Podcasts about obediently

Full Text of ReadingsMonday of the Second Week of Easter Lectionary: 267The Saint of the day is Saint Peter ChanelSaint Peter Chanel's Story Anyone who has worked in loneliness, with great adaptation required and with little apparent success, will find a kindred spirit in Peter Chanel. Born in France, Peter's interest in the missions began in school, when he read letters missionaries to America sent back home. As a young priest, Peter revived a parish in a “bad” district by the simple method of showing great devotion to the sick. Wanting to be a missionary, he joined the Society of Mary, the Marists, at 28. Obediently, he taught in the seminary for five years. Then, as superior of seven Marists, he traveled to Western Oceania. The bishop accompanying the missionaries left Peter and a brother on Futuna Island northeast of Fiji, promising to return in six months. He was gone five years. Meanwhile, Peter struggled with this new language and mastered it, making the difficult adjustment to life with whalers, traders, and warring natives. Despite little apparent success and severe want, he maintained a serene and gentle spirit, plus endless patience and courage. A few natives had been baptized, a few more were being instructed. When the chieftain's son asked to be baptized, persecution by the chieftain reached a climax. Father Chanel was clubbed to death. Within two years after his death, the whole island became Catholic and has remained so. He was canonized by Pope Pius XII in 1954. Peter Chanel is the first martyr of Oceania and its patron. Reflection Suffering for Christ means suffering because we are like Christ. Very often the opposition we meet is the result of our own selfishness or imprudence. We are not martyrs when we are “persecuted” by those who merely treat us as we treat them. A Christian martyr is one who, like Christ, is simply a witness to God's love, and brings out of human hearts the good or evil that is already there. Saint Peter Chanel is the Patron Saint of: Oceania Saint of the Day, Copyright Franciscan Media

John 20: 18-21 Easter morning Mary Magdalene met Jesus outside the tomb. He told her to go and tell His disciples that He had risen. Obediently, she did. To her frustration, they didn't believe her. Then, that evening, while the disciples were hiding out in fear, Jesus showed up in the midst of them. Then they believed, and Mary was vindicated. Sweet! Thomas, who wasn't there when Jesus appeared, refused to believe the disciples when they informed him that they had seen the Lord. Later, Jesus appeared to Thomas, and he believed. The disciples were vindicated. Sweet! Notice the pattern: Someone experiences the presence of the Resurrected Jesus and they tell others. The others won't believe. It takes Jesus to convince them. When we're saved, we want to share what we have found with others. In fact, we have, like Mary been told to by the Lord. When we first share the Lord with someone, they probably won't believe us. That's okay. Share anyway, and sooner or later the Lord will vindicate us.

In this series, we're sharing five reasons why integrating your faith and work has great value. The final reason is because God can transform entire workplaces.  Seth felt God was instructing him to stay employed at Home Depot until every employee heard about Jesus. Obediently, Seth began a Bible study, then a prayer group at ... The post 5 Reasons to Integrate your Faith and Work: Reason Five appeared first on Unconventional Business Network.

It only takes a few moments with any news source to realize that evil is active in our world today. But, as bad as things are, the Bible says that there is “restraining power” at work, holding back the full measure of evil that could be released on earth. The Apostle Paul wrote to his friends in the church at Thessalonica about this: “I expect you remember now how I talked about this when I was with you. You will probably also remember how I used to talk about a ‘restraining power' which would operate until the time should come for the emergence of this man. Evil is already insidiously at work but its activities are restricted until what I have called the ‘restraining power' (of God) is removed.” 2 Thessalonians 2:6-7 (Phillips) This is part of the Kingdom Work of GOD happening on earth right now. Just imagine what life would be like if that “restraining power” was not at work. Why don't you make plans now to join us this Sunday at our service at 9:30 or 11AM, or in our livestream service at 11AM on riverbluff.live, as we see a very specific role GOD's Word says each of us who follow JESUS should play in this great “restraining power”? Pastor Joe Still

Two stories of scholarly lasses with healthy libidos.Based on the posts by Select Redux. Listen to the ► Podcast at Steamy Stories. Stimulating ReadingSexual adventures amid the bookshelves.Unlocking the big oak doors, Emily glances up at the Spring sun filtering through the stained-glass windows of the 'Institute'. Originally endowed by a Victorian benefactor, now part of a modern university, this old building goes unnoticed by most people passing by on this bright 1993 morning.The research library within opens just three days a week with Emily, its part-time librarian, fitting the job around her PhD studies. Some colleagues consider it a fusty backwater; Emily rather enjoys the church-like surroundings, lofty ceilings and marble floors, and calm, quiet ambience.Starting the day as usual at 8.45am, Emily turns on the lights, picks up the post and then sits at the front desk waiting for students to arrive. The job isn't the most exacting; mainly helping undergraduates locate obscure books, its perk being plenty of time to write her thesis and, blush-making to admit, peruse the rather splendid erotica section. Something that's become a bit of a habit, leaving her distracted and almost perpetually aroused.This 'special collection' is kept locked; its key is supposedly secure in a safe; in fact on a chain around Emily's neck. Currently 'in between boyfriends' (no, not like that!) in truth modern men, mostly boys inhabiting adult bodies in her opinion, don't do it for Emily. Call her traditional, she wants someone old-fashioned.Emily's romantic, bookish outlook on life sometimes feels unsuited to modern times and is exemplified by today's attire: cardigan, blouse, and a string of pearls, the epitome of respectability; a typical librarian. A knee-length skirt, sensible shoes, minimal makeup and glasses habitually perched upon her head complete the academic look. However, underneath one (who? she reflects glumly) might be surprised to find some almost sinfully brief lingerie adorning her trim figure. Perhaps not so conservative;Later that afternoon, Emily looks at her watch, half an hour until closing, not likely to see anyone else today she thinks. Wrongly, because striding confidently through the rotating door and purposefully approaching her desk is a new customer. In contrast to the usual scruffy students (although arguably the lecturers are worse) he's smartly dressed. Wearing a tie in fact; Emily likes a chap in a suit and his fits very well. This tall man with silvery grey hair favors her with a confident smile and Emily melts inside, lust at first sight.Michael, they are quickly on first name terms, is a postgrad mature student working on the final dissertation of an English literature MA. He's taken a couple of weeks' leave from an unspecified (Emily suspects high-powered and well-remunerated) job to complete it. Meaning, she sends a silent prayer of thanks to whichever celestial deity might be responsible, he'll be making frequent trips to the library. Visits she soon begins to eagerly anticipate, feeling disproportionately disappointed on days when this charming, personable and undoubtedly assertive man doesn't appear. Get a grip girl, chides her inner voice, whatever your fantasies this is a purely professional relationship."What did you do before studying," she enquires one morning."Came from money, followed the family tradition into the City and made some more," he shrugs. "Clichéd thing for a privileged person to say but it didn't make me happy.""What does?""Good writing, which explains why I'm here in literary mode, how about you?""A very bright kid from a feckless, under-achieving family; got a scholarship, got out of my dead-end town and got a higher education. Not having money means I have to take a series of dull jobs to pay my way." There's no need to make her point any more strongly, Michael gets the implication."I detect a steely determination," he responds without rancor."Academically, yes," she agrees, "in order to remain with my beloved books, but unfashionable though it is I'd happily be rescued by a knight in shining armor. Will you be my knight?" Christ, she thinks, where did that come from? Silly mare you've blown it now."If you'll be my damsel in distress I'd be delighted," Michael answers lightly, but a die has been cast."What are you working on today?" he enquires conversationally when next visiting."These books were recently acquired for the special collections section. I'm trying to catalogue them," she explains, outwardly serene, but heart beating fast."Ah the erotica," Michael raises a knowing eyebrow, "better leave you to it then." He turns to a nearby table with a couple of hefty tomes and commences making notes while covertly observing Emily, absently twirling a lock of hair with one hand, the other no longer on the table but underneath. Much later, abruptly jolted from a pleasurable reverie by his shadow, Emily becomes abruptly aware of Michael's looming presence."You're spending a lot of time on books from that particular genre," he says, it isn't a question."Well; " she stammers."Perhaps that's why you've twice left the University's precious erotica shelves unlocked lately?"Her eyes widen in shock. "How did you know?" It's true, no point in denying the fact."I notice things. An accident I'm sure, but rather careless, some might even say naughty. Are you naughty Emily?" Silence, the cat has got her tongue. "Do you deserve to be punished? Might that be a better solution than the matter being brought to the attention of the Vice-Chancellor?" Michael presses home his advantage. "Those rare editions are extremely valuable. Perhaps you need to be taught a lesson, bought to book one might say." Emily gets the joke, but it's no laughing matter."Punished; lesson?" she stammers, "what do you mean?""I think you know to what I'm referring, you've read enough about spanking, no doubt wondered what it might be like. I don't believe you're as innocent as you pretend Emily, I saw you slide a hand under your skirt just then. Most unprofessional, you deserve to have your bottom smacked.""Oh; " Overwhelmed by his quiet certainty that she'll obey, Ellie discovers in herself a complimentary willingness to defer; feels her pussy throbbing with desire at every word Michael utters. This is ridiculous, thinks her rational brain, I'm an independent woman, he's no right to demand my obedience. But you know you want to, responds her libidinous subconscious, you've so often dreamt of such a scenario, and how you'd willingly submit;She nods anxiously towards the door. With an unreadable expression, Michael walks purposefully towards the entrance, locks it and returns."Bad girls require discipline," he whispers in her ear."They do, sir," she meekly agrees."Come here." Emily stands next to him, hands behind her back."Turn around and lean forward against the desk."Deferentially, eyes downcast, Emily complies; wrapping his left arm around her slender waist Michael slowly, and deliberately raises her skirt. Emily wishes her boobs were just a little bigger; wishes her arse was just a little smaller but knows her lovely legs are just right. Now so does he.A grunt of male disapproval, "I don't like tights," he tugs her pantyhose down revealing flawless bottom cheeks, "next time I expect you to wear stockings." Next time, who said anything about next time? Despite her mounting panic, Emily has an epiphany of understanding; Michael's coercion is more implied than actual, less of a threat by him as a need within her. He runs his hands appreciatively over her pristine, unmarked bottom then tugs those unexpectedly racy, almost transparent black panties up hard into Emily's damp divide, the silken scrap disappearing between puffy pussy lips, chafing her swollen clit."Turns you on doesn't it" he growls, holding her tightly."Yes, but I'm scared," she whispers and it's true, the physical proximity and her helplessness in the hands of an alpha male are more exciting than anything Emily has ever before encountered.Emily tenses, holding her breath, awaiting the inevitable; yet the initial smack still catches her by surprise. At first, it's mainly about the ringing percussive sound, a numbing shock. Prudently Michael allows a pause, he can tell it's her first time. Gradually her skin pinkens and a sharp stinging sensation suffuses Emily's posterior."Oh," she looks at him wide-eyed, "oh yes," amazed by her compliance with the punitive intentions of a man she scarcely knows. A second spank, slightly harder this time."Feeling it now aren't you," Michael mutters, "rather different from in the stories you're so keen on?" True, the reality of what before was only fevered fiction is raw and immediate." I'll stop if you ask me to," he adds."Surely not when I've been so wicked," Emily replies huskily. The scene is set, and his hard palm strikes her bottom repeatedly as Michael methodically and unhurriedly continues, Emily's body responding animatedly to the burning sensation gradually suffusing her derriere."Keep still," he commands as she squirms in a futile attempt to dissipate the smart.Eventually, Emily has no idea how long, five minutes, or an eternity, Michael ceases her chastisement. Both are breathing heavily now, albeit for different reasons. He slides a hand up her inner thigh and under her knickers."Good girl," Michael whispers, pushing an exploratory digit into Emily's sopping sex. She shuts her eyes and moves against his fingers, Emily is needy, alas, her evident excitement is unrequited. Taking her by the shoulders, Michael turns the shaken young woman to face the wall."Make yourself respectable," he instructs in a tone countenancing no dissent, "don't move until I've left, no rubbing your bottom, or anywhere else. I'll let myself out," he kisses the top of her head, "and be back soon to do one final bit piece of research, don't miss me too much."And then he's gone; taken Emily to the edge and abandoned her unsatisfied. Which, thinks Emily, bottom glowing fiercely, is truly sadistic. Simmering with sexual awakening, she's no intention of being denied. Walking stiffly towards her chair Emily sits, wincing as her tender buttocks contact with the seat. Legs spread and eyes closed she pushes a hand down the front of her panties and addresses her pent-up frustration with flying fingers, and soon has a shattering orgasm.On Monday morning, after a weekend mentally replaying this momentous encounter, and multiple flouting of Michael's embargo on masturbation, Emily walks into work full of hope for what the new week may bring. Inwardly more confident, her outward appearance has also altered. She's taken more care with makeup, mascara and her favorite cherry red lipstick. Does her best not to tug down her hem at every step. Emily hasn't previously worn such a short skirt and worries people may notice she's wearing stockings. Once at work, it's business as usual, albeit with some appreciative glances from borrowers, being desired is an unfamiliar but welcome ego boost. Emboldened, Emily experiments with undoing the second button of her blouse.She can't conceal her unhappiness when Michael fails to arrive and becomes increasingly despondent when he doesn't turn up on Tuesday and Wednesday either. By Thursday she's almost lost hope. Turning to the erotica collection for comfort a photograph falls from between the pages of a book on 'Le Vice Anglaise'. Emily looks aghast, Michael! But it can't be, the date scribbled on the back is 1936, does her dom have a doppelganger? All too much of a conundrum to deal with in her overwrought state, Emily locks up early and heads disconsolately home.On Friday she settles onto her stool and re-opens the same book. Was Michael ever really here, she wonders? Could this have been some sort of hallucination, an epic instance of self-delusion? Of course not, get real, examine the facts, she inwardly chides. Consider the evidence of two days of sitting gingerly, the finger marks on your sore buttocks visible in the mirror. She was spanked alright, the pertinent question being whether she will see Michael again, let alone reach the sexual conclusion so ardently desired. Not being clairvoyant, Emily doesn't have a clue about either outcome, for now, she tells herself sternly, you'd better get on with some work. Mentally listing the day's mundane tasks Emily doesn't notice a familiar figure quietly enter the building until he's immediately adjacent. Caught unawares her incipient shout of shock is stifled by his hand."I'll remove it from your mouth," his voice whispers, "if you promise not to scream, understood?" Emily remains frozen, struggling to get to grips with her predicament, then nods assent."Where did you appear from?" she enquires in a small voice."Not important right now," he shushes."Your picture; " She points at the faded sepia print on the table."My father," he laughs, "chip off the old block, aren't I? Long gone, of course, he put up the money to establish the erotica collection you've so much enjoyed." Helping the shaken young woman to her feet he moves Emily to face a bookcase."Just relax," he says calmly, trailing a hand teasingly up and down the back of her thighs."Relax," she tenses at the suggestion, "when I don't know what you intend to do.""I think you can hazard a pretty accurate prediction," he teases."I'm quite sure you're planning to punish me again," says Emily shivering with anticipation at the thought, "what might occur afterwards is what's preoccupying me.""What do you hope happens?" he enquires, lips brushing the nape of her neck."I think you can make a very good guess," Emily replies cheekily.Right now, she can't think of anything she wouldn't let him do, Emily has read many salacious books and has a vivid imagination."I'm enjoying your new look," says Michael appreciatively, "let's explore beneath; " He unbuttons her blouse to the waist, frees her boobs and rolls each erect nipple in turn between finger and thumb. In response, Emily kisses him hard on the mouth, her acquiescence clearly in no doubt. His other hand slips between her thighs and encounters wetness between them. Emily moans at this touch, yearning to be penetrated by the hard cock she can feel bulging through his trousers and pressing against her thigh."You'll endure a harsher correction this time," he murmurs, bending Emily across the desk while removing his belt."The door", she gestures urgently.He shrugs off her concern. "We'll just have to take the chance; I find a little jeopardy adds a frisson of excitement." Wrestling up the short, tight skirt exposes the soft curves of Emily's hips and beautiful bottom; Michael monetarily enjoys the sight, and then pulls her knickers down and off."Someone wants to be fucked pretty badly," he observes, a hint of amusement in his voice as he glimpses her damp, pouting slit. With no warning he straps Emily, hard and fast, leaving blazing bands of hurt across both cheeks and down to her stocking tops. She yelps, groans and stamps her feet, nevertheless thrusting out her buttocks to meet each of the worn leather's cruel kisses. A further dozen overlapping strokes sear across her fiery red behind until Emily thinks she can't possibly endure further chastisement."Hurts," she whimpers, tears in her eyes, although the perfect pain only serves to stoke a fire of arousal down below. Aware of her limits Michael runs his hands along the insides of Emily's legs and pulls her knees apart, leaving her open and exposed. His tongue repeatedly explores the length of her labia, right up to the nub of her clit, building each caress into a rhythmic repetition. Emily feels an orgasm inexorably approaching, her breathing becomes fast and uneven."Fuck you're tight," he observes crudely, sliding a finger into Emily's inviting pink cunny and then positioning his erection at her slick entrance."Stop teasing and do it hard!" she screams, last vestiges of dignity and reserve surrendered. Lewdly Emily pushes back her hips, anxious to have him inside her. Equally caught up in the intensity of the moment, Michael fills the lusty librarian with the cock she craves. All inhibitions abandoned, Emily feels the rhythm of his thrusts increasing, her pussy spasms and takes them both to an inevitable sexual crescendo. They lay silent for a moment before Michael chivalrously passes Emily a large linen handkerchief to mop the come leaking onto her nylon-clad thighs."I think my poor bottom has suffered quite enough for one day," she whispers sensually, "how about you take me home to your place and fuck me again, slowly and gently?""How about we take one of the books from the special collection to provide us with inspiration?" he replies."Oh, I think I've already done quite enough research," Emily responds with a giggle."Then let's grab a bottle of wine and see if we can't put theory into practice," agrees Michael.Cut to a year later, doctorate earned; Emily has been promoted to take charge of the main university library. There's a new young woman librarian at the Institute, still on probation and requiring guidance. Emily considers herself a firm but fair manager and has kindly offered an after-hours tutorial on the special collection. A recently successful MA student, now a research fellow, somewhat older and vastly experienced, may join them;By Select Redux for LiteroticaCleverness is SexyWinning a quiz transformed Alice from swot to hot.By Select ReduxAn exceptionally brainy young woman, Alice has pursued her academic interests to the exclusion of almost everything else in life. There will, she reasons, on the verge of her 23rd birthday, the M A she's strived so hard to attain nearl

Two stories of scholarly lasses with healthy libidos.Based on the posts by Select Redux. Listen to the ► Podcast at Steamy Stories. Stimulating ReadingSexual adventures amid the bookshelves.Unlocking the big oak doors, Emily glances up at the Spring sun filtering through the stained-glass windows of the 'Institute'. Originally endowed by a Victorian benefactor, now part of a modern university, this old building goes unnoticed by most people passing by on this bright 1993 morning.The research library within opens just three days a week with Emily, its part-time librarian, fitting the job around her PhD studies. Some colleagues consider it a fusty backwater; Emily rather enjoys the church-like surroundings, lofty ceilings and marble floors, and calm, quiet ambience.Starting the day as usual at 8.45am, Emily turns on the lights, picks up the post and then sits at the front desk waiting for students to arrive. The job isn't the most exacting; mainly helping undergraduates locate obscure books, its perk being plenty of time to write her thesis and, blush-making to admit, peruse the rather splendid erotica section. Something that's become a bit of a habit, leaving her distracted and almost perpetually aroused.This 'special collection' is kept locked; its key is supposedly secure in a safe; in fact on a chain around Emily's neck. Currently 'in between boyfriends' (no, not like that!) in truth modern men, mostly boys inhabiting adult bodies in her opinion, don't do it for Emily. Call her traditional, she wants someone old-fashioned.Emily's romantic, bookish outlook on life sometimes feels unsuited to modern times and is exemplified by today's attire: cardigan, blouse, and a string of pearls, the epitome of respectability; a typical librarian. A knee-length skirt, sensible shoes, minimal makeup and glasses habitually perched upon her head complete the academic look. However, underneath one (who? she reflects glumly) might be surprised to find some almost sinfully brief lingerie adorning her trim figure. Perhaps not so conservative;Later that afternoon, Emily looks at her watch, half an hour until closing, not likely to see anyone else today she thinks. Wrongly, because striding confidently through the rotating door and purposefully approaching her desk is a new customer. In contrast to the usual scruffy students (although arguably the lecturers are worse) he's smartly dressed. Wearing a tie in fact; Emily likes a chap in a suit and his fits very well. This tall man with silvery grey hair favors her with a confident smile and Emily melts inside, lust at first sight.Michael, they are quickly on first name terms, is a postgrad mature student working on the final dissertation of an English literature MA. He's taken a couple of weeks' leave from an unspecified (Emily suspects high-powered and well-remunerated) job to complete it. Meaning, she sends a silent prayer of thanks to whichever celestial deity might be responsible, he'll be making frequent trips to the library. Visits she soon begins to eagerly anticipate, feeling disproportionately disappointed on days when this charming, personable and undoubtedly assertive man doesn't appear. Get a grip girl, chides her inner voice, whatever your fantasies this is a purely professional relationship."What did you do before studying," she enquires one morning."Came from money, followed the family tradition into the City and made some more," he shrugs. "Clichéd thing for a privileged person to say but it didn't make me happy.""What does?""Good writing, which explains why I'm here in literary mode, how about you?""A very bright kid from a feckless, under-achieving family; got a scholarship, got out of my dead-end town and got a higher education. Not having money means I have to take a series of dull jobs to pay my way." There's no need to make her point any more strongly, Michael gets the implication."I detect a steely determination," he responds without rancor."Academically, yes," she agrees, "in order to remain with my beloved books, but unfashionable though it is I'd happily be rescued by a knight in shining armor. Will you be my knight?" Christ, she thinks, where did that come from? Silly mare you've blown it now."If you'll be my damsel in distress I'd be delighted," Michael answers lightly, but a die has been cast."What are you working on today?" he enquires conversationally when next visiting."These books were recently acquired for the special collections section. I'm trying to catalogue them," she explains, outwardly serene, but heart beating fast."Ah the erotica," Michael raises a knowing eyebrow, "better leave you to it then." He turns to a nearby table with a couple of hefty tomes and commences making notes while covertly observing Emily, absently twirling a lock of hair with one hand, the other no longer on the table but underneath. Much later, abruptly jolted from a pleasurable reverie by his shadow, Emily becomes abruptly aware of Michael's looming presence."You're spending a lot of time on books from that particular genre," he says, it isn't a question."Well; " she stammers."Perhaps that's why you've twice left the University's precious erotica shelves unlocked lately?"Her eyes widen in shock. "How did you know?" It's true, no point in denying the fact."I notice things. An accident I'm sure, but rather careless, some might even say naughty. Are you naughty Emily?" Silence, the cat has got her tongue. "Do you deserve to be punished? Might that be a better solution than the matter being brought to the attention of the Vice-Chancellor?" Michael presses home his advantage. "Those rare editions are extremely valuable. Perhaps you need to be taught a lesson, bought to book one might say." Emily gets the joke, but it's no laughing matter."Punished; lesson?" she stammers, "what do you mean?""I think you know to what I'm referring, you've read enough about spanking, no doubt wondered what it might be like. I don't believe you're as innocent as you pretend Emily, I saw you slide a hand under your skirt just then. Most unprofessional, you deserve to have your bottom smacked.""Oh; " Overwhelmed by his quiet certainty that she'll obey, Ellie discovers in herself a complimentary willingness to defer; feels her pussy throbbing with desire at every word Michael utters. This is ridiculous, thinks her rational brain, I'm an independent woman, he's no right to demand my obedience. But you know you want to, responds her libidinous subconscious, you've so often dreamt of such a scenario, and how you'd willingly submit;She nods anxiously towards the door. With an unreadable expression, Michael walks purposefully towards the entrance, locks it and returns."Bad girls require discipline," he whispers in her ear."They do, sir," she meekly agrees."Come here." Emily stands next to him, hands behind her back."Turn around and lean forward against the desk."Deferentially, eyes downcast, Emily complies; wrapping his left arm around her slender waist Michael slowly, and deliberately raises her skirt. Emily wishes her boobs were just a little bigger; wishes her arse was just a little smaller but knows her lovely legs are just right. Now so does he.A grunt of male disapproval, "I don't like tights," he tugs her pantyhose down revealing flawless bottom cheeks, "next time I expect you to wear stockings." Next time, who said anything about next time? Despite her mounting panic, Emily has an epiphany of understanding; Michael's coercion is more implied than actual, less of a threat by him as a need within her. He runs his hands appreciatively over her pristine, unmarked bottom then tugs those unexpectedly racy, almost transparent black panties up hard into Emily's damp divide, the silken scrap disappearing between puffy pussy lips, chafing her swollen clit."Turns you on doesn't it" he growls, holding her tightly."Yes, but I'm scared," she whispers and it's true, the physical proximity and her helplessness in the hands of an alpha male are more exciting than anything Emily has ever before encountered.Emily tenses, holding her breath, awaiting the inevitable; yet the initial smack still catches her by surprise. At first, it's mainly about the ringing percussive sound, a numbing shock. Prudently Michael allows a pause, he can tell it's her first time. Gradually her skin pinkens and a sharp stinging sensation suffuses Emily's posterior."Oh," she looks at him wide-eyed, "oh yes," amazed by her compliance with the punitive intentions of a man she scarcely knows. A second spank, slightly harder this time."Feeling it now aren't you," Michael mutters, "rather different from in the stories you're so keen on?" True, the reality of what before was only fevered fiction is raw and immediate." I'll stop if you ask me to," he adds."Surely not when I've been so wicked," Emily replies huskily. The scene is set, and his hard palm strikes her bottom repeatedly as Michael methodically and unhurriedly continues, Emily's body responding animatedly to the burning sensation gradually suffusing her derriere."Keep still," he commands as she squirms in a futile attempt to dissipate the smart.Eventually, Emily has no idea how long, five minutes, or an eternity, Michael ceases her chastisement. Both are breathing heavily now, albeit for different reasons. He slides a hand up her inner thigh and under her knickers."Good girl," Michael whispers, pushing an exploratory digit into Emily's sopping sex. She shuts her eyes and moves against his fingers, Emily is needy, alas, her evident excitement is unrequited. Taking her by the shoulders, Michael turns the shaken young woman to face the wall."Make yourself respectable," he instructs in a tone countenancing no dissent, "don't move until I've left, no rubbing your bottom, or anywhere else. I'll let myself out," he kisses the top of her head, "and be back soon to do one final bit piece of research, don't miss me too much."And then he's gone; taken Emily to the edge and abandoned her unsatisfied. Which, thinks Emily, bottom glowing fiercely, is truly sadistic. Simmering with sexual awakening, she's no intention of being denied. Walking stiffly towards her chair Emily sits, wincing as her tender buttocks contact with the seat. Legs spread and eyes closed she pushes a hand down the front of her panties and addresses her pent-up frustration with flying fingers, and soon has a shattering orgasm.On Monday morning, after a weekend mentally replaying this momentous encounter, and multiple flouting of Michael's embargo on masturbation, Emily walks into work full of hope for what the new week may bring. Inwardly more confident, her outward appearance has also altered. She's taken more care with makeup, mascara and her favorite cherry red lipstick. Does her best not to tug down her hem at every step. Emily hasn't previously worn such a short skirt and worries people may notice she's wearing stockings. Once at work, it's business as usual, albeit with some appreciative glances from borrowers, being desired is an unfamiliar but welcome ego boost. Emboldened, Emily experiments with undoing the second button of her blouse.She can't conceal her unhappiness when Michael fails to arrive and becomes increasingly despondent when he doesn't turn up on Tuesday and Wednesday either. By Thursday she's almost lost hope. Turning to the erotica collection for comfort a photograph falls from between the pages of a book on 'Le Vice Anglaise'. Emily looks aghast, Michael! But it can't be, the date scribbled on the back is 1936, does her dom have a doppelganger? All too much of a conundrum to deal with in her overwrought state, Emily locks up early and heads disconsolately home.On Friday she settles onto her stool and re-opens the same book. Was Michael ever really here, she wonders? Could this have been some sort of hallucination, an epic instance of self-delusion? Of course not, get real, examine the facts, she inwardly chides. Consider the evidence of two days of sitting gingerly, the finger marks on your sore buttocks visible in the mirror. She was spanked alright, the pertinent question being whether she will see Michael again, let alone reach the sexual conclusion so ardently desired. Not being clairvoyant, Emily doesn't have a clue about either outcome, for now, she tells herself sternly, you'd better get on with some work. Mentally listing the day's mundane tasks Emily doesn't notice a familiar figure quietly enter the building until he's immediately adjacent. Caught unawares her incipient shout of shock is stifled by his hand."I'll remove it from your mouth," his voice whispers, "if you promise not to scream, understood?" Emily remains frozen, struggling to get to grips with her predicament, then nods assent."Where did you appear from?" she enquires in a small voice."Not important right now," he shushes."Your picture; " She points at the faded sepia print on the table."My father," he laughs, "chip off the old block, aren't I? Long gone, of course, he put up the money to establish the erotica collection you've so much enjoyed." Helping the shaken young woman to her feet he moves Emily to face a bookcase."Just relax," he says calmly, trailing a hand teasingly up and down the back of her thighs."Relax," she tenses at the suggestion, "when I don't know what you intend to do.""I think you can hazard a pretty accurate prediction," he teases."I'm quite sure you're planning to punish me again," says Emily shivering with anticipation at the thought, "what might occur afterwards is what's preoccupying me.""What do you hope happens?" he enquires, lips brushing the nape of her neck."I think you can make a very good guess," Emily replies cheekily.Right now, she can't think of anything she wouldn't let him do, Emily has read many salacious books and has a vivid imagination."I'm enjoying your new look," says Michael appreciatively, "let's explore beneath; " He unbuttons her blouse to the waist, frees her boobs and rolls each erect nipple in turn between finger and thumb. In response, Emily kisses him hard on the mouth, her acquiescence clearly in no doubt. His other hand slips between her thighs and encounters wetness between them. Emily moans at this touch, yearning to be penetrated by the hard cock she can feel bulging through his trousers and pressing against her thigh."You'll endure a harsher correction this time," he murmurs, bending Emily across the desk while removing his belt."The door", she gestures urgently.He shrugs off her concern. "We'll just have to take the chance; I find a little jeopardy adds a frisson of excitement." Wrestling up the short, tight skirt exposes the soft curves of Emily's hips and beautiful bottom; Michael monetarily enjoys the sight, and then pulls her knickers down and off."Someone wants to be fucked pretty badly," he observes, a hint of amusement in his voice as he glimpses her damp, pouting slit. With no warning he straps Emily, hard and fast, leaving blazing bands of hurt across both cheeks and down to her stocking tops. She yelps, groans and stamps her feet, nevertheless thrusting out her buttocks to meet each of the worn leather's cruel kisses. A further dozen overlapping strokes sear across her fiery red behind until Emily thinks she can't possibly endure further chastisement."Hurts," she whimpers, tears in her eyes, although the perfect pain only serves to stoke a fire of arousal down below. Aware of her limits Michael runs his hands along the insides of Emily's legs and pulls her knees apart, leaving her open and exposed. His tongue repeatedly explores the length of her labia, right up to the nub of her clit, building each caress into a rhythmic repetition. Emily feels an orgasm inexorably approaching, her breathing becomes fast and uneven."Fuck you're tight," he observes crudely, sliding a finger into Emily's inviting pink cunny and then positioning his erection at her slick entrance."Stop teasing and do it hard!" she screams, last vestiges of dignity and reserve surrendered. Lewdly Emily pushes back her hips, anxious to have him inside her. Equally caught up in the intensity of the moment, Michael fills the lusty librarian with the cock she craves. All inhibitions abandoned, Emily feels the rhythm of his thrusts increasing, her pussy spasms and takes them both to an inevitable sexual crescendo. They lay silent for a moment before Michael chivalrously passes Emily a large linen handkerchief to mop the come leaking onto her nylon-clad thighs."I think my poor bottom has suffered quite enough for one day," she whispers sensually, "how about you take me home to your place and fuck me again, slowly and gently?""How about we take one of the books from the special collection to provide us with inspiration?" he replies."Oh, I think I've already done quite enough research," Emily responds with a giggle."Then let's grab a bottle of wine and see if we can't put theory into practice," agrees Michael.Cut to a year later, doctorate earned; Emily has been promoted to take charge of the main university library. There's a new young woman librarian at the Institute, still on probation and requiring guidance. Emily considers herself a firm but fair manager and has kindly offered an after-hours tutorial on the special collection. A recently successful MA student, now a research fellow, somewhat older and vastly experienced, may join them;By Select Redux for LiteroticaCleverness is SexyWinning a quiz transformed Alice from swot to hot.By Select ReduxAn exceptionally brainy young woman, Alice has pursued her academic interests to the exclusion of almost everything else in life. There will, she reasons, on the verge of her 23rd birthday, the M A she's strived so hard to attain nearl

