The Irreverent Reverend

ES TO FINAL CHAPTER

"This is the final chapter, and it does, at long last, contain the steamy sex scenes, however, I realize I have done you, my gentle reader, a disservice for the manner in which this tale has been sliced in time, category and delivery. To understand how Jessica and the Reverend are now able to unite and how their transformation is possible, I recommend searching out and following the preceding chapters first."

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He arched his back and breathed deeply. His nostrils flared; he drew in the room's air, filled himself with each trace and nuance emanating from her chamber. Her arms were stretched above her head and he released his grip then stepped back and threw the covers off the bed. Without a word he moved to her legs and peeled off her stockings. His hands moved swiftly, filled with confidence. She lay still on the bed and felt dangled in mid-air, unsure whether he was going to reach over the edge and rescue her or take his departure. He stepped off the bed and she trembled. "Was he taking these stockings home as a souvenir?" she wondered.

He moved to the head of the bed and grasping her arm tied a knot around her wrist. He secured this to the headboard and then did the same with the other. At the foot of the bed and he gruffly pulled her legs and her body down, so that she was outstretched and tight. He paced, circling with the single minded intentness of an animal marking his territory.

His hands became animated as he stretched his fingers, rolled them into his palm and pressed his palms together. His hands readied, he touched her. There was tenderness in his fingertips, but he curled his fingers so that only his nails scraped against her flesh. Though he had not spoken a word other than an occasional grunt, she felt in his touch, his hands firmly clenched around her lifeline and she knew that she was no longer falling.

He stood at the foot of the bed and pushed her legs apart so wide that each foot dangled over the edge. Eyeing her dressing table, he opened the top drawer, it was not polite curiosity, rather the drawer was flung open and he pawed the contents, looking for something, searching for an item, though he had never entered her room before, that he was now intent on recovering. He slammed shut the drawer and opened the next. Reaching inside, he took another pair of stockings, she had many, and set about to bind her legs in the same manner as her hands. Still, he did not say a word. She watched him breathless as he stalked about the room. "Something has happened," she told herself, "he is no longer the timid man she met at the bar." He took in every detail of the room, looking, exposing, and rummaging through her private boudoir.

Reaching for his jeans, he slipped the belt out of the loops, folded it in half and smacked his palm several times, gently at first, then harder. Reading his lips, "This will have to do," she heard him say.

"My precious," he spoke and kneeled on the bed next to her. Her eyes were glued to him and she waited. "It shall be so," he whispered, and took her face in his hands and squeezing her cheeks lifted her head off the pillow. He brought his mouth down on hers, hard, wet, with a primal savagery. They kissed. He shot his tongue in her mouth and their lips danced; his tongue a rogue minstrel darting between their mouths in a dervish whirl. She struggled to return his oral embrace, to keep time with the rapidly moving blur of mouth and tongue. He gripped her shoulders and pulled her further down the bed, springing the elastic of the stocking and her arms even tighter.

His hands were all over her body now, the oil allowed him to move quickly, and his short nails clawed her flesh. From her neck to her feet, his hands moved covered her. He touched every part of her, nothing lay hidden; his hands pushed under her back, and she arched as his fingers plied the area between her shoulder blades, followed the knobs of her spine and kneaded the small of her back.

Kneeling between her legs, he took his left hand and smoothed it over her stomach, reaching for the pool of excess oil that had formed in her belly button. Coating his hand, he moved his palm with slow deliberation across her swollen pussy, taking care to brusquely push against her engorged clit, past her vaginal lips, entering them only a fraction of an inch, and proceeding past this opening to her ass. His fingers dawdled only momentarily on her anus then explored further, following this cleft until it disappeared at her tailbone.

On his next pass, he re-lubricated his hand from her belly and followed the same line, slower this time, more direct, and with greater pressure. This time he stopped at her anal opening and his finger spun a slow circle around her anus. She had only recently begun to explore this area, and was still highly sensitive, both mentally and physically. There lingered, in her mind, the idea that this was dirty and a forbidden place, so when she found a man confident and strong enough to push himself in there, the juxtaposition of emotions promised her a life changing orgasm.

