(If you're still reading this, I suppose you're not too upset by blasphemy. If you skipped the first two episodes, well, fuck you. Go ahead and be upset.
This story is public domain. That means there is no copyright. The story is free, but Nifty needs money to stay online. Go to http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html and make a tax deductible contribution.)
The Next World
I would like to tell you about all the other sex crazed things we did that night, except we didn't do any. Alex was understandably sleepy, and I was just too fucking old. We got under the covers together, and he fell asleep in my arms as I tried to think up a good story for Archbishop Archie Archibald. Yes, that is his real name.
Archie always reminds me of a constipated frog. Just use your imagination, and think really, really ugly. Just the same, he was my superior, and I needed a damned good reason to take on an acolyte, since the Texas Union of Religious Denominations didn't have acolytes. Also, I know Archie didn't have much sympathy for gays, because they were the ones he wanted my suicide bombers to blow up the most, right after Hollywood Jews, or maybe the same because he figured they were the same.
Alex woke me up the next morning, rubbing his face up and down my slightly stubbly cheek. I don't always look like I have to shave every morning, but I do anyway, because a Bishop should look respectable. Was he enjoying my slight stubble? I don't know, but he was enjoying being in bed with me, rubbing his smooth little body up against my fairly smooth big body.
I guess I'd grabbed his ass even before I was fully awake, and he was humping my leg like a puppy. I guess my morning breath was as bad as his, though, because neither of us was in any way interested in kissing -- but there is a very nice way to have a nice wake-up while avoiding morning breath. It's called a sixty-nine.
Alex, of course, never had done it before, because that asshole teenager Jimmy Joe never gave a shit about little Alex's needs, and really needed that lynching. (Okay, I might be a little jealous because Jimmy Joe got to Alex first, but the asshole meth-head still deserved getting his neck stretched.) So I pushed off the covers, flipped around, and took that perfect dicklet into my mouth. Alex, a bright boy despite his religious upbringing, got the idea immediately.
Anybody reading this is familiar with a sixty-nine, so it hardly seems worth describing in any detail. As you are aware, we were sucking each others' dicks at the same time. Well, I did get a chance to lick a finger and insert it well up his ass, which got him bucking pretty hard. He really liked that finger up the ass, which got me thinking about what else he might like up his ass, either later in our relationship or maybe later that night.
I pumped whatever hadn't been wrung out of me the night before down his throat, and hung on tight as he thrashed around in another of those incredibly sexy dry boy orgasms. Maybe, I thought, I tasted just a little taste of something in my mouth, but it was very slight, and then it was over. We stayed in our upside-down embrace for a while, enjoying each other's softening dicks for a few minutes more. And for a few minutes after that. Me, I am kind of comforted by the sensation of a little softy in my mouth, or rubbing up against my face. I like to kiss it. Quite a lot.
Then I remembered the cleaning woman was due to arrive in about half an hour. We took a fast shower, together, with only minimal sex play. I brushed my teeth, and found a spare toothbrush so he could brush his. (Why is it lovers always want to have their own toothbrushes?) Afterwards we got dressed, and sat on the couch kissing until the doorbell rang.
(I guess you will not be surprised to hear that Alex never had kissed anybody on the mouth until he met me. But, like I said, he was a bright boy and a fast learner, and once his teeth were clean, his tongue was delicious.)
I opened the door for Conchita. She gave Alex a fast once-over, and maybe rolled her eyes a little, but Catholics are used to clergy screwing around with boys -- so she just dragged out the vacuum cleaner and started cleaning. When Alex and I got back to my office, there was a message to call Archie.
"He couldn't possibly have found out that fast," I told myself, as I tried to call him back.
It only took about fifteen minutes to get through, which is pretty good for Beaumont to Oklahoma City. It's supposed to be a little better on the West Coast, and up in the Northeast, but I doubt it. They say there used to be this thing called "the internet," which was a lot faster, but it's gone now. They also say that "internet" might have had something to do with the crumbling of world order, but I wouldn't know.
"Hey, Archie!" I greeted him.