 A heroine goes back in time to a sticky-fingered situation.By Mark V Sharp, in 2 parts. Listen to the ► Podcast at Steamy Stories. The current reigning Miss Americana is a college student who forces Professor Whirter to send her back to the First Thanksgiving; so she can help Flag Girl with a history assignment. She gets led before the elders of the colony, only for a distraught messenger to run in reporting that the Wampanoag party carrying the majority of the food has turned back. Having spotted Miss Americana, they have concluded the colony cannot be so hard up for food as they claim if it contains one as well-endowed as she is.In order to restore history, Miss Americana presents herself as a peace offering to restore Massasoit's favor. She ends up being a feature of the event; from her place at the end of the long Thanksgiving table. For the entire duration of the famous feast, a seemingly endless succession of Wampanoag warriors indulge in her charms.Finally, after everyone has had their fill, she is left a sprawled devastated wreck upon the gutted feasting table. Alone at last, she gets warped safely back to the present, only to discover that her misadventure will have lasting and historic consequences for the interior of her womb. Miss Americana goes to the First Thanksgiving"Flag Girl has a school project due, Dr. Whirter," Miss Americana said. "She's flunking, so we need a guaranteed A. So I want you to send me back in time. If we can learn the true history of the First Thanksgiving, then with the report I'll help her write there's no way she can fail."Professor Whirter shook his head. "Miss Americana!" he gasped. "The time machine is not a toy! You cannot use it for such purposes!"The mighty superheroine stood before him in his lab. She was resplendent in her defiant costume, which consisted chiefly of a patriotic American Flag bikini. A golden belt, the source of her powers, lay cinched tight about her buxom hips, emblazoned with a bright red A upon its buckle, at the center of her broad flat belly. She wore a star-spangled mask upon her face to protect her secret identity, with a matching A on her forehead. Two red gloves with blue A's on the backs of her hands, and gleaming red boots, completed her ensemble.Her sidekick Flag Girl stood by her side, in a very similar but less ostentatious version of the same costume, and at least had the decency to blush. Behind Americana's sculpted ass, the platform of the Professor's newly-built time machine waited.Miss Americana's expression darkened behind her mask. She was a proud woman and not used to being denied. "Professor," she growled, "my, I mean, my good friend Brenda Wade's money pays for this place. Do you really want me to put in a word with her about how, diligently, you use your funding?"The Professor's blood ran cold, and he caved immediately. "Alright, alright," he said, bowing his head. Obediently, he went to the control panel, and started twisting dials. Flag Girl followed, watching curiously over his shoulder. Smiling smugly at her easy victory, Miss Americana walked up onto the round steel platform of the time machine."Ready?" Professor Whirter asked, as the machine started to hum."Ready!" Miss Americana announced, proudly. A crackle of energy sounded, and a glow of light enveloped her. When it faded, she was gone.The wind stirred the woods near the Plymouth colony. It was autumn, and the leaves were red and orange and brown. There was a crackle of energy and a flash of light, and Miss Americana appeared. Sauntering up to the edge of the tree-line, she pulled down a branch and smirked.Before her, across a large tilled field covered in the remains of harvested wheat, lay a hill. Atop the hill she saw a cluster of rough-hewn houses overlooking a rocky harbor. A second adjacent hill nearby held a simple earthwork with a few cannon emplaced upon it."Perfect," she cooed.There came a rustling in the brush behind her. Two men emerged, one tall and one short. They wore black woolen clothing and broad-brimmed black hats. Each brandished a long flintlock musket."Told you I heard a noise," the tall Pilgrim said to the short one."Heaven defend us!" the short Pilgrim said, eyes going wide, as he saw what had caused it.The two Pilgrims gaped in disbelief for several seconds at the stacked scantily-clad beauty that stood before them."Hello," Miss Americana said. She started to move towards them.But at that instant, the short Pilgrim snapped his musket up and pointed it at her. "Stay back, witch!" he said.His companion seemed less sure. "Are you sure she's a witch?" he asked."She's a strange woman hanging out in the woods, what else could she be?" the short one asked."Hmm," the tall one said. He looked Americana up and down again. "Well, she has certainly cast a spell on my phallus so,"He suddenly snapped his musket up, and cocked back the flint. "Get on your knees and put your hands up, witch!" he said. "No speaking hexes, either!"Miss Americana sighed, and shook her head, as she looked down the barrels of the two Pilgrims' long guns. Given the protections of her belt, she had absolutely nothing to fear from bullets. "You boys are making a big mistake," she cooed at them, as she cracked her knuckles and prepared to use her superhuman might to subdue them. "Fortunately I can correct it,"But suddenly, a noise crackled in the earpiece of the communication system embedded in her earrings and choker."Miss Americana!" Professor Whirter's voice said, rising and falling from time distortion as he spoke to her from the viewing panel of his time machine. "You cannot harm anyone in this period!" he said. "Given their lack of medical care and poor nutrition, one punch could be deadly. And each of these men may have tens of thousands of descendants in our modern time, one of which just might be you! If you lay a finger upon them you might well erase yourself from history!""Oh," Miss Americana gulped. "Right,"She looked back and forth between the two men and their guns. She swallowed, but realized she truly had no choice. Getting summoned back immediately, in front of the two witnesses, could hardly disturb the time line much less."On second thought," she said, "I surrender."She went down onto her knees before them, and put her hands up.The taller Pilgrim kept his gun on her, while the shorter Pilgrim came forward. He had a set of iron manacles he had brought on his patrol, in case they should happen upon a hostile person spying on the colony and have a chance to take him prisoner. While his partner covered him, he dragged Americana's hands behind her curvy back and manacled them above her ass, having great difficulty keeping his eyes off the panty-swelling contours of her posterior as he did so. Then he put an iron collar on her, to which was attached a length of chain."There," he said, backing up. "The cold iron should keep the witch from casting any hexes upon us.""If you say so," Miss Americana said, standing back up. Due to her superior nutrition and super-human genetics, she stood a head taller than even the taller of them. The shorter Pilgrim's head was level with her enormous breasts, a fact that despite his literally puritanical nature he seemed to find immensely affecting. "Now, please take me to your leaders so that I may work this misunderstanding out."Eyeing her up and down, the taller one turned to his partner. "Let's take her to the Elders," he said. "Between them, the Reverend, the Governor, and Captain Standish will know what to do with her."Miss Americana rolled her eyes. "That's what I said, you oafs!" she said, the chains clanking as she shifted her bikini-clad body impatiently.Leading her by her new chain, the two Pilgrims marched Miss Americana out of the woods and up the hill towards the colony. As she approached, Miss Americana saw that a long table had been set up in the middle of the ring of houses. Although there were seats for over a hundred, only about forty men sat at it, and despite what should have been the impending festivities they looked nervous and emaciated. A short distance away upon the hill she noticed a chillingly extensive grave-yard, with nearly as many shallow and hastily-dug graves as she saw living people in the colony.A little ways away from the main table, a second table had been set up for the Elders of the community, though here too there were several empty seats. They sat only on one side, facing towards the rest of the community. Miss Americana was brought to stand before the Elders, while the rest of the male colonists gaped at her in disbelief from where they sat. Several women and children rushed out to the doors and windows of the houses where they were working preparing the day's large meal and also stared in wonder at the strange woman being led through their midst, although their faces twisted in jealousy when they saw how their men were gaping at her.As she was marched forth, Miss Americana wracked her brain desperately, for once, for a non-violent solution to her problems. 'Who would wear a bikini during this time period?' she thought to herself. Then suddenly, with a gasp, she got an idea."We caught this strangely-attired and exotically-shaped one snooping about in the north-west forest," the tall pilgrim said."We think she's a witch," the short one said. "Shall we put her under some rocks and crush her to find out?"Stepping forward dramatically, Miss Americana lifted her head high and addressed the elders of the colony directly."I am not a witch!" she boldly declared. "I am an Englishwoman, like you! But I was captured by the Turks and kept in their harem. I escaped from the sultan's palace, but was blown by a storm all the way to this shore!"'That ought to fool these simpletons,' she thought to herself smugly, as she watched them process this.Before her, at the center of the table, the leading men of the colony sat, pondering her response. She vaguely recognized them, from their historical portraits: William Brewster, the chief spiritual leader of the colony; Myles Standish, the captain of the colonial militia; and William Bradford, the colony's current Governor. They each stroked their beards, considering her."Hmm," Captain Standish said. "If what you say is true, and you are no witch, then you should be prepared to prove it so," he said."Prove it? And how should I do that?" Miss Americana asked, indignantly."If you were a harem girl," Captain Standish said, "then you know how to dance like one. So, show us." He turned his head to the man next to him. "Do you permit this Reverend?" he asked.Beside him, Reverend Brewster shifted uncomfortably, as he allowed his holy gaze to sweep up and down Americana's flesh. But then he nodded. "If it is necessary to prove whether she is in league with the Devil, then, as God wills it," he said.Americana gasped. "H-how can you ask me that?" she said.Governor Bradford looked at the other two, then back to her, and smirked. "The Captain has given his orders and the Reverend has given his permission," he told her. "So if your story is true then prove it." He nodded up to the large table. "You can do it on there, if you would be so kind."Miss Americana gasped. But then she lifted her head and nodded, haughtily."Very well," she said. She held up her wrists behind her back, the manacles clanking on them. "But I cannot dance in these!" she said.At a quickly-supplied nod from Captain Standish in his role as commander of the militia, the short pilgrim approached and unlocked Americana's manacles. But they left the collar on her. Her chain still held at the far end by the tall pilgrim like a long leash, Miss Americana turned and, with as much grace and dignity as she could muster, marched up to the long table and ascended to stand atop it. Around her the common Pilgrims, male and female alike, gaped up in awe as she came to tower against the sky above them.Standing tall before the whole colony, Miss Americana lifted up her arms, and arched her body gracefully. "Prepare to see my skill, and know I speak the truth!" she said.And with that, she began to dance."H-holy shit," one Pilgrim gasped, gaping upwards in awe."That's blasphemy," a second beside him murmured. "Also, god fucking damn," he added, staring up as well.None of them had ever seen anything like it. Miss Americana did her best to imitate how she had seen strippers or slutty girls in night clubs dance, whenever she had ventured into those places as part of her crime-fighting duties. Lifting her arms up she shook her enormous cans in broad circles, making them slosh and bounce dramatically within the confines of her gargantuan yet overloaded bra. Going down low, she bounced her ass just above the table, while presenting an excellent view of her panty-clad crotch between her wide-spread thighs. Twirling about, she shook and shimmied her ass for them, showing off the grace and flexibility of her muscular legs at the same time she shook the contours of her enormous bubble-ass.Midway through her performance, there came a loud crackling, then a pilgrim suddenly came up holding a large wooden bowl."Verily, my friends," he said, "I was so distracted by the witch's performance, I dropped the last of that 'maize' stuff into the fire and, look what happened!"His large bowl was filled to the brim with popcorn. Passing it around, the Pilgrims munched eagerly as they watched Miss Americana, having become lost in her own perfectionism, continue to dance and dance seductively before them.A little later, munching a little popcorn of his own, Myles Standish leaned over and put his lips near Reverend Brewster's ear."Did the Lord really condone this, William?" he asked, chuckling softly.Reverend Brewster shook his head. "After so many deaths the colony certainly needed a boost of morale," he said. "Clearly God sent us one. Also, shut up." Taking some of Captain Standish's popcorn, he munched on it as well as he watched Miss Americana, bent low at the waist, shake and shimmy her enormous breasts in such a way that he could like right down the tremendous cleavage between them.Suddenly, a distraught sentry came running into the midst of the colony, stopping only briefly, to gape at what he had been missing in wonder."Governor Bradford, Governor Bradford!" he moaned, his eyes still darting over repeatedly to take in the dancing Queen of Justice in awe. "The Indians! They are not coming! They are turning back, and taking their food with them!"At this a great groan rose from the Pilgrims, even as they continued to stare at Miss Americana's wiggling and grinding bubble-ass."What?!" Governor Bradford gasped. "But our stores are almost depleted! Without that food, we'll starve! Why have they turned back?!"The sentry nodded up to Miss Americana."When the Sachem's party came out of the woods, they saw the huge teats and fat ass on that one," he said. "The Sachem said that if we had a woman of such bountiful proportions, we surely could not be starving, and had deceived him as to our lack of food,"At this, Miss Americana stopped dancing and gasped down in shock."My ass is not fat!" she hissed, her face quivering in fury behind her mask. Reaching back she slapped her gloved hand against her ass repeatedly, turning so every member of the community got to see, showing off that though it was awesomely projecting and generously curved, every inch of her enormous bubble-ass was in fact taut and silky muscle. "Two hours a day on a Stairmaster doesn't lead to fat!" she hissed.Reverend Brewster turned to Captain Standish, their veteran soldier and military expert. "What's a stair-masterer?" he asked. "Some sort of Turkish siege engine?"Myles shrugged, puzzled."Never mind that!" Governor Bradford said. He stood up, getting the community's attention off Miss Americana. "This is a disaster! We have to find some way to make amends. If Massasoit breaks the treaty and stops giving us supplies, we are done for!""Hmm," said Captain Standish. "What we need is some sort of tribute to appease him, a peace offering, if you will.""But the whole point is we have no food!" Reverend Brewster pointed out. "What sort of peace offering could we give?""We could give them our guns, or the cannon," Governor Bradford said."And surrender our only military leverage?" Captain Standish scoffed. "I would sooner dump them in the sea!""The Indians are yet heathens," Reverend Brewster pointed out. "They do not follow Christian virtues. So what sort of 'peace offering' might they be interested in?"For a short time, the Pilgrims looked at one another. Then, slowly, all eyes turned up to look at Miss Americana, and stared at her spectacular and well-displayed body meaningfully.Miss Americana stared back for a few seconds, still perched imperiously upon their table. Then, as she realized what they were all thinking, her jaw dropped."No," she whispered. "No, no, No!" Reaching up she folded her hands over her giant breasts, which given the quantity of her flesh on display, did little to reduce the quality of the goods for them to consider when evaluating potential tributes. "How, how can you even consider that?!" she hissed. "Aren't you Puritans?! A Godly people?!"Reverend Brewster shook his head."We are," he affirmed. "But, woman, even God must recognize a lost cause at some point. Verily, I see from your attire that you have already committed adultery no less than four times!"Lifting his hand, he pointed to various parts of Miss Americana's body. Upon her tiara and upon her belt was emblazoned a bright red A. Her red gloves also each had a large blue A upon them."I know well the meaning of the scarlet A's," Reverend Brewster said. "The azure ones I am not familiar with, perhaps they mean you only soiled your mouth or your posterior entrance? But regardless, woman, I am a man of God, but at some point surely one does have to ask, is even the Good Lord Himself going to give the tiniest of shits about just a few more?"Looking down, Miss Americana gasped as she stared at the bright red A upon her belt, and the blue ones upon her gloves, and finally remembered her Hawthorne.'Great Justice! Why didn't I pay more attention in high school lit class?' she thought, marking the first time in all of recorded history that this has occurred.But then she looked back up, and saw that all the Pilgrims were nodding in agreement with their spiritual leader. She swallowed.Suddenly, a sound came over her microphone. "You made the choice to go back into the past," Professor Whirter chided her. He could not quite keep the relish out of his voice, to see the arrogant heroine hoisted upon her own scantily-clad petard. "It is your duty now to make sure history goes forward, no matter what that takes!" He cut the feed again.Americana gasped. But then, squirming before the staring Pilgrims, she bowed her head and then slowly nodded."Very well," she said. "If it is what must happen, then so be it."At this, one of the few surviving female Pilgrims could remain properly silent no longer."Hey!" she snapped, from where she stood in the door of her roughly-built house, an apron over her simple dress and her hands soiled with flour from her long labors to prepare the day's feast. "You might fool them," she said, nodding at the men, "but you can't fool me. Given how you just danced in front of my husband, and that after all this time you still wear that harem attire with relish, don't pretend you don't want every cock you can take you thrice-damned Jezebel!"At this, Miss Americana gasped in shock. But she did not get a chance to respond, for around her the men had already launched into preparing their response, it had to be sent swiftly, before the Native column could get too far. With haste, a runner was sent, vanishing into the woods.In due time, a large party of Native Americans emerged from the forest and began to approach. In the meantime, Miss Americana had gotten down off the table, and now stood under guard nearby, beside and in front of the table of the elders. Miss Americana gulped in trepidation when she saw their numbers, there may have been forty or so adult male Pilgrims left, but there were more than twice that number of Indians approaching, all of them men.At the head of the column, there came a grand and muscular figure with burnished bronze skin, a large head-dress on his head. This, she knew from history and from the whispered comments of the Pilgrim elders just beside her, was Massasoit, the Great Sachem of the Wampanoag people. It was only the treaty he had signed with the now-late Governor Carver, and its attendant protection from raiding and repeated deliveries of food, that had enabled the meager settlement around her to survive at all. At his side walked another Native man in a mixture of native and Pilgrim garb, from more comments among the elders Americana discerned that this was Tisquantum, better known to most white schoolchildren as 'Squanto', the Pilgrims' tutor and interpreter. Although he normally lived amongst the Pilgrims, he had gone off to help escort Massasoit in for this very important meeting.They were also, she could not help but notice, much more buff and handsome than she expected. As she gazed upon them, a strange tingle ran up and down between her legs, accompanied by a sudden and mysterious abundance of fluids.Behind Massasoit came a column of nearly a hundred Wampanoag warriors; a few came armed, but most were instead carrying great baskets filled with food. Turkeys; fish; pumpkins; maize; squash and cranberries, all in enormous quantity. Five recently felled deer were also carried, each on the shoulders to two strapping Wampanoag hunters. The Pilgrims' own supplies were very meager, more so than they would even admit to in the historical record, and Miss Americana realized that without the Indians' food the First Thanksgiving Feast would instead be replaced by a Great Starvation, and the probable extinction of the Plymouth colony.However, although they had come back, the Native American party remained suspicious. The majority of the column stopped just short of the entrance to the colony, and only Massasoit, Squanto, and a small honor guard of strapping warriors came forward to meet the Elders at their table."Greetings, Squanto," Governor Bradford said, standing. "And holy Greetings to the great king Massasoit, may the blessings of our God be upon him.""Greetings, Governor," Squanto replied. He bowed slightly, and gestured to his muscular boss beside him. "But the Great Sachem's mind is not rested. This one," he said, nodding towards Miss Americana, "and her, impressive, proportions, caused him some distress, that perhaps he had been lied to. I understand this is not the case?"Behind him, one by one, each of the native warriors was leaning out and gaping at Miss Americana in awe. In all their days and travels, they had never seen breasts nearly as enormous as hers, nor a figure quite so bountifully and visibly fertile."Please express our deep apologies for the misunderstanding to the Sachem," Governor Bradford replied. "This woman," he said, gesturing toward where Miss Americana stood chained, "is not a member of our community. We desired to give him a gift worthy of his own generosity, but as you know we have no food to spare. So we," He glanced at the two Pilgrims who had captured Americana, and still held her leash. "Obtained her," he decided to say at last, "so that we could have an appropriate present to reward him for his magnanimity."Squanto turned to Massasoit, and they shared a brief conversation in the Wampanoag tongue, which Americana could not understand, and, she gathered from their nervous squirming, the Pilgrims mostly could not either. Then Squanto turned back to them."I see," he said. He eyed Miss Americana up and down. "The Great Sachem wants to know, exactly what is the nature of this, gift?"Sitting near and behind her, Reverend Brewster looked up at Miss Americana's staggering curves."You reply to that one, Scarlet-Lettered One," he told her. "From what we have seen of your instincts with that body, you should not need words to do so,"Miss Americana blushed deeply. Then, she nodded. Before Massasoit, Squanto, the Elders, the Wampanoag warriors, and the entire Pilgrim community, she walked over to stand before the end of the Pilgrims' great main table. This faced back, directly towards where Massasoit stood, some few meters behind her. Reaching up, blush deepening on her cheeks, she put her hand between her breasts, and with a flick undid her golden star-shaped bra catch. Her huge bra, nevertheless under vast strain to contain her super-human rack, exploded apart, allowing her gigantic breasts to spill forth to jostle and sway before everyone."God, damn!" she heard Myles Standish say. Reverend Brewster, sitting right beside him, was himself too occupied by the dropping of his own jaw to call him on his blasphemy. Even the Pilgrim women appeared breathless at the sight of Americana's giant udders. A great hew and shout rose among the Wampanoag column, pointing and gaping in disbelief. Even Massasoit himself, who to this point had stood tall and still like a bronzed god among lesser men, seemed to be affected. Though he said nothing, as Miss Americana's huge breasts shook before him his eyebrows went up, and Miss Americana herself swallowed, as she noticed what seemed to be the stirrings of something disturbingly large in the front of his deerskin trousers.But she could not stop. Shrugging out of her bra, she turned and laid it on the table before her. Then, reaching back, she slipped her gloved hands into the hips of her panties. She squirmed for a few seconds, as she felt the eyes of every single member of both nations staring at her squirming ass. Then slowly, bending low, she guided her panties up and over her ass, and down her thighs. She slipped one boot out of them, then the other, and left them in a tiny colorful heap between her feet.Then, her lips trembling and her cheeks bright pink under her mask, Miss Americana made the one signal a woman could make that, regardless of language and culture, no man could mis-understand. Bending over, she put both hands on the table. Her voluptuous ass lifted up high and wiggling behind her, she slowly slid her boots wider and wider apart, until her long and mighty legs were spread at a nearly forty-five degree angle to either side. Then lifting her head, she looked back over her shoulder, her blue eyes blinking moistly. Her dripping cunt was pointed straight back at Massasoit, gaping slightly to show her tender inner lips between the thicker outer ones, in clear and open invitation.Despite the clarity of Americana's signal, Massasoit still turned and, eyes never leaving the glistening cunt being offered to him, had a brief conversation with Squanto."The Great Sachem wishes to know," Squanto said, afterwards, "whether this gift is for him alone, or for his people as well."The Pilgrim Elders looked at each other.Reverend Brewster shrugged. "As I said," he stated, "at a certain point one must ask, does God care about a few more?"Governor Bradford nodded. "Anyone and everyone can partake of our gift," he said, "as the Chief wishes.""Oh, Great Justice!" Miss Americana whimpered, her eyes blinking in horror. But, knowing she had no choice if she was not to change history, although they trembled, her mighty thighs remained spread wide, and her hands, though they shivered, remained planted flat to the table.Squanto and Massasoit shared another brief conversation. It concluded with what appeared to be a magnanimous gesture by Massasoit, towards Americana's waiting and naked cunt. Squanto nodded, and then stepped forward."The Great Sachem accepts your generous gift," he said. Reaching up, he began to take off his shirt. "As he knows your laws would not permit you to do so yourselves, he wishes that I test her first, to make sure she is worthy of him. He will have her after me, and then the rest of the tribe."Miss Americana let out a tiny whimper of disbelief, as she heard this. But, strangely, the news seemed to have another effect on her cunt, where, between her muscular thighs, her naked slit suddenly seemed to drip with even more gooey juices than before.Unable to watch her fate coming, Americana turned her head away and instead looked down the table. This did little to lessen her humiliation, however, as she now just got to watch the entire Pilgrim community staring up at her, as she stood ready to secure their futures with the much-questioned purity of her gaping cunt.Standing behind her, Squanto took off his pants. This caused an immediate stir among the Pilgrim women."By the Lord," the woman who had called out Miss Americana said, her eyes going hypocritically wide.Another shook her head slowly. "I, I had, suspected," she said. "But I did not realize the true extent of the native's, gifts."Fortunately for the Pilgrim women, their men were too busy staring at the naked Queen of Justice to see where their wives' attention was directed. Meanwhile Miss Americana, her face down and looking at the table, was the only one who could not see what was coming up behind her. So she didn't have any clue what she was in for, until Squanto's dark hands appeared upon her pale curvy hips, and he swung himself up into position."Oh!" Miss Americana gasped, her blue eyes spreading wide, as she realized that, with both of his hands accounted for on her flesh, what she was feeling nuzzling up against her drooling cunt could not be a fist or arm, as she in the initial moment of contact suspected. She gasped deeply, her eyes spreading even wider, as his tip started to part her. She shook her head."Oh, oh my God," she said, as her cunt lips spread wider and wider around the incoming bronze cock-head, until they quivered to either side of the crest of his uncircumcised cock. "I, I didn't know," she whimpered, "that, that Squanto was so hung!" Her voice rose up to a squeal, as he thrust deep inside her."Is," the native interpreter calmly corrected the English-woman on her grammar. Then, taking a tight grip on her hips, he began to slam his massive cock vigorously back and forth inside her drooling slit.Miss Americana shook and squealed, as he nailed her. All around her, the Pilgrim men and women stared in awe. But Americana was not the only one to be affected by the experience for long."Oh, yes!" Squanto announced. Sliding his eager dark hands around from her hips he cupped her enormous breasts from below, and squeezed them, as he continued to nail her gaping cunt with bountiful vigor and abandon. "This, strange woman, is indeed, worthy of the Sachem!" he said. He rolled his head and gasped in awe. "My goodness! She is so tight!" he marveled, squeezing her enormous hooters and stroking their erect tips with his fingers. "And yet, there is an ocean inside her hips!""Very good!" Massasoit announced, revealing that, though he naturally depended on his interpreter for complex and important negotiations, he had had the foresight to learn some rudimentary English himself. He removed his pants and then his loincloth, which caused another stir among the Pilgrim women, as it was revealed that Squanto was not a unique outlier among his people.To be continued in part 2, By Mark V Sharp for Literotica.

 A heroine goes back in time to a sticky-fingered situation.By Mark V Sharp, in 2 parts. Listen to the ► Podcast at Steamy Stories. The current reigning Miss Americana is a college student who forces Professor Whirter to send her back to the First Thanksgiving; so she can help Flag Girl with a history assignment. She gets led before the elders of the colony, only for a distraught messenger to run in reporting that the Wampanoag party carrying the majority of the food has turned back. Having spotted Miss Americana, they have concluded the colony cannot be so hard up for food as they claim if it contains one as well-endowed as she is.In order to restore history, Miss Americana presents herself as a peace offering to restore Massasoit's favor. She ends up being a feature of the event; from her place at the end of the long Thanksgiving table. For the entire duration of the famous feast, a seemingly endless succession of Wampanoag warriors indulge in her charms.Finally, after everyone has had their fill, she is left a sprawled devastated wreck upon the gutted feasting table. Alone at last, she gets warped safely back to the present, only to discover that her misadventure will have lasting and historic consequences for the interior of her womb. Miss Americana goes to the First Thanksgiving"Flag Girl has a school project due, Dr. Whirter," Miss Americana said. "She's flunking, so we need a guaranteed A. So I want you to send me back in time. If we can learn the true history of the First Thanksgiving, then with the report I'll help her write there's no way she can fail."Professor Whirter shook his head. "Miss Americana!" he gasped. "The time machine is not a toy! You cannot use it for such purposes!"The mighty superheroine stood before him in his lab. She was resplendent in her defiant costume, which consisted chiefly of a patriotic American Flag bikini. A golden belt, the source of her powers, lay cinched tight about her buxom hips, emblazoned with a bright red A upon its buckle, at the center of her broad flat belly. She wore a star-spangled mask upon her face to protect her secret identity, with a matching A on her forehead. Two red gloves with blue A's on the backs of her hands, and gleaming red boots, completed her ensemble.Her sidekick Flag Girl stood by her side, in a very similar but less ostentatious version of the same costume, and at least had the decency to blush. Behind Americana's sculpted ass, the platform of the Professor's newly-built time machine waited.Miss Americana's expression darkened behind her mask. She was a proud woman and not used to being denied. "Professor," she growled, "my, I mean, my good friend Brenda Wade's money pays for this place. Do you really want me to put in a word with her about how, diligently, you use your funding?"The Professor's blood ran cold, and he caved immediately. "Alright, alright," he said, bowing his head. Obediently, he went to the control panel, and started twisting dials. Flag Girl followed, watching curiously over his shoulder. Smiling smugly at her easy victory, Miss Americana walked up onto the round steel platform of the time machine."Ready?" Professor Whirter asked, as the machine started to hum."Ready!" Miss Americana announced, proudly. A crackle of energy sounded, and a glow of light enveloped her. When it faded, she was gone.The wind stirred the woods near the Plymouth colony. It was autumn, and the leaves were red and orange and brown. There was a crackle of energy and a flash of light, and Miss Americana appeared. Sauntering up to the edge of the tree-line, she pulled down a branch and smirked.Before her, across a large tilled field covered in the remains of harvested wheat, lay a hill. Atop the hill she saw a cluster of rough-hewn houses overlooking a rocky harbor. A second adjacent hill nearby held a simple earthwork with a few cannon emplaced upon it."Perfect," she cooed.There came a rustling in the brush behind her. Two men emerged, one tall and one short. They wore black woolen clothing and broad-brimmed black hats. Each brandished a long flintlock musket."Told you I heard a noise," the tall Pilgrim said to the short one."Heaven defend us!" the short Pilgrim said, eyes going wide, as he saw what had caused it.The two Pilgrims gaped in disbelief for several seconds at the stacked scantily-clad beauty that stood before them."Hello," Miss Americana said. She started to move towards them.But at that instant, the short Pilgrim snapped his musket up and pointed it at her. "Stay back, witch!" he said.His companion seemed less sure. "Are you sure she's a witch?" he asked."She's a strange woman hanging out in the woods, what else could she be?" the short one asked."Hmm," the tall one said. He looked Americana up and down again. "Well, she has certainly cast a spell on my phallus so,"He suddenly snapped his musket up, and cocked back the flint. "Get on your knees and put your hands up, witch!" he said. "No speaking hexes, either!"Miss Americana sighed, and shook her head, as she looked down the barrels of the two Pilgrims' long guns. Given the protections of her belt, she had absolutely nothing to fear from bullets. "You boys are making a big mistake," she cooed at them, as she cracked her knuckles and prepared to use her superhuman might to subdue them. "Fortunately I can correct it,"But suddenly, a noise crackled in the earpiece of the communication system embedded in her earrings and choker."Miss Americana!" Professor Whirter's voice said, rising and falling from time distortion as he spoke to her from the viewing panel of his time machine. "You cannot harm anyone in this period!" he said. "Given their lack of medical care and poor nutrition, one punch could be deadly. And each of these men may have tens of thousands of descendants in our modern time, one of which just might be you! If you lay a finger upon them you might well erase yourself from history!""Oh," Miss Americana gulped. "Right,"She looked back and forth between the two men and their guns. She swallowed, but realized she truly had no choice. Getting summoned back immediately, in front of the two witnesses, could hardly disturb the time line much less."On second thought," she said, "I surrender."She went down onto her knees before them, and put her hands up.The taller Pilgrim kept his gun on her, while the shorter Pilgrim came forward. He had a set of iron manacles he had brought on his patrol, in case they should happen upon a hostile person spying on the colony and have a chance to take him prisoner. While his partner covered him, he dragged Americana's hands behind her curvy back and manacled them above her ass, having great difficulty keeping his eyes off the panty-swelling contours of her posterior as he did so. Then he put an iron collar on her, to which was attached a length of chain."There," he said, backing up. "The cold iron should keep the witch from casting any hexes upon us.""If you say so," Miss Americana said, standing back up. Due to her superior nutrition and super-human genetics, she stood a head taller than even the taller of them. The shorter Pilgrim's head was level with her enormous breasts, a fact that despite his literally puritanical nature he seemed to find immensely affecting. "Now, please take me to your leaders so that I may work this misunderstanding out."Eyeing her up and down, the taller one turned to his partner. "Let's take her to the Elders," he said. "Between them, the Reverend, the Governor, and Captain Standish will know what to do with her."Miss Americana rolled her eyes. "That's what I said, you oafs!" she said, the chains clanking as she shifted her bikini-clad body impatiently.Leading her by her new chain, the two Pilgrims marched Miss Americana out of the woods and up the hill towards the colony. As she approached, Miss Americana saw that a long table had been set up in the middle of the ring of houses. Although there were seats for over a hundred, only about forty men sat at it, and despite what should have been the impending festivities they looked nervous and emaciated. A short distance away upon the hill she noticed a chillingly extensive grave-yard, with nearly as many shallow and hastily-dug graves as she saw living people in the colony.A little ways away from the main table, a second table had been set up for the Elders of the community, though here too there were several empty seats. They sat only on one side, facing towards the rest of the community. Miss Americana was brought to stand before the Elders, while the rest of the male colonists gaped at her in disbelief from where they sat. Several women and children rushed out to the doors and windows of the houses where they were working preparing the day's large meal and also stared in wonder at the strange woman being led through their midst, although their faces twisted in jealousy when they saw how their men were gaping at her.As she was marched forth, Miss Americana wracked her brain desperately, for once, for a non-violent solution to her problems. 'Who would wear a bikini during this time period?' she thought to herself. Then suddenly, with a gasp, she got an idea."We caught this strangely-attired and exotically-shaped one snooping about in the north-west forest," the tall pilgrim said."We think she's a witch," the short one said. "Shall we put her under some rocks and crush her to find out?"Stepping forward dramatically, Miss Americana lifted her head high and addressed the elders of the colony directly."I am not a witch!" she boldly declared. "I am an Englishwoman, like you! But I was captured by the Turks and kept in their harem. I escaped from the sultan's palace, but was blown by a storm all the way to this shore!"'That ought to fool these simpletons,' she thought to herself smugly, as she watched them process this.Before her, at the center of the table, the leading men of the colony sat, pondering her response. She vaguely recognized them, from their historical portraits: William Brewster, the chief spiritual leader of the colony; Myles Standish, the captain of the colonial militia; and William Bradford, the colony's current Governor. They each stroked their beards, considering her."Hmm," Captain Standish said. "If what you say is true, and you are no witch, then you should be prepared to prove it so," he said."Prove it? And how should I do that?" Miss Americana asked, indignantly."If you were a harem girl," Captain Standish said, "then you know how to dance like one. So, show us." He turned his head to the man next to him. "Do you permit this Reverend?" he asked.Beside him, Reverend Brewster shifted uncomfortably, as he allowed his holy gaze to sweep up and down Americana's flesh. But then he nodded. "If it is necessary to prove whether she is in league with the Devil, then, as God wills it," he said.Americana gasped. "H-how can you ask me that?" she said.Governor Bradford looked at the other two, then back to her, and smirked. "The Captain has given his orders and the Reverend has given his permission," he told her. "So if your story is true then prove it." He nodded up to the large table. "You can do it on there, if you would be so kind."Miss Americana gasped. But then she lifted her head and nodded, haughtily."Very well," she said. She held up her wrists behind her back, the manacles clanking on them. "But I cannot dance in these!" she said.At a quickly-supplied nod from Captain Standish in his role as commander of the militia, the short pilgrim approached and unlocked Americana's manacles. But they left the collar on her. Her chain still held at the far end by the tall pilgrim like a long leash, Miss Americana turned and, with as much grace and dignity as she could muster, marched up to the long table and ascended to stand atop it. Around her the common Pilgrims, male and female alike, gaped up in awe as she came to tower against the sky above them.Standing tall before the whole colony, Miss Americana lifted up her arms, and arched her body gracefully. "Prepare to see my skill, and know I speak the truth!" she said.And with that, she began to dance."H-holy shit," one Pilgrim gasped, gaping upwards in awe."That's blasphemy," a second beside him murmured. "Also, god fucking damn," he added, staring up as well.None of them had ever seen anything like it. Miss Americana did her best to imitate how she had seen strippers or slutty girls in night clubs dance, whenever she had ventured into those places as part of her crime-fighting duties. Lifting her arms up she shook her enormous cans in broad circles, making them slosh and bounce dramatically within the confines of her gargantuan yet overloaded bra. Going down low, she bounced her ass just above the table, while presenting an excellent view of her panty-clad crotch between her wide-spread thighs. Twirling about, she shook and shimmied her ass for them, showing off the grace and flexibility of her muscular legs at the same time she shook the contours of her enormous bubble-ass.Midway through her performance, there came a loud crackling, then a pilgrim suddenly came up holding a large wooden bowl."Verily, my friends," he said, "I was so distracted by the witch's performance, I dropped the last of that 'maize' stuff into the fire and, look what happened!"His large bowl was filled to the brim with popcorn. Passing it around, the Pilgrims munched eagerly as they watched Miss Americana, having become lost in her own perfectionism, continue to dance and dance seductively before them.A little later, munching a little popcorn of his own, Myles Standish leaned over and put his lips near Reverend Brewster's ear."Did the Lord really condone this, William?" he asked, chuckling softly.Reverend Brewster shook his head. "After so many deaths the colony certainly needed a boost of morale," he said. "Clearly God sent us one. Also, shut up." Taking some of Captain Standish's popcorn, he munched on it as well as he watched Miss Americana, bent low at the waist, shake and shimmy her enormous breasts in such a way that he could like right down the tremendous cleavage between them.Suddenly, a distraught sentry came running into the midst of the colony, stopping only briefly, to gape at what he had been missing in wonder."Governor Bradford, Governor Bradford!" he moaned, his eyes still darting over repeatedly to take in the dancing Queen of Justice in awe. "The Indians! They are not coming! They are turning back, and taking their food with them!"At this a great groan rose from the Pilgrims, even as they continued to stare at Miss Americana's wiggling and grinding bubble-ass."What?!" Governor Bradford gasped. "But our stores are almost depleted! Without that food, we'll starve! Why have they turned back?!"The sentry nodded up to Miss Americana."When the Sachem's party came out of the woods, they saw the huge teats and fat ass on that one," he said. "The Sachem said that if we had a woman of such bountiful proportions, we surely could not be starving, and had deceived him as to our lack of food,"At this, Miss Americana stopped dancing and gasped down in shock."My ass is not fat!" she hissed, her face quivering in fury behind her mask. Reaching back she slapped her gloved hand against her ass repeatedly, turning so every member of the community got to see, showing off that though it was awesomely projecting and generously curved, every inch of her enormous bubble-ass was in fact taut and silky muscle. "Two hours a day on a Stairmaster doesn't lead to fat!" she hissed.Reverend Brewster turned to Captain Standish, their veteran soldier and military expert. "What's a stair-masterer?" he asked. "Some sort of Turkish siege engine?"Myles shrugged, puzzled."Never mind that!" Governor Bradford said. He stood up, getting the community's attention off Miss Americana. "This is a disaster! We have to find some way to make amends. If Massasoit breaks the treaty and stops giving us supplies, we are done for!""Hmm," said Captain Standish. "What we need is some sort of tribute to appease him, a peace offering, if you will.""But the whole point is we have no food!" Reverend Brewster pointed out. "What sort of peace offering could we give?""We could give them our guns, or the cannon," Governor Bradford said."And surrender our only military leverage?" Captain Standish scoffed. "I would sooner dump them in the sea!""The Indians are yet heathens," Reverend Brewster pointed out. "They do not follow Christian virtues. So what sort of 'peace offering' might they be interested in?"For a short time, the Pilgrims looked at one another. Then, slowly, all eyes turned up to look at Miss Americana, and stared at her spectacular and well-displayed body meaningfully.Miss Americana stared back for a few seconds, still perched imperiously upon their table. Then, as she realized what they were all thinking, her jaw dropped."No," she whispered. "No, no, No!" Reaching up she folded her hands over her giant breasts, which given the quantity of her flesh on display, did little to reduce the quality of the goods for them to consider when evaluating potential tributes. "How, how can you even consider that?!" she hissed. "Aren't you Puritans?! A Godly people?!"Reverend Brewster shook his head."We are," he affirmed. "But, woman, even God must recognize a lost cause at some point. Verily, I see from your attire that you have already committed adultery no less than four times!"Lifting his hand, he pointed to various parts of Miss Americana's body. Upon her tiara and upon her belt was emblazoned a bright red A. Her red gloves also each had a large blue A upon them."I know well the meaning of the scarlet A's," Reverend Brewster said. "The azure ones I am not familiar with, perhaps they mean you only soiled your mouth or your posterior entrance? But regardless, woman, I am a man of God, but at some point surely one does have to ask, is even the Good Lord Himself going to give the tiniest of shits about just a few more?"Looking down, Miss Americana gasped as she stared at the bright red A upon her belt, and the blue ones upon her gloves, and finally remembered her Hawthorne.'Great Justice! Why didn't I pay more attention in high school lit class?' she thought, marking the first time in all of recorded history that this has occurred.But then she looked back up, and saw that all the Pilgrims were nodding in agreement with their spiritual leader. She swallowed.Suddenly, a sound came over her microphone. "You made the choice to go back into the past," Professor Whirter chided her. He could not quite keep the relish out of his voice, to see the arrogant heroine hoisted upon her own scantily-clad petard. "It is your duty now to make sure history goes forward, no matter what that takes!" He cut the feed again.Americana gasped. But then, squirming before the staring Pilgrims, she bowed her head and then slowly nodded."Very well," she said. "If it is what must happen, then so be it."At this, one of the few surviving female Pilgrims could remain properly silent no longer."Hey!" she snapped, from where she stood in the door of her roughly-built house, an apron over her simple dress and her hands soiled with flour from her long labors to prepare the day's feast. "You might fool them," she said, nodding at the men, "but you can't fool me. Given how you just danced in front of my husband, and that after all this time you still wear that harem attire with relish, don't pretend you don't want every cock you can take you thrice-damned Jezebel!"At this, Miss Americana gasped in shock. But she did not get a chance to respond, for around her the men had already launched into preparing their response, it had to be sent swiftly, before the Native column could get too far. With haste, a runner was sent, vanishing into the woods.In due time, a large party of Native Americans emerged from the forest and began to approach. In the meantime, Miss Americana had gotten down off the table, and now stood under guard nearby, beside and in front of the table of the elders. Miss Americana gulped in trepidation when she saw their numbers, there may have been forty or so adult male Pilgrims left, but there were more than twice that number of Indians approaching, all of them men.At the head of the column, there came a grand and muscular figure with burnished bronze skin, a large head-dress on his head. This, she knew from history and from the whispered comments of the Pilgrim elders just beside her, was Massasoit, the Great Sachem of the Wampanoag people. It was only the treaty he had signed with the now-late Governor Carver, and its attendant protection from raiding and repeated deliveries of food, that had enabled the meager settlement around her to survive at all. At his side walked another Native man in a mixture of native and Pilgrim garb, from more comments among the elders Americana discerned that this was Tisquantum, better known to most white schoolchildren as 'Squanto', the Pilgrims' tutor and interpreter. Although he normally lived amongst the Pilgrims, he had gone off to help escort Massasoit in for this very important meeting.They were also, she could not help but notice, much more buff and handsome than she expected. As she gazed upon them, a strange tingle ran up and down between her legs, accompanied by a sudden and mysterious abundance of fluids.Behind Massasoit came a column of nearly a hundred Wampanoag warriors; a few came armed, but most were instead carrying great baskets filled with food. Turkeys; fish; pumpkins; maize; squash and cranberries, all in enormous quantity. Five recently felled deer were also carried, each on the shoulders to two strapping Wampanoag hunters. The Pilgrims' own supplies were very meager, more so than they would even admit to in the historical record, and Miss Americana realized that without the Indians' food the First Thanksgiving Feast would instead be replaced by a Great Starvation, and the probable extinction of the Plymouth colony.However, although they had come back, the Native American party remained suspicious. The majority of the column stopped just short of the entrance to the colony, and only Massasoit, Squanto, and a small honor guard of strapping warriors came forward to meet the Elders at their table."Greetings, Squanto," Governor Bradford said, standing. "And holy Greetings to the great king Massasoit, may the blessings of our God be upon him.""Greetings, Governor," Squanto replied. He bowed slightly, and gestured to his muscular boss beside him. "But the Great Sachem's mind is not rested. This one," he said, nodding towards Miss Americana, "and her, impressive, proportions, caused him some distress, that perhaps he had been lied to. I understand this is not the case?"Behind him, one by one, each of the native warriors was leaning out and gaping at Miss Americana in awe. In all their days and travels, they had never seen breasts nearly as enormous as hers, nor a figure quite so bountifully and visibly fertile."Please express our deep apologies for the misunderstanding to the Sachem," Governor Bradford replied. "This woman," he said, gesturing toward where Miss Americana stood chained, "is not a member of our community. We desired to give him a gift worthy of his own generosity, but as you know we have no food to spare. So we," He glanced at the two Pilgrims who had captured Americana, and still held her leash. "Obtained her," he decided to say at last, "so that we could have an appropriate present to reward him for his magnanimity."Squanto turned to Massasoit, and they shared a brief conversation in the Wampanoag tongue, which Americana could not understand, and, she gathered from their nervous squirming, the Pilgrims mostly could not either. Then Squanto turned back to them."I see," he said. He eyed Miss Americana up and down. "The Great Sachem wants to know, exactly what is the nature of this, gift?"Sitting near and behind her, Reverend Brewster looked up at Miss Americana's staggering curves."You reply to that one, Scarlet-Lettered One," he told her. "From what we have seen of your instincts with that body, you should not need words to do so,"Miss Americana blushed deeply. Then, she nodded. Before Massasoit, Squanto, the Elders, the Wampanoag warriors, and the entire Pilgrim community, she walked over to stand before the end of the Pilgrims' great main table. This faced back, directly towards where Massasoit stood, some few meters behind her. Reaching up, blush deepening on her cheeks, she put her hand between her breasts, and with a flick undid her golden star-shaped bra catch. Her huge bra, nevertheless under vast strain to contain her super-human rack, exploded apart, allowing her gigantic breasts to spill forth to jostle and sway before everyone."God, damn!" she heard Myles Standish say. Reverend Brewster, sitting right beside him, was himself too occupied by the dropping of his own jaw to call him on his blasphemy. Even the Pilgrim women appeared breathless at the sight of Americana's giant udders. A great hew and shout rose among the Wampanoag column, pointing and gaping in disbelief. Even Massasoit himself, who to this point had stood tall and still like a bronzed god among lesser men, seemed to be affected. Though he said nothing, as Miss Americana's huge breasts shook before him his eyebrows went up, and Miss Americana herself swallowed, as she noticed what seemed to be the stirrings of something disturbingly large in the front of his deerskin trousers.But she could not stop. Shrugging out of her bra, she turned and laid it on the table before her. Then, reaching back, she slipped her gloved hands into the hips of her panties. She squirmed for a few seconds, as she felt the eyes of every single member of both nations staring at her squirming ass. Then slowly, bending low, she guided her panties up and over her ass, and down her thighs. She slipped one boot out of them, then the other, and left them in a tiny colorful heap between her feet.Then, her lips trembling and her cheeks bright pink under her mask, Miss Americana made the one signal a woman could make that, regardless of language and culture, no man could mis-understand. Bending over, she put both hands on the table. Her voluptuous ass lifted up high and wiggling behind her, she slowly slid her boots wider and wider apart, until her long and mighty legs were spread at a nearly forty-five degree angle to either side. Then lifting her head, she looked back over her shoulder, her blue eyes blinking moistly. Her dripping cunt was pointed straight back at Massasoit, gaping slightly to show her tender inner lips between the thicker outer ones, in clear and open invitation.Despite the clarity of Americana's signal, Massasoit still turned and, eyes never leaving the glistening cunt being offered to him, had a brief conversation with Squanto."The Great Sachem wishes to know," Squanto said, afterwards, "whether this gift is for him alone, or for his people as well."The Pilgrim Elders looked at each other.Reverend Brewster shrugged. "As I said," he stated, "at a certain point one must ask, does God care about a few more?"Governor Bradford nodded. "Anyone and everyone can partake of our gift," he said, "as the Chief wishes.""Oh, Great Justice!" Miss Americana whimpered, her eyes blinking in horror. But, knowing she had no choice if she was not to change history, although they trembled, her mighty thighs remained spread wide, and her hands, though they shivered, remained planted flat to the table.Squanto and Massasoit shared another brief conversation. It concluded with what appeared to be a magnanimous gesture by Massasoit, towards Americana's waiting and naked cunt. Squanto nodded, and then stepped forward."The Great Sachem accepts your generous gift," he said. Reaching up, he began to take off his shirt. "As he knows your laws would not permit you to do so yourselves, he wishes that I test her first, to make sure she is worthy of him. He will have her after me, and then the rest of the tribe."Miss Americana let out a tiny whimper of disbelief, as she heard this. But, strangely, the news seemed to have another effect on her cunt, where, between her muscular thighs, her naked slit suddenly seemed to drip with even more gooey juices than before.Unable to watch her fate coming, Americana turned her head away and instead looked down the table. This did little to lessen her humiliation, however, as she now just got to watch the entire Pilgrim community staring up at her, as she stood ready to secure their futures with the much-questioned purity of her gaping cunt.Standing behind her, Squanto took off his pants. This caused an immediate stir among the Pilgrim women."By the Lord," the woman who had called out Miss Americana said, her eyes going hypocritically wide.Another shook her head slowly. "I, I had, suspected," she said. "But I did not realize the true extent of the native's, gifts."Fortunately for the Pilgrim women, their men were too busy staring at the naked Queen of Justice to see where their wives' attention was directed. Meanwhile Miss Americana, her face down and looking at the table, was the only one who could not see what was coming up behind her. So she didn't have any clue what she was in for, until Squanto's dark hands appeared upon her pale curvy hips, and he swung himself up into position."Oh!" Miss Americana gasped, her blue eyes spreading wide, as she realized that, with both of his hands accounted for on her flesh, what she was feeling nuzzling up against her drooling cunt could not be a fist or arm, as she in the initial moment of contact suspected. She gasped deeply, her eyes spreading even wider, as his tip started to part her. She shook her head."Oh, oh my God," she said, as her cunt lips spread wider and wider around the incoming bronze cock-head, until they quivered to either side of the crest of his uncircumcised cock. "I, I didn't know," she whimpered, "that, that Squanto was so hung!" Her voice rose up to a squeal, as he thrust deep inside her."Is," the native interpreter calmly corrected the English-woman on her grammar. Then, taking a tight grip on her hips, he began to slam his massive cock vigorously back and forth inside her drooling slit.Miss Americana shook and squealed, as he nailed her. All around her, the Pilgrim men and women stared in awe. But Americana was not the only one to be affected by the experience for long."Oh, yes!" Squanto announced. Sliding his eager dark hands around from her hips he cupped her enormous breasts from below, and squeezed them, as he continued to nail her gaping cunt with bountiful vigor and abandon. "This, strange woman, is indeed, worthy of the Sachem!" he said. He rolled his head and gasped in awe. "My goodness! She is so tight!" he marveled, squeezing her enormous hooters and stroking their erect tips with his fingers. "And yet, there is an ocean inside her hips!""Very good!" Massasoit announced, revealing that, though he naturally depended on his interpreter for complex and important negotiations, he had had the foresight to learn some rudimentary English himself. He removed his pants and then his loincloth, which caused another stir among the Pilgrim women, as it was revealed that Squanto was not a unique outlier among his people.To be continued in part 2, By Mark V Sharp for Literotica.

