The Irreverent Reverend

The "crunch, crunch, crunch" of the Reverend's heels echoed in the dark lot. He did nothing to soften his footsteps. Jessica shivered in his arms. He held her tightly and felt her naked flesh curled tightly around him. An innocence and purity emanated from her, and though they had just left the scene of horrific ordeal, he imagined himself carrying a kitten or a new born baby.

When he reached the car, she cringed as he pushed her gently against the cold metal of the car door and reached for the handle. Her reaction was odd, he noticed, considering the torture she had just been submitted to, and there was something inexplicably different about the woman in his arms. He muttered "sorry" and moving as quickly as possible, he swung the door open, placed Jessica in the seat and covered her with his coat. Striding around the vehicle, he opened his door and twisted the key. Jessica had already slid over next to him and he felt her warmth at his side. He spun the vehicle around and when he touched the county road, draped his arm around her.

The Reverend did not speak. He listened to Jessica. She uttered no words but her body emanated little sounds, bubbling like a spring. It sounded like water held trapped deep in the earth, gurgling as it percolated from captivity deep in the ground. Her whole body seemed to be crying and tears flowed from every pore. The Reverend was confused and as he sat next to her and listened, he wondered whether he had saved or stolen her. He knew not the answer, but he was sure of one thing, she was safe now, and that she was with him.

"Where do you live?" he asked as they left the blackness of the night and entered the deserted town. She snuggled closer to the Reverend, comforted by his question and gave him directions. They passed Billy's Place and looking into the lonely neon sign flashing in the dark window, he thought back to what seemed another lifetime ago, heard her laugher at the table and the memory of their sexy dancing and flashing him outside the men's room rekindled a surge in his loins, like a gentle nudge, and he realized that he was still semi-erect.

It must have been returning to the safety of the deserted town, far away from the dark ordeal out there on the county road and the in back woods maintenance facility that allowed the apprehension to drop from the Reverend. A new emotion was engulfing the man. He felt the pulsing of sexual tension. He was a warrior returning from battle and next to him, cuddled around his arm was his booty. He felt the lion roar inside of him; he had captured his prey and she would be his prize. A dark smile crossed his lips and he pulled her tightly as they drove down her street and she whispered, "this driveway."

He wheeled the vehicle next to a big garish pick-up truck parked in the driveway. Its frame was elevated above huge knobby tires and it looked freakish like an oversized geek with high water pants. The Reverend's anonymous vehicle was dwarfed by the clownish truck; he assumed its owner was Ricky.

The Reverend drew in a breath and remembered that the night was not over. Her home offered false security. They would not be alone. Inside was Ricky. After their daring and heroic rescue, he returned home only to find that her castle had been penetrated and another man was waiting behind her folds. Fear was behind the Reverend now. It was a stream that he had crossed several times in the night. There was no river too wide. He would meet whatever obstacles he found on the other side. He had brought Jessica home and the lion was ready to rout out her lair.

They sat quietly for a moment and then he silenced his vehicle. As the sound of the motor died away, apprehension began to fill the Reverend. It was as if the lion's purr had been silenced as well. Uncertainty crept back into the man and he struggled to hold onto the pulsing sensations in his groin. The instant of decision loomed and grew like a thundercloud in the quiet of the car. "Would she thank him for the ride home and be gone in the night?" he wondered. It was moments like these that tormented the shy man. The tension at the end of a first date was always unbearable. Too many times he had sat, stretching out each syllable of small talk into a paper thin ribbon, watching for a sign, waiting for an indication that if he snuggled a little closer, she would respond with a kiss.

Granted, tonight was a completely different sort of date, one with the expectation that the evening would start with a kiss, not end with just one, but, after all that had transpired, his ingrained sense of propriety took over and he politely waited. Besides, there was something still nagging his brain, how Jessica looked when she was on the table, how she responded to the officer's ministrations, how, at a deep place in her soul, she had thrived on her punishment. Frankly, the Reverend began to have second thoughts about whether he had really saved her but when she slipped her hand into his, interlocked their fingers and whispered, "Come inside, lover." His confidence was restored. The Reverend opened his door and together they slid out of the car and pattered up the sidewalk to her home.

The door was unlocked, left open as if someone or something was waiting, baiting them to enter. A TV blared and beer cans littered the table. In one corner a camera was set up on a tripod, and the Reverend looked at it in disgust, thinking back to the garage and the camera there. Ricky lay strewn on the sofa, his legs askew, his mouth gaping and he snored loudly. She breathed a sigh of relief. He was drunk and passed out.

