Are you doubting God?”

“No. I don't think God wants me to do this.”

“God works in mysterious ways,” I said, “you've never heard that?”

“I am a minister,” he began, but I cut him off.

“God sent you to minister to my needs. I prayed and you came,” I reached between us and fondled him, “now I want you to really come.” He let out a weak squealing protest as I closed my hand around his erection.

“Please don't.”

“I need you, and God sent you. Are you going to defy God? Tell me. Are you going to defy God!”

“I minister to spiritual needs, not physical needs.” He turned his head away from my bust.

“You don't believe that Jesus was of the flesh?” I whispered hotly into his ear.

“He was of the flesh and died for your sins,” he replied as I put my tongue into his ear.

“And what sins might that be?” I continued to caress his cock but I feared if I continued he wouldn't be of much use to me, “Perhaps of this nature?”

I pulled off my t-shirt, my breasts remained erect. I unbuttoned my skirt letting it fall to the floor with a quick step back reaching quickly into my purse to grab a condom.

“Close your eyes,” I ordered. He resisted at first. My momentary step away from him allowed him to become more upright. When he saw me completely nude his eyes widened then he shut them. I began unfastening his trousers. He reached to stop me but I freed his belt and unzipped his fly. He whimpered as his trousers slipped to the floor.

“Noooo.” His voice tapered off as my hands invaded his boxer shorts.

“You must do God's will. Why did he send you here if not to minister to my needs?”

I grabbed his hands trying to push me away and placed them on my breasts, bare now to his touch. He was leaning back on his elbows, still bent over backwards on the counter, but his nude masculine legs were a new enticement.

“You must do God's bidding,” I commanded, pressing my body against him as I slid slowly to the floor, kneeling. His erection protruded from the opening of his boxer shorts. I placed the condom tip into my mouth and then engorged his penis, unrolling the condom in one swift movement with my lips. I bobbed my head to take advantage of the circumstances, then pulled away and looked up at him.

“It's time,” I said and pulled his hand toward me. He tried to remain standing so I rose quickly, sliding my breasts along his body until they straddled his throat while rubbing my mons against his cock, “It's time to minister, Reverend. On the floor.”

I dragged him to the floor while he seemed to be crying. I arranged him on his back with my knee on either side of his hips. I unbuttoned his shirt so I had access to his chest. I wanted to fondle his breasts like men fondled me when they were on top. I lowered on him slowly while guiding his erection with my hand.

“God wants you in me,” I said softly as his full size penetrated me enjoyably, “you are of the flesh. Jesus' flesh, and I am of Mary Magdalene.”

“Please no,” he whimpered but he stopped resisting. I exulted at the feeling of him completely inside me. The spirit of God glowed throughout my body. I needed this. I needed this new man fully inside me, as my hands massaged his chest.

I could feel an orgasm building. I had barely even moved and yet my vagina began to harden. I raised slightly then settled and as he glided inside me my vagina walls started becoming rigid with excitement so only the edges of his glans barely scraped against them. This was more than I'd hoped for, or prayed for.

I rose slightly and lowered again, sending sparks of ecstasy jolting through my insides. This was heavenly. I prayed he wouldn't come yet as waves of heat and quivers echoed within me. I gently rocked against him sending him deeper; quivering spasms ran from his penetration up my spine to flare across my shoulders. I was hardening all over, my breasts were erect with protruding nipples. I chanced raising and lowering again and I began shaking, panting.

“Oh, God,” I called out. I couldn't stop raising and lowering. The Reverend seemed to be praying, lips moving half open with his eyes closed, but his face was melting. His rigidity remained fully extended, the edges of his glans tickling the rigid walls of my vagina along the full length as I rose and plunged on him.

Breathing heavily as if I was laboring, my body began sweating to shed the heat. I delighted at the merging smells of our combined odors of sweating flesh and colognes. Fiery sensations flowed into my abdomen.

“Almighty God,” I gasped, choking it out as fluids seemed to release from everywhere. I drooled, my nose congested, tears flowed from my eyes, my vagina spurted liquid, sweat poured from my brow, I began practically hopping up and down on him and he convulsed upward inside me. Suddenly I was convulsing, I nearly screamed in joy. My elbows wouldn't hold me anymore and I fell on him, barely able to breathe.

Then I did scream and stretched full length on him, my entire body rigid until it melted into bliss. Reverend Dick, bless his soul, remained stolid beneath me, running his hands softly up and down my bare quivering back, and somehow he remained inside me despite my convulsions, his hardness securely in the grasp of a melted vagina.

This was definitely a gift from God. Ecstasy heaven sent. This new man within me was exactly what I pleaded for this morning, and God delivered the joy I so longed for, more joy than I even imagined. I managed to raise my head enough to kiss Reverend Dick with a slow soppy full-on smothering smooch. His hands went from my back to soothe my tingling breasts. I rejoiced at that.

“My prayers were answered,” I whispered.

“I'm not a priest,” he replied.


“I don't have to be celibate.”

“I'll celebrate,” I replied.

“Do you have these needs often?” he asked.

I was too enchanted to reply, but I knew I was getting religion.


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