James 5:7-12 // James // Steve White // November 3, 2024

Is it sinfulness; or desire for a blessing?By cocteleo. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.Wednesday night before Thanksgiving, 2010A London Parish VicarReverend William Seldon, vicar of a well-to-do church in London, was having a hard time writing his next sermon. He was in the middle of wrestling with the topic of the evils of lust when his housekeeper knocked on his study door and came in bearing a tea tray.As the plump and comfortable middle-aged woman set it down on his desk, she said, "Begging your pardon, sir, but I thought you might like a bite or two.""Ah yes, thank you, Mrs. Blandford." He set his pen down and rubbed at his tired eyes.His servant gave him a scolding look as she poured him a cup and handed him a plate of biscuits. "You've been working too hard, sir. You need to rest more!"Mrs. Blandford bustled around the small space, straightening and picking up discarded handkerchiefs and odds and ends, and after once more admonishing him to take a break, she left him alone again.William sighed as he distractedly ran his hands through his hair and stared unseeing down at what he had written. The problem wasn't that he had been working too hard. His church was not in the most fashionable part of town, but nor was it in an impoverished part either. There were plenty of middle-class Londoners among his flock, and they were a tame lot who paid their tithes on time. No, he did not worry about their everlasting souls, nor did he worry about his financial status, which was quite comfortable.One paragraph of his sermon caught his eye. "To lust is to submit to the Devil's will. It is a dark and twisted path to hell, and we must do all that we can to maintain purity and innocence of mind. To live healthy and clean is to gain the path of Heaven."William leaned back in his chair, looking at the wall where a portrait of his deceased father hung. His father had also been a vicar and moreover, an extremely moral, upright man. The grim face in the portrait was set in lines of disapproval, as if he knew William's shameful, dark thoughts.If only his problems were as simple as material wealth and the salvation of his congregants! No, his problem was worse, much worse. He struggled mightily for a minute, trying to focus on his sermon, but there was no helping it. With a shameful desperation, he sprang to his feet and locked the door, quickly returning to his desk.After opening the bottom drawer, he easily found and pulled out a booklet from its hiding place. The pages were worn and thin from many readings. He flipped it open to his favorite part, a series of illustrations that began with an extremely well-endowed woman fellating a man with a giant cock. Just the sight of those beloved pages had him immediately hard and ready, and he took his cock out of his breeches and began stroking it with a sigh of pleasure as he gazed hungrily at the naughty pictures.Instead of the woman in the drawings, however, he imagined instead a young woman with curly blonde hair and crystal blue eyes, kneeling before him and wrapping her pink lips around his cock. She was voracious, sucking and licking him with complete abandon and enthusiasm. William could almost feel the moist heat, the sucking pull of her mouth.It had been a long time since he had felt a woman's touch. He and his friend, Andrew Jennings, had gone to quite a few brothels during their university days. There were also several willing barmaids in the local taverns who were always ready for a tumble with randy young students in exchange for a few coins. But ever since he had taken over his London parish as vicar, he felt a heavy weight of responsibility, and could always hear in his mind his father's sober remonstrances to lead his flock by example.Closing his eyes, William focused again on the thought of the young woman's luscious body. Just yesterday, as they were climbing the narrow stairs of the Tower of London, he had allowed her to pass him and she had squeezed by, inadvertently brushing her round arse against the front of his trousers, where he was, as always around her, sporting a substantial bulge. Then, on the way down, she had bumped her large, soft breasts against his chest. He groaned now, remembering the feel of those plump, bouncing orbs. Those simple, innocent touches had kept him hard during the entire excursion, which made it damned difficult to go up and down those stairs!He pumped his dripping member ever harder now, thinking of her ample bosom. In his fantasy, she wrapped her fat tits around his cock, using her tongue on the head as it appeared between the pale mounds with every stroke. He fisted himself ever faster, nearing his release, panting now. William turned the page again to see the woman laid out on her back, taking that huge cock into her cunt. In his imaginings, her face transformed into one of ripe, young innocence, trusting and loving as he thrust into her tight, wet cunny. When she licked her lips and gave him a sultry smile, William was done for."Oh fuck!" he grunted as he came, his balls boiling with pleasure. He caught his seed in his handkerchief before it could soil his shirt, and gave his cock a few more slow strokes, savoring the echoes of his blissful release.Fleetingly, he thought of the last time he had lain with a woman, during an orgy that he and Andrew had attended as a last hurrah before being ordained a few years ago. He had fucked so many women that night, his cock had been slightly raw the next day. There was one busty woman that he had pounded into from behind while she sucked on Andrew's shaft, moaning lasciviously the whole time. Her cunny had felt so tight and hot and wet, and her round ass had bounced appealingly with every thrust. Three years was too long to go celibate, perhaps. It was as good as any reason to blame for his recent insatiable sexual appetite.As soon as his lusty urges had been sated, he was again filled with the same shame and self-admonishment that had been haunting him more and more lately. Groaning, he crumpled the handkerchief into a ball and buttoned himself back up. Mrs. Blandford must wonder why he went through so many handkerchiefs every day.With a heavy sigh, tinged with guilt, he carefully put away the dirty picture book and turned again to his sermon. Lust! He felt like such a fraud. He couldn't even go one day without stroking himself off. In fact, he often did it two or three times a day now.The Chamberlains in LondonThe clock on the mantel chimed the hour and William stood, both trepidation and excitement filling him. It was time to call on the Chamberlains'.Two months ago, he had received a letter from another Oxford friend, Henry Carter. Henry had gotten married two years ago to Miss Belinda Chamberlain and already had one son. Andrew Jennings, on a visit to him in Glenwood, had met and soon married the middle sister, Fiona.In the letter, Henry had explained that his father and mother-in-law were in town with their youngest daughter, Jane, for the London season. Could William be so kind as to pay a call? Without her two sisters, both of whom were in confinement and expecting a child at any moment, Jane had no one but her parents for ready company in London."I hope you will be able to find some time to visit them, William. My sister-in-law is charming and droll; you will not find it any chore to spend time with her. She is likely a little lonely without her sisters, so I think a friendly face would be welcome."The Chamberlains had indeed welcomed him with open arms."Any friend of Henry and Andrew's must be a friend of ours!" they said whenever he politely protested their constant invitations to tea and dinner. This afternoon, he was to call for Jane and lead her on a tour of the latest exhibition at the Royal Museum.In less than half an hour, he was in the Chamberlains' sitting room, attempting to appear calm as Miss Jane entered with her mother. He clasped her hand as she lifted her pretty face and smiled up at him. Her blue eyes sparkled and her blonde curls shone in the afternoon light.Yes, Jane Chamberlain was the same girl William had just degraded in his fantasy, had made into fuel for his shameful self-pleasure.In fact, ever since he had first met her, calling soon after he had received Henry's letter, she had taken over his fevered mind. Her perky breasts, always displayed in low-cut bodices, and her lush curves kept his cock half hard whenever they were together, and as he had found himself designated as her London tour guide, they were together a lot.Spending so much time in Jane's company was a delectable torture. William found her a very agreeable and charming girl, just as Henry had described. But it was her body, a body that seemed tailor-made for bawdy sex, that made him burn. Whenever he stroked himself, it was Jane that he would guiltily undress in his mind.William could imagine her huge, perky tits bouncing as he fucked her while she lay on her back. He could picture taking her from behind as he massaged and spanked her round ass. In fact, in his fantasies, Jane had done innumerable nasty acts, things he was sure she had never even heard hints of.But he couldn't stop, and in fact, now had to masturbate before their every meeting to take the edge off. Just the sight of Jane's deep décolletage could turn him into a stammering fool. He was having to find more and more creative ways to hide his raging erections, despite his frequent self-pleasuring, and the amount of handkerchiefs he was going through these days was unprecedented.Jane herself seemed to be completely oblivious of the effect she had on him. Her behavior was always perfectly poised and lady-like. She had a wry sense of humor and had often remarked that she enjoyed his company, but he had never detected even a suggestion of flirtation on her part. William found that he liked her more and more as the weeks passed, and had even wondered if he should join his friends in selecting a Chamberlain daughter for his bride.But he just couldn't imagine asking Jane to suck his cock or allow him to eat her cunny, let alone do the dozens of even more debauched acts he constantly envisioned when he took himself in hand. A well-behaved lady such as herself expected sex to be done under the covers in the dark, and to do it only as much as necessary. She wasn't a whore in a brothel, after all. She would want to be treated with the utmost respect, in bed and out.With a start, he became aware that Mrs. Chamberlain was speaking to him. "I hope this won't inconvenience you too much, Mr. Seldon? After all, you can always go to the Royal Museum some other afternoon.""Err, yes?" he said, utterly bewildered. What had he just missed as he mused on Jane's womanly qualities?At that moment, the butler opened the doors of the sitting room and announced, "Dr. Hoffman, ma'am."A distinguished looking older gentleman with a white beard and mustache came in. He executed a stiff bow and nodded at William. "Is this the priest?" he asked in a slight Germanic accent."Yes, doctor, we have invited him just as you asked." Mrs. Chamberlain made the introductions and then asked anxiously, "Where shall the examination take place?"The doctor's sober gray eyes took in the sitting room, elegantly appointed in tasteful furniture. He pointed to a chaise lounge and said, "That shall do very nicely, ma'am. Now, I must ask you to let the priest and I do our work. If mothers are in the room, I have found that it is less likely the patient will be truthful.""Oh, doctor, is that really necessary?" Mrs. Chamberlain fluttered her handkerchief and William finally noticed that she did not seem herself this afternoon. Her eyes were red-rimmed and she showed every indication of bursting into tears at any minute. Jane, on the other hand, looked as serene and self-possessed as ever as she sat primly on a chair. William wondered what on earth was going on."Now, now, Mrs. Chamberlain. You must trust to my methods and let me do what you hired me to do." The doctor's words were calm and reassuring as he led the lady out of the room. "I shall call you when I am ready. Why don't you have a rest in your room upstairs while we are conducting the examination?"Nodding disconsolately, Mrs. Chamberlain sniffled as she exited. Dr. Hoffman closed the door behind her and locked it, pocketing the key. At William's raised eyebrow, he explained, "I have found it is best to ensure privacy from any impertinent servants."Carrying his large, black medical bag towards the chaise lounge, he set it down on a low table. At his direction, William carried two chairs over and placed them right at the end of the low sofa."Now Miss Jane," the doctor said, gesturing towards the girl, who had been quietly watching the proceedings with bright, curious eyes. "Please, come here."Obediently, Jane stood and walked towards them. William tried to catch her eye in inquiry, still being wholly unaware as to what was happening, but she was gazing expectantly at Dr. Hoffman."We shall disrobe now, eh?" that man said, to William's utter amazement. In a state of shock, he watched as Jane docilely turned so that the doctor could begin unbuttoning her simple muslin dress, letting it pool at her feet. He did not stop there; he continued to divest Jane of every item of clothing until all of her perfect loveliness was bared. Then, she was led to the chaise and laid down.By this time, William was feeling slightly dizzy. All of his fantasies for the past several weeks had not prepared him for seeing Jane's creamy, rose-tipped breasts, her alabaster expanse of skin, her delectable nakedness in person. Her tits looked as delicious as he had always imagined, unmarred by any deformity. And they were the perfect size, large handfuls that jiggled with every movement as she settled herself against the brocade fabric cushions."Is this how you want me, doctor?""Yes, yes, that's quite all right, my dear." Dr. Hoffman replied in a brisk, practical tone. "Now where did I put those forceps?" he muttered, rummaging in his bag, not even looking at Jane.William, however, could not help staring. He knew he had an enormous bulge in his trousers, but there was no helping that in the current situation. Jane reclined on one elbow, her other hand lightly tracing her collarbone. He followed the line of her legs to the light patch of blonde curls at their apex. It was impossible to know where to keep his gaze. The enticing vee between her legs beckoned, but so did the swells of her bountiful bosom, her smooth belly, her pink lips.Jane startled him out of his focused perusal of her body by saying, "Thank you ever so much for agreeing to help with the examination, Mr. Seldon."He dragged his eyes to hers, which were sparkling with merriment and mischief. It was difficult to believe, but she did not seem to have any embarrassment or self-consciousness at her nudity. She seemed as tranquil as if they really were just walking through a museum. William, on the other hand, could almost hear his own heart beating."Yes, very important to have a priest on hand," said Dr. Hoffman, turning towards them. "They are always so pure and trustworthy, you see."William only nodded as he swallowed thickly. It wouldn't do to tell the doctor that his thoughts were far from pure at the moment. But he would have said or done anything to stay in that room.The doctor gestured him to one of the chairs and William sat, Jane's ripe, young body laid out before him like a feast.Taking the other chair, Dr. Hoffman set a tray of instruments down on a low end table between them. Then, he guided Jane so that she lay with her bum at the edge of the sofa. He spread her legs, placing her feet on either side of the piece of furniture, and William began to salivate as Jane's perfect, pink cunny came into view.It was glistening slightly and Dr. Hoffman tisked as he leaned forward and swiped a finger through the slick folds. Shaking his head, he held it up to William. "So wet already. I'm afraid this is a serious case, Mr. Seldon.""A serious case of what?" William was still completely bewildered."Why, of sinful lust, of course. You see how her nipples are extended. How engorged her vaginal lips are." He used the same finger to trace her entrance and Jane moaned, eliciting another series of disappointed clucks from the doctor. "And look at her clitoris! It is almost throbbing, you see?" He pinched it between his fingers and Jane gasped."Oh yes, doctor! Please touch it more!" she begged.But Dr. Hoffman just shook his head again and sighed. "I am not sure if there is any treatment for such an extreme case as this, but I promised Mrs. Chamberlain I would at least complete the examination. You, Mr. Seldon, shall help me."He pulled out a notebook and gestured to the tray of instruments. "Now, if you could please insert the brass condenser rod into her rectal cavity?"His hand was trembling slightly, but William eagerly found the long cylindrical instrument, about the thickness of his finger, already coated in oil. Leaning forward, he began to insert it into Jane's arse.There was a slight resistance and Jane let out a whimper. William paused at the sound, looking up and meeting her gaze. There was no trepidation, however, in her expression. Only a fierce hunger in her eyes as she stared back at him. "Oh yes," she whispered as he resumed sliding it slowly inside."Miss Jane, that was placed very easily by Mr. Seldon. Have you ever put anything inside your anus?" the doctor sternly asked as he made notations."Umm, ever so many things," Jane said. She was caressing her breasts now and under William's hot gaze, she pinched and pulled at her nipples."Your mother said you were found in the kitchen yesterday, using a mincing pestle to violate your rectum. Is this true?" The doctor was busily scribbling, completely unaware that William still held the thermometer and was lightly thrusting it back and forth in Jane's tight bum."Yes, doctor," she gasped."Not only is that an abominably unhygienic use of a pestle, Miss Jane, but don't you understand that this is a disgusting and depraved act?" Dr. Hoffman looked up now and William quickly let go of the thermometer, leaving it seated deep inside Jane's ass."Umm, but doctor, it feels so good!" Jane was shifting restlessly on the couch now. Her cunny was gushing fluids, coating the insides of her thighs. William could smell her musky odor and it made him salivate even more."Humph!" The doctor went back to his notebook. "Mr. Seldon, if you would be so kind as to check if Miss Jane's hymen is still intact?""Yes, of course," William said, attempting to hide the excitement in his voice. He spread Jane's lips open with his left hand and with his right, inserted two fingers into her moist depths. His stiff cock gave a twitch as he felt a woman's cunny for the first time in years; it was exquisite. At hearing Jane's appreciative moan, he looked up and saw her watching him, her lids half-lowered. When she licked her lips, William nearly groaned aloud.He circled his fingers in her sopping cunt, relishing its tight heat. The thought of feeling her wonderful cunny wrapped around his cock was causing him to leak precum like a hose in his trousers."Well, Mr. Seldon?""Oh, err, I'm afraid I don't feel anything, doctor."Letting out another one of his disappointed sighs, Dr. Hoffman said, "It is just as her mother feared. She found this in Miss Jane's bedchamber the other day." With his pencil, he tapped a large wooden dildo that was on the tray with the other instruments. "Look at the size of this, sir! Really, Miss Jane, wherever did you get this?""Why, my sister Fiona gave it to me for my eighteenth birthday. She said it was a tradition in our family." William felt a jolt go through him at hearing the name of Andrew Jennings' wife.Dr. Hoffman scoffed. "Tradition! Yes, your mother told me of the scandalous behavior of your sisters. A licentious strain in the family blood, I suppose, although it is very interesting that all three siblings seem to have it."Pulling a handkerchief out of his breast pocket, he offered it to William. "You may cease now, Mr. Seldon. You are being a very cooperative assistant and I am very grateful."Clearing his throat, William politely refused as he reluctantly parted from Jane's cunny. "Ah, no thanks, doctor, I have my own handkerchief just here," he said, reaching into his waistcoat pocket. But instead of using it, William quickly stuck his fingers in his mouth as the doctor turned away. He sucked off Jane's juices, savoring their delicious flavor.

Is it sinfulness; or desire for a blessing?By cocteleo. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.Wednesday night before Thanksgiving, 2010A London Parish VicarReverend William Seldon, vicar of a well-to-do church in London, was having a hard time writing his next sermon. He was in the middle of wrestling with the topic of the evils of lust when his housekeeper knocked on his study door and came in bearing a tea tray.As the plump and comfortable middle-aged woman set it down on his desk, she said, "Begging your pardon, sir, but I thought you might like a bite or two.""Ah yes, thank you, Mrs. Blandford." He set his pen down and rubbed at his tired eyes.His servant gave him a scolding look as she poured him a cup and handed him a plate of biscuits. "You've been working too hard, sir. You need to rest more!"Mrs. Blandford bustled around the small space, straightening and picking up discarded handkerchiefs and odds and ends, and after once more admonishing him to take a break, she left him alone again.William sighed as he distractedly ran his hands through his hair and stared unseeing down at what he had written. The problem wasn't that he had been working too hard. His church was not in the most fashionable part of town, but nor was it in an impoverished part either. There were plenty of middle-class Londoners among his flock, and they were a tame lot who paid their tithes on time. No, he did not worry about their everlasting souls, nor did he worry about his financial status, which was quite comfortable.One paragraph of his sermon caught his eye. "To lust is to submit to the Devil's will. It is a dark and twisted path to hell, and we must do all that we can to maintain purity and innocence of mind. To live healthy and clean is to gain the path of Heaven."William leaned back in his chair, looking at the wall where a portrait of his deceased father hung. His father had also been a vicar and moreover, an extremely moral, upright man. The grim face in the portrait was set in lines of disapproval, as if he knew William's shameful, dark thoughts.If only his problems were as simple as material wealth and the salvation of his congregants! No, his problem was worse, much worse. He struggled mightily for a minute, trying to focus on his sermon, but there was no helping it. With a shameful desperation, he sprang to his feet and locked the door, quickly returning to his desk.After opening the bottom drawer, he easily found and pulled out a booklet from its hiding place. The pages were worn and thin from many readings. He flipped it open to his favorite part, a series of illustrations that began with an extremely well-endowed woman fellating a man with a giant cock. Just the sight of those beloved pages had him immediately hard and ready, and he took his cock out of his breeches and began stroking it with a sigh of pleasure as he gazed hungrily at the naughty pictures.Instead of the woman in the drawings, however, he imagined instead a young woman with curly blonde hair and crystal blue eyes, kneeling before him and wrapping her pink lips around his cock. She was voracious, sucking and licking him with complete abandon and enthusiasm. William could almost feel the moist heat, the sucking pull of her mouth.It had been a long time since he had felt a woman's touch. He and his friend, Andrew Jennings, had gone to quite a few brothels during their university days. There were also several willing barmaids in the local taverns who were always ready for a tumble with randy young students in exchange for a few coins. But ever since he had taken over his London parish as vicar, he felt a heavy weight of responsibility, and could always hear in his mind his father's sober remonstrances to lead his flock by example.Closing his eyes, William focused again on the thought of the young woman's luscious body. Just yesterday, as they were climbing the narrow stairs of the Tower of London, he had allowed her to pass him and she had squeezed by, inadvertently brushing her round arse against the front of his trousers, where he was, as always around her, sporting a substantial bulge. Then, on the way down, she had bumped her large, soft breasts against his chest. He groaned now, remembering the feel of those plump, bouncing orbs. Those simple, innocent touches had kept him hard during the entire excursion, which made it damned difficult to go up and down those stairs!He pumped his dripping member ever harder now, thinking of her ample bosom. In his fantasy, she wrapped her fat tits around his cock, using her tongue on the head as it appeared between the pale mounds with every stroke. He fisted himself ever faster, nearing his release, panting now. William turned the page again to see the woman laid out on her back, taking that huge cock into her cunt. In his imaginings, her face transformed into one of ripe, young innocence, trusting and loving as he thrust into her tight, wet cunny. When she licked her lips and gave him a sultry smile, William was done for."Oh fuck!" he grunted as he came, his balls boiling with pleasure. He caught his seed in his handkerchief before it could soil his shirt, and gave his cock a few more slow strokes, savoring the echoes of his blissful release.Fleetingly, he thought of the last time he had lain with a woman, during an orgy that he and Andrew had attended as a last hurrah before being ordained a few years ago. He had fucked so many women that night, his cock had been slightly raw the next day. There was one busty woman that he had pounded into from behind while she sucked on Andrew's shaft, moaning lasciviously the whole time. Her cunny had felt so tight and hot and wet, and her round ass had bounced appealingly with every thrust. Three years was too long to go celibate, perhaps. It was as good as any reason to blame for his recent insatiable sexual appetite.As soon as his lusty urges had been sated, he was again filled with the same shame and self-admonishment that had been haunting him more and more lately. Groaning, he crumpled the handkerchief into a ball and buttoned himself back up. Mrs. Blandford must wonder why he went through so many handkerchiefs every day.With a heavy sigh, tinged with guilt, he carefully put away the dirty picture book and turned again to his sermon. Lust! He felt like such a fraud. He couldn't even go one day without stroking himself off. In fact, he often did it two or three times a day now.The Chamberlains in LondonThe clock on the mantel chimed the hour and William stood, both trepidation and excitement filling him. It was time to call on the Chamberlains'.Two months ago, he had received a letter from another Oxford friend, Henry Carter. Henry had gotten married two years ago to Miss Belinda Chamberlain and already had one son. Andrew Jennings, on a visit to him in Glenwood, had met and soon married the middle sister, Fiona.In the letter, Henry had explained that his father and mother-in-law were in town with their youngest daughter, Jane, for the London season. Could William be so kind as to pay a call? Without her two sisters, both of whom were in confinement and expecting a child at any moment, Jane had no one but her parents for ready company in London."I hope you will be able to find some time to visit them, William. My sister-in-law is charming and droll; you will not find it any chore to spend time with her. She is likely a little lonely without her sisters, so I think a friendly face would be welcome."The Chamberlains had indeed welcomed him with open arms."Any friend of Henry and Andrew's must be a friend of ours!" they said whenever he politely protested their constant invitations to tea and dinner. This afternoon, he was to call for Jane and lead her on a tour of the latest exhibition at the Royal Museum.In less than half an hour, he was in the Chamberlains' sitting room, attempting to appear calm as Miss Jane entered with her mother. He clasped her hand as she lifted her pretty face and smiled up at him. Her blue eyes sparkled and her blonde curls shone in the afternoon light.Yes, Jane Chamberlain was the same girl William had just degraded in his fantasy, had made into fuel for his shameful self-pleasure.In fact, ever since he had first met her, calling soon after he had received Henry's letter, she had taken over his fevered mind. Her perky breasts, always displayed in low-cut bodices, and her lush curves kept his cock half hard whenever they were together, and as he had found himself designated as her London tour guide, they were together a lot.Spending so much time in Jane's company was a delectable torture. William found her a very agreeable and charming girl, just as Henry had described. But it was her body, a body that seemed tailor-made for bawdy sex, that made him burn. Whenever he stroked himself, it was Jane that he would guiltily undress in his mind.William could imagine her huge, perky tits bouncing as he fucked her while she lay on her back. He could picture taking her from behind as he massaged and spanked her round ass. In fact, in his fantasies, Jane had done innumerable nasty acts, things he was sure she had never even heard hints of.But he couldn't stop, and in fact, now had to masturbate before their every meeting to take the edge off. Just the sight of Jane's deep décolletage could turn him into a stammering fool. He was having to find more and more creative ways to hide his raging erections, despite his frequent self-pleasuring, and the amount of handkerchiefs he was going through these days was unprecedented.Jane herself seemed to be completely oblivious of the effect she had on him. Her behavior was always perfectly poised and lady-like. She had a wry sense of humor and had often remarked that she enjoyed his company, but he had never detected even a suggestion of flirtation on her part. William found that he liked her more and more as the weeks passed, and had even wondered if he should join his friends in selecting a Chamberlain daughter for his bride.But he just couldn't imagine asking Jane to suck his cock or allow him to eat her cunny, let alone do the dozens of even more debauched acts he constantly envisioned when he took himself in hand. A well-behaved lady such as herself expected sex to be done under the covers in the dark, and to do it only as much as necessary. She wasn't a whore in a brothel, after all. She would want to be treated with the utmost respect, in bed and out.With a start, he became aware that Mrs. Chamberlain was speaking to him. "I hope this won't inconvenience you too much, Mr. Seldon? After all, you can always go to the Royal Museum some other afternoon.""Err, yes?" he said, utterly bewildered. What had he just missed as he mused on Jane's womanly qualities?At that moment, the butler opened the doors of the sitting room and announced, "Dr. Hoffman, ma'am."A distinguished looking older gentleman with a white beard and mustache came in. He executed a stiff bow and nodded at William. "Is this the priest?" he asked in a slight Germanic accent."Yes, doctor, we have invited him just as you asked." Mrs. Chamberlain made the introductions and then asked anxiously, "Where shall the examination take place?"The doctor's sober gray eyes took in the sitting room, elegantly appointed in tasteful furniture. He pointed to a chaise lounge and said, "That shall do very nicely, ma'am. Now, I must ask you to let the priest and I do our work. If mothers are in the room, I have found that it is less likely the patient will be truthful.""Oh, doctor, is that really necessary?" Mrs. Chamberlain fluttered her handkerchief and William finally noticed that she did not seem herself this afternoon. Her eyes were red-rimmed and she showed every indication of bursting into tears at any minute. Jane, on the other hand, looked as serene and self-possessed as ever as she sat primly on a chair. William wondered what on earth was going on."Now, now, Mrs. Chamberlain. You must trust to my methods and let me do what you hired me to do." The doctor's words were calm and reassuring as he led the lady out of the room. "I shall call you when I am ready. Why don't you have a rest in your room upstairs while we are conducting the examination?"Nodding disconsolately, Mrs. Chamberlain sniffled as she exited. Dr. Hoffman closed the door behind her and locked it, pocketing the key. At William's raised eyebrow, he explained, "I have found it is best to ensure privacy from any impertinent servants."Carrying his large, black medical bag towards the chaise lounge, he set it down on a low table. At his direction, William carried two chairs over and placed them right at the end of the low sofa."Now Miss Jane," the doctor said, gesturing towards the girl, who had been quietly watching the proceedings with bright, curious eyes. "Please, come here."Obediently, Jane stood and walked towards them. William tried to catch her eye in inquiry, still being wholly unaware as to what was happening, but she was gazing expectantly at Dr. Hoffman."We shall disrobe now, eh?" that man said, to William's utter amazement. In a state of shock, he watched as Jane docilely turned so that the doctor could begin unbuttoning her simple muslin dress, letting it pool at her feet. He did not stop there; he continued to divest Jane of every item of clothing until all of her perfect loveliness was bared. Then, she was led to the chaise and laid down.By this time, William was feeling slightly dizzy. All of his fantasies for the past several weeks had not prepared him for seeing Jane's creamy, rose-tipped breasts, her alabaster expanse of skin, her delectable nakedness in person. Her tits looked as delicious as he had always imagined, unmarred by any deformity. And they were the perfect size, large handfuls that jiggled with every movement as she settled herself against the brocade fabric cushions."Is this how you want me, doctor?""Yes, yes, that's quite all right, my dear." Dr. Hoffman replied in a brisk, practical tone. "Now where did I put those forceps?" he muttered, rummaging in his bag, not even looking at Jane.William, however, could not help staring. He knew he had an enormous bulge in his trousers, but there was no helping that in the current situation. Jane reclined on one elbow, her other hand lightly tracing her collarbone. He followed the line of her legs to the light patch of blonde curls at their apex. It was impossible to know where to keep his gaze. The enticing vee between her legs beckoned, but so did the swells of her bountiful bosom, her smooth belly, her pink lips.Jane startled him out of his focused perusal of her body by saying, "Thank you ever so much for agreeing to help with the examination, Mr. Seldon."He dragged his eyes to hers, which were sparkling with merriment and mischief. It was difficult to believe, but she did not seem to have any embarrassment or self-consciousness at her nudity. She seemed as tranquil as if they really were just walking through a museum. William, on the other hand, could almost hear his own heart beating."Yes, very important to have a priest on hand," said Dr. Hoffman, turning towards them. "They are always so pure and trustworthy, you see."William only nodded as he swallowed thickly. It wouldn't do to tell the doctor that his thoughts were far from pure at the moment. But he would have said or done anything to stay in that room.The doctor gestured him to one of the chairs and William sat, Jane's ripe, young body laid out before him like a feast.Taking the other chair, Dr. Hoffman set a tray of instruments down on a low end table between them. Then, he guided Jane so that she lay with her bum at the edge of the sofa. He spread her legs, placing her feet on either side of the piece of furniture, and William began to salivate as Jane's perfect, pink cunny came into view.It was glistening slightly and Dr. Hoffman tisked as he leaned forward and swiped a finger through the slick folds. Shaking his head, he held it up to William. "So wet already. I'm afraid this is a serious case, Mr. Seldon.""A serious case of what?" William was still completely bewildered."Why, of sinful lust, of course. You see how her nipples are extended. How engorged her vaginal lips are." He used the same finger to trace her entrance and Jane moaned, eliciting another series of disappointed clucks from the doctor. "And look at her clitoris! It is almost throbbing, you see?" He pinched it between his fingers and Jane gasped."Oh yes, doctor! Please touch it more!" she begged.But Dr. Hoffman just shook his head again and sighed. "I am not sure if there is any treatment for such an extreme case as this, but I promised Mrs. Chamberlain I would at least complete the examination. You, Mr. Seldon, shall help me."He pulled out a notebook and gestured to the tray of instruments. "Now, if you could please insert the brass condenser rod into her rectal cavity?"His hand was trembling slightly, but William eagerly found the long cylindrical instrument, about the thickness of his finger, already coated in oil. Leaning forward, he began to insert it into Jane's arse.There was a slight resistance and Jane let out a whimper. William paused at the sound, looking up and meeting her gaze. There was no trepidation, however, in her expression. Only a fierce hunger in her eyes as she stared back at him. "Oh yes," she whispered as he resumed sliding it slowly inside."Miss Jane, that was placed very easily by Mr. Seldon. Have you ever put anything inside your anus?" the doctor sternly asked as he made notations."Umm, ever so many things," Jane said. She was caressing her breasts now and under William's hot gaze, she pinched and pulled at her nipples."Your mother said you were found in the kitchen yesterday, using a mincing pestle to violate your rectum. Is this true?" The doctor was busily scribbling, completely unaware that William still held the thermometer and was lightly thrusting it back and forth in Jane's tight bum."Yes, doctor," she gasped."Not only is that an abominably unhygienic use of a pestle, Miss Jane, but don't you understand that this is a disgusting and depraved act?" Dr. Hoffman looked up now and William quickly let go of the thermometer, leaving it seated deep inside Jane's ass."Umm, but doctor, it feels so good!" Jane was shifting restlessly on the couch now. Her cunny was gushing fluids, coating the insides of her thighs. William could smell her musky odor and it made him salivate even more."Humph!" The doctor went back to his notebook. "Mr. Seldon, if you would be so kind as to check if Miss Jane's hymen is still intact?""Yes, of course," William said, attempting to hide the excitement in his voice. He spread Jane's lips open with his left hand and with his right, inserted two fingers into her moist depths. His stiff cock gave a twitch as he felt a woman's cunny for the first time in years; it was exquisite. At hearing Jane's appreciative moan, he looked up and saw her watching him, her lids half-lowered. When she licked her lips, William nearly groaned aloud.He circled his fingers in her sopping cunt, relishing its tight heat. The thought of feeling her wonderful cunny wrapped around his cock was causing him to leak precum like a hose in his trousers."Well, Mr. Seldon?""Oh, err, I'm afraid I don't feel anything, doctor."Letting out another one of his disappointed sighs, Dr. Hoffman said, "It is just as her mother feared. She found this in Miss Jane's bedchamber the other day." With his pencil, he tapped a large wooden dildo that was on the tray with the other instruments. "Look at the size of this, sir! Really, Miss Jane, wherever did you get this?""Why, my sister Fiona gave it to me for my eighteenth birthday. She said it was a tradition in our family." William felt a jolt go through him at hearing the name of Andrew Jennings' wife.Dr. Hoffman scoffed. "Tradition! Yes, your mother told me of the scandalous behavior of your sisters. A licentious strain in the family blood, I suppose, although it is very interesting that all three siblings seem to have it."Pulling a handkerchief out of his breast pocket, he offered it to William. "You may cease now, Mr. Seldon. You are being a very cooperative assistant and I am very grateful."Clearing his throat, William politely refused as he reluctantly parted from Jane's cunny. "Ah, no thanks, doctor, I have my own handkerchief just here," he said, reaching into his waistcoat pocket. But instead of using it, William quickly stuck his fingers in his mouth as the doctor turned away. He sucked off Jane's juices, savoring their delicious flavor.