"Bob, you know better than that."
Well, I was supposed to know better, but I always pushed it.
"Hey, Your Reverence! What can I do for you?"
"Bob," he said, "we need more bombers. Them Hollywood Jews, and them Mormon heretics and such like, they're not even paying attention anymore. So I'm sending you out on the road, on a recruitment tour. I mean, I know you're not exactly the guy whose picture you see when you look up charismatic in the dictionary, but if I get the PR guys to write you a decent stump speech, I think you can do okay."
"Aw, shit, Archie... I mean, Your Reverence... you know you're sending me way out of my comfort zone."
"It's your job, Bob. You'll get a daily stipend for travel expenses, and you'll bunk with local families."
"Oh, Jesus Christ, Your Reverence!" I complained. "Anything but that! I'm not asking for five star hotels, but I hate staying in them humble asswipe houses."
We negotiated a while, and finally he agreed I could stay in the cheaper motels, and bring along one servant to take care of the menial stuff. It seemed like Alex and me were going on a road trip.
I practiced the damned speech until I had it memorized, and got my traveling gear together. Truth be told, I hate traveling, and I hated having so little time for Alex even more. We headed out for Jasper early one morning, but I guess the company that owned rights to the road wasn't making any money on it, because they'd let it fall apart. It was only eighty miles, but it took us almost five hours -- and if you think Beaumont is boring, you haven't been to Jasper.
By the time we got to our motel, though, I was a mass of nerves. Public speaking really is not my thing.
"It's okay," Alex told me. "Don't worry. You just tell them what it's like to be filled with the Spirit of the Lord. I mean, you know there ain't no better feeling in the world."
He was right. If I could just channel what I'd been describing to him as "the Spirit of the Lord," I could get those hicks standing up and shouting out and strapping on suicide vests with total enthusiasm. I started getting hard, just thinking about it. Alex helped with a little sucking and licking. I started feeling a little more confident, and I stiffened up even more. Alex was having the best time he'd had with my cock in days. That boy certainly loved cock.
Then, suddenly, he looked up and said, "You know, you didn't put your finger up me for near a week."
It was true. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. With the trip and all, I'm just not myself."
"Well, you could do it now," he kind of insisted.
Well, I was hard as a walnut walking stick, so I figured, "What the hell." I left him on the motel bed, and fished around in the motel bathroom until I found something that would be slippery and slidey. I don't much remember what it was, but I suppose it was shampoo or maybe hand lotion or something.
I rubbed a big dab on my dick, and rubbed some more up his hole. He got all wild, as usual, when my finger went up there. Then I pushed a second finger in beside it. I think that might have hurt him a little, because his boner got a little softer for a second or two, but boys can be pretty stretchy. Anyway, I am not that big around, so two fingers' worth of stretch was enough. I pulled my fingers out, and pushed my dick into their place.
"Oh, Bob," he said, "is that your...?"
"Uh huh," I answered. "I'm going to pump you all full of Jesus juice."
If I'd had any control over myself whatsoever, I probably wouldn't have rammed myself up his little virgin hole quite so hard -- but I was out of control, totally out of control. All I could do was pound him and pound him until his little dick was pulsing like crazy in my hand and his hole was grabbing at my cock like a hot and wet Chinese finger trap. And after he had his little boy dry orgasm, I wasn't finished, so I just kept pounding and pounding.
I think he probably came again, but I can't be sure. I was not being a sweet and sensitive lover, I was just being a beast. And when I emptied myself deep into his ass in convulsions of pent up lust, I wasn't worried about his feelings at all.
It seems he was feeling okay, though, because when my dick finally went soft and dropped out of his hole, he flipped around and kissed me, hard, on the mouth, with lots and lots of tongue.
Then he pulled back an inch or so, and said, "Gee, Bishop Bob, you really love me. I never even dreamed you could love me that much."
I was not especially proud of myself, but that didn't stop me from taking him into my arms and instantly falling asleep.
(To be continued. Your comments are welcome: firstname.lastname@example.org )