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Subject: Pastoral Counseling (Mg)
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Date: Fri, 11 Jun 2004 04:16:55 +0000
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Pastoral Counseling (Mf)
by Delilah
I was sitting in the pastor's study. My pastor had asked me to stay after
church and have a talk with him. Now he was giving me this very parental
lecture on "lady-like behavior." I don't see why he was so "hell fire and
brimstone" about it. Just because I was sitting in my 7th grade Sunday School
class with no panties under my skirt and my legs spread wide. I mean, he
was the only one with the view. I giggle in my mind when I remember the look
on his face.
"We need to talk with your parents, Del. Do they know how you're dressing
for church?"
"No, pastor. My mom has to work on Sunday mornings, so she's already
gone when I leave," I answer him sweetly.
"What about your father? What does he do?"
I reply sarcastically, "Not much, he's dead. He died last December."
"Oh, dear! I'm sorry." Rev. Jones's expression changed from foreboding
to showing genuine sympathy.
"Don't be, I'm not. He was a bastard."
That sure changed his expression. Now he looked more than somewhat shocked
and surprised.
"Would you like to talk about it, my dear," he asked; ever the kind pastor.
"There's not much to talk about. He was drunk, as usual, and walked into
an oncoming car. The doctor said he probably died instantly. But, I can always
hope that he suffered for a little while at least. His body wasn't found
until the next morning."
I don't know why I was trying to shock Pastor Jones. Since I had been
attending his church, I had come to like him very much. He was always kind,
and sometimes even playful in his conversations with me. Maybe I didn't want
him to know how embarrassed I was by my family history.
It was Christmas time when I first started going to the Baptist Church.
I was invited by one of my seventh grade friends to come hear their Christmas
program. It was the first year that I ever remember thinking about enjoying
Christmas. In all my thirteen years, Christmas wasn't that big a deal. My
mom always tried to make it nice, but she had her hands full dealing with
my father and money was always tight. With the relief of Dad being out of
our lives, I actually was looking forward to Christmas that year. My Aunt
Ann would come for a visit and probably bring my little cousin, Deborah (she's
a cute little twerp).
So, it was with somewhat of a light heart that I went to hear the Baptist
Christmas program. The beautiful church, decorated with greenery, little
white lights, and dark red bows, captivated me. But, then I was totally enthralled
when the pastor, Rev. Jones, stood up to welcome everyone. He was tall and
slender, with broad shoulders and the kindest, most handsome face I'd ever
seen. Contrasting with his dark, almost black hair, his light blue eyes were
arresting, and maybe a little arousing.
Now, six months later, those same blue eyes looked at me with concern.
My adolescent heart yearned for his affection. Sitting in the privacy of
his study, I felt a connection with him that I had never felt before. When
he reached across the short distance between our chairs to pat my hand, I
couldn't help but grasp his fingers tightly.
His quiet ministrations helped me to open up and say, "My father didn't
love us, and he did nothing to make us want to love him. He was a dirty drunk
and abused both me and my mom."
Rev. Jones's expression sharpened as he gripped my hand and looked into
my eyes. After a slight hesitation he asked, "Did he rape you, Del."
I looked down to my lap, away from his intense gaze. At that he stood
and pulled me into his arms. I thought I had died and gone to heaven! He
was murmuring soft consolations and running his hands up and down my shoulders
and back. I just loved being so close to him; within his caring embrace.
The feeling was breathtaking!
But, all good things must come to an end and, so, he eventually stepped
back to look down into my face.
"You must tell me everything, Del. Even now, with your father gone, it's
obvious that you're holding a lot of hard feelings inside. If you don't let
it go, this hatred will only hurt you more."
He gently pulled me over to the couch and we sat down beside each other,
still holding hands. And then, I told him everything. I told him that for
as long as I could remember my father was drunk more often than not. How
my mom would always make me stay out of his way when he came home totally
bombed. And I told him how, when I was nine years old I came home from school
one day to find my father at home alone.