In Genesis 22, God tests Abraham by instructing him to sacrifice his beloved son Isaac. Obediently, Abraham sets out for Mount Moriah with Isaac and two young men, demonstrating his faith despite the emotional turmoil of the impending sacrifice. During their journey, which takes three days, Abraham grapples with his feelings about sacrificing his only heir, a promise from God that he had waited for many years. When they arrive, Abraham builds an altar and prepares to sacrifice Isaac, but an angel intervenes, stopping him and confirming Abraham's faithfulness. Instead, God provides a ram caught in a thicket for the sacrifice. This event leads Abraham to name the location "Jehovah Jireh," meaning "The Lord will provide." Finally, God reaffirms His promise to Abraham, declaring that his descendants will be numerous and blessed, underscoring the significance of faith and obedience in divine testing.

A heroine goes back in time to a sticky-fingered situation.By Mark V Sharp, in 2 parts. Listen to the ► Podcast at Steamy Stories.The current reigning Miss Americana is a college student who forces Professor Whirter to send her back to the First Thanksgiving; so she can help Flag Girl with a history assignment. She gets led before the elders of the colony, only for a distraught messenger to run in reporting that the Wampanoag party carrying the majority of the food has turned back. Having spotted Miss Americana, they have concluded the colony cannot be so hard up for food as they claim if it contains one as well-endowed as she is.In order to restore history, Miss Americana presents herself as a peace offering to restore Massasoit’s favor. She ends up being a feature of the event; from her place at the end of the long Thanksgiving table. For the entire duration of the famous feast, a seemingly endless succession of Wampanoag warriors indulge in her charms.Finally, after everyone has had their fill, she is left a sprawled devastated wreck upon the gutted feasting table. Alone at last, she gets warped safely back to the present, only to discover that her misadventure will have lasting and historic consequences for the interior of her womb.Miss Americana goes to the First Thanksgiving“Flag Girl has a school project due, Dr. Whirter,” Miss Americana said. “She’s flunking, so we need a guaranteed A. So I want you to send me back in time. If we can learn the true history of the First Thanksgiving, then with the report I’ll help her write there’s no way she can fail.”Professor Whirter shook his head. “Miss Americana!” he gasped. “The time machine is not a toy! You cannot use it for such purposes!”The mighty superheroine stood before him in his lab. She was resplendent in her defiant costume, which consisted chiefly of a patriotic American Flag bikini. A golden belt, the source of her powers, lay cinched tight about her buxom hips, emblazoned with a bright red A upon its buckle, at the center of her broad flat belly. She wore a star-spangled mask upon her face to protect her secret identity, with a matching A on her forehead. Two red gloves with blue A’s on the backs of her hands, and gleaming red boots, completed her ensemble.Her sidekick Flag Girl stood by her side, in a very similar but less ostentatious version of the same costume, and at least had the decency to blush. Behind Americana’s sculpted ass, the platform of the Professor’s newly-built time machine waited.Miss Americana’s expression darkened behind her mask. She was a proud woman and not used to being denied. “Professor,” she growled, “my, I mean, my good friend Brenda Wade’s money pays for this place. Do you really want me to put in a word with her about how, diligently, you use your funding?”The Professor’s blood ran cold, and he caved immediately. “Alright, alright,” he said, bowing his head. Obediently, he went to the control panel, and started twisting dials. Flag Girl followed, watching curiously over his shoulder. Smiling smugly at her easy victory, Miss Americana walked up onto the round steel platform of the time machine.“Ready?” Professor Whirter asked, as the machine started to hum.“Ready!” Miss Americana announced, proudly. A crackle of energy sounded, and a glow of light enveloped her. When it faded, she was gone.The wind stirred the woods near the Plymouth colony. It was autumn, and the leaves were red and orange and brown. There was a crackle of energy and a flash of light, and Miss Americana appeared. Sauntering up to the edge of the tree-line, she pulled down a branch and smirked.Before her, across a large tilled field covered in the remains of harvested wheat, lay a hill. Atop the hill she saw a cluster of rough-hewn houses overlooking a rocky harbor. A second adjacent hill nearby held a simple earthwork with a few cannon emplaced upon it.“Perfect,” she cooed.There came a rustling in the brush behind her. Two men emerged, one tall and one short. They wore black woolen clothing and broad-brimmed black hats. Each brandished a long flintlock musket.“Told you I heard a noise,” the tall Pilgrim said to the short one.“Heaven defend us!” the short Pilgrim said, eyes going wide, as he saw what had caused it.The two Pilgrims gaped in disbelief for several seconds at the stacked scantily-clad beauty that stood before them.“Hello,” Miss Americana said. She started to move towards them.But at that instant, the short Pilgrim snapped his musket up and pointed it at her. “Stay back, witch!” he said.His companion seemed less sure. “Are you sure she’s a witch?” he asked.“She’s a strange woman hanging out in the woods, what else could she be?” the short one asked.“Hmm,” the tall one said. He looked Americana up and down again. “Well, she has certainly cast a spell on my phallus so,”He suddenly snapped his musket up, and cocked back the flint. “Get on your knees and put your hands up, witch!” he said. “No speaking hexes, either!”Miss Americana sighed, and shook her head, as she looked down the barrels of the two Pilgrims’ long guns. Given the protections of her belt, she had absolutely nothing to fear from bullets. “You boys are making a big mistake,” she cooed at them, as she cracked her knuckles and prepared to use her superhuman might to subdue them. “Fortunately I can correct it,”But suddenly, a noise crackled in the earpiece of the communication system embedded in her earrings and choker.“Miss Americana!” Professor Whirter’s voice said, rising and falling from time distortion as he spoke to her from the viewing panel of his time machine. “You cannot harm anyone in this period!” he said. “Given their lack of medical care and poor nutrition, one punch could be deadly. And each of these men may have tens of thousands of descendants in our modern time, one of which just might be you! If you lay a finger upon them you might well erase yourself from history!”“Oh,” Miss Americana gulped. “Right,”She looked back and forth between the two men and their guns. She swallowed, but realized she truly had no choice. Getting summoned back immediately, in front of the two witnesses, could hardly disturb the time line much less.“On second thought,” she said, “I surrender.”She went down onto her knees before them, and put her hands up.The taller Pilgrim kept his gun on her, while the shorter Pilgrim came forward. He had a set of iron manacles he had brought on his patrol, in case they should happen upon a hostile person spying on the colony and have a chance to take him prisoner. While his partner covered him, he dragged Americana’s hands behind her curvy back and manacled them above her ass, having great difficulty keeping his eyes off the panty-swelling contours of her posterior as he did so. Then he put an iron collar on her, to which was attached a length of chain.“There,” he said, backing up. “The cold iron should keep the witch from casting any hexes upon us.”“If you say so,” Miss Americana said, standing back up. Due to her superior nutrition and super-human genetics, she stood a head taller than even the taller of them. The shorter Pilgrim’s head was level with her enormous breasts, a fact that despite his literally puritanical nature he seemed to find immensely affecting. “Now, please take me to your leaders so that I may work this misunderstanding out.”Eyeing her up and down, the taller one turned to his partner. “Let’s take her to the Elders,” he said. “Between them, the Reverend, the Governor, and Captain Standish will know what to do with her.”Miss Americana rolled her eyes. “That’s what I said, you oafs!” she said, the chains clanking as she shifted her bikini-clad body impatiently.Leading her by her new chain, the two Pilgrims marched Miss Americana out of the woods and up the hill towards the colony. As she approached, Miss Americana saw that a long table had been set up in the middle of the ring of houses. Although there were seats for over a hundred, only about forty men sat at it, and despite what should have been the impending festivities they looked nervous and emaciated. A short distance away upon the hill she noticed a chillingly extensive grave-yard, with nearly as many shallow and hastily-dug graves as she saw living people in the colony.A little ways away from the main table, a second table had been set up for the Elders of the community, though here too there were several empty seats. They sat only on one side, facing towards the rest of the community. Miss Americana was brought to stand before the Elders, while the rest of the male colonists gaped at her in disbelief from where they sat. Several women and children rushed out to the doors and windows of the houses where they were working preparing the day’s large meal and also stared in wonder at the strange woman being led through their midst, although their faces twisted in jealousy when they saw how their men were gaping at her.As she was marched forth, Miss Americana wracked her brain desperately, for once, for a non-violent solution to her problems. ‘Who would wear a bikini during this time period?’ she thought to herself. Then suddenly, with a gasp, she got an idea.“We caught this strangely-attired and exotically-shaped one snooping about in the north-west forest,” the tall pilgrim said.“We think she’s a witch,” the short one said. “Shall we put her under some rocks and crush her to find out?”Stepping forward dramatically, Miss Americana lifted her head high and addressed the elders of the colony directly.“I am not a witch!” she boldly declared. “I am an Englishwoman, like you! But I was captured by the Turks and kept in their harem. I escaped from the sultan’s palace, but was blown by a storm all the way to this shore!”'That ought to fool these simpletons,’ she thought to herself smugly, as she watched them process this.Before her, at the center of the table, the leading men of the colony sat, pondering her response. She vaguely recognized them, from their historical portraits: William Brewster, the chief spiritual leader of the colony; Myles Standish, the captain of the colonial militia; and William Bradford, the colony’s current Governor. They each stroked their beards, considering her.“Hmm,” Captain Standish said. “If what you say is true, and you are no witch, then you should be prepared to prove it so,” he said.“Prove it? And how should I do that?” Miss Americana asked, indignantly.“If you were a harem girl,” Captain Standish said, “then you know how to dance like one. So, show us.” He turned his head to the man next to him. “Do you permit this Reverend?” he asked.Beside him, Reverend Brewster shifted uncomfortably, as he allowed his holy gaze to sweep up and down Americana’s flesh. But then he nodded. “If it is necessary to prove whether she is in league with the Devil, then, as God wills it,” he said.Americana gasped. “H-how can you ask me that?” she said.Governor Bradford looked at the other two, then back to her, and smirked. “The Captain has given his orders and the Reverend has given his permission,” he told her. “So if your story is true then prove it.” He nodded up to the large table. “You can do it on there, if you would be so kind.”Miss Americana gasped. But then she lifted her head and nodded, haughtily.“Very well,” she said. She held up her wrists behind her back, the manacles clanking on them. “But I cannot dance in these!” she said.At a quickly-supplied nod from Captain Standish in his role as commander of the militia, the short pilgrim approached and unlocked Americana’s manacles. But they left the collar on her. Her chain still held at the far end by the tall pilgrim like a long leash, Miss Americana turned and, with as much grace and dignity as she could muster, marched up to the long table and ascended to stand atop it. Around her the common Pilgrims, male and female alike, gaped up in awe as she came to tower against the sky above them.Standing tall before the whole colony, Miss Americana lifted up her arms, and arched her body gracefully. “Prepare to see my skill, and know I speak the truth!” she said.And with that, she began to dance.“H-holy shit,” one Pilgrim gasped, gaping upwards in awe.“That’s blasphemy,” a second beside him murmured. “Also, god fucking damn,” he added, staring up as well.None of them had ever seen anything like it. Miss Americana did her best to imitate how she had seen strippers or slutty girls in night clubs dance, whenever she had ventured into those places as part of her crime-fighting duties. Lifting her arms up she shook her enormous cans in broad circles, making them slosh and bounce dramatically within the confines of her gargantuan yet overloaded bra. Going down low, she bounced her ass just above the table, while presenting an excellent view of her panty-clad crotch between her wide-spread thighs. Twirling about, she shook and shimmied her ass for them, showing off the grace and flexibility of her muscular legs at the same time she shook the contours of her enormous bubble-ass.Midway through her performance, there came a loud crackling, then a pilgrim suddenly came up holding a large wooden bowl.“Verily, my friends,” he said, “I was so distracted by the witch’s performance, I dropped the last of that 'maize’ stuff into the fire and, look what happened!”His large bowl was filled to the brim with popcorn. Passing it around, the Pilgrims munched eagerly as they watched Miss Americana, having become lost in her own perfectionism, continue to dance and dance seductively before them.A little later, munching a little popcorn of his own, Myles Standish leaned over and put his lips near Reverend Brewster’s ear.“Did the Lord really condone this, William?” he asked, chuckling softly.Reverend Brewster shook his head. “After so many deaths the colony certainly needed a boost of morale,” he said. “Clearly God sent us one. Also, shut up.” Taking some of Captain Standish’s popcorn, he munched on it as well as he watched Miss Americana, bent low at the waist, shake and shimmy her enormous breasts in such a way that he could like right down the tremendous cleavage between them.Suddenly, a distraught sentry came running into the midst of the colony, stopping only briefly, to gape at what he had been missing in wonder.“Governor Bradford, Governor Bradford!” he moaned, his eyes still darting over repeatedly to take in the dancing Queen of Justice in awe. “The Indians! They are not coming! They are turning back, and taking their food with them!”At this a great groan rose from the Pilgrims, even as they continued to stare at Miss Americana’s wiggling and grinding bubble-ass.“What?!” Governor Bradford gasped. “But our stores are almost depleted! Without that food, we’ll starve! Why have they turned back?!”The sentry nodded up to Miss Americana.“When the Sachem’s party came out of the woods, they saw the huge teats and fat ass on that one,” he said. “The Sachem said that if we had a woman of such bountiful proportions, we surely could not be starving, and had deceived him as to our lack of food,”At this, Miss Americana stopped dancing and gasped down in shock.“My ass is not fat!” she hissed, her face quivering in fury behind her mask. Reaching back she slapped her gloved hand against her ass repeatedly, turning so every member of the community got to see, showing off that though it was awesomely projecting and generously curved, every inch of her enormous bubble-ass was in fact taut and silky muscle. “Two hours a day on a Stairmaster doesn’t lead to fat!” she hissed.Reverend Brewster turned to Captain Standish, their veteran soldier and military expert. “What’s a stair-masterer?” he asked. “Some sort of Turkish siege engine?”Myles shrugged, puzzled.“Never mind that!” Governor Bradford said. He stood up, getting the community’s attention off Miss Americana. “This is a disaster! We have to find some way to make amends. If Massasoit breaks the treaty and stops giving us supplies, we are done for!”“Hmm,” said Captain Standish. “What we need is some sort of tribute to appease him, a peace offering, if you will.”“But the whole point is we have no food!” Reverend Brewster pointed out. “What sort of peace offering could we give?”“We could give them our guns, or the cannon,” Governor Bradford said.“And surrender our only military leverage?” Captain Standish scoffed. “I would sooner dump them in the sea!”“The Indians are yet heathens,” Reverend Brewster pointed out. “They do not follow Christian virtues. So what sort of 'peace offering’ might they be interested in?”For a short time, the Pilgrims looked at one another. Then, slowly, all eyes turned up to look at Miss Americana, and stared at her spectacular and well-displayed body meaningfully.Miss Americana stared back for a few seconds, still perched imperiously upon their table. Then, as she realized what they were all thinking, her jaw dropped.“No,” she whispered. “No, no, No!” Reaching up she folded her hands over her giant breasts, which given the quantity of her flesh on display, did little to reduce the quality of the goods for them to consider when evaluating potential tributes. “How, how can you even consider that?!” she hissed. “Aren’t you Puritans?! A Godly people?!”Reverend Brewster shook his head.“We are,” he affirmed. “But, woman, even God must recognize a lost cause at some point. Verily, I see from your attire that you have already committed adultery no less than four times!”Lifting his hand, he pointed to various parts of Miss Americana’s body. Upon her tiara and upon her belt was emblazoned a bright red A. Her red gloves also each had a large blue A upon them.“I know well the meaning of the scarlet A’s,” Reverend Brewster said. “The azure ones I am not familiar with, perhaps they mean you only soiled your mouth or your posterior entrance? But regardless, woman, I am a man of God, but at some point surely one does have to ask, is even the Good Lord Himself going to give the tiniest of shits about just a few more?”Looking down, Miss Americana gasped as she stared at the bright red A upon her belt, and the blue ones

A heroine goes back in time to a sticky-fingered situation.By Mark V Sharp, in 2 parts. Listen to the ► Podcast at Steamy Stories.The current reigning Miss Americana is a college student who forces Professor Whirter to send her back to the First Thanksgiving; so she can help Flag Girl with a history assignment. She gets led before the elders of the colony, only for a distraught messenger to run in reporting that the Wampanoag party carrying the majority of the food has turned back. Having spotted Miss Americana, they have concluded the colony cannot be so hard up for food as they claim if it contains one as well-endowed as she is.In order to restore history, Miss Americana presents herself as a peace offering to restore Massasoit’s favor. She ends up being a feature of the event; from her place at the end of the long Thanksgiving table. For the entire duration of the famous feast, a seemingly endless succession of Wampanoag warriors indulge in her charms.Finally, after everyone has had their fill, she is left a sprawled devastated wreck upon the gutted feasting table. Alone at last, she gets warped safely back to the present, only to discover that her misadventure will have lasting and historic consequences for the interior of her womb.Miss Americana goes to the First Thanksgiving“Flag Girl has a school project due, Dr. Whirter,” Miss Americana said. “She’s flunking, so we need a guaranteed A. So I want you to send me back in time. If we can learn the true history of the First Thanksgiving, then with the report I’ll help her write there’s no way she can fail.”Professor Whirter shook his head. “Miss Americana!” he gasped. “The time machine is not a toy! You cannot use it for such purposes!”The mighty superheroine stood before him in his lab. She was resplendent in her defiant costume, which consisted chiefly of a patriotic American Flag bikini. A golden belt, the source of her powers, lay cinched tight about her buxom hips, emblazoned with a bright red A upon its buckle, at the center of her broad flat belly. She wore a star-spangled mask upon her face to protect her secret identity, with a matching A on her forehead. Two red gloves with blue A’s on the backs of her hands, and gleaming red boots, completed her ensemble.Her sidekick Flag Girl stood by her side, in a very similar but less ostentatious version of the same costume, and at least had the decency to blush. Behind Americana’s sculpted ass, the platform of the Professor’s newly-built time machine waited.Miss Americana’s expression darkened behind her mask. She was a proud woman and not used to being denied. “Professor,” she growled, “my, I mean, my good friend Brenda Wade’s money pays for this place. Do you really want me to put in a word with her about how, diligently, you use your funding?”The Professor’s blood ran cold, and he caved immediately. “Alright, alright,” he said, bowing his head. Obediently, he went to the control panel, and started twisting dials. Flag Girl followed, watching curiously over his shoulder. Smiling smugly at her easy victory, Miss Americana walked up onto the round steel platform of the time machine.“Ready?” Professor Whirter asked, as the machine started to hum.“Ready!” Miss Americana announced, proudly. A crackle of energy sounded, and a glow of light enveloped her. When it faded, she was gone.The wind stirred the woods near the Plymouth colony. It was autumn, and the leaves were red and orange and brown. There was a crackle of energy and a flash of light, and Miss Americana appeared. Sauntering up to the edge of the tree-line, she pulled down a branch and smirked.Before her, across a large tilled field covered in the remains of harvested wheat, lay a hill. Atop the hill she saw a cluster of rough-hewn houses overlooking a rocky harbor. A second adjacent hill nearby held a simple earthwork with a few cannon emplaced upon it.“Perfect,” she cooed.There came a rustling in the brush behind her. Two men emerged, one tall and one short. They wore black woolen clothing and broad-brimmed black hats. Each brandished a long flintlock musket.“Told you I heard a noise,” the tall Pilgrim said to the short one.“Heaven defend us!” the short Pilgrim said, eyes going wide, as he saw what had caused it.The two Pilgrims gaped in disbelief for several seconds at the stacked scantily-clad beauty that stood before them.“Hello,” Miss Americana said. She started to move towards them.But at that instant, the short Pilgrim snapped his musket up and pointed it at her. “Stay back, witch!” he said.His companion seemed less sure. “Are you sure she’s a witch?” he asked.“She’s a strange woman hanging out in the woods, what else could she be?” the short one asked.“Hmm,” the tall one said. He looked Americana up and down again. “Well, she has certainly cast a spell on my phallus so,”He suddenly snapped his musket up, and cocked back the flint. “Get on your knees and put your hands up, witch!” he said. “No speaking hexes, either!”Miss Americana sighed, and shook her head, as she looked down the barrels of the two Pilgrims’ long guns. Given the protections of her belt, she had absolutely nothing to fear from bullets. “You boys are making a big mistake,” she cooed at them, as she cracked her knuckles and prepared to use her superhuman might to subdue them. “Fortunately I can correct it,”But suddenly, a noise crackled in the earpiece of the communication system embedded in her earrings and choker.“Miss Americana!” Professor Whirter’s voice said, rising and falling from time distortion as he spoke to her from the viewing panel of his time machine. “You cannot harm anyone in this period!” he said. “Given their lack of medical care and poor nutrition, one punch could be deadly. And each of these men may have tens of thousands of descendants in our modern time, one of which just might be you! If you lay a finger upon them you might well erase yourself from history!”“Oh,” Miss Americana gulped. “Right,”She looked back and forth between the two men and their guns. She swallowed, but realized she truly had no choice. Getting summoned back immediately, in front of the two witnesses, could hardly disturb the time line much less.“On second thought,” she said, “I surrender.”She went down onto her knees before them, and put her hands up.The taller Pilgrim kept his gun on her, while the shorter Pilgrim came forward. He had a set of iron manacles he had brought on his patrol, in case they should happen upon a hostile person spying on the colony and have a chance to take him prisoner. While his partner covered him, he dragged Americana’s hands behind her curvy back and manacled them above her ass, having great difficulty keeping his eyes off the panty-swelling contours of her posterior as he did so. Then he put an iron collar on her, to which was attached a length of chain.“There,” he said, backing up. “The cold iron should keep the witch from casting any hexes upon us.”“If you say so,” Miss Americana said, standing back up. Due to her superior nutrition and super-human genetics, she stood a head taller than even the taller of them. The shorter Pilgrim’s head was level with her enormous breasts, a fact that despite his literally puritanical nature he seemed to find immensely affecting. “Now, please take me to your leaders so that I may work this misunderstanding out.”Eyeing her up and down, the taller one turned to his partner. “Let’s take her to the Elders,” he said. “Between them, the Reverend, the Governor, and Captain Standish will know what to do with her.”Miss Americana rolled her eyes. “That’s what I said, you oafs!” she said, the chains clanking as she shifted her bikini-clad body impatiently.Leading her by her new chain, the two Pilgrims marched Miss Americana out of the woods and up the hill towards the colony. As she approached, Miss Americana saw that a long table had been set up in the middle of the ring of houses. Although there were seats for over a hundred, only about forty men sat at it, and despite what should have been the impending festivities they looked nervous and emaciated. A short distance away upon the hill she noticed a chillingly extensive grave-yard, with nearly as many shallow and hastily-dug graves as she saw living people in the colony.A little ways away from the main table, a second table had been set up for the Elders of the community, though here too there were several empty seats. They sat only on one side, facing towards the rest of the community. Miss Americana was brought to stand before the Elders, while the rest of the male colonists gaped at her in disbelief from where they sat. Several women and children rushed out to the doors and windows of the houses where they were working preparing the day’s large meal and also stared in wonder at the strange woman being led through their midst, although their faces twisted in jealousy when they saw how their men were gaping at her.As she was marched forth, Miss Americana wracked her brain desperately, for once, for a non-violent solution to her problems. ‘Who would wear a bikini during this time period?’ she thought to herself. Then suddenly, with a gasp, she got an idea.“We caught this strangely-attired and exotically-shaped one snooping about in the north-west forest,” the tall pilgrim said.“We think she’s a witch,” the short one said. “Shall we put her under some rocks and crush her to find out?”Stepping forward dramatically, Miss Americana lifted her head high and addressed the elders of the colony directly.“I am not a witch!” she boldly declared. “I am an Englishwoman, like you! But I was captured by the Turks and kept in their harem. I escaped from the sultan’s palace, but was blown by a storm all the way to this shore!”'That ought to fool these simpletons,’ she thought to herself smugly, as she watched them process this.Before her, at the center of the table, the leading men of the colony sat, pondering her response. She vaguely recognized them, from their historical portraits: William Brewster, the chief spiritual leader of the colony; Myles Standish, the captain of the colonial militia; and William Bradford, the colony’s current Governor. They each stroked their beards, considering her.“Hmm,” Captain Standish said. “If what you say is true, and you are no witch, then you should be prepared to prove it so,” he said.“Prove it? And how should I do that?” Miss Americana asked, indignantly.“If you were a harem girl,” Captain Standish said, “then you know how to dance like one. So, show us.” He turned his head to the man next to him. “Do you permit this Reverend?” he asked.Beside him, Reverend Brewster shifted uncomfortably, as he allowed his holy gaze to sweep up and down Americana’s flesh. But then he nodded. “If it is necessary to prove whether she is in league with the Devil, then, as God wills it,” he said.Americana gasped. “H-how can you ask me that?” she said.Governor Bradford looked at the other two, then back to her, and smirked. “The Captain has given his orders and the Reverend has given his permission,” he told her. “So if your story is true then prove it.” He nodded up to the large table. “You can do it on there, if you would be so kind.”Miss Americana gasped. But then she lifted her head and nodded, haughtily.“Very well,” she said. She held up her wrists behind her back, the manacles clanking on them. “But I cannot dance in these!” she said.At a quickly-supplied nod from Captain Standish in his role as commander of the militia, the short pilgrim approached and unlocked Americana’s manacles. But they left the collar on her. Her chain still held at the far end by the tall pilgrim like a long leash, Miss Americana turned and, with as much grace and dignity as she could muster, marched up to the long table and ascended to stand atop it. Around her the common Pilgrims, male and female alike, gaped up in awe as she came to tower against the sky above them.Standing tall before the whole colony, Miss Americana lifted up her arms, and arched her body gracefully. “Prepare to see my skill, and know I speak the truth!” she said.And with that, she began to dance.“H-holy shit,” one Pilgrim gasped, gaping upwards in awe.“That’s blasphemy,” a second beside him murmured. “Also, god fucking damn,” he added, staring up as well.None of them had ever seen anything like it. Miss Americana did her best to imitate how she had seen strippers or slutty girls in night clubs dance, whenever she had ventured into those places as part of her crime-fighting duties. Lifting her arms up she shook her enormous cans in broad circles, making them slosh and bounce dramatically within the confines of her gargantuan yet overloaded bra. Going down low, she bounced her ass just above the table, while presenting an excellent view of her panty-clad crotch between her wide-spread thighs. Twirling about, she shook and shimmied her ass for them, showing off the grace and flexibility of her muscular legs at the same time she shook the contours of her enormous bubble-ass.Midway through her performance, there came a loud crackling, then a pilgrim suddenly came up holding a large wooden bowl.“Verily, my friends,” he said, “I was so distracted by the witch’s performance, I dropped the last of that 'maize’ stuff into the fire and, look what happened!”His large bowl was filled to the brim with popcorn. Passing it around, the Pilgrims munched eagerly as they watched Miss Americana, having become lost in her own perfectionism, continue to dance and dance seductively before them.A little later, munching a little popcorn of his own, Myles Standish leaned over and put his lips near Reverend Brewster’s ear.“Did the Lord really condone this, William?” he asked, chuckling softly.Reverend Brewster shook his head. “After so many deaths the colony certainly needed a boost of morale,” he said. “Clearly God sent us one. Also, shut up.” Taking some of Captain Standish’s popcorn, he munched on it as well as he watched Miss Americana, bent low at the waist, shake and shimmy her enormous breasts in such a way that he could like right down the tremendous cleavage between them.Suddenly, a distraught sentry came running into the midst of the colony, stopping only briefly, to gape at what he had been missing in wonder.“Governor Bradford, Governor Bradford!” he moaned, his eyes still darting over repeatedly to take in the dancing Queen of Justice in awe. “The Indians! They are not coming! They are turning back, and taking their food with them!”At this a great groan rose from the Pilgrims, even as they continued to stare at Miss Americana’s wiggling and grinding bubble-ass.“What?!” Governor Bradford gasped. “But our stores are almost depleted! Without that food, we’ll starve! Why have they turned back?!”The sentry nodded up to Miss Americana.“When the Sachem’s party came out of the woods, they saw the huge teats and fat ass on that one,” he said. “The Sachem said that if we had a woman of such bountiful proportions, we surely could not be starving, and had deceived him as to our lack of food,”At this, Miss Americana stopped dancing and gasped down in shock.“My ass is not fat!” she hissed, her face quivering in fury behind her mask. Reaching back she slapped her gloved hand against her ass repeatedly, turning so every member of the community got to see, showing off that though it was awesomely projecting and generously curved, every inch of her enormous bubble-ass was in fact taut and silky muscle. “Two hours a day on a Stairmaster doesn’t lead to fat!” she hissed.Reverend Brewster turned to Captain Standish, their veteran soldier and military expert. “What’s a stair-masterer?” he asked. “Some sort of Turkish siege engine?”Myles shrugged, puzzled.“Never mind that!” Governor Bradford said. He stood up, getting the community’s attention off Miss Americana. “This is a disaster! We have to find some way to make amends. If Massasoit breaks the treaty and stops giving us supplies, we are done for!”“Hmm,” said Captain Standish. “What we need is some sort of tribute to appease him, a peace offering, if you will.”“But the whole point is we have no food!” Reverend Brewster pointed out. “What sort of peace offering could we give?”“We could give them our guns, or the cannon,” Governor Bradford said.“And surrender our only military leverage?” Captain Standish scoffed. “I would sooner dump them in the sea!”“The Indians are yet heathens,” Reverend Brewster pointed out. “They do not follow Christian virtues. So what sort of 'peace offering’ might they be interested in?”For a short time, the Pilgrims looked at one another. Then, slowly, all eyes turned up to look at Miss Americana, and stared at her spectacular and well-displayed body meaningfully.Miss Americana stared back for a few seconds, still perched imperiously upon their table. Then, as she realized what they were all thinking, her jaw dropped.“No,” she whispered. “No, no, No!” Reaching up she folded her hands over her giant breasts, which given the quantity of her flesh on display, did little to reduce the quality of the goods for them to consider when evaluating potential tributes. “How, how can you even consider that?!” she hissed. “Aren’t you Puritans?! A Godly people?!”Reverend Brewster shook his head.“We are,” he affirmed. “But, woman, even God must recognize a lost cause at some point. Verily, I see from your attire that you have already committed adultery no less than four times!”Lifting his hand, he pointed to various parts of Miss Americana’s body. Upon her tiara and upon her belt was emblazoned a bright red A. Her red gloves also each had a large blue A upon them.“I know well the meaning of the scarlet A’s,” Reverend Brewster said. “The azure ones I am not familiar with, perhaps they mean you only soiled your mouth or your posterior entrance? But regardless, woman, I am a man of God, but at some point surely one does have to ask, is even the Good Lord Himself going to give the tiniest of shits about just a few more?”Looking down, Miss Americana gasped as she stared at the bright red A upon her belt, and the blue ones