"It is OK," she whispered and with their hands still clenched together she led him across the room towards the stairway. She started up the stairs and he followed her closely. Each step was painful as the aches in his calves and groin was agitated by the climb, but to him, each step was a penance bringing him closer her. His whole attention was focused on Jessica as she moved steadily above him, leading and guiding him as they ascended the dark stairway. The lean tone of her legs rippled and her ass giggled with each step. The redness of her flesh had faded, although in the dim light the Reverend could see the dark marks of the lash. At long last, this was truly a stairway to heaven and his heart danced. Stopping at the top of the steps, she opened her bedroom door, turned and embraced him.

It was a magical moment; a fairy tale ending after a long and difficult saga. It was this moment that he would remember most vividly when the passing of years mellowed the horror of this night; it would become a favorite page in his life's book and when his stirring urges seemed gone forever, he would open up the book, reread this page and feel his passion and joy return, unfailingly, like spring blooming in his heart. Its effect on him would be as poignant then as it was now. He embraced Jessica and felt her nakedness, her complete vulnerability and she opened up herself to him and her love poured forth. He had ascended the ladder and knew that he had arrived. Beneath him were the ragged cliffs, he had scaled the walls, and now, at summit, she waited.

He loved the thrill of entering, the first step inside a woman's bedroom. It was this way with all his lovers. The door never opened easy. He learned when to tap and when to pound, when to plead with droopy eyes and when to cajole with witty banter. The incantation was never the same, each door a little different; he gave solemn offerings, he told colorful stories, but mostly he waited, for he knew that time alone held the key to life's treasures. He blinked and her door swung open. Inside were her things; the shoes, the tables, the lamp; books stacked on the bedside table and on the floor. Almost everything about a woman may be gleamed from her bedroom. It is here that she paints the picture of her life, where she goes to escape the world, where she weaves the fabric of her soul and where she surrounds herself with those things and people most precious to her. She had opened her chamber and revealed her bed. Tonight it would be his throne.

He looked around and drank in Jessica's ambiance. She lit a candle on the bedside table. The light illuminated the room. She motioned to him and curled her hand towards him and the bed. She quickly slipped under the sheets; there was no need to undress, except for her stockings, she was naked and her bundle of clothes had been dropped on the floor. He looked around and began to remove his clothes as well. There would be no sensual strip-tease tonight, no impassioned tearing or seductive revealing. He undressed like he was preparing for a shower and glanced up at her as she intently watched. There was softness in her eyes. No trace of the long night could be seen. She watched; without expectation, without embarrassment, without voyeuristic pleasure and waited. It did not matter to her if his penis was two or twelve inches, if his abs were chiseled or jellied, if he had hair or was bald; not that these things were unimportant, later they would rear their head, but tonight, they had vanished, and seemed almost silly, inconsequential, and superficial.

Something had happened to her between the back hall of the restroom and when the door had slammed shut in the maintenance garage. She needed this man in her bed, now. He had started a fire in her that only he could control now. The Reverend slipped under the covers and she wrapped herself around him. The litheness of her movement surprised him. They were intertwined in an instant and she moved with the speed of a spider. Now was her turn. It was his wounds that she was intent on mollifying. He had been hurt out on the highway and she ignored the fact that she had been used and tormented. She reached to her bedside table and took out a bottle of baby oil and began to massage and salve him.

The Reverend lay still and allowed her hands full access to his body. Only then did he realize that he was shaking. The softness of her skin and the coolness of the oil relaxed him. On his shins, still too painful to touch, large purple bruises had formed. The pain in his back and groin, forgotten since he rose from the gravel, now throbbed deep inside. She stroked and massaged him, like a mother cat caring for her kitten. Her fingers traced long wet licks across his flesh and he purred.

Something did not feel quite right, pondered the Reverend. He could not place his finger on it; the feel of her touch had momentarily turned off his brain. Gently, her ministrations moved towards his crotch. She lightly spread the oil on his thighs, and careful not to apply to much pressure, she lifted his scrotum and massaged around his balls and the tender place between his sack and his anus. His penis was semi-erect and even though the flow of blood to this sensitive area made his testicles throb, he enjoyed the sensations. She took his penis in her hand and began stroking and massaging it as well.

It was the strangest of hand jobs. He could feel from her touch and the look in her eyes that she was fondling him like a doctor, not a lover. She coated his penis completely and ran her finger under the lip that formed at the top of his head and over the top across the thin slit at its peak. She rubbed his stomach, just above his shaft in circles that grew wider and wider until she reached his chest and delicately circled his nipples. The sensations were very erotic and he squeezed his penis, pushing it upwards, flaring its head.

The night's trauma disappeared and he felt his passion rise. It was then that he realized what was wrong. He had suffered several blows from the officer's billy club during the night; his shins had been battered, his back and groin ached of internal injuries and his lip had been cut and was bleeding. This was nothing compared to what had happened to Jessica. "What was he doing laying here?" he wondered in shock.