....My mom usually was home from work by then, but that day she was running
late and her car had broken down. My father told me that mom had called to
say she was waiting for the tow truck and would be home as soon as she could.
I could see that he was pretty high, but not completely drunk, so I said,
"Ok, I'll just go to my room and do my homework."
He just sneered and said, "I don't think so, baby. I've been waiting
for this chance for a long time. Come here!"
He grabbed me by my arms and began kissing me hard, right on the lips!
The taste from his mouth was disgusting. I tried to pull away, but he wasn't
drunk enough for me to break away. Grabbing my long ponytail, he threw me
down on the sofa and himself on top of me. I was kicking and hitting at him,
but his expansive body overpowered my small child's body with ease.
I could feel his hands working their way under my skirt and up my skinny
little legs. When he grabbed my panties and jerked them down, he stifled
my screams with his open foul mouth. He was only wearing sweat pants and
had already pulled them down to release his swollen cock. His broad hand
held me, firmly pushing against my flat chest and allowing no chance for
escape. My legs were ruthlessly spread apart by his bent knee. With his other
hand he guided his engorged dick to my bald, tight pussy and thrust brutally.
My father then proceeded to rape his virgin nine-year-old daughter; something
I've never been able to forget or forgive....
By the time I finished, Rev. Jones was again holding me close and caressing
my back. He is so sweet and loving, the antithesis of my father. "Del, my
darling girl, how often did you have to endure being treated like this by
that bastard... ah... I mean, your father?"
"Only that once, though heavens knows once was more than enough," I answered.
"I'm very close with my Aunt Ann and she could tell something was wrong.
I couldn't bring myself to tell my mom because I knew the guilt she would
feel. And she was too busy and stressed to notice how I was feeling. But,
I confessed everything to Aunt Ann and she put a stop to it ever happening
again."
"How did she manage that," asked Rev. Jones.
So, I told him how she had confronted my father and threatened to not
only turn him in to the authorities, but to personally castrate him if he
ever laid a hand on me again. Aunt Ann can be a very forceful women and my
father must have believed her because he stayed clear of me for the next
4 years. Of course, I made a point to stay clear of him, too.
Though they share a deep sisterly love, my mom and aunt are as opposite
as two sisters can possibly be. Besides looking totally different, my mom
small and fair and my aunt tall with dark hair, their personalities were
poles apart. Talking with my Aunt Ann, we agreed not to tell my mother unless
there were any further problems. There was no un-doing what had already happened
and we were afraid that if she knew, my mom would blame herself for not being
home that afternoon.
Rev. Jones was holding me closely against his strong chest through the
reliving of the most horrible time of my life. Looking down I saw that his
pants were beginning to tent out in front. My heart beat faster, knowing
that the kind pastor was aroused either by my story, or by our closeness.
I pulled back and looked up into his face.
"Did my little confession of being raped get you all excited, preacher,"
I snarled at him as I grasped the hard cock through his pants. "Is that how
you get your jollies? Listening to little girls telling you their pitiful
sex stories?"
His beautiful blue eyes opened wide in complete shock and astonishment.
"No! Oh, God, no! How could you ever believe that of me, Del? I am horrified
and deeply saddened by what you've endured."
He was stammering as he continued, "I know it looks bad. But I'm a man
and I can't help being excited by the closeness of your sweet young person.
You need to know that not every man who is aroused is a rapist."
Laying his hand over mine where it was still holding him firmly, he said,
"My heart aches for you and I admire your strength in overcoming this tragic
rape."
Burying my face into his chest, I started crying, but I never let go
of his now thoroughly distended cock. Rev. Jones raised my face and began
kissing away my tears. My fingers flexed around his hard cock and I began
massaging it. Groaning deeply, he wrapped his strong arms around me and pressed
his lips to mine.