A heroine goes back in time to a sticky-fingered situation.By Mark V Sharp, in 2 parts. Listen to the ► Podcast at Steamy Stories.The current reigning Miss Americana is a college student who forces Professor Whirter to send her back to the First Thanksgiving; so she can help Flag Girl with a history assignment. She gets led before the elders of the colony, only for a distraught messenger to run in reporting that the Wampanoag party carrying the majority of the food has turned back. Having spotted Miss Americana, they have concluded the colony cannot be so hard up for food as they claim if it contains one as well-endowed as she is.In order to restore history, Miss Americana presents herself as a peace offering to restore Massasoit’s favor. She ends up being a feature of the event; from her place at the end of the long Thanksgiving table. For the entire duration of the famous feast, a seemingly endless succession of Wampanoag warriors indulge in her charms.Finally, after everyone has had their fill, she is left a sprawled devastated wreck upon the gutted feasting table. Alone at last, she gets warped safely back to the present, only to discover that her misadventure will have lasting and historic consequences for the interior of her womb.Miss Americana goes to the First Thanksgiving“Flag Girl has a school project due, Dr. Whirter,” Miss Americana said. “She’s flunking, so we need a guaranteed A. So I want you to send me back in time. If we can learn the true history of the First Thanksgiving, then with the report I’ll help her write there’s no way she can fail.”Professor Whirter shook his head. “Miss Americana!” he gasped. “The time machine is not a toy! You cannot use it for such purposes!”The mighty superheroine stood before him in his lab. She was resplendent in her defiant costume, which consisted chiefly of a patriotic American Flag bikini. A golden belt, the source of her powers, lay cinched tight about her buxom hips, emblazoned with a bright red A upon its buckle, at the center of her broad flat belly. She wore a star-spangled mask upon her face to protect her secret identity, with a matching A on her forehead. Two red gloves with blue A’s on the backs of her hands, and gleaming red boots, completed her ensemble.Her sidekick Flag Girl stood by her side, in a very similar but less ostentatious version of the same costume, and at least had the decency to blush. Behind Americana’s sculpted ass, the platform of the Professor’s newly-built time machine waited.Miss Americana’s expression darkened behind her mask. She was a proud woman and not used to being denied. “Professor,” she growled, “my, I mean, my good friend Brenda Wade’s money pays for this place. Do you really want me to put in a word with her about how, diligently, you use your funding?”The Professor’s blood ran cold, and he caved immediately. “Alright, alright,” he said, bowing his head. Obediently, he went to the control panel, and started twisting dials. Flag Girl followed, watching curiously over his shoulder. Smiling smugly at her easy victory, Miss Americana walked up onto the round steel platform of the time machine.“Ready?” Professor Whirter asked, as the machine started to hum.“Ready!” Miss Americana announced, proudly. A crackle of energy sounded, and a glow of light enveloped her. When it faded, she was gone.The wind stirred the woods near the Plymouth colony. It was autumn, and the leaves were red and orange and brown. There was a crackle of energy and a flash of light, and Miss Americana appeared. Sauntering up to the edge of the tree-line, she pulled down a branch and smirked.Before her, across a large tilled field covered in the remains of harvested wheat, lay a hill. Atop the hill she saw a cluster of rough-hewn houses overlooking a rocky harbor. A second adjacent hill nearby held a simple earthwork with a few cannon emplaced upon it.“Perfect,” she cooed.There came a rustling in the brush behind her. Two men emerged, one tall and one short. They wore black woolen clothing and broad-brimmed black hats. Each brandished a long flintlock musket.“Told you I heard a noise,” the tall Pilgrim said to the short one.“Heaven defend us!” the short Pilgrim said, eyes going wide, as he saw what had caused it.The two Pilgrims gaped in disbelief for several seconds at the stacked scantily-clad beauty that stood before them.“Hello,” Miss Americana said. She started to move towards them.But at that instant, the short Pilgrim snapped his musket up and pointed it at her. “Stay back, witch!” he said.His companion seemed less sure. “Are you sure she’s a witch?” he asked.“She’s a strange woman hanging out in the woods, what else could she be?” the short one asked.“Hmm,” the tall one said. He looked Americana up and down again. “Well, she has certainly cast a spell on my phallus so,”He suddenly snapped his musket up, and cocked back the flint. “Get on your knees and put your hands up, witch!” he said. “No speaking hexes, either!”Miss Americana sighed, and shook her head, as she looked down the barrels of the two Pilgrims’ long guns. Given the protections of her belt, she had absolutely nothing to fear from bullets. “You boys are making a big mistake,” she cooed at them, as she cracked her knuckles and prepared to use her superhuman might to subdue them. “Fortunately I can correct it,”But suddenly, a noise crackled in the earpiece of the communication system embedded in her earrings and choker.“Miss Americana!” Professor Whirter’s voice said, rising and falling from time distortion as he spoke to her from the viewing panel of his time machine. “You cannot harm anyone in this period!” he said. “Given their lack of medical care and poor nutrition, one punch could be deadly. And each of these men may have tens of thousands of descendants in our modern time, one of which just might be you! If you lay a finger upon them you might well erase yourself from history!”“Oh,” Miss Americana gulped. “Right,”She looked back and forth between the two men and their guns. She swallowed, but realized she truly had no choice. Getting summoned back immediately, in front of the two witnesses, could hardly disturb the time line much less.“On second thought,” she said, “I surrender.”She went down onto her knees before them, and put her hands up.The taller Pilgrim kept his gun on her, while the shorter Pilgrim came forward. He had a set of iron manacles he had brought on his patrol, in case they should happen upon a hostile person spying on the colony and have a chance to take him prisoner. While his partner covered him, he dragged Americana’s hands behind her curvy back and manacled them above her ass, having great difficulty keeping his eyes off the panty-swelling contours of her posterior as he did so. Then he put an iron collar on her, to which was attached a length of chain.“There,” he said, backing up. “The cold iron should keep the witch from casting any hexes upon us.”“If you say so,” Miss Americana said, standing back up. Due to her superior nutrition and super-human genetics, she stood a head taller than even the taller of them. The shorter Pilgrim’s head was level with her enormous breasts, a fact that despite his literally puritanical nature he seemed to find immensely affecting. “Now, please take me to your leaders so that I may work this misunderstanding out.”Eyeing her up and down, the taller one turned to his partner. “Let’s take her to the Elders,” he said. “Between them, the Reverend, the Governor, and Captain Standish will know what to do with her.”Miss Americana rolled her eyes. “That’s what I said, you oafs!” she said, the chains clanking as she shifted her bikini-clad body impatiently.Leading her by her new chain, the two Pilgrims marched Miss Americana out of the woods and up the hill towards the colony. As she approached, Miss Americana saw that a long table had been set up in the middle of the ring of houses. Although there were seats for over a hundred, only about forty men sat at it, and despite what should have been the impending festivities they looked nervous and emaciated. A short distance away upon the hill she noticed a chillingly extensive grave-yard, with nearly as many shallow and hastily-dug graves as she saw living people in the colony.A little ways away from the main table, a second table had been set up for the Elders of the community, though here too there were several empty seats. They sat only on one side, facing towards the rest of the community. Miss Americana was brought to stand before the Elders, while the rest of the male colonists gaped at her in disbelief from where they sat. Several women and children rushed out to the doors and windows of the houses where they were working preparing the day’s large meal and also stared in wonder at the strange woman being led through their midst, although their faces twisted in jealousy when they saw how their men were gaping at her.As she was marched forth, Miss Americana wracked her brain desperately, for once, for a non-violent solution to her problems. ‘Who would wear a bikini during this time period?’ she thought to herself. Then suddenly, with a gasp, she got an idea.“We caught this strangely-attired and exotically-shaped one snooping about in the north-west forest,” the tall pilgrim said.“We think she’s a witch,” the short one said. “Shall we put her under some rocks and crush her to find out?”Stepping forward dramatically, Miss Americana lifted her head high and addressed the elders of the colony directly.“I am not a witch!” she boldly declared. “I am an Englishwoman, like you! But I was captured by the Turks and kept in their harem. I escaped from the sultan’s palace, but was blown by a storm all the way to this shore!”'That ought to fool these simpletons,’ she thought to herself smugly, as she watched them process this.Before her, at the center of the table, the leading men of the colony sat, pondering her response. She vaguely recognized them, from their historical portraits: William Brewster, the chief spiritual leader of the colony; Myles Standish, the captain of the colonial militia; and William Bradford, the colony’s current Governor. They each stroked their beards, considering her.“Hmm,” Captain Standish said. “If what you say is true, and you are no witch, then you should be prepared to prove it so,” he said.“Prove it? And how should I do that?” Miss Americana asked, indignantly.“If you were a harem girl,” Captain Standish said, “then you know how to dance like one. So, show us.” He turned his head to the man next to him. “Do you permit this Reverend?” he asked.Beside him, Reverend Brewster shifted uncomfortably, as he allowed his holy gaze to sweep up and down Americana’s flesh. But then he nodded. “If it is necessary to prove whether she is in league with the Devil, then, as God wills it,” he said.Americana gasped. “H-how can you ask me that?” she said.Governor Bradford looked at the other two, then back to her, and smirked. “The Captain has given his orders and the Reverend has given his permission,” he told her. “So if your story is true then prove it.” He nodded up to the large table. “You can do it on there, if you would be so kind.”Miss Americana gasped. But then she lifted her head and nodded, haughtily.“Very well,” she said. She held up her wrists behind her back, the manacles clanking on them. “But I cannot dance in these!” she said.At a quickly-supplied nod from Captain Standish in his role as commander of the militia, the short pilgrim approached and unlocked Americana’s manacles. But they left the collar on her. Her chain still held at the far end by the tall pilgrim like a long leash, Miss Americana turned and, with as much grace and dignity as she could muster, marched up to the long table and ascended to stand atop it. Around her the common Pilgrims, male and female alike, gaped up in awe as she came to tower against the sky above them.Standing tall before the whole colony, Miss Americana lifted up her arms, and arched her body gracefully. “Prepare to see my skill, and know I speak the truth!” she said.And with that, she began to dance.“H-holy shit,” one Pilgrim gasped, gaping upwards in awe.“That’s blasphemy,” a second beside him murmured. “Also, god fucking damn,” he added, staring up as well.None of them had ever seen anything like it. Miss Americana did her best to imitate how she had seen strippers or slutty girls in night clubs dance, whenever she had ventured into those places as part of her crime-fighting duties. Lifting her arms up she shook her enormous cans in broad circles, making them slosh and bounce dramatically within the confines of her gargantuan yet overloaded bra. Going down low, she bounced her ass just above the table, while presenting an excellent view of her panty-clad crotch between her wide-spread thighs. Twirling about, she shook and shimmied her ass for them, showing off the grace and flexibility of her muscular legs at the same time she shook the contours of her enormous bubble-ass.Midway through her performance, there came a loud crackling, then a pilgrim suddenly came up holding a large wooden bowl.“Verily, my friends,” he said, “I was so distracted by the witch’s performance, I dropped the last of that 'maize’ stuff into the fire and, look what happened!”His large bowl was filled to the brim with popcorn. Passing it around, the Pilgrims munched eagerly as they watched Miss Americana, having become lost in her own perfectionism, continue to dance and dance seductively before them.A little later, munching a little popcorn of his own, Myles Standish leaned over and put his lips near Reverend Brewster’s ear.“Did the Lord really condone this, William?” he asked, chuckling softly.Reverend Brewster shook his head. “After so many deaths the colony certainly needed a boost of morale,” he said. “Clearly God sent us one. Also, shut up.” Taking some of Captain Standish’s popcorn, he munched on it as well as he watched Miss Americana, bent low at the waist, shake and shimmy her enormous breasts in such a way that he could like right down the tremendous cleavage between them.Suddenly, a distraught sentry came running into the midst of the colony, stopping only briefly, to gape at what he had been missing in wonder.“Governor Bradford, Governor Bradford!” he moaned, his eyes still darting over repeatedly to take in the dancing Queen of Justice in awe. “The Indians! They are not coming! They are turning back, and taking their food with them!”At this a great groan rose from the Pilgrims, even as they continued to stare at Miss Americana’s wiggling and grinding bubble-ass.“What?!” Governor Bradford gasped. “But our stores are almost depleted! Without that food, we’ll starve! Why have they turned back?!”The sentry nodded up to Miss Americana.“When the Sachem’s party came out of the woods, they saw the huge teats and fat ass on that one,” he said. “The Sachem said that if we had a woman of such bountiful proportions, we surely could not be starving, and had deceived him as to our lack of food,”At this, Miss Americana stopped dancing and gasped down in shock.“My ass is not fat!” she hissed, her face quivering in fury behind her mask. Reaching back she slapped her gloved hand against her ass repeatedly, turning so every member of the community got to see, showing off that though it was awesomely projecting and generously curved, every inch of her enormous bubble-ass was in fact taut and silky muscle. “Two hours a day on a Stairmaster doesn’t lead to fat!” she hissed.Reverend Brewster turned to Captain Standish, their veteran soldier and military expert. “What’s a stair-masterer?” he asked. “Some sort of Turkish siege engine?”Myles shrugged, puzzled.“Never mind that!” Governor Bradford said. He stood up, getting the community’s attention off Miss Americana. “This is a disaster! We have to find some way to make amends. If Massasoit breaks the treaty and stops giving us supplies, we are done for!”“Hmm,” said Captain Standish. “What we need is some sort of tribute to appease him, a peace offering, if you will.”“But the whole point is we have no food!” Reverend Brewster pointed out. “What sort of peace offering could we give?”“We could give them our guns, or the cannon,” Governor Bradford said.“And surrender our only military leverage?” Captain Standish scoffed. “I would sooner dump them in the sea!”“The Indians are yet heathens,” Reverend Brewster pointed out. “They do not follow Christian virtues. So what sort of 'peace offering’ might they be interested in?”For a short time, the Pilgrims looked at one another. Then, slowly, all eyes turned up to look at Miss Americana, and stared at her spectacular and well-displayed body meaningfully.Miss Americana stared back for a few seconds, still perched imperiously upon their table. Then, as she realized what they were all thinking, her jaw dropped.“No,” she whispered. “No, no, No!” Reaching up she folded her hands over her giant breasts, which given the quantity of her flesh on display, did little to reduce the quality of the goods for them to consider when evaluating potential tributes. “How, how can you even consider that?!” she hissed. “Aren’t you Puritans?! A Godly people?!”Reverend Brewster shook his head.“We are,” he affirmed. “But, woman, even God must recognize a lost cause at some point. Verily, I see from your attire that you have already committed adultery no less than four times!”Lifting his hand, he pointed to various parts of Miss Americana’s body. Upon her tiara and upon her belt was emblazoned a bright red A. Her red gloves also each had a large blue A upon them.“I know well the meaning of the scarlet A’s,” Reverend Brewster said. “The azure ones I am not familiar with, perhaps they mean you only soiled your mouth or your posterior entrance? But regardless, woman, I am a man of God, but at some point surely one does have to ask, is even the Good Lord Himself going to give the tiniest of shits about just a few more?”Looking down, Miss Americana gasped as she stared at the bright red A upon her belt, and the blue ones

Sermon by Ben Mandley from the Reforming the Church series. Inspire is an evangelical Church of England church in Clerkenwell, central London. Listen on Apple Podcasts.

Father Jimmy Fights his carnal desires.By GrushaVashnadze. Listen to the ► Podcast at Steamy Stories. "Oh yeah, cunt!" he muttered under his breath."Yeah, hot fucking cunt!" he continued, ogling the juicy specimen of beauty displaying herself to his lustful eyes. Her pussy was indeed beautiful -- pink and delicate, with a finely-crafted blond landing-strip, held open by a pair of painted fingers, so that he could gaze into its hot, wet, steamy depths. He stroked his cock in anticipation, feeling his shaft stiffen and grow, and feeling that exquisite yearning sensation spread outwards, filling his body with testosterone-fuelled bliss.The owner of said cunt looked at him seductively, the tip of her tongue gently tracing the outline of her lips, her eyes cheekily inviting, one hand kneading her huge, perfect, surgically-enhanced breasts, as the other continued to hold her fuck-lips wide."Oh, yeah, baby, I'm gonna fuck that cunt so hard," he continued. "I'm gonna ram my fucking cock deep in your hot pussy, I'm gonna feel your juicy cunt around my cock, and then I'm gonna fucking come inside you, I'm gonna spurt all my fucking cum deep in your hot fuck-hole till you scream in pleasure. You want that, baby, you want that?"But there was no answer from the buxom blonde beauty. For she was but a centrefold in a magazine, lying open before him on his bed. One picture among many, actually, for his eiderdown was covered with a selection of his collected periodicals, open to his favourite pages, featuring a variety of nude beauties, all displaying themselves -- he liked to think -- purely for his pleasure.His cock throbbed as he stroked it, thumb and two fingers gently rubbing the glans while the palm of his hand wrapped itself around the shaft. He admired his carefully-ordered "cunt collage" -- as he liked to call it. The buxom blond ("Jenny", according to the caption) occupied pride of place in the centre of his bed. Surrounding her were half a dozen other centrefolds: "Sabrina" -- dark-haired, with huge natural flowing boobs, left hand holding her pussy open whilst one delicate finger of the right curled knuckle-deep into her arsehole; "Brea" -- blonde and skinny, with pert breasts, irresistibly smouldering eyes, and a shaven pussy; "Elsa" -- bleached blond hair, sweet "next-door-girl" smile, hairy blonde cunt with -- "oh fuck!" he muttered, as he felt his cock twitch and jerk in delight -- gorgeous flappy cunt-lips which dangled, glistening with little beads of pussy-juice...He paused his cock-stroking, looking away and upwards at the ceiling, in order to calm himself down: he didn't want to come too soon. Not yet.Just in time, the phone rang. Nervously he scrabbled for the receiver."Hi Jimmyyy!" came the sultry voice he was expecting. "It's Bea here, wiv yer fantasy call.""Bea, how are you?""Oh, Jimmy, I'm feeling so fuckin' horny this evening, I'm been so looking forward to our call.""Talk to me, Bea," said Jimmy, as he resumed slowly massaging his dick."Oh, you know me, Jimmy, I just can't get enough fuckin'. I'm sitting here on my bed, and I'm wearin' this skimpy negligee, and I've shaved my pussy just for you -- and it's so fuckin' wet, Jimmy, I just can't wait for you to ram yer big cock in there. D'ya wanna do that, Jimmyyy?" Bea's voice was warm and breathy -- something she had practised and honed over the months she had been calling him. Jimmy knew that, these days, he could instead be watching a video online, or a camgirl -- but he was a man of habit and tradition, and he loved the way things used to be when he was younger, when porn was always magazines, and audio invariably meant the telephone. And so he sat at the head of his bed, stroking his cock, listening to Bea's breathy seductive personalised filth, whilst he continued to ogle his favourite magazine nudes.As Bea spoke, his eyes continued to roam the pages spread open on the bed: "Codi" -- a ridiculously slender blonde with big fake tits, pouting lips drooling slightly at the sight of her own shaven cunt, spread wide with two delicate hands; "Emma" -- on all fours, so her pussy peeped cheekily out from between her buttocks, crowned by a tight puckered arsehole...Bea was very good too: she knew, after some six months of weekly Friday evening calls to Jimmy, just how he liked it. Jimmy wasn't interested in toys, or blowjobs, or titfucks, or anal, or any other kinks. He liked cunt. He loved cunt. And he adored it when Bea talked cunt: "Jimmyyy..." she breathed, "my pussy's feelin' so hot tonight. Will ya put yer dick in there, Jimmyyy?""It's all for you, Bea," muttered Jimmy, in a half-hearted attempt to play along with the fantasy. Actually, he wasn't much interested in the role-play aspect of things: it was, after all, pure fakery -- but he liked hearing Bea talk dirty, and so he said the minimum required to let her know that she was on the right track, and then revelled in the glorious obscenity of her wall-to-wall aural filth."Oh yeah, that feels so fucking good!" she lied. "Your cock's so fuckin' hard, Jimmy -- I can feel it deep in my cunt, fillin' me up. Go on, Jimmy, slide that huge fuckin' cock in and out of my wet cunt; can ya feel my pussy all hot and juicy for ya?" Jimmy listened, his eyes roving across the collage spread out on the bed before him, imagining what Bea's cunt might be like. Deliberately, he had never asked her, preferring to make it a new cunt each week: last week's choice had been "Cecilia" -- black, shaven, lips teased apart just enough to reveal her juicy pink haven inside; this week, it would be "Jenny".Jimmy loved Bea's voice -- "chavvy South London", he called it, oozing squalor; in his more lucid moments he imagined her as a single mum on the dole in some squalid high-rise council flat in Tooting -- a ne'er-do-well scraping together a living using the only pathetic skill she had. But now she was his tart, his whore, his plaything, his fantasy: she could be anything and everything he imagined. He liked playing this game, as he continued to stroke his dick to ecstasy whilst revelling in Bea's increasingly filthy ongoing monologue. Bea, for her part, was the consummate professional, sensing from Jimmy's pants and grunts just how far he was on his journey to release. And when Jimmy muttered, "Say my favourite things, Bea," she knew just what he meant."You know, Jimmy, I'm a dir'y, filfy, cuntfuckin' whore... That's what I am, Jimmy -- just a cuntfuckin' whore." Jimmy loved those words, and Bea's grimy accent was the icing on the cake: his cock jerked and bucked in response, stiffening even further. "I'm a whore, Jimmyyy. And you like dir'y fuckin' whores, don'tcha? You wanna fuck my filfy cunt wiv 'at big cock?" Jimmy was in ecstasy.Soon Bea had progressed to "My cunt's so fuckin' wet, Jimmy: that's what you do to me, babe. You're gonna make me fuckin' come, Jimmy, 'coz I'm a dir'y, filfy, cuntfuckin' whore, and I'm gonna fuckin' come all over your big cock!" Jimmy took the cue, fixing his eyes on "Jenny's" pussy -- still, of course, reliably wide open and glistening for him -- drinking in its beauty, and gradually ramping up the rhythm of his stroking so as to time his own orgasm to match Bea's ersatz one. And when Bea got to "I'm gonna fuckin' come, Jimmy, here it is baby, come all over ya dir'y filfy cuntfuckin' whore -- oh yeah oh FUUUUUCK!!!" Jimmy did exactly that. He felt the tell-tale boiling sensation in his balls, felt his cum surge and rise through his shaft and explode from his bucking, twitching cockhead."Jenny" was the chosen recipient of Jimmy's cum this evening, six or seven thick ropes of semen splattering over her picture. Jimmy aimed at her cunt, and watched as the likeness of her vulva disappeared under a gloopy coating of semen. Bea was continuing to moan and squeal down the telephone line: "Oh yeah, Jimmy, are ya comin' for me? Does 'at feel good, babe?" as the last few dribbles of sperm landed on "Jenny's" tits and face."Was 'at nice, Jimmyyy?" breathed Bea in her customary breathy tones. "D'ya like comin' in my dir'y hot cunt, Jimmyyy?"Jimmy panted incoherently in reply, his imagination desperately clinging on as long as he could to the illusion of sexual fulfillment. But it was always too short-lived. Even before his cock was flaccid, the illusion was fading and Bea was in business mode: "Same time next week still good for ya, babe? Take it off yer card, yeah?"Jimmy muttered a "Yeah, thanks, Bea," before hanging up and surveying the mess. It never looked as good afterwards as he hoped it would before. Sperm-soiled magazine "Jenny" looked, frankly, ridiculous and tawdry now -- a far cry from the seductive perfection she had exuded when pristine on the page. And wrapping up and disposing of semen-soaked magazine pages was anything but sexy. But Jimmy did so with his customary goal-oriented efficiency, trying to -- and largely succeeding in -- staunching his creeping feeling of shame, until the job was done, his penis was wiped clean, and he had put on his clothes again.Then his collar.And then his cassock.And then Father James Wright knelt on the floor of his bedroom and wept bitterly.~~~~~"Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil. May God rebuke him, we humbly pray; and do Thou, O Prince of the Heavenly Host -- by the Divine Power of God -- cast into Hell Satan and all the evil spirits, who roam throughout the world seeking the ruin of... oh fuck..."Father Jim's voice tailed off. He had performed his morning ablutions, had his breakfast, and said his Office, and was preparing himself by examination of conscience for his weekly two-birds-with-one-stone excursion to the Cathedral -- first to confession, followed by his weekly exorcism training seminar. He usually dressed in civvies for these visits, not wanting to draw attention to himself on public transport -- but he never missed his hebdomadal chance to unburden his soul, and timing it for Saturday mornings made sense. Apart from anything else, this way, he felt less guilty saying the Eucharist over the weekend than if he were to have his Friday evening sins hanging on his conscience.But this morning Father Jim's voice gave up mid-supplication, as the thought impinged upon his intercessions:Am I a hypocrite? Actually, this was a thought which frequently went through his mind. The answer, of course, was yes: regularly, deliberately, and with full foreknowledge, every Friday night -- and he knew it. For hypocrite though he was, he was neither stupid nor deluded. He had learnt to corral his fleshly weakness into one weekly episode, and it would soon be,gratias Deo, effaced from his soul by the Sacrament of Reconciliation -- after which he could continue to pursue his presbyterial vocation with confidence. Until next Friday.Today, though, he felt somewhat less confident than normal, less spiritually bullish, more vulnerable than usual. Perhaps it was the weather -- dull and grey like many an English spring morning -- but it was almost as if he felt that the hosts of Satan were genuinely massing on the horizon, and that he might truly need the intercession of an archangel to forestall the ruin of his soul. In short, Father Jim's carefully calibrated balancing act between spiritual propriety and sexual concupiscence was feeling unaccountably precarious this morning.He was just letting himself out of the presbytery when a young woman came dashing round the corner, her heels clicking unevenly on the pavement. "Father Jim! Father Jim! Oh, I'mso glad I caught you. Please would you hear my confession?" Behind the urgency of her request Jim descried a pleasingly upper middle-class voice ("so" came out a bit like "say") -- but ever so slightly Estuary ("t" in "caught" barely noticeable), as was common with the younger generation.Father Jim thought, but did not say:Oh fuck. He tried not to think swear words between Saturday morning confession and the end of mass on Sunday evening. But he had not been to confession yet, and therefore made the split-second judgment that he may as well, for now, think obscenities. After all, he liked them; he liked the sound of them: "fuck" -- beautiful, he thought. And this young lady was, he thought to himself,"fucking hot". She was slender and small, almost a waif -- and yet her pencil skirt was just a touch too tight, and her blouse ever so slightly translucent, so that the shape of her nipples, puffy and rounded but not huge, made two soft tents in the front of her top.Oops -- he thought, as he felt his penis begin to stir inside his rather ill-fitting trousers. No, it would not do to be groping his cock out of the way in front of a parishioner, so he banished "fucking hot" from his brain with a quick piece of well-practiced spiritual legerdemain, and switched into concerned parish priest mode. He vaguely recognised the girl -- from the back row of the 10:30, perhaps? -- but wasn't sure if they had ever exchanged words. He felt within his rights to say, "I'm actually on my way out now, er..." as he looked at her quizzically with that I've-forgotten-your-name look customarily used by parish priests."Bernadette -- call me Bernie," said the woman, pronouncing the "r" softly but clearly.OK, thought Father Jim.Typical second-generation immigrant. Tries to keep up the religious traditions of the home country, but talks like a Sloane except when asserting her identity. Clearly done well for herself, been to uni. But -- Jim groaned inwardly -- she wasn't taking the hint."Oh please, Father, I really need you to hear my confession, I... I..." Father Jim looked into her eyes for the first time -- and there was that look of moral desperation he was used to seeing in some people. Some could live in their sins for long periods of time before emotional need drove them back to the Church; others, like this girl, presumably, were made of less stern stuff. Her eyes glistened with barely held-back tears, as she continued: "I think I may be under a curse, or a hex, and I... I know you are training to be an exorcist, aren't you?" Her lower lip trembled, as her damp eyes pleaded with him.In the silence of his heart, Father Jim thought to himself:Oh fuck. But he took no pleasure in this particular iteration of his favourite obscenity. He had met this kind of woman before: excessively impressionable, with an inclination to see spiritual warfare lurking under every pebble, when her only problem might a temporary imbalance of hormones.Exorcism? Bullshit. But Jim was, despite his cynicism, a kind man, and so he said, "All right, Bernie. Of course. Let's go in," as he ushered her through his front door. "Face-to-face, or in the box?""Oh, I prefer the old-fashioned way, if that's all right, Father?" she replied sheepishly.He gestured her down the corridor towards the church, and then up the long nave -- pleasantly illumined by the shifting colours which filtered dully through the great east window. As she walked ahead of him, he watched her bottom jiggle gently from side to side, red heels clicking on the stone floor, her medium-length ponytail of light brown hair swishing behind her. Fuck, he thought -- and this time revelled in the thought.Fuck yeah... he muttered silently, his mind's eye briefly, secretly, undressing her from behind."Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned," said the girl, once they had both settled into their respective halves of the confessional."How long has --""Oh, over a year, Father." interrupted Bernie. "I've got a lot of catching up to do."Fuck, thought Father Jim. But, because he was basically a kind-hearted man, he instead said: "Well, take your time. It is good that God has called you back to the Sacrament now.""Thank you, Father." He heard Bernie take a deep breath. "I... I'm married..." she ventured cautiously. "But I've not been strictly... faithful..." There was a long pause.Ho ho, I knew it, thought Jim.Another pretty young slut, got hitched too soon, screwing around behind her husband's back. Two a penny. Had one just last week, didn't I? But instead he said, "And how long have you been having this affair?""Oh, it's not an affair, Father," said the girl. "It's kind of a weird binge, a bit... perverted, if you know what I mean. On the rebound, I guess, because I walked in on my husband, you know -- with someone else..."Oh shit, thought Father Jim.This'll take all morning. Web of adultery -- seen it all before. One fucks around, the other goes off the rails, and soon they're all crotch-deep in moral turpitude. Why do they even bother to get married if they've got no continence? Should try and be celibate -- then they'll learn how lucky they are... All that passed through his mind in an instant, but of course he voiced none of it."You see," continued Bernie, "we were married a year ago -- here, before you came: Father Peter married us -- and, well, I thought it was going so well. We... we were really good in bed, you know... I mean, we really liked the sex and everything."Too much information! thought Jim to himself. But he did not say that either."You know, I was a virgin when we got married. I'd saved myself up for this. And the first time, it was wonderful. You know, for some girls it hurts? But for me it was bliss. He just slid in, and I loved it. And we loved it -- just like that, in and out, you know?"Father Jim felt his cock begin to stir. It was the inevitable involuntary reaction to a sexual confession which was becoming just a touch too detailed.Fuck, girl, why are you telling me all this? he thought. But Bernie continued to jabber, exuding, though unseen, an air of wide-eyed innocence from behind her latticed screen."But then Giles started wanting me to do things I didn't want to -- you know, oral, and anal, and stuff -- and I really wasn't comfortable with it, so we had a few arguments about that. "I mean, when he wanted me to give him a blowjob, you know, he'd just pull down his trousers and waggle the thing in front of my face..."Too much fucking information! Jim screeched in the silence of his own heart. But he couldn't stop himself imagining the husband's cock, stiff and huge, waggling back and forth in front of Bernie's pretty face, her narrow mouth opening wider, wider, her tongue extending to lick pre-cum off the frenulum before her lips softly enclosed the...Fuck, Jim, pull yourself together, man! he thought, as he felt his cock begin to make an uncomfortable tent in his trousers. He stammered out loud, "Er... sister, you don't need to tell me all that, you know, just stick to...""Oh, but it's important, Father," came Bernie's voice. "Because that's what led to it. I told him I didn't like sucking him off, but he kept trying to persuade me, and I kept saying no..." Father Jim imagined he detected the faintest hint of a smirk in her tone -- but of course it was impossible to tell..."And then," continued Bernie, "there was the anal. Sometimes when we were making love he'd wet his finger with... well, you know... and then he'd reach round and try to stick it in there. I really didn't like it -- and of course he never forced me; I mean, he's a kind man, he'd never do anything nasty -- but it was clear he was disappointed..."Oh Jesus motherfucking Christ, thought Father Jim. His cock was stiff now, and he could feel his own pre-cum beginning to leak slowly from his glans. He reached down to adjust his cock inside his trousers, and inevitably his hand lingered just a bit too long, grasping his own erect shaft through the fabric and squeezing it gently. That familiar thrill of pleasure surged through him -- but he made himself let go, telling himself: Later, Jim, later. Just get this girl through her confession for now..."But the strangest thing of all, Father," Bernie continued unabated, "was when he'd want me to talk dirty to him, you know?"Are you kidding? thought Jim incredulously. Do you think that just because I'm a priest I don't have male blood boiling in my veins? What are you on about, girl?!Bernie seemed oblivious to her confessor's discomfort. Either that, or she was deliberately winding him up -- he couldn't tell for sure. "See, Father," she continued, "he'd ask me to say dirty words, like... 'tits'... and 'pussy'... and..." -- her voice lingered a while on the first consonant -- "'ffffuck'."In an instant, Father Jim's resistance crumbled. That word was his favourite, a glorious fillip to all that was unholy and self-indulgent in the deepest recesses of his mind, and it banished all his residual will-power to the four winds. He quietly but swiftly unzipped his fly, removed his stiff sweaty cock from its prison, pulled back the damp pre-cum-lubricated foreskin, and began to slowly wank his shaft up and down, his lips trembling, his breath coming in ragged bursts. This was wrong. This was so wrong -- he knew it, of course. But he was going to do it anyway. This girl could not possibly be for real. This was no sacrament, this was an ambush. The Evil One was tempting him, and he was succumbing. And he fucking loved it..."See, Father Jim, it must be something about men, they all like those dirty words so much. My husband did: he wanted me to say things like" -- Bernie lowered her voice conspiratorially -- "'Ram your fucking cock in my pussy, baby!' and 'Fuck my hot cunt with that big dick!' Things like that... Do you like hearing things like that, Father?" Bernie's voice was hot and breathy now. Her prey was in her grasp, and she was playing with him: Jim knew it -- but, though he had no idea why this woman had chosen to ambush him in this manner, he knew it was too late. He groaned, as he felt his cock stiffen further in his sweaty palm, felt his heart pound faster with excitement."I'm sure we could have worked things out, Father. You know, I got quite used to the dirty talk -- that was quite fun actually. But the oral, and the anal -- no way. He'd show me videos on the internet, you know -- porn? Girls getting fucked in the arse, and taking cocks down their throats -- and it just looked so horrible and painful and disgusting. And then he'd show me videos of group sex, and asked if I'd ever like to do stuff like that -- and I said no! And then, to show him I really loved him, I'd let him fuck me. I mean, I really loved it when he fucked me: when his cock was all huge and stiff, and then he'd lie me on my back and fuck me all deep and squelchy. Sometimes he'd lie flat on me and grind the base of his cock against my clit to make me come. Sometimes he'd shift down, so his cockhead found my G-spot. Sometimes he'd flip me over and do me doggy. Sometimes I'd go on top and drive him wild, teasing him with my wet pussy lips before plunging down onto this cock. And I loved all that, Father, I did, truly. Cock in cunt -- that's the way it's meant to be, isn't it? I mean, that's the way God made us, isn't it?"Father Jim groaned at the absurdity of his situation. Here was a young girl giving him lessons in Saint John Paul's Theology of the Body, while he stroked his cock in the confessional -- what the fuck was going on?! But he couldn't stop now. His cock was raging, his balls were aching, and his thoughts were in mindfuck mode. Here was a girl after his own heart, one who loved being fucked in the cunt, and who loved to talk filthy. "Oh yeah, oh fuck, oh God..." he muttered incoherently in his ecstasy."You OK in there, Father Jim?" giggled the girl. "I'm sorry for being so explicit, but -- I kind of have to, you'll see why soon, I'll explain..."You don't have to explain, thought Father Jim -- as far as he was capable of thinking anything at all, for he was past thinking now. His mind was now fixed firmly on cunt, on fucking cunt, just like this girl was saying: cock slip-sliding in and out, grinding against engorged clit-flesh. It didn't matter whose cunt: his years of fake fantasy sex, week after week of dirty pictures -- "Jenny" or "Codi" or "Elsa" or whoever the fuck they were; or of listening to "Bea" recycling her mind-banked fuck-fantasies for his delectation -- all this had inured him to the sheer fakery of being a sex-obsessed celibate. It didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered now, except the filth-filled moment.

Amy's spontaneity can be methodical in casting spells.By thomas_dean. Subscribe & listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories. Roughly forcing Jerry's head to look away, I fondled his nuts rolling them around in my fingers. "Any recent sexual activity?" When no response was forth coming, I gently cupped his testicles to prompt a reply, I questioned, "Your cock is blocked, but fellatio, cunnilingus, anal penetration are possible." Turning aside Jerry's protest, I noted, "these are prescribed questions."Jerry's response reached into the alto range. Adding "You should know," to his denial drew a squeeze."Nocturnal emissions?" I asked.Jerry smirked, "No."As I felt along Jerry's hairless pubes, I reminded him that to schedule an appointment for depilation in a month or two. I held the penis in my hand and noted that he was circumcised. Looking down at my notebook, I asked, "age at circumcision?""Y'know that it's ritually performed often on newborn males," Jerry replied, "I never got asked these questions here before.""I'm just completing information required for your chart," I remarked impersonally as I announced the entry, "Age uncertain."Feeling along the underside of the shaft from the head of the penis to its root, I feigned marveling, "The poker glows but the coals," I jiggled his nuts curled up against the body, "retreat into the cauldron."Reaching under the scrotum, I tickled his perineum, the ridge of skin which leads to the asshole. When Jerry started to sway and to murmur for more I abruptly, I broke off contact and ordered Jerry into the showers. He turned to me with a look of expectation, "The news?" Jerry folded his hands as if in prayer as he pled for reassurance."Good, I expect, now the shower," I whacked his rear as he passed me.When necessary, the Gemini, the irascible twin, can be brutally cold-blooded in dealing with an intimate and unspeakably forward in dealing with a person newly introduced.The trip to the shower when I first met my mate in my apartment also began with a whack. Fingering Jerry's Marine Corp tattoo, I murmured my admiration for his upper body physique. Jerry interrupted my doting by reminding me that he'd like to take a shower and needed to borrow soap. "You can eh, continue your examination in the shower...""I'll take that as an invitation," I exclaimed as I whipped his towel off. "I see," taking note of his building erection, I declared to Jerry, face aghast, "you like what you see.""You as well?" Jerry replied in a voice which quivered with shock.Starting to walk away with a harrumph to the shower swinging my hips with great exaggeration, I observed an unvoiced word clinging to his open mouth, `What.' Concealing my glee at Jerry's discomfort, I tossed Jerry's towel toward the bath. "You won't need this towel just yet." To Jerry's open mouthed, unspoked protest, I replied, "I have one bar of soap left. Are you joining me?" I dragged Jerry to my shower pulling him along by his penis. I marveled at its burgeoning length and growing rigidity.A Gemini moves in two directions at once. Genteel and tart, sweet and smart at the same time, like the natural actress, she can switch between roles in an instant. Positioning Jerry under a spigot in the male donor's communal shower at the clinic, I began soaping his back. "Skin silky smooth as a newborn." I complimented him on the depilation, removal of body hair, which accompanies installation of the cock blocker at the clinic."Now that you bring that up.." Jerry started to inquire about the wealthy doctor's choice of Surrogate."We're on camera," I, crushing my breasts into the rock-solid muscles of his back, tiptoed to softly whisper in his ear. Sharply changing my tone, "Arms out," I barked. My command rang off the tiled walls.A Gemini can ponder for hours over an insignificant matter and then make a snap life changing judgement. I had made my decision before I started marching Jerry to my shower. Jerry was mine."Do you," Jerry, stretching the elastic band of my thong, asked when he reached the smoked glass shower doors, "need these in there?"Swaying as I massaged his erect penis, I wondered aloud, "You seem to like me, but I don't know. I come at a high price.""Are you a ugh, a whore?" Jerry stumbled."No, I can fuck like a whore promised a bonus, but as faithful as true love," I replied stretching his poker, "I am a witch who has cast her spell. My price is higher than the classiest call girl. "By design, these," my fingers cupped his nut sack, "become mine. You keep or lose the twain, as I ordain." I deliberately used inflated language. Jerry's mouth opened agape as I released his genitalia raised my arms and twisted my body, seductively daring him in a whisper, "Seal the witch's pact, strip my thong off, with a yank."I could smell his scent rising. Had I come on too strong? Would Jerry run away?A Gemini can be a bitch and an angel, at the same time. Certainly, at the clinic Jerry was spell-bound by the prospect of money. Would he ever realize that the bullying and rough handling in the male donor's shower was for his own good. "Spread your legs. Bend over. Crack me a smile. Will you luv?"I started to drip oily soap along the base of his spine watching it slowly drip into his crack between his hairless ass cheeks, reddened with anxious anticipation. "Somehow, Sugar, sleek and smooth legs do not fit the male body." I quipped as I whacked his butt.In my shower, Jerry's face reddened not with shame but with a surge of testosterone. He reached for my elastic band of my thong, but only snapped it. Wrapping my arms around his shoulders, I swayed my hips as I joked, "are you trying to play romantic tune on my waist band?"I finally goaded him past the point of no return. With a sweep of his powerful hands my thong was gone. I jumped up to wrap my legs around his waist. He carried me into the shower.In the donor's shower at fertility clinic, I had thought of dousing Jerry with cold water, but that might break whatever power my spell still held. I had to be more clever. I want to harness the current and convert it to my own purposes. Instead, watching oily soap drip into his crack, I advised him that the ointment may feel cold at first but will warm as I work it in. As I wormed my nimble fingers past Jerry's sphincter muscles, I noted dryly, "a woman's long narrow fingers make female doctors better able to conduct proctological exams."Aroused Jerry turned to me fully erect. Feeling his pulsating penis, I passed the impassive comment, "Mr. Warbler, as you see a rectal exam has certain noticeable side effects." Jerry was breathing hard. His face was flush. Would he push me to the ground, rip my thong off, bind my hands, and take me from behind--his favorite position? We looked at each other panting. Would this be our moment?My magic was there, but not strong enough to overpower the lure of financial reward. Turning away, Jerry told me to towel him down. "I need to get to the hitching post to leave my deposit.In the shower in my apartment, when I first met Jerry, I, finding myself back on my feet, released the spigot. Turning to the spray, I opened my mouth and stuck out my tongue to moisten my lips. Jerry's feet nudged mine further apart. With one muscular arm to force me, bent over at the waist, Jerry used his other hand to guide his penis to an insertion. I gasped as his projectile glided deep inside. Jerry's poem went, "Arms grappling, legs straddling , pike portending, connection pending."With hands gripping my hips, Jerry suddenly expanded by at least an inch. Reaching his maximum extent, Jerry exploded inside me. My vaginal muscles twitched trying to keep Jerry burrowed deep inside. It was a moment I wanted to last forever. Nonetheless, Jerry's crashing rocket simply sputtered and slipped out of my socket.Leaving me face down on the floor of the shower, Jerry retrieved a towel. Covering my shoulders, Jerry whispered, "First time?""With a, ugh, a, ugh, real man," came my carefully thought out response. Reflecting on that comment years later in the fertility clinic, I, slinging a bath towel over my shoulder, readied to towel down Jerry. I chuckled to myself, real man, a double-meaning is given as a compliment. A Gemini, the twin, is pulled in two directions at the same time, in sexual preferences to women as well as men. Right after inviting Jerry down to the clinic, I found myself naked rubbing vaginal lips with a patient bringing her to orgasm for injection of seminal fluid.Dropping to my kneeling before Jerry, I remarked offhand about the state of erection, "Not fully erect. The projectile hasn't yet jutted out horizontal. A little rub-a-dub-dub will change that," I giggled as I readied to towel dry Jerry's body from the toes up. "The clinic assumes that showering," I assumed a conversational tone, "will deflate the swelling initiated by removal of the cock blocker and the genital examination. The towel girl's hands-on drying of the donor's body will reignite the natural process of arousal."Working my way up to his inner thighs, I motioned for Jerry to spread his legs to allow me to blot dry his groin. "Actually, it resulted in a competition between the shower sirens in black thongs against the towel valets in white two pieces for tip money." I lifted Jerry's penis to dab his scrotum.As the reach of my hands ran across his muscular chest, Jerry threw his head back and closed his eyes. My slow and methodical rub down palpated the armor plating of Jerry's pectoral muscles. Holding his head high and scrunching his eyes shut, Jerry demonstrated an iron discipline over his physical response to my impersonalized but intense pampering.In our home life prior to my consideration for Surrogacy, Jerry was never shy and rarely restrained. He usually wrestled me to the ground, secured my hands with my bra, stuffed my panties in my mouth and took me doggy style. How much longer could such a person maintain the discipline? How much more could any man take much less a "real man" like Jerry?Could I endure much more? To ease tension, I declared, "Though first timers can shoot their wad during the intake, the financial reward of a controlled emission at a hitching post seems to be the right magic which inspires restraint."As I lay huddled, curled up on the floor of my shower, a towel partly covering my back, my bare ass jutting out, Jerry leaned over me. "Are you OK? I tried to hide my satisfaction. He was guilty, Just about now, I figured, he'd fear I cry rape.Reaching out to Jerry with an extended hand, I, hiding my face from him, pleaded, "Help me to my feet; dry me; get me to bed. Will you?"Grunting with exaggeration, "up," Jerry yanked me to my feet. Roughly running a bath towel through my hair, Jerry lashed the towel around his fists before he rubbed my neck. When Jerry startled pummeling my breasts with his terry-cloth covered fist, I wondered if he intended to use the wet towel as a whip to flog my ass.My fears of a thrashing were unwarranted. Instead ordering me to spread my legs, Jerry threaded the towel between my legs and started rubbing the towel against my vaginal lips and my crack. "Hang on," Jerry ordered, "I hope this towel is strong enough. You're going for a ride to your bed."In the Fertility Clinic, I had thought of having Jerry towel me down, but looking at the state of his erection, I determined that to be too much temptation. Even a large bath towel draped around my body after I removed my wet thong, left most of my ass open to view. I looked up at the security camera with a wink and a smile. "You'll get a good show," I promised.Security people didn't mind helping me trying to find good pictures of myself. I had intended to assemble images of myself undressing in the locker, walking nude to the shower, showering, and submitting to practice with the sperminator, returning to the locker nude along the catwalk, and dressing in my risqué Crop Top and low cut shorts to go home. Explaining my script of the fantasy drew a comment from the guard, "A nice stimulant for a quiet night shift."As Jerry and I prepared to leave the shower in the clinic, Jerry, shaking his head gravely doubted needing, "much stim. I'll come as soon as you link me to the hitching post."When I led Jerry down the ramp into the subterranean level where the new the solarium and sauna had been installed, I advised Jerry, "Deem yourself honored. You are first to use this new amenity."In my bedroom, I held onto Jerry so tightly our lips locked as he carried me on the towel to my bed. Riding atop the towel rubbing into my vagina and crack, I felt the tectonic shock waves of an intense orgasm approaching.Suddenly we crashed onto the bed. Jerry lay on the bed next to me. I seized the opportunity. In a flash I rolled over and landed on top, straddling Jerry. Feeling along Jerry's shaft sticky with his sap and my lubricants, pulsating with a new erection, I declared, "I ought to tuck this in before it dissipates.""Tuck for a fuck," Jerry grunted as I lowered my body onto his pulsating member. "Ah," I expressed my satisfaction as Jerry's probe explored my depths. My vaginal muscles clamped down squeezing his projectile forcing it to elongate inside me. As soon as I drew him in up to the root of his penis, I began slowly at first lifting my body until the head of Jerry's penis was teased barely in contact, then off, crashing down swallowing the length of his penis inside.Raising my arms, I yelled, "Ride em cow girl." With each undulation, I increased the speed. As he was about to cum, Jerry grabbed my hips and tried to hold them to avoid slipping out. But I was in control. I timed my oscillations so that when Jerry went into his final surge his penetration barely crested my vagina lips. "Damn," I thought aloud, as Jerry's sap drained onto his belly, "I just washed the sheets."Entering the Fertility Clinic's solarium with Jerry, I commented, "the smoky blue lighting shooting up from fixtures along the floor reflecting off the glass walls give this room a spooky feeling at night."Looking around, Jerry asked, "Are you sure we should be in here?"To Jerry's witty remark that sun porches were not generally intended for night use, I chuckled in disbelief, "If the Clinic can sell training films, human breast milk and man-sap and rent women's bodies for Surrogacy, it will market anything that can be produced on premises." Pointing to the mat on the floor, I told Jerry to lie and to don an electronic visor. "I know you prefer to fantasize doing the animalistic doggy-styled hitching post, but I'd like to watch you christen the solarium in the passive cowgirl style. Beside that attachment was easier for me to drag in here."You know," Jerry reminded me, "Female riding atop subordinates me."Despite the protest, financial reward or the hope of it was powerful magic. Obediently dropping to the floor, Jerry lay supine. As I assisted him placing the visor on his head, Jerry asked about the news. "After you make the deposit," I promised."Hurry," Jerry pleaded."Patience," I reminded Jerry.Reviewing scores of recordings for selections of security camera segments for inclusion in my fantasy overtaxed my patience far beyond what I expected. Other than the stock training films, I realized it'd be easier to stage other scenes.My conspirator in security suggested that I'd be able to indulge in a bust of creativity by creating a film rather than trawling through archives: "You arrive in one of your new revealing outfits. I prefer the black cropped top and matching mesh Minnie skirt with black net stockings. Hips swinging, you present full-frontal nudity sashaying on the catwalk to the shower where you furiously masturbate under the spray. After a provocative toweling, we throw in the training film sequence. Give'em a good wiggle with a rear view as you shake that booty down the catwalk to leave. Title it a `Tough Day at the Office.'""`A Tough Day at the Office,' indeed," I exclaimed, "might take more than a few seconds to produce.""A labor of love," my conspirator replied with a snide smile."Or appealing to your prurient interest," I protested the guard's request for a private show to make the film. As a Gemini being of two minds at the same time, the paradox was intriguing. For the sake of love, I would be giving my friend in security a private show for his amusement. "Dr. Velour, the facility director?" I asked."The director is preparing to move

Clinic Nurse explains heterosexuality to sperm recipient.By thomas_dean. Subscribe & listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories. I was busy in the morning playing the warden, releasing the bulls, the male donors, from the chastity shield and inspecting their genitalia. Unfortunately, word spreads quickly in the clinic. The bulls chided me about my prospective transfer to the female section. "Afraid of dealing with real men," upbraided one bull. His teasing brought a round of a hearty laughter."I'll return the compliment," I retorted, "in this locker, I wear the crown. Under lock and key, I keep your implement. It is I who frees you from peeing sitting down." Later, descending into the subsurface level, I found myself walking with a group of bulls, phallus dangling free, headed to the gym. One, a Mr.Tim Bogen, a relative newcomer, pulled me aside.Worry etched on his face, Bogen requested permission to pose a question. "What would you think if your husband registered here as a bull?"I pondered for a second. "I'd sleep more nights through, wake up fresh still in my PJs more often and get more cuddling time. My eh—partner would learn the use of his tongue. I might like some cunnilingus, now and then. How does your partner feel about your role here?""She came here on one of the partners' days when they allow the bulls to eh -" The bull hesitated."Screw," I suggested."Kind-of," Bogen spoke hesitantly, "Eh—Interaction is subject to strict supervision. Females are protected, like prized animals, from unplanned insemination," the Bogen grimaced, "Bulls must use a sperm collection condom.""I guess Dr. Velour has an exclusive output contract with her bulls," I surmised."The clinic starts off females in milk extraction," the bull recounted."I'm sure it's just an experiment to see if the exercise of the nipples will fool the body into producing milk," I assured Bogen. "Participants, mostly college girls picking up a quick buck, are paid to have their nipples exercised. What's the worry? You are permitted to work her nips at home. It can lead to renewal, a new beginning of tender moments and bonding.""With me in chastity?" questioned Bogen."With you in chastity," I replied in a comforting voice, "the exercise might increase sexual tension and spur sperm production.""But where does that lead to—for her?" Bogen wondered, "Titty tugging is just a beginning. Each step makes the next step easier. Taking money to have her tits pulled can become selling her body for milk production and then getting knocked-up for surrogacy.""You really starting to worry about a concern that has yet to present itself. Perhaps, you should explore your feelings with Dr. Velour and your partner," I spoke with an encouraging voice, "I'm just a Nursing Assistant in training, not qualified to counsel you and your partner."At the foot of the ramp, I promised to raise his concerns with Dr. Velour. Entering the small theatre next to Dr. Velour's office, I found myself alone with Dr. Velour, now in her freshly pressed pleated dark skit with heels and white lab jacket over a sweater. The other nursing assistant trainees had not arrived."They'll be down," Dr. Velour informed me, "in a few minutes; Pat is exercising her nipples; Cassie needed to take a shower after working up a sweat in the gym; Beth is expressing milk. They'll be down after a shower."Apprised of the Bogen's concerns, Dr. Velour congratulated me, "you did right by referring the bull to me for guidance." With a hand on my shoulder, Dr. Velour asked, "What do you think makes a good Surrogate?""Physically fit enough to carry a baby to term, ovulating, able to conceive," I replied."Physical capability is important. Most women are, but what should I look for in a young woman who wants to be a surrogate?" Dr. Velour inquired."A motivated person," I replied."Indeed, motivations. That's what I look for," Dr. Velour exclaimed, "What I look for in a surrogate starting out is the antithesis of a good mother. First, she's less interested in bringing life into the world than securing an advantage for herself, an objective, material purpose, an expensive house, a limited-edition car, a dream vacation, something beyond their means that a woman might be willing to make the ultimate sacrifice for, giving up a child. Second, it is helpful, that a woman be a bit of an exhibitionist, one who enjoys being the center of attraction, the star of the show.""I don't mean to inquire into your personal affairs..." I started."But you've heard that I financed my medical education by playing surrogate, three times," Dr. Velour chuckled. "I came away in good condition, don't you think?  No scars, genitalia intact, abdomen uncut." With a laugh, Dr. Velour reminisced, "medical people are so self-centered that no one noticed I was pregnant—every year.""You were not the center of attention?" I was stunned."A couple years later, I went to a reunion," Dr. Velour recalled, "an alum approached me... `Weren't you the girl who skipped graduation because you were pregnant in the last year and delivered? What did you end up having?'" Dr. Velour smiled as she reflected, "`Money to pay the tuition,' was my response.""Then, you were not the center of attention?" I was confused."Most women feel they are or should be as their baby balloons out," Dr. Velour explained, "Sometimes a husband can be jealous." With a reassuring back rub, Dr. Velour promised, "I'll call the bull in, for reassurance."At that Cassie the gymnast entered in scrubs. The sleeves were cut off to reveal her biceps. Following her were Pat, topless big breasts bouncing, and Beth also topless with pads covering her nipples. "Sorry, Dr. Velour," hands cupped in front of her breasts, Beth apologized, "I've been expressing. I need to sop up the drip."I was somewhat surprised to see both ladies enter in yellow shorts and slippers, displaying their breasts, Beth boldly, Pat looking around nervously gauging our reaction."Let's start with Pat," Dr. Velour began, "But first I begin with an explanation, not an apology. There are no apologies in medicine we're always right." Dr. Velour looked from face to face. Her remarks drew some giggling and a few chuckles."In our last session, we had Amy Warbler get dressed in order to come down here to strip behind the privacy screen. The purpose of requiring a patient to disrobe is control. Beth," Dr. Velour called on the surrogate, "could you explain how our heifers enter to express milk?""It's an assembly line. Heifers report, disrobe," Beth outlined the procedure, "shower, line up for examination, handed a pair of yellow shorts and slippers, assigned a booth for milking.""Human breasts are a secondary sex characteristic, not a sexual organ," Dr. Velour lectured, "They are designed for two purposes: to attract a mate and to produce milk for the sustenance of an infant."Velour called Pat to center stage, "Lets start. The areola, the ring around the mammary papilla, the nipple," Dr. Velour ran the pad of her index finger around Pat's areola, "of a blond, like Pat, is usually a subdued off-white." Dr. Velour looked to Beth. "Under those pads, a brunette, or any other dark-haired woman like Beth should have darker, more prominent areolas."Beth looked with a smirk on while Pat turned her head away as Dr. Velour's hands massaged Pat's breasts. "The Female Breasts," Dr. Velour taught, "infused with network of nerves, spread out widely, are extremely sensitive to physical contact." Placing her hands under Pat's breasts as if weighing them in the palm of her hands, Dr. Velour asked whether Pat suffered any neck or back pain from the weight of her breasts.Rolling Pat's nipples between thumb and index fingers, Dr. Velour lectured, "In bringing down the milk, the heifers in the experimental program start with manual manipulation of the nipples. Unlike milking a cow, by simply squeezing the bossie's teat from the top to the bottom, manual manipulation of human breasts must take a subtle, gentler form of palpating or massaging the nipples to simulate suckling an infant."Ordered to drop to the ground, Pat presented on all fours. Dr. Velour squatted in front of Pat, "Taking the nipples between thumb and index finger," Dr. Velour discoursed, "gently tug one then the other. The subject will after she gets used to the position become quite stimulated." Rising and assisting Pat to her feet. "Try this at home with your partner, but there is another way."Turning to Beth, Dr. Velour called for comments. "Sometimes, direct oral stimulation, properly done, mouth covering the tit," Beth explained, "will be more effective in bringing down the milk.""More efficacious as well as more affectionate," Dr. Velour smiled before she invited Beth to demonstrate. "Beth, you have the most experience," Dr. Velour urged Beth on, "show us how direct oral stimulation is done."Supporting Pat's breasts with the palm of her hand, Beth, with a smile, jiggled Pat's breasts. "Nice jugs," Beth smiled. Beth locked eyes with Pat. Pat's hands tentatively reached out to clutch Beth's shoulders.As Beth craned her head to lick Pat's left nipple, Pat placed her right hand on Beth's head to hold Pat close. Beth slobbered her tongue around Beth's left nipple. Capturing Pat's nipple in the mouth, Beth started suckling.Turning to Cassie and me, Dr. Velour orated as if she were lecturing a theatre full of students, "Suckling creates a vacuum instrumental in bringing down milk. The breast pumps employed in the clinic operate on the same principal. The pump captures the whole nipple and creates a vacuum replicating a mouth suckling." With a smile, Dr. Velour exclaimed, "The body is a marvelous machine!"In front of us, the suckling became louder and more intense as Pat's left hand reached around Beth to clutch Beth in a hug. Beth's hands falling on Pat's hips, yanked Pat's yellow shorts off. The shorts fell to the floor, Pat kicked them off. The two tumbled to the platform of the stage."Breast feeding is a pleasurable experience," Dr. Velour observed, "pre-natal or pre-adoptive practice can reinforce the pair bond which many believe essential to child rearing. The human body is a well oiled machine. Unfortunately, there is no turn-off switch," Dr. Velour chuckled. "We can allow these two go orgasmic for the moment."With the sound of an impending orgasm echoing in the background, Dr. Velour turned from Cassie to me. "One of our bulls has expressed concern over his wife," Dr. Velour explained the problem I had raised, "After his wife came on a couple's day, she decided to join our programme as a Heifer to stimulate her breasts to induce lactation."Cassie chirped, "She wants to be a Moo-Cow and he's worried. I don't believe it""That's the problem," Dr. Velour observed. "It is possible that the husband might fear his role as the center of attention in the relationship is endangered by competition from his wife. Amy, do you have any suggestions?"My attention was riveted on the tussling in the background. I watched Beth's lips slip away from suckling Pat's left breast, planting kisses down Pat's abdomen with a smack. When Beth reached Pat's mound, I heard Pat emit giggling sighs of delight. Pat's legs wrapped around Beth's neck; sucking sounds became louder as the grasp of Pat's legs drew Beth in deeper.Prompted by Dr. Velour to advance a solution for the bull's problem, I saw the answer in the scene unfolding before me. Still watching Beth and Pat in the throes of orgasm, I proposed, "Meet the couples together. Allow the bull to suckle the heifer, suggesting scientific standards require observation for monitoring the technique." Looking at Beth and Patty locked in an embrace on the floor, I added, "that way both will share center stage.""Hmm." Dr. Velour opined, "just let their bodies' wiring take over."In front of us, Beth and Pat shook with successive waves of orgasm. Transfixed by the spectacle on stage, I, sandwiched between the firm body of Dr. Velour and muscle-bound Cassie, felt overheated. "Stimulating, isn't it?' Dr. Velour threw an arm over my shoulder to whisper in my ear."If I were still in school," Looking toward Dr. Velour with a sheepish smile, "I'd skip school this afternoon, find Jerry and fuck myself blind."Cassie laughed. Dr. Velour with an enigmatic half-smile changed my assignment for the day to shower girl in the heifers' shower. "Keep you away from temptation. As you know I have an exclusive on all the Bull's spermatic secretions."The rest of the day passed routinely for a fertility clinic. I spent the afternoon as towel girl in the heifer's section. At the end of the workday, I was approached by Dr. Velour to share a spigot in the employee's shower. Asked for my reaction to working with women, I reflected, "Different things are dangled in your face; the saucy comments and suggestions are subtler; the objective is the same: a cheap jives rather than cheap thrill, but no requests for nipple stimulation, manipulation, suckling, or massages.""How disappointing!" Dr. Velour sounded sympathetic. Turning, Dr. Velour requested I soap her back. Starting with her shoulders I spread the foamy liquid on her shoulders, massaging her neck, lathering her arm pits when she spread her arms out. Holding her head back to look up at the ceiling, Dr. Velour opened her mouth and held out her tongue to catch the gentle beads of water falling on her when I passed the sudsy froth along the sides of her breasts.As I rubbed the bubbly mass down her spine, Dr. Velour, eyes shuttered, demanded, "lower, lower, work out the kinks of a long day." The droplets of soap sparkled as I applied the creamy solution and kneaded the firm, muscular half-moons of her butt.I looked around. Everyone had left me with Dr. Velour alone.Splaying her legs and bending over, Dr. Velour, exceptionally agile, reached for the floor with her hands. Presenting her crack invited an intimate massage. I had seconds to think of a diplomatic solution to keep contact impersonal. I leaned into Dr. Velour teasing her back with my nipples and excused myself for a second in an apologetic tone, "I need to leave you for a second to reach for surgical gloves. Don't go away."Dr. Velour muttered with an undertone of disappointment, "If you must."Locating surgical gloves, I stepped into the Shower girl's bottoms. Topless, I reasoned, ought to be enough stimulation. Returning to Dr. Velour, I first squeezed the bubbles out of a washcloth between those firm half-moons. Then I worked the effervescent fluid into her crack, massaging her sphincter with the pad of my thumb, entering her warm vagina with my index, middle and fore fingers.She moaned as her orgasm overtook her. Though I had intended to keep the contact impersonal, the electric charge of her orgasmic contractions jumped from her body to mine. A flush branched out from the cheeks of my face to my chest. My nipples went erect. I started to laugh at myself for donning bikini bottoms. I felt the urge to rip them off and rub my vagina into her muscular legs. I leaned into her back. We swayed together as the ripples of orgasm shot through our bodies.Suddenly, with a jerk, Dr. Velour pushed me off and stood on her feet. Casting a scurrilous glance at the bikini bottoms clinging to my ankles, Dr. Velour cautioned me, "Kick those things off before you trip."Hands on her hips, Dr. Velour congratulated me, "Not bad! Remind me to give your class some lessons in massage." Staring through me dispassionately, she observed, "It may come in handy." Looking around the empty room, Dr. Velour told me to rinse off. "The night crew will be reporting in soon to service the bulls who come in for a shower after work."Before the heat of our encounter faded away, Dr. Velour walked down the catwalk toward her private changing room. Watching her retreat down the walk of shame, I wondered what had I begun? I had wanted to ensure that contact would be impersonal. Dr. Velour intended nothing different. I felt I betrayed myself husband, but most of all I had betrayed poor Jerry.

Fertility clinic nurse explores magic of sex play in study.By thomas_dean. Subscribe & listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories. Chapter 4: Fun & Games People Play.My tall and muscular husband Jerry, pleasantly bemused, encouraged my studies and offered his body for practice."First, I wash my hands and introduce myself," I went through my checklist, "Good morning Mr.Warbler. I'm Nursing Assistant Amy Warbler. After I release you from chastity, I'm going to conduct a testicular exam, a complete physical inspection of the genitalia, the penis, scrotum, and testicles.""Oh, please do," said Jerry with a smile.I moved his chin to the right and ordered Jerry to put his hands on his head.Passing my written and practical test, with Jerry's help, I found myself in a somewhat more staid, professionalized environment. On duty, I was addressed as Miss Warbler. I wore medical scrubs replete with a name tag that identified me as a Nursing Assistant.Co-opting in the trial run-through for the hands-on portion of the exam, Jerry complained that I should borrow surgical scrubs for more realism in my exam. "There's something to the medical accoutrements, the scrubs, the name tag, and the stethoscope that promote cooperation of the subject."With Jerry's size and strength, I needed all the help the prop of an improvised costume could bring to assure his pliancy.To accommodate Jerry's quest for realism, I wore one of his white shirts, backwards, over a loose, billowy pj bottom. I preferred the short sleeve shirt to tease Jerry with a glimpse at my breasts. Jerry's T-Shirt fit loose enough; I only buttoned the top button to make sure the top flowed with my movement. To Jerry's suggestion that, on duty, I wear a bra or a T-shirt under the scrubs, I reminded him that paying customers give tips."Tips for Tits!" Jerry exclaimed. "You must model this exceptional garment for me. Bring a pair home.""To leave at the end of my shift," I replied, "I have to walk naked from a communal shower along a steel mesh parapet for 100 paces. How can I spirit scrubs out of the clinic?"Still, even after elevation to a demi-professional caste, we had to strip, stow our street clothes in a locker, and walk naked along a catwalk about 100 feet to communal showers. Instead of the 4AM race of the cleaning crew to the showers, we leisurely strolled to the showers. One of the women walked with the man, idly chatting. Next to me walked a cherubic brunette Darrie. "Think of it as short for Darling," she told me."Appropriate name," I replied, "for the angel who releases the male donor from the cock block to release the built-up eh—tension.""Angel Darlin', now that would be a nice name," Darrie chuckled, "the guys call the nurse in the locker the Angel of Mercy. We call her the `Warden.'"In our practice for my hands on exam, Jerry expressed interest in experiencing me in the role of the Angel of Mercy."Not ready to recognize me as your warden," I chided Jerry.Perhaps, Jerry suggested as he stood naked in front of me that I should have obtained permission to borrow a chastity belt for that purpose. "The clinic might have allowed issuance of the belt, but not the electronic notebook. You might find a chastity grows on you. Without the release button on the electronic notebook, you'll find the belt is easier to get into than to get out of."Under the spigot next to me, Darrie, looking around the shower, sighed. "You're new. The only problem with working at the Fertility Clinic is," a silly expression appeared on her face, "it grows on you.""Quite an interesting comment," I replied, "about an institution designed to grow eh, people.""The longer you are here," Darrie smiled, "the more you're bound up in it, the harder it is to leave, and the more you find yourself willing to do."Though there were enough spigots in the shower for us to keep a respectful distance from each other, we tended to congregate within arms' reach of each other. "I'm going to help you-just for the first few customers-In the locker-just to show," Darrie proposed, "you how to handle eh, the ropes." We both giggled together before she asked, "Soap up my back, will you be a luv?"Turning her back to me, Darrie waited for me to apply a washcloth from the short hairs of her neck to her shoulder blades down to her butt. "Are you married, luv?" When I acknowledged, she prodded me, "to a guy?" At my nod, she added, "you'd do well as shower girl, but today you play warden, unlock them on the way in and lock them tight on the way out."At the clothing counter, Darrie recommended that I wear a T-Shirt under the scrubs, "It being your first time, you might not want guys gaping at your swinging tits.""Tits bring Tips," I quipped.In my practice with Jerry, I went through the protocol: "Second, once the subject has disrobed, the subject should present naked standing in front of you. Some prefer to perform the examination kneeling to the side of the patient. Most examiners prefer to stand to conduct an initial appraisal of the subject's general condition.""Hands on your head, Mr.Warbler, if you please, legs apart," I ordered in a cheerful voice."Why do you need to keep an eye on my hands?" Jerry asked. "Does a 90 lb woman facing fear losing control over a naked, sex crazed man recently sprung from chastity?""Interesting choice of words," I replied.When Darrie and I peeked in the male donor's locker, three or four men completely undressed were milling about inside. Darrie pointing out a fair skinned nervous sort criss-crossing his chest with his arms, "Probably, the new guy, Mr.Flesher," she surmised.Naked except for an inverted triangular shaped dome covering their crotches, the men awaited release. Standing at the entrance the male donor's locker, Darrie whispered, "Unexpected things," an evil smile peered on her lips, "especially with new donors can happen when the projectile is unleashed. Never stand directly in the path of an eruption."We both giggled when I quipped, "Interesting concept."Entering the male donor's locker, Darrie barked, "Line up," Darrie pointed to a line down the middle of the room, "Hands on your heads, the one on top of your head you think with, if you expect your schlong to swing."There were some catcalls from the guys lining up. One called out, "Wear a bra if you're afraid I'll cop a feel.""While I keep your schlong locked," Darrie shot back, "fondling my tits in a moment of joy will bring your cock quite a shock.""You just want to smell my pits," screeched another."Just to check, forsooth," Darrie quipped, "underarms remain smooth and clean and not hirsute." Darrie leaned over to give me advice at an audible whisper, "it's good to keep chappies happy by wiggling your tush and acting a little sassy.""Consider this a eh, dress rehearsal. You're suitably naked and I'm in an improvised nurse's costume," I commenced a test-run of the examination. As Jerry stood hands over his head, I announced the next step, "Third," pausing to seize his penis for examination, I continued, "thoroughly inspect the penis frontal and dorsal,-eh all sides for lumps, swellings, ulcers or scars."At my touch, I could feel Jerry's penis begin to pulsate and gel from flaccid to rubbery. I noticed Jerry's lips pursing. I heard my heart pounding in my chest. Breathlessly, in a dreamy voice combining technical book learning with pillow talk, I gushed, "think of the penis as engineering miracle of erectional hydraulics, a natural pump capable of accomplishing a surge of blood flow within seconds. When the penis swells with blood, the pelvic floor muscles launch the penis eh, into ecstasy."Ecstasy? I questioned myself. That's contrary to protocol which impersonalized intimate contact. Putting aside the delicacy of social conventions, I, focusing on the objective, must conduct procedures by the book step-by-step. The heart may beat faster, the temperature may rise, but the purpose of intimate contact is professional. "Physical contact with a female nurse during a delicate examination can produce a natural reaction in a male patient," I reassured Jerry."Priming the pump triggers the launch. I hope so," Jerry replied.Announcing as we swept into the locker room, "Gentlemen prepare to launch your rockets, 10-9 -8-7 ...," Darrie pushed a button on her notepad. The clang of the plastic covers falling to the ground followed. While I collected the fallen shields, Darry declared, "Fun time! Examination of the genitalia."When she reached Mr.Flesher who managed to conceal himself at the end of the line, he was shaking; his fair skin was burnished red. In a soothing voice, Darry assured Flesher, "There's no shame in a natural reaction to physical contact with a female during a genital examination."Hushing the other men, Darrie sent them into the shower, noting, "Go take care of what you came here to do."As the other men filtered out into the shower, Darrie called me over. "Mr.Flesher," she addressed him, maintaining eye contact, "Let me introduce Amy Warbler, our new Nursing Assistant. I need to report to Dr. Velour our boss that Nurse Warbler is fully capable of conducting exams on her own. Can you help me teach our Nurse Warbler the art of an intimate examination? It'll only take a sec. Then you can get hitched to the hitching post for release. That's what you came here for, right?"In practicing with Jerry, I pronounced, "Fourth, inspect the scrotum. Hmm," I interjected, "I get to keep hold of your joystick. Moving the penis out of the way, inspect all sides of the scrotum. Lift the scrotum to check its underside."In the locker, Darrie thanked Mr.Flesher, "Good! My examination will only take a couple more minutes before you're on your way to the hitching post, release and ecstasy."In my dry run with Jerry, I reached the Fifth stage "palpating," I interjected, "that's an inflated medical term for examining by touch, the testicles.""Inflated? That's an interesting word. Sounds like fun," Jerry's laughter went into the falsetto range when I pinched a testicle."With my thumbs and index fingers," I explained, "I roll the testes between the fingers to detect potential abnormalities. Feel along the duct work, the epididymis tube and the duct deferens which deliver the sperm for ejaculation.""Go easy," Jerry's voice ventured into the falsetto range."That wasn't so bad. Your examination is over," I advised Jerry, "You're free to have fun. Thank you for being such a good boy," I patted his tush, "for behaving yourself and cooperating." I turned my back on Jerry to take off my gloves and drop them in the bathroom."Free!" Jerry exclaimed. When I felt his hands gripping me. Lifted off my feet, I felt the pj bottoms slide away. Bent at the waist, I heard Jerry yell "I don't have to be good, no more, but it will be good."In the locker, Darrie concluded Flesher's examination. "Not so bad, was it? You passed your exam with flying colors," Darrie counselled Mr. Flesher, "You're dangling free. Go have fun with it!" As Flesher walked away, Dearie whispered, "never turn your back on a released donor."At home, Jerry exclaimed, "Time for fun." A wild expression cropped on his face. "The pump's been primed, the torrents will flow." I felt the warmth of his body nestle between the half-moons of my ass while his nimble fingers separated my vaginal lips. Then he hesitated."Go ahead. Fuck me." I ordered Jerry. Tease, denial and release, I wondered as I gasped when Jerry penetrated, was that the magic?Chapter 5: Nature of the AttractionIn my senior year in college, I worked several hours in the early morning before classes in a fertility clinic. It was part of my internship toward my degree in Industrial Psychology. In my rotation as a student intern in the clinic, I, through study and practical training, had earned a promotion out of maintenance into the Nursing Department as an assistant.Smart in her white lab coat and dark dress, Dr. Velour introduced the study to three nursing assistant candidates gathered in her office."We start our study with the male body because it is less complex, designed for an important, but momentary role in reproduction," Dr. Velour's word brought a ripple of giggling to the motley group of prospective nursing assistants."This is a business," Dr. Velour expounded, "We have to recruit livestock, groom their bodies, generate interest in purchasers, draw and refine the product and sell it. Initially, our question in dealing with the men, is what makes a man want to `bind his loins' in a cock-blocker, hitch his penis to a machine and discharge his seed into a hitching post? The answer at least initially is curiosity."I chuckled. Ever since I obtained this internship, my husband Jerry has beseeched me to sneak him in to test his equipment. Didn't I put out enough? I lay crunched up like a pretzel, hands bound behind my back with my bra, complaints squelched with panties in my mouth too often to think differently.It was hard to think of Jerry tied docilely to a hitching post at the Clinic to be jerked off. For foreplay, Jerry preferred wrestling me to the ground. Taken by surprise, forced face down, with Jerry strong hands tugging at the waistband of my jeans, I'd spur Jerry on by pleading, "Don't rip my clothes, Jerry. I don't get paid till next week."Was Jerry jealous or afraid my job involved physical contact with other men? No, Jerry was so curious so much so he wanted me to reenact the protocols in sperm extraction."You come to the clinic through different pathways, bringing different experiences to the study. Dr. Velour looked from student to student, "we have Amy, here, a student in Industrial Psychology at the local college. Perhaps with Amy's background in Industrial Psychology, she will develop a clearer idea the motivation of the persons involved in the people involved in the donation process. Amy?""My ugh-experience tells me curiosity is a good hypothesis," I replied. The room filled with chuckling, "Men are always looking for a new spot to anchor their spar in."When the laughter subsided, Dr. Velour pointed out a girl with muscular forearms and legs, "Next, we have Cassie. She's a gymnast who has been working in the gym; Pat," Dr. Velour pointed out a college girl like me, "a participant in our experiment in inducing the mammary glands to produce milk; and Beth," Dr. Velour pointed to a woman in her mid-thirties, "a surrogate.""Regardless of sex, however," Dr. Velour continued, "the brain is the largest sex organ. Oh, the body reacts to physical stimulation and once aroused can control the mind, but the mind creates the expectations in given situations.""Thus, because male body's function in reproduction is limited," Dr. Velour ex