My lips parted slightly and I lightly licked his lips, salty from my
tears. At that, the pastor opened his mouth and our tongues found each other
in a heated skirmish. He was now running his strong hands frantically up
and down my arms and then he found my tiny budding titties. When he did,
it was my turn to moan. His touch sent a direct current of arousal to my
little clit.
Rev. Jones started murmuring in protest, "Oh God, no, no... we have to
stop."
Our clasped lips broke apart as I looked deeply into his heavenly blue
eyes and said, "Pastor, I want this. I want YOU. This is different than with
my father. You're making me feel like I've never felt before. I didn't know
it could be like this. Please, Pastor! I want to know what it's like to be
loved by a man; not just raped by one."
His gentle eyes closed for a second, as if in prayer, then he stood us
both up and began undressing. I took his cue and pulled my cropped shirt
over my head to reveal my barely rounded breasts with their pointy, sensitive
nipples. Quickly I stepped out of my short skirt and shoes. I now stood complete
naked before him, mesmerized as I watched my preacher unzip his pants. What
would it look like, I wondered. Images of my father's gross tool of rape
flashed through my head, then disappeared as Rev. Jones unveiled his beautiful
cock. It stood proud and fully erect from his slim hips. Open-mouthed I gazed
at the seven inches of meat in wonder. How could men be so different? That's
a question that I've been exploring every since that moment of revelation.
I humbly knelt down before him and run my fingers gently over his wondrous
erection. Oh, God! He was so smooth and hot, yet hard as iron. When I saw
the small tear of precum begin to seep out, I just had to taste. So, I brought
forth my tongue and slide it over the crowning head. Then I savored the sweet
nectar of this Godly man.
Looking up to see Rev. Jones' reaction, I saw that his eyes were closed
and his head thrown back. I realized that I could bring him pleasure with
my mouth. That was all it took for me to begin licking and lapping at his
swollen cock. He kind of shivered and gasped. How encouraging were his reactions
to my adoration. My mouth felt strangely empty and needed to be filled. I
wrapped my lips around the head of his dick and began suck on him like a
big cylindrical lollipop. He stretched my little mouth to the max. That really
brought a response from the pastor.
With a mighty moan, he pulled me up beside him and kissed my wet, swollen
lips. Then he lifted me up and laid me on his couch. That's when he did the
most incredible thing. He spread my legs and gazed at my nearly hairless
cunt. Murmuring about how sweet it was, the pastor covered it with his mouth
for a big, wet, open-mouth kiss. Then he gently began to lap and probe the
fleshy folds of my pussy with his tongue. It was absolutely exquisite! My
clit rose up to greet his loving tongue as I convulsed in the throes of my
first orgasm. Shimmering waves of ecstasy washed over my tiny adolescent
body.
While I was still in the bliss of this blessed state, Rev. Jones knelt
on the couch between my legs and gently pushed his cock into my cunt. He
proceeded slowly, stopping every couple of seconds for me to get accustomed
to his girth. At that moment I almost forgave my father for removing my cherry
ahead of time. Now the pastor and I could enjoy this loving experience without
obstruction.
"It's okay," I told him. "You can fuck me harder. I want you to fill
me, preacher! Fuck me HARD!"
At my insistence, Rev. Jones began pumping his turgid cock in and out
of my pussy. It was such a tight fit. At every thrust I felt him grind past
my already sensitive clit. I could feel another orgasm building. Oh God!
This is fucking marvelous!
As I began cumming the second time, Rev. Jones gave a hoarse shout and
made the final thrust. I felt his hot preacher seed spewing up into my womb.
Then we laid there in total exhaustion and bliss.
After that first time, (and after getting Aunt Ann's assistance in obtaining
birth control pills) Rev. Jones and I got together several times over the
next few months for "counseling sessions." Then mom and I moved out of state.
It's been almost five years and I still miss my first preacher very much.
Rev. Jones was always the most generous of lovers. I know he felt some
guilt over our relationship, much to my regret. His love and guidance were
an immeasurable gift to me and I'll always be thankful to him and for him.
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