Southeast Baptist Tabernacle

Southeast Baptist Tabernacle

Full Text of ReadingsFifth Sunday of Easter Lectionary: 53The Saint of the day is Saint Peter ChanelSaint Peter Chanel's Story Anyone who has worked in loneliness, with great adaptation required and with little apparent success, will find a kindred spirit in Peter Chanel. Born in France, Peter's interest in the missions began in school, when he read letters missionaries to America sent back home. As a young priest, Peter revived a parish in a “bad” district by the simple method of showing great devotion to the sick. Wanting to be a missionary, he joined the Society of Mary, the Marists, at 28. Obediently, he taught in the seminary for five years. Then, as superior of seven Marists, he traveled to Western Oceania. The bishop accompanying the missionaries left Peter and a brother on Futuna Island northeast of Fiji, promising to return in six months. He was gone five years. Meanwhile, Peter struggled with this new language and mastered it, making the difficult adjustment to life with whalers, traders, and warring natives. Despite little apparent success and severe want, he maintained a serene and gentle spirit, plus endless patience and courage. A few natives had been baptized, a few more were being instructed. When the chieftain's son asked to be baptized, persecution by the chieftain reached a climax. Father Chanel was clubbed to death. Within two years after his death, the whole island became Catholic and has remained so. He was canonized by Pope Pius XII in 1954. Peter Chanel is the first martyr of Oceania and its patron. Reflection Suffering for Christ means suffering because we are like Christ. Very often the opposition we meet is the result of our own selfishness or imprudence. We are not martyrs when we are “persecuted” by those who merely treat us as we treat them. A Christian martyr is one who, like Christ, is simply a witness to God's love, and brings out of human hearts the good or evil that is already there. Saint Peter Chanel is the Patron Saint of: Oceania Saint of the Day, Copyright Franciscan Media

Father Jim Reconciles his two separate lifestyles. Did God ever ask him to remain celebate for life?By GrushaVashnadze. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.“Oh yeah, cunt!” he muttered under his breath.“Yeah, hot fucking cunt!” he continued, ogling the juicy specimen of beauty displaying herself to his lustful eyes. Her pussy was indeed beautiful, pink and delicate, with a finely-crafted blond landing-strip, held open by a pair of painted fingers, so that he could gaze into its hot, wet, steamy depths. He stroked his cock in anticipation, feeling his shaft stiffen and grow, and feeling that exquisite yearning sensation spread outwards, filling his body with testosterone-fuelled bliss.The owner of said cunt looked at him seductively, the tip of her tongue gently tracing the outline of her lips, her eyes cheekily inviting, one hand kneading her huge, perfect, surgically-enhanced breasts, as the other continued to hold her fuck-lips wide.“Oh, yeah, baby, I'm gonna fuck that cunt so hard,” he continued. “I'm gonna ram my fucking cock deep in your hot pussy, I'm gonna feel your juicy cunt around my cock, and then I'm gonna fucking come inside you, I'm gonna spurt all my fucking cum deep in your hot fuck-hole till you scream in pleasure. You want that, baby, you want that?”But there was no answer from the buxom blonde beauty. For she was but a centrefold in a magazine, lying open before him on his bed. One picture among many, actually, for his eiderdown was covered with a selection of his collected periodicals, open to his favourite pages, featuring a variety of nude beauties, all displaying themselves, he liked to think, purely for his pleasure.His cock throbbed as he stroked it, thumb and two fingers gently rubbing the glans while the palm of his hand wrapped itself around the shaft. He admired his carefully-ordered “cunt collage” as he liked to call it. The buxom blond (“Jenny”, according to the caption) occupied pride of place in the centre of his bed. Surrounding her were half a dozen other centrefolds: “Sabrina”; dark-haired, with huge natural flowing boobs, left hand holding her pussy open whilst one delicate finger of the right curled knuckle-deep into her arsehole; “Brea”; blonde and skinny, with pert breasts, irresistibly smouldering eyes, and a shaven pussy; “Elsa” bleached blond hair, sweet “next-door-girl” smile, hairy blonde cunt with' “oh fuck!” he muttered, as he felt his cock twitch and jerk in delight, gorgeous flappy cunt-lips which dangled, glistening with little beads of pussy-juice…He paused his cock-stroking, looking away and upwards at the ceiling, in order to calm himself down: he didn't want to come too soon. Not yet.Just in time, the phone rang. Nervously he scrabbled for the receiver.“Hi Jimmy!”It was the sultry voice he was expecting. “It's Beattie here, wiff yer fantasy call.”“ Beattie, how are you?”“Oh, Jimmy, I'm feeling so fuckin' horny this evening, I'm been so looking forward to our call.”“Talk to me, Beattie,” said Jimmy, as he resumed slowly massaging his dick.“Oh, you know me, Jimmy, I just can't get enough fuckin'. I'm sitting here on my bed, and I'm wearin' this skimpy negligee, and I've shaved my pussy just for you, and it's so fuckin' wet, Jimmy, I just can't wait for you to ram yer big cock in there. D'ye wanna do that, Jimmy?”Beattie's voice was warm and breathy, something she had practised and honed over the months she had been calling him. Jimmy knew that, these days, he could instead be watching a video online, or a camgirl, but he was a man of habit and tradition, and he loved the way things used to be when he was younger, when porn was always magazines, and audio invariably meant the telephone. And so he sat at the head of his bed, stroking his cock, listening to Beattie's breathy seductive personalised filth, whilst he continued to ogle his favourite magazine nudes.As Beattie spoke, his eyes continued to roam the pages spread open on the bed: “Codi”, a ridiculously slender blonde with big fake tits, pouting lips drooling slightly at the sight of her own shaven cunt, spread wide with two delicate hands; “Emma”, on all fours, so her pussy peeped cheekily out from between her buttocks, crowned by a tight puckered arsehole…Beattie was very good too: she knew, after some six months of weekly Friday evening calls to Jimmy, just how he liked it. Jimmy wasn't interested in toys, or blowjobs, or titfucks, or anal, or any other kinks. He liked cunt. He loved cunt. And he adored it when Beattie talked cunt: “Jimmy…” “my pussy's feelin' so hot tonight. Will ye put yer dick in there, Jimmy?”“It's all for you, Beattie,” muttered Jimmy, in a half-hearted attempt to play along with the fantasy. Actually, he wasn't much interested in the role-play aspect of things: it was, after all, pure fakery, but he liked hearing Beattie talk dirty, and so he said the minimum required to let her know that she was on the right track, and then revelled in the glorious obscenity of her wall-to-wall aural filth.“Oh yeah, that feels so fucking good!” “Your cock's so fuckin' hard, Jimmy. I can feel it deep in my cunt, fillin' me up. Go on, Jimmy, slide that huge fuckin' cock in and out of my wet cunt; can ye feel my pussy all hot and juicy for ye?“Jimmy listened, his eyes roving across the collage spread out on the bed before him, imagining what Beattie's cunt might be like. Deliberately, he had never asked her, preferring to make it a new cunt each week: last week's choice had been “Cecilia”, black, shaven, lips teased apart just enough to reveal her juicy pink haven inside; this week, it would be “Jenny”.Jimmy loved Beattie's voice, “chavvy South London”, he called it, oozing squalor; in his more lucid moments he imagined her as a single mum on the dole in some squalid high-rise council flat in Tooting, a ne'er-do-well scraping together a living using the only pathetic skill she had. But now she was his tart, his whore, his plaything, his fantasy: she could be anything and everything he imagined. He liked playing this game, as he continued to stroke his dick to ecstasy whilst revelling in Beattie's increasingly filthy ongoing monologue. Beattie, for her part, was the consummate professional, sensing from Jimmy's pants and grunts just how far he was on his journey to release. And when Jimmy muttered, “Say my favourite things, Beattie,” she knew just what he meant.“You know, Jimmy, I'm a dirdy, filfy, cuntfuckin' whore… That's what I am, Jimmy, just a cuntfuckin' whore.”Jimmy loved those words, and Beattie's grimy accent was the icing on the cake: his cock jerked and bucked in response, stiffening even further.“I'm a whore, Jimmy. And you like dirdy fuckin' whores, don't cha? You wanna fuck my filfy cunt wiv ‘at big cock?”Jimmy was in ecstasy. Soon Beattie had progressed to “My cunt's so fuckin' wet, Jimmy: that's what you do to me, babe. You're gonna make me fuckin' come, Jimmy, ‘coz I'm a dirdy, filfy, cuntfuckin' whore, and I'm gonna fuckin' come all over your big cock!”Jimmy took the cue, fixing his eyes on “Jenny's” pussy, still, of course, reliably wide open and glistening for him, drinking in its beauty, and gradually ramping up the rhythm of his stroking so as to time his own orgasm to match Beattie's ersatz one. And when Beattie got to;“I'm gonna fuckin' come, Jimmy, here it is baby, come all over ye dirdy filfy cuntfuckin' whore, oh yeah oh Fuck!” Jimmy did exactly that. He felt the tell-tale boiling sensation in his balls, felt his cum surge and rise through his shaft and explode from his bucking, twitching cockhead.“Jenny” was the chosen recipient of Jimmy's cum this evening, six or seven thick ropes of semen splattering over her picture. Jimmy aimed at her cunt, and watched as the likeness of her vulva disappeared under a gloopy coating of semen. Beattie was continuing to moan and squeal down the telephone line: “Oh yeah, Jimmy, are ye comin' for me? Does ‘at feel good, babe?”as the last few dribbles of sperm landed on “Jenny's” tits and face. Beattie's voice turned breathy and softer;“Was 'at nice, Jimmy?” "Do ye like comin' in my dirdy hot cunt, Jimmy?“Jimmy panted incoherently in reply, his imagination desperately clinging on as long as he could to the illusion of sexual fulfillment. But it was always too short-lived. Even before his cock was flaccid, the illusion was fading and Beattie was in business mode: "Same time next week still good for ye, babe? Take it off yer card, yeah?”Jimmy muttered a “Yeah, thanks, Beattie,” before hanging up and surveying the mess. It never looked as good afterwards as he hoped it would before. Sperm-soiled magazine “Jenny” looked, frankly, ridiculous and tawdry now, a far cry from the seductive perfection she had exuded when pristine on the page. And wrapping up and disposing of semen-soaked magazine pages was anything but sexy. But Jimmy did so with his customary goal-oriented efficiency, trying to, and largely succeeding in, staunching his creeping feeling of shame, until the job was done, his penis was wiped clean, and he had put on his clothes again.Then his collar.And then his cassock.And then Father James Wright knelt on the floor of his bedroom and wept bitterly.“Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil. May God rebuke him, we humbly pray; and do Thou, O Prince of the Heavenly Host, by the Divine Power of God; cast into Hell Satan and all the evil spirits, who roam throughout the world seeking the ruin of… oh fuck…”Father Jim's voice tailed off. He had performed his morning ablutions, had his breakfast, and said his Office, and was preparing himself by examination of conscience for his weekly two-birds-with-one-stone excursion to the Cathedral, first to confession, followed by his weekly exorcism training seminar. He usually dressed in civvies for these visits, not wanting to draw attention to himself on public transport, but he never missed his hebdomadal chance to unburden his soul, and timing it for Saturday mornings made sense. Apart from anything else, this way, he felt less guilty saying the Eucharist over the weekend than if he were to have his Friday evening sins hanging on his conscience.But this morning Father Jim's voice gave up mid-supplication, as the thought impinged upon his intercessions: Am I a hypocrite? Actually, this was a thought which frequently went through his mind. The answer, of course, was yes: regularly, deliberately, and with full foreknowledge, every Friday night, and he knew it. For hypocrite though he was, he was neither stupid nor deluded. He had learnt to corral his fleshly weakness into one weekly episode, and it would soon be, gratias Deo, effaced from his soul by the Sacrament of Reconciliation, after which he could continue to pursue his presbyterial vocation with confidence. Until next Friday.Today, though, he felt somewhat less confident than normal, less spiritually bullish, more vulnerable than usual. Perhaps it was the weather, dull and grey like many an English spring morning, but it was almost as if he felt that the hosts of Satan were genuinely massing on the horizon, and that he might truly need the intercession of an archangel to forestall the ruin of his soul. In short, Father Jim's carefully calibrated balancing act between spiritual propriety and sexual concupiscence was feeling unaccountably precarious this morning.He was just letting himself out of the presbytery when a young woman came dashing round the corner, her heels clicking unevenly on the pavement. “Father Jim! Father Jim! Oh, I'm so glad I caught you. Please would you hear my confession?” Behind the urgency of her request Jim descried a pleasingly upper middle-class voice (“so” came out a bit like “say”), but ever so slightly Estuary (“t” in “caught” barely noticeable), as was common with the younger generation.Father Jim thought, but did not say: Oh fuck. He tried not to think swear words between Saturday morning confession and the end of mass on Sunday evening. But he had not been to confession yet, and therefore made the split-second judgment that he may as well, for now, think obscenities. After all, he liked them; he liked the sound of them: “fuck”, beautiful, he thought. And this young lady was, he thought to himself, “fucking hot”. She was slender and small, almost a waif, and yet her pencil skirt was just a touch too tight, and her blouse ever so slightly translucent, so that the shape of her nipples, puffy and rounded but not huge, made two soft tents in the front of her top.Oops, he thought, as he felt his penis begin to stir inside his rather ill-fitting trousers. No, it would not do to be groping his cock out of the way in front of a parishioner, so he banished “fucking hot” from his brain with a quick piece of well-practiced spiritual legerdemain, and switched into concerned parish priest mode. He vaguely recognised the girl, from the back row of the 10:30, perhaps? but wasn't sure if they had ever exchanged words. He felt within his rights to say, “I'm actually on my way out now, er…” as he looked at her quizzically with that I've-forgotten-your-name look customarily used by parish priests.“Bernadette, call me Bernie,” said the woman, pronouncing the “r” softly but clearly.OK, thought Father Jim. Typical second-generation immigrant. Tries to keep up the religious traditions of the home country, but talks like a Sloane except when asserting her identity. Clearly done well for herself, been to uni. But, Jim groaned inwardly, she wasn't taking the hint.“Oh please, Father, I really need you to hear my confession, I… I…”Father Jim looked into her eyes for the first time, and there was that look of moral desperation he was used to seeing in some people. Some could live in their sins for long periods of time before emotional need drove them back to the Church; others, like this girl, presumably, were made of less stern stuff. Her eyes glistened with barely held-back tears, as she continued: “I think I may be under a curse, or a hex, and I… I know you are training to be an exorcist, aren't you?” Her lower lip trembled, as her damp eyes pleaded with him.In the silence of his heart, Father Jim thought to himself: Oh fuck. But he took no pleasure in this particular iteration of his favourite obscenity. He had met this kind of woman before: excessively impressionable, with an inclination to see spiritual warfare lurking under every pebble, when her only problem might a temporary imbalance of hormones. Exorcism? Bullshit. But Jim was, despite his cynicism, a kind man, and so he said, “All right, Bernie. Of course. Let's go in,” as he ushered her through his front door. “Face-to-face, or in the box?”“Oh, I prefer the old-fashioned way, if that's all right, Father?” she replied sheepishly.He gestured her down the corridor towards the church, and then up the long nave, pleasantly illumined by the shifting colours which filtered dully through the great east window. As she walked ahead of him, he watched her bottom jiggle gently from side to side, red heels clicking on the stone floor, her medium-length ponytail of light brown hair swishing behind her. Fuck, he thought, and this time revelled in the thought. Fuck yeah… he muttered silently, his mind's eye briefly, secretly, undressing her from behind.“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” said the girl, once they had both settled into their respective halves of the confessional.“How long has,”“Oh, over a year, Father. I've got a lot of catching up to do.”Fuck, thought Father Jim. But, because he was basically a kind-hearted man, he instead said: “Well, take your time. It is good that God has called you back to the Sacrament now.”“Thank you, Father.” “I… I'm married…” "But I've not been strictly… faithful…“ There was a long pause.Ho ho, I knew it, thought Jim. Another pretty young slut, got hitched too soon, screwing around behind her husband's back. Two a penny. Had one just last week, didn't I? But instead he said, "And how long have you been having this affair?”“Oh, it's not an affair, Father,” "It's kind of a weird binge, a bit… perverted, if you know what I mean. On the rebound, I guess, because I walked in on my husband, you know, with someone else…“Oh shit, thought Father Jim. This'll take all morning. Web of adultery, seen it all before. One fucks around, the other goes off the rails, and soon they're all crotch-deep in moral turpitude. Why do they even bother to get married if they've got no continence? Should try and be celibate, then they'll learn how lucky they are… All that passed through his mind in an instant, but of course he voiced none of it."You see,” “we were married a year ago, here, before you came: Father Peter married us, and, well, I thought it was going so well. We… we were really good in bed, you know… I mean, we really liked the sex and everything.”Too much information! thought Jim to himself. But he did not say that either.“You know, I was a virgin when we got married. I'd saved myself up for this. And the first time, it was wonderful. You know, for some girls it hurts? But for me it was bliss. He just slid in, and I loved it. And we loved it, just like that, in and out, you know?”Father Jim felt his cock begin to stir. It was the inevitable involuntary reaction to a sexual confession which was becoming just a touch too detailed. Fuck, girl, why are you telling me all this? he thought. But Bernie continued to jabber, exuding, though unseen, an air of wide-eyed innocence from behind her latticed screen.“But then Giles started wanting me to do things I didn't want to, you know, oral, and anal, and stuff, and I really wasn't comfortable with it, so we had a few arguments about that. "I mean, when he wanted me to give him a blowjob, you know, he'd just pull down his trousers and waggle the thing in front of my face…”Too much fucking information! Jim screeched in the silence of his own heart. But he couldn't stop himself imagining the husband's cock, stiff and huge, waggling back and forth in front of Bernie's pretty face, her narrow mouth opening wider, wider, her tongue extending to lick pre-cum off the frenulum before her lips softly enclosed the… Fuck, Jim, pull yourself together, man! he thought, as he felt his cock begin to make an uncomfortable tent in his trousers. He stammered out loud, “Er… sister, you don't need to tell me all that, you know, just stick to…”“Oh, but it's important, Father,” “Because that's what led to it. I told him I didn't like sucking him off, but he kept trying to persuade me, and I kept saying no…” Father Jim imagined he detected the faintest hint of a smirk in her tone, but of course it was impossible to tell…“And then,” "there was the anal. Sometimes when we were making love he'd wet his finger with… well, you know… and then he'd reach round and try to stick it in there. I really didn't like it, and of course he never forced me; I mean, he's a kind man, he'd never do anything nasty, but it was clear he was disappointed…“Oh Jesus motherfucking Christ, thought Father Jim. His cock was stiff now, and he could feel his own pre-cum beginning to leak slowly from his glans. He reached down to adjust his cock inside his trousers, and inevitably his hand lingered just a bit too long, grasping his own erect shaft through the fabric and squeezing it gently. That familiar thrill of pleasure surged through him, but he made himself let go, telling himself: Later, Jim, later. Just get this girl through her confession for now…"But the strangest thing of all, Father,” "was when he'd want me to talk dirty to him, you know?“Are you kidding? thought Jim incredulously. Do you think that just because I'm a priest I don't have male blood boiling in my veins? What are you on about, girl?!Bernie seemed oblivious to her confessor's discomfort. Either that, or she was deliberately winding him up, he couldn't tell for sure. "See, Father,” "he'd ask me to say dirty words, like… 'tits'… and 'pussy'… and…“ , her voice lingered a while on the first consonant, "fuck”In an instant, Father Jim's resistance crumbled. That word was his favourite, a glorious fillip to all that was unholy and self-indulgent in the deepest recesses of his mind, and it banished all his residual will-power to the four winds. He quietly but swiftly unzipped his fly, removed his stiff sweaty cock from its prison, pulled back the damp pre-cum-lubricated foreskin, and began to slowly wank his shaft up and down, his lips trembling, his breath coming in ragged bursts. This was wrong. This was so wrong , he knew it, of course. But he was going to do it anyway. This girl could not possibly be for real. This was no sacrament, this was an ambush. The Evil One was tempting him, and he was succumbing. And he fucking loved it…“See, Father Jim, it must be something about men, they all like those dirty words so much. My husband did: he wanted me to say things like” Bernie lowered her voice conspiratorially;“'Ram your fucking cock in my pussy, baby!' and 'Fuck my hot cunt with that big dick!' Things like that… Do you like hearing things like that, Father?” Bernie's voice was hot and breathy now. Her prey was in her grasp, and she was playing with him: Jim knew it, but, though he had no idea why this woman had chosen to ambush him in this manner, he knew it was too late. He groaned, as he felt his cock stiffen further in his sweaty palm, felt his heart pound faster with excitement.“I'm sure we could have worked things out, Father. You know, I got quite used to the dirty talk, that was quite fun actually. But the oral, and the anal; no way. He'd show me videos on the internet, you know; porn? Girls getting fucked in the arse, and taking cocks down their throats; and it just looked so horrible and painful and disgusting. And then he'd show me videos of group sex, and asked if I'd ever like to do stuff like that; and I said no! And then, to show him I really loved him, I'd let him fuck me. I mean, I really loved it when he fucked me: when his cock was all huge and stiff, and then he'd lie me on my back and fuck me all deep and squelchy. Sometimes he'd lie flat on me and grind the base of his cock against my clit to make me come. Sometimes he'd shift down, so his cockhead found my G-spot. Sometimes he'd flip me over and do me doggy. Sometimes I'd go on top and drive him wild, teasing him with my wet pussy lips before plunging down onto this cock. And I loved all that, Father, I did, truly. Cock in cunt that's the way it's meant to be, isn't it? I mean, that's the way God made us, isn't it?”Father Jim groaned at the absurdity of his situation. Here was a young girl giving him lessons in Saint John Paul's Theology of the Body, while he stroked his cock in the confessional, what the fuck was going on?! But he couldn't stop now. His cock was raging, his balls were aching, and his thoughts were in mindfuck mode. Here was a girl after his own heart, one who loved being fucked in the cunt, and who loved to talk filthy. “Oh yeah, oh fuck, oh God…” he muttered incoherently in his ecstasy.“You Okay in there, Father Jim?” "I'm sorry for being so explicit, but ; I kind of have to, you'll see why soon, I'll explain…“You don't have to explain, thought Father Jim' as far as he was capable of thinking anything at all, for he was past thinking now. His mind was now fixed firmly on cunt, on fucking cunt, just like this girl was saying: cock slip-sliding in and out, grinding against engorged clit-flesh. It didn't matter whose cunt: his years of fake fantasy sex, week after week of dirty pictures; "Jenny” or “Codi” or “Elsa” or whoever the fuck they were; or of listening to “ Beattie” recycling her mind-banked fuck-fantasies for his delectation; all this had inured him to the sheer fakery of being a sex-obsessed celibate. It didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered now, except the filth-filled moment.“But then,” “one day, about six months ago, I came home early from work, and… and I heard voices from the bedroom upstairs. I was about to walk in, but then, through the door, I heard things like, 'Oh yeah, suck that cock, baby. I'm gonna fuck your pretty slut-face with my big dick…' ; you know, things like that?” Jim heard a nervous giggle from behind the lattice. “And there was the sound of squealing and gagging, like some girl was getting their throat fucked… So then I thought maybe he was watching porn…? But this was too real; and when I realised what must be going on… Oh God, Father, it hurt so much…”For the first time, Father Jim paused stroking his cock. The girl was sobbing softly now. Father Jim felt sorry; and guilty. “I'm so sorry,” he said quietly, as his cock began to soften, and he began to recognise the reality of his own situation. And so his “I'm so sorry” became, retrospectively, not just an expression of sympathy for Bernie, but also an admission of his own culpability. What was he doing sitting in the half-light, pre-cum smeared over his hand, jerking off while listening to a vulnerable, disturbed young woman telling him about the moment she found her husband cheating on her? Shame on you, Jim, he told himself silently.But Bernie had not finished.“And so I opened the door,” “and there they were: Giles standing there shirtless, his big cock stuck out through his fly, ropes of spit dangling from the shaft and dribbling all over the face and tits of my best friend Vicky; you know Vicky: Victoria Berry, she runs the First Holy Communion programme here…? Anyway, she was saying, 'Oh yeah, babe, I fucking love it when you choke me with that big cock, go on, ram that cock down my throat again…'"And then she saw me, before he did. At first she paused in shock. Then she screamed. And then she retreated to the corner of the bedroom, desperately trying to cover up her big tits and wipe the spit off her face. 'Oh God, Bernie, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!' But she wasn't sorry; and I knew it."Giles didn't even pretend. He just stood there, spit dribbling from his cock, smirking. He even said, 'Wanna join us, Dette? Come here and I'll fuck your cunt just the way you like it, while Vicky licks my balls…'"And I… well, I had no idea what to say. So I just screamed at him, '"Just the way I like it” ; sorry?! You're nothing but a fucking pervert, with all your porn, and your anal and your throatfucking. And now this?! How dare you treat me this way; your wife?! What's wrong with you?!!' And then… I didn't know what to do: I wanted so much to hurt him, to make him suffer, standing there all smug with his dick dribbling all over our carpet. But more than that, I wanted to protect myself, to purify myself of the horror and degradation of it all. I wanted to show him I was better than all his filth, to save myself from where he was wanting to take me. So I shouted, 'You'll never fuck me again, you bastard! No man will ever fuck me again. I swear, as God is my witness'; and I know I shouldn't have sworn, Father: I shouldn't have said anything like that, but, God forgive me, I did; 'I swear that no man will ever fuck this cunt again -or may God strike me dead!' And then I ran out. And I never went back.“So now what do I do, Father? I mean, I've called a curse down on myself. May God strike me dead if I break my vow! that's what I said! And, you know, I've stuck with it, Father. I've kept my vow. Ever since then, I've not been fucked. And that was six months ago; probably just before you came to this parish, wasn't it?”Bernie paused. And Father Jim sat in the half-light, bewildered, confused, and scared. This woman must be unstable, he thought. Stark raving mad, actually. Why else would she come to the confessional to tell him, in the filthiest language imaginable; what exactly? that she had caught her husband in flagrante delicto and had now, on the rebound, forsworn sex?“Bernie… Bernie…” Jim fumbled for the right words. “What can I do for you? You have committed no mortal sin. You don't need exorcism – or even confession. But do you want help? Counselling? We have a wonderful ministry here for separated and divorced Catholics: let me put you in touch with the leader, she could help you…”“No, Father,” interrupted Bernie firmly, “you don't understand. I swore that I if am ever fucked again, God must strike me dead. I am under a curse, Father and I need to be released. And you are an exorcist, are you not?”Father Jim sat in the semi-darkness, his flaccid cock dangling out of his fly, a little droplet of pre-cum still glimmering on his glans, and he took a deep breath. “I have been receiving training, yes; but you don't need exorcism. Your words were spoken in haste, in an understandable excess of emotion: God will not hold that against you. You need to rebuild your life, not live in fear of an imagined curse that…”“Father,” Bernie interrupted again, even more firmly that before, “Pray over me now: release me from my curse. The Evil One has my cunt in his grasp. After all…”Beattie paused, then spoke very slowly and clearly;“I am a dirty, filthy, cuntfucking whore.”Father Jim's heart skipped a beat. “What did you say?” he gasped.“I said, 'I am dirty, filthy, cuntfucking whore.' Or, would you prefer it like this:'I'm a dirdy, filfy, cuntfucking whore, Jimmy!Father Jim leapt up; terrified. Now he knew he was in trouble. Who was this girl? Who was she pretending to be? Who was pretending to be whom? And what was she after? And why was she playing with him like this? What it a trap? All these thoughts raced through his mind, but he did not have time to voice any of them before Bernie's voice (or was it Beattie's?), cold as steel despite the muffling effect of the latticed confessional screen, said: "Don't put yer cock away, Jimmy. Leave it danglin' like the good li'l wanker you are, and join me in front of the Sacrament.” He heard the door on Bernie's side of the confessional open, and her heels click-clicking across the stone floor in the direction of the altar.Obediently, though trembling in terror, Father Jim opened his door; and gasped. For Bernie's tiny waif-like figure was naked now, apart from her red high heels, her tight bottom wiggling and swaying as she walked ahead of him, the wispy outline of her pubic hair just visible between her soft buttocks. “Do 'ye like it, Jimmy?” smirked Bernie, as she looked back over her shoulder to watch his cock, still dangling awkwardly out of his fly, begin to stiffen again. “This is whatcha wanted ta see when you followed me in here, wasn't it? Because ye like cunt, don't ye, Jimmy? Nuffink better than the sight of a hot cunt peeping out from between Beattie's arse-cheeks, eh? Ye wanna fuck my cunt, Jimmy? 'Coz you can…”She reached the sanctuary steps, and turned to point one accusing finger at Jim as she bellowed;“After you fucking excercise it!”Beattie's demented scream echoed off the stone walls of the church, as she backed up the three steps to the sanctuary and lifted her bottom onto the altar, carelessly scattering crucifix, sacramentary and candle-stands onto the floor. She spread her legs wide and leant back on her elbows, pert puffy tits and lightly thatched pussy-gape shamelessly displayed. Father Jim stood, horrified and transfixed in equal measure. The detritus of Beattie's blasphemy lay scattered on the floor; but he couldn't keep his eyes off her. Oh yeah, cunt! he thought, despite himself. Yeah, hot fucking cunt!Beattie knew what he was thinking.“Do 'ye like it, Jimmy?” she breathed. “If ye wanna fuck it, get yer prayer book, and fuckin' remove my curse!” Beattie began to slide one finger into her pussy, wetting it with her fuck-slime and gently rubbing her clit. Father Jim hesitated, rooted to the spot in terror, until Beattie screamed again,“Get yer fucking prayer book and pray my curse away, Jimmy!”Father Jim scrabbled through a pile of books on the front pew, retrieved a copy of Prayers Against the Powers of Darkness, and raised his right palm towards Beattie, who was now panting in ecstasy as she rubbed her clit with one hand, two fingers of the other plunging in and out of her sodden pussy.“Lo… Lord Jesus Christ,” stammered the priest, “I place my sister at the foot of Your cross and ask You to cover her with Your Precious Blood which pours forth from Your Most Sacred Heart and Your Most Holy Wounds. Cleanse her, my Jesus, in the living water that flows from Your Heart. I ask You to surround her, Lord Jesus, with Your Holy Light.”“Oh yeah, amen!”screamed Beattie , as a spasm went through her body; whether of spiritual battle or sexual pleasure Father did not know, but no longer cared. His words were those of prayer; but his mind was fixed on cunt.Cunt… oh yeah, cunt! he moaned in the silence of his heart, even as he continued to stammer: “In… in… in the… Holy Name of Jesus, I break and dissolve any and all curses, spiritual influences, evil wishes, evil desires, and every dysfunction and disease from any source including your mistakes and sins. In Jesus' Name, I sever the transmission of any and all vows, pacts, spiritual bonds and satanic works.”“Fuck yeah!”screamed the girl, as another spasm passed through her body. Three slimy fingers were now pounding in and out of her cunt, as the other hand rubbed frantically at her clit.Father Jim's cock was stiff and throbbing again; but with one hand holding his prayer book and the other extended towards Bernie, he could not touch it, but continued to read with a trembling voice: “In the Name of Jesus, I lift this curse. I thank You, Jesus, for setting my sister free. Fill her with charity, compassion, faith, gentleness, hope, humility, modesty, tranquillity, truth, understanding, and wisdom. Help her to walk in Your Light and Truth, illuminated by the Holy Spirit so that she may praise, honour, and glorify Our Father in time and in eternity.”“Fuck yeah, Jesus!”;screamed Bernie, as her whole body shook from head to toe, four fingers now forming a blur as they pounded in and out of her cunt.“Free me, Jesus! Free my fucking cunt! Oh fuck! “Father Jim's cock was sticking horizontally out of his fly, throbbing with wild desperation. Pre-cum dribbled down his shaft; but still he did not touch, as he continued to stretch out his right hand in prayer: "For You, Lord Jesus, are the Way, and the Truth, and the Life, and You have come that we might have life, and have it to the full.”Bernie's whole fist was now pounding in and out of her cunt, her fuck-lips stretched wide in agony and ecstasy as she screamed, “Depart from me, Satan! Oh, I'm cumming! Oh yeah!” Juice squirted from her cunt, across the floor and down the stone altar steps, splattering Father Jim's shoes and trouser-legs.“Surely God is my salvation,” intoned the priest, lips and hands trembling but his cock throbbing nevertheless. “I will trust and not be afraid. The Lord, the Lord himself, is my strength and my defense; he is my salvation.”“Amen… Amen…”whispered Bernie as she slowly withdrew her slimy hand from her cunt, her fuck-lips stretching wide, leaving her pussy gaping, her pink flesh glistening in front of Father Jim's face. The priest lowered his right hand, then stood, staring, bewildered, drained; but his cock still stiff and dribbling.Bernie, had a wild deranged smile spreading across her face.“I'm free, Father,” "Jesus has set me free from my curse!“Jim stared in horror. Bernie's face was luminescent, demented. But her cunt shone with a different kind of gleam; and Jim could not tear his eyes away from it."I can fuck again, Father,” "My cunt is free again: look!“She spread her pussy-lips wide, so that Jim could stare into her pink gloopy bubbling depths. And then she said the inevitable: "Now fuck me, Jimmy…”Father Jim gripped his cock with his right hand, even as his left held his prayer book tight. He was scared; terrified of what he had just done, and of what this deranged troubled girl was now telling him to do. He knew this was all wrong. But the scent of frigged-out cunt, the sight of that glistening pink fuck-flesh, and the sound of her sultry voice breathing at him, were too much to withstand. “Fuck me, Jimmy,” “Fuck my hot cunt. 'Coz I'm a dirdy, filfy, cuntfuckin' whore. And you like dirdy fuckin' whores, don'tcha? You wanna fuck my filfy cunt wiv yer big cock?”Father Jim nodded, mutely, his right hand gripping his shaft. His prayer book slipped subconsciously from his left hand, landing in a little puddle of pussy-squirt on the stone floor.“Come on Jimmy,” breathed Beattie. “Don't be scared. My cunt's all safe now. No curse no more. And I've been waitin' for this for so long, Jimmy. Every fuckin' Friday night I've had my fingers up my cunt, rubbing myself off for ye, listening to ye spurt your hot cum all over yer wank-mags. Now it's time for you to fuck my cunt for real, Jimmy!”“Wh… who are you?” stammered Father Jim. “Why me?”Beattie spread her cunt-lips again. “Later, Jimmy, later,” "Now fuck me.“Trembling, Father Jim walked up the three stone steps to the edge of the altar, where Beattie sat, her legs spread wide, still adorned by her red high heels, her cunt pungent, oozing, inviting. He nudged his bulging cockhead against her cunt-lips, and pushed."Oh God!” He could not resist calling out; for here, now, for the first time ever, was something he had fantasised about all his life. He felt Beattie's soft moist velvety depths yield and engulf him, felt her juices gently coat the length of his shaft, felt her inner cunt muscles squeezing, caressing. And then he started to fuck; slowly at first, relishing the heavenly-hellish feeling of her slip-slimy walls stroking the full length of his shaft as it slid all the way out, then in, and then again, and again, each new thrust taking his cock to a new level of pleasure, and his mind closer and closer to ecstasy.“Is 'at good for ye, Jimmy?” “You lifted my curse, Jimmy. I knew you could, Mister Father James Wright! From the first time I saw yer card details I knew you were the one to save me. Giles and Vicky can go fuck themselves: 'coz I got a priest to set my cunt free!”Jimmy knew deep down that this girl was mad, that he had been trapped, and that this meant the end of everything he had ever truly valued: his vocation, his career, his friendships, his reputation. But… cunt. Cunt. This was not like jerking off over his magazines on Friday night. This cunt was real; and truly, he saw that it was good. Beattie was now talking to him the way he could never resist:“Feel how fuckin' wet my cunt is, Jimmy? That's what you do to me, babe. You're gonna make me come, Jimmy, 'coz I'm a dirdy, filfy, cuntfuckin' whore, and I'm gonna fuckin' come all over your big cock!”By GrushaVashnadze for Literotica.

HOPELiving Fearlessly in a Scary World ByDr. David JeremiahIf you would like to support Teresa and Kay's Podcast monthly or make a one-time gift you can click the PayPal link below. https://paypal.me/spiritualwar17 

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Stephen PhillipsOctober 29, 2023

While out for a run, Liz received a divine revelation that urged her to concentrate on the present task instead of worrying about the future. By keeping her gaze just a few feet ahead of her, she learned the importance of obedience and trust in a way that was tangible and meaningful for her. This experience taught Liz to remain faithful and trust fully in God for the next six months and precisely how to do so. ***LET'S CONNECT:*** Website: ElizabethLouis.com Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ElizabethLouisCoaching  Instagram: instagram.com/elizabethlouiscoaching  Youtube:  https://www.youtube.com/c/ElizabethLouis  Linkedin personal profile: https://www.linkedin.com/in/louiselizabeth/  Are you curious as to what your psychometric or personality traits are? Take the Performance Development Assessment. This assessment scores you in 23 psychometrics or personality traits. It takes less than 5 minutes. You get a 20-page pdf that explains each trait. Take the assessment for $39.95. Take the Performance Development Assessment Now! You can also book a 90-minute Needs Analysis session with me. This is where I debrief your results and tell you the weeds growing in your mental garden hindering you. Get a 10% coupon when you leave me a review on Apple~ Email me a screenshot at info@elizabethlouis.com Please leave me a review on Apple Podcast! https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/the-liz-show/id1629109236 

Revealed: A “trans” struggle session - comedian Trevor Noah sat obediently through a Maosit struggle session with a skilful liar. With God's help, I will step-in and correct the record. The people of Canada are fed up with the chemical and surgical mutilation of children. In Ottawa, protesters chant “Leave the kids alone!” This comes as a video from the Veteran Affairs administration tells people that men can get pregnant, using our tax dollars to promote this satanic lie. We spend the bulk of today's episode discussing Trevor Noah. In a conversation about gender with a man pretending to be a woman, Trevor Noah's cowardice shines through. Join us as we wade through this conversation and correct these lies.What does God's Word say? Matthew 5:15-20True and False Prophets15 “Watch out for false prophets. They come to you in sheep's clothing, but inwardly they are ferocious wolves. 16 By their fruit you will recognize them. Do people pick grapes from thornbushes, or figs from thistles? 17 Likewise, every good tree bears good fruit, but a bad tree bears bad fruit. 18 A good tree cannot bear bad fruit, and a bad tree cannot bear good fruit. 19 Every tree that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire. 20 Thus, by their fruit you will recognize them.Episode Links:Scenes from Ottawa right now where thousands of parents and kids are protesting explicit sexual content in schools and radical gender ideology. These protests are absolutely massive and across the entire country. #1MillionMarch4ChildrenA thread about social contagionsLeaked Dept of Veterans Affairs training video instructs staff to confirm that men can get pregnant, advises not to congratulate a pregnant woman, and encourages and glorifies abortions.EXCLUSIVE: Veterans Administration training videos instruct health providers to promote abortion as safest 'option' for pregnant veterans; The videos claim childbirth puts a mother's life in great danger, while abortion protects it.The so-called “transgender” self-imposed struggle session that Trevor Noah is undergoing here is priceless. He knows men aren't women, squirms and squirms.Today Attorney General Merrick Garland refused to withdraw his infamous school board memo targeting parents. He said there was "absolutely nothing wrong with the memo" – even though his own FBI Director has testified there was "no compelling nationwide law enforcement justification" for it.Tim Ballard releases new video slamming 'false allegations' against him, says they were timed to his testimony before Congress, Mitt Romney announcement . "I will not stop, I will not give up"4Patriots https://4patriots.com Protect your family with Food kits, solar generators and more at 4Patriots. Use code TODD for 10% off your first purchase. Alan's Soaps https://alanssoaps.com/TODD Use coupon code ‘TODD' to save an additional 10% off the bundle price. American Financing https://americanfinancing.net Visit to see what American Financing can do for you or call 866-887-2275 BiOptimizers https://bioptimizers.com/todd Use promo code TODD for 10% off your order. Bonefrog https://bonefrog.us Enter promo code TODD at checkout to receive 10% off your subscription. Bulwark Capital http://KnowYourRiskRadio.com Find out how Bulwark Capital Actively Manages risk. Call 866-779-RISK or visit KnowYourRiskRadio.com Patriot Mobile https://patriotmobile.com/herman Get free activation today with offer code HERMAN. Visit or call 878-PATRIOT. RuffGreens https://ruffgreens.com/todd Get your FREE Jumpstart Trial Bag of Ruff Greens, simply cover shipping. Visit or call 877-MYDOG-64. SOTA Weight Loss https://sotaweightloss.com SOTA Weight Loss is, say it with me now, STATE OF THE ART! Sound of Freedom https://angel.com/freedom Join the two million and see Sound of Freedom in theaters July 4th. GreenHaven Interactive https://greenhaveninteractive.com Digital Marketing including search engine optimization and website design.

Shannon is joined by Author and co-Pastor of Forward City Church Dr. Jackie Greene for a conversation about her latest book, Permission to Live Free.   Dr. Greene shares how she finds the time and ability to balance her work, her family, and her faith in a meaningful way. She discusses how her close relationship with God enabled her to let go of the things that held her back in order to truly live freely. Later, Dr. Greene shares how a near-death experience fueled her passion to help other women. Follow Shannon on Twitter: @ShannonBream Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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These 3 powerful things Alexis admonishes us to do in this podcast episode. Referencing Jeremiah 1 and Psalm 91. If you enjoyed this episode give us a FIVE STAR REVIEW⭐️! or SUBSCRIBE to the podcast!! Your host Alexis (18) and some friends have fruitful conversations that will help you flourish in your faith journey! I decree that your relationship with Jesus WILL flourish as you seek Him and will produce fruit that will be the evidence of it! KEEP UP WITH YOUR FIF FAM:

Mandarin Lessons: https://yunfei.world/languages/learn-mandarin/Book lessons with this code to get more discount: huimin Email: zhuimin9698@gmail.comIG@ huimin_taiwan_mandarin留言告訴我你對這一集的想法： https://open.firstory.me/user/ckq9bl3vd660p0805d1apvgrd/commentsPaypal: PayPal.Me/ZhanghuiminTW 生詞 vocabulary 1 大雷雨 , Dà léiyǔ , Heavy thunderstorm 2 動力 , Dònglì , motivation 3 回覆 , Huífù , Reply 4 美金 , Měijīn , USD 5 設備 , Shèbèi , Equipment 6 小毛病 , Xiǎo máobìng , minor ailments 7 嚴重 , Yánzhòng , serious 8 力氣 , Lìqì , Strength 9 快篩試劑 , Kuàishāi shìjì , Rapid Screening Reagents 10 完全恢復 , Wánquán huīfù , Full Recovery 11 躺下來 , Tǎng xiàlái , Lie down 12 主人 , Zhǔrén , Master 13 乖乖 , Guāiguāi , Obediently 14 反反覆覆 , Fǎn fǎnfù fù , repeatedly 15 短袖 , Duǎn xiù , Short sleeves 16 打噴嚏 , Dǎ pēntì , Sneezing 17 鼻塞 , Bísè , Nasal congestion 18 呼吸 , Hūxī , Breathe 19 鼻孔 , Bíkǒng , Nostrils 20 喉嚨 , Hóulóng , Throat 21 嗅覺 , Xiùjué , 22 咳嗽 , Késòu , Cough 23 吐痰 , Tǔ tán , spitting, to expectorate phlegm 24 後遺症 , Hòuyízhèng , 25 冰糖燉梨 , Bīngtáng dùn lí , Stewed pears with rock sugar 26 有效 , Yǒuxiào , effective 27 甜美 , Tiánměi , sweet 28 京都念慈庵川貝枇杷膏 , Jīngdū niàn cí ānchuān bèi pípá gāo , Pipa syrup 29 中藥 , Zhōngyào , Traditional Chinese Medicine 30 入口 , Rùkǒu , to put into your mouth 31 腳臭味 , Jiǎo chòu wèi , Foot odor 32 嗅覺 , Xiùjué , sense of smell 33 正常 , Zhèngcháng , Normal 34 恢復 , Huīfù , Recover 35 症狀 , Zhèngzhuàng , Symptoms 36 持續 , Chíxù , Continue Powered by Firstory Hosting

This week is a double header, as we read both the Torah portions called "בהר" ("The Mountain") and "בחוקותי" ("The Laws"). These two titles seem to have opposite meanings. "Be a mountain" simply means to be proud and strong, while "בחוקותי" means to follow instructions. "בחוקותי" refers to the mitzvahs that are completely above logic; in the words of the Talmud, G-d says "I have made a law and you shall not question it." So, is this week about strength or obedience? The simple meaning of how these two variant messages coexist depends on whether the discussion is about the world or about the Torah. To the world, "Be a mountain" and be proud to be an ambassador of G-d. Don't be ashamed of embarrassment. Pay no attention to what they say. Towards the Torah's laws, put your mind aside. Don't question the words of G-d. There's a deeper understanding of these two messages and how they interplay and complement each other. "Be a mountain-like law and be a law-like mountain."There are voices out there, and within, that say, "Hey, I was given a mind for reason, I want to understand it all first." Be flexible. Let children grow up and decide what path they will choose. And yet, for dental hygiene, we aren't so flexible. The mountain law response, "Be a law like a mountain," is:Be patriotic to your faith. You don't need to question what you know in your heart and stand proud and teach your children to do the same. On the other hand, "be a mountain like a law." When the voice within you says you can't be so sure of your mission because, although G-d can do anything, you know about your mistakes and how you're unworthy of His kindness, the mountainous law response is "no!", If I woke up this morning, that means that I am precious to Him and that he's empowering me to accomplish something only I can do.Support the show

Full Text of ReadingsFriday of the Third Week of Easter Lectionary: 277The Saint of the day is Saint Peter ChanelSaint Peter Chanel's Story Anyone who has worked in loneliness, with great adaptation required and with little apparent success, will find a kindred spirit in Peter Chanel. Born in France, Peter's interest in the missions began in school, when he read letters missionaries to America sent back home. As a young priest, Peter revived a parish in a “bad” district by the simple method of showing great devotion to the sick. Wanting to be a missionary, he joined the Society of Mary, the Marists, at 28. Obediently, he taught in the seminary for five years. Then, as superior of seven Marists, he traveled to Western Oceania. The bishop accompanying the missionaries left Peter and a brother on Futuna Island northeast of Fiji, promising to return in six months. He was gone five years. Meanwhile, Peter struggled with this new language and mastered it, making the difficult adjustment to life with whalers, traders, and warring natives. Despite little apparent success and severe want, he maintained a serene and gentle spirit, plus endless patience and courage. A few natives had been baptized, a few more were being instructed. When the chieftain's son asked to be baptized, persecution by the chieftain reached a climax. Father Chanel was clubbed to death. Within two years after his death, the whole island became Catholic and has remained so. He was canonized by Pope Pius XII in 1954. Peter Chanel is the first martyr of Oceania and its patron. Reflection Suffering for Christ means suffering because we are like Christ. Very often the opposition we meet is the result of our own selfishness or imprudence. We are not martyrs when we are “persecuted” by those who merely treat us as we treat them. A Christian martyr is one who, like Christ, is simply a witness to God's love, and brings out of human hearts the good or evil that is already there. Saint Peter Chanel is the Patron Saint of: Oceania Saint of the Day, Copyright Franciscan Media

ScriptureTranscriptMusic:Crown Him with Many Crowns - Glen Ellyn ChoraleI Know that My Redeemer Lives - Bob BennettLead On, O King Eternal - LifeWay Worship

Today we are going to be talking about “laying down our insecurities to step into the unique role God has assigned to us.” As Christians, we know that God is sovereign over our lives and has given each of us assignments to do and fulfill. Sometimes though, our confidence falters, and we question if we are really where we are supposed to be and if it is lining up with God's purpose for us. Our guest today, Heather MacFadyen, author of the new book, Right Where You Belong: How to Identify & Fully Occupy Your God-Given Space. She will share:How to quiet insecurities by teaching us how to have confidence in God's assignments and contentment in occupying the space He's given. Grow in obedience to God's calling.Live abundantly and obediently in what God has given you.Book: Right Where You BelongWebsite: heathermacfadyen.comFavorite Bible VersionWrite the Word JournalsStrong's Concordance AppAlabaster Beautiful individual Books of the BibleDisclaimer: This post contains affiliate links. If you make a purchase, I may receive a commission at no extra cost to you.Support the showCheck out our website for more ways to fully connect to God's Word. There you'll find: Coffee and Bible Time Prayer Journals Coffee and Bible Time Courses Coffee and Bible Time Membership (weekly devotionals sent right to your inbox!) Find more great content on our YouTube channel: Coffee and Bible Time Our most popular video is “How I Study My Bible + In-Depth Bible Study!” with over 2M views! Follow us on InstagramVisit our Amazon ShopLearn more about the host Mentor MamaEmail us at podcast@coffeeandbibletime.comThanks for listening to Coffee and Bible Time, where our goal is to help people delight in God's Word!

Jesus sent His disciples into a storm. Really! There was a storm coming, Jesus knew it, and He told His disciples to get in the boat and go without Him. Do you ever feel like you are in a storm and Jesus has abandoned you? He didn't abandon His disciples, and He will never abandon you! If you let Him, He will use the storm to open your eyes to His glory and wonder – just like He did for the disciples! (Matthew 14:22-33, Mark, 6:45-52, John 6:16-21) (Original air date 4/12/22) ****** Welcome to Walking in the Word…the biblical teaching arm of the Women World Leaders podcast. My name is Julie Jenkins, and I'm so happy that you have committed the next few minutes to focusing your mind on the teaching that God has for us today. God wants to meet you where you are and longs to empower you to work together with Him and His people to showcase His glory. That is our goal at Women World Leaders, to use our gifting to share Jesus with the world, and to help empower you to do the same as you walk in your God-given calling. Wherever you are in your walk, we are glad that you have joined us. When I came to this ministry, I felt called to simply put my toe in the water. I wanted to find out what Women World Leaders was all about and spend some time in prayer with God, asking Him to lead me in only as deep as He wanted me to go. And that's what we want for you! Think of Women World Leaders as a stream of God's love that you can access in an as big or small way as God calls. We are thrilled that you are listening to our podcasts – and maybe that is exactly where you are supposed to be right now. But don't ever discount God's movement for you as He calls you deeper – to grow, to serve, to give, and to experience His love in community. When you are ready, check us out at womenworldleaders.com and ask God where and when He wants you to step deeper into the stream. On this, our Wednesday edition of the Women World Leaders podcast, we have the joy of studying Scripture together as we ask God what He wants us to learn from Him today. We are currently walking through the gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John chronologically. Before we jump into our scripture today from Matthew 14:22-33, Mark 6:45-52, and John 6:16-21, let's pray… Dear Most Holy and Ever-Present God! We thank you for meeting us where we are today and always being ready to share your heart with us as we open your Word. God, your Word is alive and active, sharper than any double-edged sword, and as we study today, we ask that you not spare us the blade. God, prune us as you teach us, that we may develop a deeper relationship with you. Open our hearts and our minds that we might truly grow and learn from you. In Jesus' name, I pray. Amen.   Last week we learned about Jesus turning five loaves of bread and two fish into a satisfying meal for well over 5000 hungry people. There is no doubt that that miracle amazed all who were present, and John 6:15 tells us that, as a result, the people were ready to make Jesus their king by force. King Jesus…sounds pretty appropriate. But, not to Jesus, not at that time or for that reason. Jesus knew the hearts of the people, and they weren't looking for an eternal King who would forgive their sins and lead them to life everlasting with God…they were looking for a worldly king. Their offer of kingship was akin to Satan's offer to Jesus to rule all the kingdoms of the world when he tempted Him in the desert. Jesus understood this temptation, and He separated Himself from the tempter…and He separated His disciples from the tempter as well. Matthew 14:22 in the New Living translation states… Jesus insisted that his disciples get back into the boat and cross to the other side of the lake, while he sent the people home. 23 After sending them home, he went up into the hills by himself to pray. Night fell while he was there alone. Jesus knew that the devil was up to his tricks, and He knew that the temptation to turn away from all that God had planned for Him was going to get increasingly more difficult with each step. So He retreated to pray – to spend time alone with His Father. In fact, He probably spent about six hours alone with God, while the disciples did what He told them to do. They got into the boat, only to encounter a dangerous storm. What the disciples didn't know was that even by sending them into the storm, Jesus was protecting them. We often note that Jesus was fully human, well, the disciples were fully flawed humans. Like us. If they had gotten wind of the fact that the people wanted JESUS to become KING…there's no telling where their imaginations would have gone. They were, after all, Jesus' right-hand men. Surely, if Jesus was to become king, their own positions would be elevated as they became members of the King's court! There is no telling how pride could have crept in and stolen their allegiance to God. Jesus knew exactly what He was doing when He sent His disciples by boat into a literal storm…He was protecting them from a storm of pride and greed that could have permanently sunk and destroyed them. How often do we nay-say the position we are in…wondering why our finances, position, or even relationships aren't all we wished they could be? Perhaps by placing us where we are, even placing us in the middle of a storm, God is protecting US from a danger that we don't even recognize. So…Jesus was with God, praying…and the disciples were boating into a storm. Did I mention that Jesus was WITH God? As the disciples were sailing into a storm, it likely crossed their minds…where is Jesus when we need Him? He knows how to calm the storm! But Jesus was with God…and He knew EXACTLY what the disciples were up against…and He knew EXACTLY what they needed. See…the disciples, whether they knew it or not, were in an intense learning period. First, they participated in one of the biggest miracles ever, then, maybe feeling a bit prideful, they got on a boat with their 12 baskets of leftovers…and steered right into a vicious storm. John 6:18 says…18 Soon a gale swept down upon them, and the sea grew very rough.  Mark writes…they were in serious trouble, rowing hard and struggling against the wind and waves And Matthew records…a strong wind had risen, and they were fighting heavy waves.  Jesus knew. Matthew 14:25… 25 About three o'clock in the morning[a] Jesus came toward them, walking on the water. 26 When the disciples saw him walking on the water, they were terrified. In their fear, they cried out, “It's a ghost!” The disciples did not recognize Jesus, likely because they weren't looking for Him. In their minds, He was on the shore praying. But Jesus was there…because Jesus is ALWAYS there for His children. And the fact that Jesus was walking on water was a clear demonstration of His deity. Job is recorded as extolling the virtues and attributes of God, and says in Job chapter 9, verse 8, “He alone has spread out the heavens and marches on the waves of the sea.” The word the disciples used for ghost demonstrated that instead of looking for Jesus, they were most likely thinking that an evil spirit was coming toward them. Mark records in chapter 6 verse 48 that Jesus intended to walk BY the boat…He was simply reminding them of His deity and control, as when God appeared in many instances throughout the Old Testament…but when Jesus recognized the disciples' utter terror…He spoke.. “Don't be afraid,” he said. “Take courage. I am here![b]” Jesus' presence should have been enough! But the disciples were still learning! And Jesus was SO gracious! Matthew, 14:28 continues… 28 Then Peter called to him, “Lord, if it's really you, tell me to come to you, walking on the water.” 29 “Yes, come,” Jesus said. This is remarkable to me… Jesus' intent was to walk BY the boat…but when Peter called to Him, Jesus didn't HESITATE to stop and respond. We've read over and over about Jesus' compassion for the people – healing them, freeing them from demons, even feeding them. In this case, Jesus was there to comfort the disciples. And Peter wanted nothing more than to be close to Jesus, so he asked Jesus to call him. And Jesus didn't hesitate. Jesus is always near us. He is always aware of what we need, and He certainly has the power to handle anything that is going on in our lives. But we must be aware, ask Him for His instruction, and then bravely follow His voice. Verse 29 continues… So Peter went over the side of the boat and walked on the water toward Jesus.  The lesson could end there. Jesus called to Peter to come, walk through a storm, across the water, defying logic and circumstance. And Peter obeyed. When has Jesus called you to get out of the boat? To draw near to Him? To trust the sound of His voice? Did you follow? Did you obey? Or are you still sitting in the boat? Peter followed. He stepped out. That could have been the end of an amazing story of faith. BUT…we are human…and in our humanity, even strong faith wavers when the world comes against us… Verse 30… 30 But when he saw the strong[c] wind and the waves, he was terrified and began to sink. Again…THAT could have been the end of the story! Peter got out of the boat with his gaze fixed on Jesus, got distracted, and sank. The end. But it isn't the end! Because God DOES NOT give up on us…or on our wavering faith! Instead, Peter looked back at Jesus and managed to grasp that wavering faith inside and shouted…  “Save me, Lord!” and 31 Jesus immediately reached out and grabbed him. “You have so little faith,” Jesus said. “Why did you doubt me?” So few words from Jesus, when He could have, by all rights, given Peter a complete lecture. Every time I hear this verse, I picture my children when they were tiny. I picture them coming to me with tears and big eyes…seeking forgiveness and feeling bad…I picture hugging them and kissing their head…and saying…its okay…but why did you doubt me? Jesus' reaction to Peter is one of pure and utter love and devotion. It is compassion for Peter's hurting, and wet, heart. Peter was gung ho…none of the other disciples asked if THEY could come to Jesus in the middle of the storm…but Peter asked! And Peter stepped out! And Peter wavered … and he sank. But then he called out to Jesus, who IMMEDIATELY reached out and grabbed him, and I like to imagine, kissed Him on the head in reassurance. Matthew 14:32 continues… 32 When they climbed back into the boat, the wind stopped. 33 Then the disciples worshiped him. “You really are the Son of God!” they exclaimed. This was the first time the Bible records that the disciples worshipped Jesus as the Son of God. And do you see why they did? Because they were in a storm, and Jesus calmed it. Jesus will always protect us…when we let Him. Because God who was passing by in a display of His sovereignty and peace, didn't hesitate to invite Peter to come to Him and then He stuck around and saved Peter even through his wavering faith. Jesus will always honor our faith in Him…even when it is flawed. Because Jesus, who had sent them out in a boat to encounter a storm, used that same storm to meet them where they were and to guide them into the knowledge that He is God. Jesus will always show us who He is…and His works will always point us to God. Our lives on this earth will not always go as we would like them to…but God is in control and God will always show up! When we call to Him, He will use every storm for His glory. If you are in a storm, or have been brought out of a storm, perhaps God is now calling you to share your story…so that others will see His glory and will worship Jesus as Lord and Savior. Call to Him. Obediently step out of the boat. And then shout His praise! He will never let you down. I promise! Dear Most Holy God…Thank you for bearing with us despite our wavering faith. We know you have a purpose and a plan for us and you are calling us to get out of the boat. Help us keep our eyes on you even as we walk on the water through the storms of this life. With you, we can. With you, we will. We put all our trust in you as we step bravely, for the purpose of your glory alone. In Jesus' name, I pray. Amen.

Do You Listen Obediently to God? How Our Disobedience Harms Our Relationship With God: Reflections from Psalm 81 What does it mean to obediently listen?  In Psalm 81 we see God's call to listen to Him because He desires to bless.  Over and over we see God's heart is for reconciliation and relationship. As we study Psalm 81, we can learn from Israel's example to listen to the one who loves us most. Thoughts to Journal: Do you ever struggle to be obedient to God when He calls you to do something?  Sometimes we hear Him but don't want to actually be obedient to Him.  When we realize that the call to obedience is more about our relationship with Him than anything else, it can change our perspective.  Allow yourself some time to reflect and journal your honest thoughts. Today's Key Verse: If my people would but listen to me, if Israel would follow my ways, how quickly would I subdue their enemies and turn my hands against their foes. Psalm 81:13-14   Hey friends, welcome to the Hearing Jesus Podcast.   Do you sometimes doubt if you are truly hearing God's voice or if it's really your own? Do you wonder how you can know the difference? Do you struggle to feel confident in your relationship with God and what He says in his word? Do you sometimes feel stagnant or like you hit a wall in your spiritual life?   Hey, I'm your host, Rachael Groll: missionary, author, pastor, and life coach. And I have been there. I, too, was doubting God's voice in my own life. I, too, felt insecure about the things I thought God might be calling me to do. I wanted to make a difference in the world and be obedient to what God was calling me to do, but I wasn't quite sure how to figure out what exactly that was. I kept telling myself that I was wasting time trying to figure it out or waiting for Him to show me. Or that I wasn't qualified to do the things I thought He might be telling me to do.   The answer for me was found in the pages of the Bible, as I learned how to understand what it was actually saying. If you are ready to grow in your faith and to step confidently into the calling God has for you, then join me as we dig deep into God's word so you can learn to live out your faith in your everyday life.   Friend, you are loved, you are cherished, and you are His.   The Hearing Jesus Podcast will encourage and equip you to step into the calling God has for your life, living out your faith in the everyday. Together we will break down walls that keep us from growing spiritually. We will dig deep into our Bibles to understand and connect the Scriptures to our lives. We will boldly obey what God calls us to do, walking through doors that only He can open.   Join me for your daily dose of faith, honesty, and prayer.   Need to chat one on one? Snag a private session with Rachael: https://calendly.com/shehears   Learn -> https://shehears.org Shop -> https://shehears.org/resources Connect -> rachael@shehears.org Community-> https://www.facebook.com/groups/743928930315696/ Instagram-> https://www.instagram.com/she_hears/ Missions Support-> https://www.cotni.org/campaigns/rachael-groll   Purchase the She Hears: Learning to Listen to Jesus Bible Study : https://shehears.org/resources   In this six-week study from the Book of John, Rachael Groll takes you on an in-depth exploration into the lives of six women Jesus knew. Women often deal with feelings of insecurity and unworthiness, yet the lives of these women show that Jesus values us, wants a relationship with us, and can use us to further His kingdom. In her warm, conversational style, Rachael ties together her life experience, knowledge of the Scriptures, and her compassion for women to encourage us and enable us to become the women God has called us to be.  See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Message from Brad Wheeler on February 5, 2023

There is a natural way to see the Christmas story. It is important to live by faith and shift to spiritual living. Christ was truly born of a woman, a miracle happened in Mary and she was blessed and chosen. But most blessed are those who hear and keep the Word. Learn to live by […]

So many thoughts come to mind as we think about work. The solution isn't a new job or more money, it is a biblical perspective on work.1) How should we work? Obediently with a sincere heart. 2) Who do we work for? For the Lord. 3) Why do we work? For the future reward.

Pastor Jim shares his upbringing, how God has led his life, and what's next for the Kothe family.

Today on the Matt Walsh Show, top HHS official Rachel Levine appears on TV again this week to push castration and sterilization on kids. But instead of being a high ranking federal official, Levine should be in prison. Also, 47 Republicans get on board with the federal government redefining marriage. Many people on the Right have changed their minds on the marriage issue in recent years. But why? What compelling argument convinced them? And the heroic Squad, led by AOC, are arrested and frog marched in front of cameras with invisible handcuffs. A harrowing scene. Plus, CNN discovers something known as “summer,” and blames it on climate change.   Become a DailyWire+ member today to access my documentary “What Is A Woman?” and the entire content library: https://utm.io/ueMfc    Check out Morning Wire on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, DailyWire+, or wherever you listen to podcasts. — Today's Sponsors:  40 Days for Life is one of the largest pro-life grassroots organizations in the world. “What to Say When: The Complete New Guide to Discussing Abortion” Available on Amazon OR at 40DaysforLife.com Charity Mobile sends 5% of your monthly plan price to the Pro-Life charity of your choice. Call at 1-877-474-3662 or chat online at Mention offer code: WALSH Epic Will is partnering with the DW to protect our staff and their families. Get 10% OFF Your Will! Use Code ‘WALSH' at EpicWill.com Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Today on the Matt Walsh Show, top HHS official Rachel Levine appears on TV again this week to push castration and sterilization on kids. But instead of being a high ranking federal official, Levine should be in prison. Also, 47 Republicans get on board with the federal government redefining marriage. Many people on the Right have changed their minds on the marriage issue in recent years. But why? What compelling argument convinced them? And the heroic Squad, led by AOC, are arrested and frog marched in front of cameras with invisible handcuffs. A harrowing scene. Plus, CNN discovers something known as “summer,” and blames it on climate change. Become a DailyWire+ member today to access my documentary “What Is A Woman?” and the entire content library: https://utm.io/ueMfc  Check out Morning Wire on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, DailyWire+, or wherever you listen to podcasts.—Today's Sponsors: 40 Days for Life is one of the largest pro-life grassroots organizations in the world. “What to Say When: The Complete New Guide to Discussing Abortion” Available on Amazon OR at 40DaysforLife.comCharity Mobile sends 5% of your monthly plan price to the Pro-Life charity of your choice. Call at 1-877-474-3662 or chat online at Mention offer code: WALSHEpic Will is partnering with the DW to protect our staff and their families. Get 10% OFF Your Will! Use Code ‘WALSH' at EpicWill.com Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

What does it mean to follow Jesus? What does it really look like? Jesus called us to follow Him … but have we settled for an incidental Jesus, rather than an essential Jesus. Getting lost along the way, we end-up with a recreational faith and dysfunctional faith - instead of a transformational faith. But, finding the way through is as easy as following Jesus' lead. Join us today, as we all learn the powerful simplicity of following Jesus.

Full Text of ReadingsThursday of the Second Week of Easter Lectionary: 270All podcast readings are produced by the USCCB and are from the Catholic Lectionary, based on the New American Bible and approved for use in the United States _______________________________________The Saint of the day is Saint Peter ChanelAnyone who has worked in loneliness, with great adaptation required and with little apparent success, will find a kindred spirit in Peter Chanel. Born in France, Peter's interest in the missions began in school, when he read letters missionaries to America sent back home. As a young priest, Peter revived a parish in a “bad” district by the simple method of showing great devotion to the sick. Wanting to be a missionary, he joined the Society of Mary, the Marists, at 28. Obediently, he taught in the seminary for five years. Then, as superior of seven Marists, he traveled to Western Oceania. The bishop accompanying the missionaries left Peter and a brother on Futuna Island northeast of Fiji, promising to return in six months. He was gone five years. Meanwhile, Peter struggled with this new language and mastered it, making the difficult adjustment to life with whalers, traders, and warring natives. Despite little apparent success and severe want, he maintained a serene and gentle spirit, plus endless patience and courage. A few natives had been baptized, a few more were being instructed. When the chieftain's son asked to be baptized, persecution by the chieftain reached a climax. Father Chanel was clubbed to death. Within two years after his death, the whole island became Catholic and has remained so. He was canonized by Pope Pius XII in 1954. Peter Chanel is the first martyr of Oceania and its patron. Reflection Suffering for Christ means suffering because we are like Christ. Very often the opposition we meet is the result of our own selfishness or imprudence. We are not martyrs when we are “persecuted” by those who merely treat us as we treat them. A Christian martyr is one who, like Christ, is simply a witness to God's love, and brings out of human hearts the good or evil that is already there. Saint Peter Chanel is the Patron Saint of: Oceania Saint of the Day, Copyright Franciscan Media