He wasted no time, she noticed, and her muscles instinctively twitched as his finger approached. A smile crossed his lips as he watched how a push of his finger would cause her hips to buck. She was so sensitive and responsive. He pushed, she bucked; he pulled back, she relaxed. He had no idea that these games could be this fun. He played with her, teased her, and noticed that every action of his met with a reaction of hers. Never had he been with a woman so alive, so attentive to his touch. He toyed with the opening to her ass and then, in one smooth motion, he buried his finger deeply. She gasped and he pushed further, splaying his other fingers out of the way, invading her as far as possible.

Now, with his finger deep in her ass, he twisted it; first to the right, then to the left, and, returning it to center, his thumb entered her pussy. He slipped right in, she was so wet and he pushed deep inside her. The warmth of her sex filled his hand and then, as he felt her juice drool and pool in his palm, he clenched his fist and raised her hips off the bed. He held her with just his middle finger and thumb, her pelvis followed his instructions, and, like a well trained horse she arched her back, anticipated his movements, and raised herself in the air. "Yesss," she squealed, her cry tangled and barely intelligible.

He held her aloft for a moment and then set her down on the bed. With his free right hand, he returned to her breasts and to her outstretched nipples. There was no foreplay now. He pinched her nipple between his thumb and index finger and her body shuddered. He marveled at her reactions. He pinched the other nipple and pulled on it until snapped between his slippery fingers. Again, she exhibited the same reaction. He was getting the idea of this now and dug one hand simultaneously in her ass and pussy and with the other, tormented her breasts, squeezing them savagely and pinching her nipples. She cried out and flipped on the bed, tugging with her wrists, unable to escape. She writhed and pulled against the stockings and the bed's frame. He persisted, and her body became a lightning rod under his fingers, each small motion of his amplified in her.

Her eyes were closed and he watched her carefully. Her eyelids were not clenched, as before, and although her body flopped and tugged at the stockings binding her limbs, he sensed peacefulness in her countenance. It was starting to make sense. He felt a quiver begin within his left hand and he pulled his fingers out. The lack of stimulation drove her crazy. Her pelvis bucked, seeking his hand, mourning the loss, she was so close now. He watched as her hips calmed and he smiled. "Humm," he thought and flaring his nostrils he inhaled deeply, taking in the air and all that he could of the woman bound beneath him.

When her breathing became regular, almost normal in its rhythm, he brought his face to hers and blew a warm stream of air, like the one he used to stimulate her vagina, on her mouth and face. She opened her mouth, and received his air. He blew again and coated her lips and the inside of her mouth with his stream. When he had exhaled completely, he brought his lips closer to hers and licked her. He made big cat licks, using the flatness of his tongue, and covered her lips with long, flat, wet licks. Her tongue darted out to meet his and he pulled back. His tongue darted, in a little game of cat and mouse. He teased her with his tongue, coaxed her with kisses and when she pursed her lips or reached out with her tongue, he pulled back.

"Lovely, absolutely adorable," he commented and leaned back to view her. Her skin, coated with perspiration and oil, glimmered in the candlelight, and the traces of the whip and his fingernails had dispersed themselves into a general reddish glow. Her breasts bobbed on her chest and every moment or so a slow rocking movement circled her pelvis. Her lips were flushed, both on her mouth and on her vagina. A quiet had come over her body as he ran his hands through her hair.

She rested, felt him combing her hair and was content. It pleased him to see her this way and he paused and admired her before he stepped off the bed and retrieved his belt. The Reverend coiled the buckle around his palm and leaving about two feet loose, he dangled the leather over her body. He rotated his wrist so that the belt made wide arching strokes over her; she felt only air, a butterfly kiss, as it grazed her surface. Back and forth in a pendulum, he swung the belt, from her legs to her shoulders. Each time he made a pass, the belt moved a little closer until it touched her flesh, first on the raised flesh of her breasts and then across her stomach and hips.

He coiled several more inches in his hand and then closing his fingers into a fist, he began to whip her, gently at first but gaining in tempo. He watched her eyes and face intently as the tap of the belt grew in volume and sharpness. Special attention was paid to her breasts. Each nipple was extremely sensitive and he struck only above and below. Next, with his free hand, he pinched her nipple, and she gasped, and he tugged it towards her neck, exposing the underside of her breast and her delicate flesh to the rapid pace of the leather. Then, he grasped the other nipple, pulled this breast forward and a series of "cracks" sounded there as well.

Her breath grew ragged and he sent the belt down on each nipple, its swollen tip took the blow and jabbed into her like a finger. Faster then slower the leather strip landed and she writhed under his watchful eye. Across her stomach the belt landed and her panting became exaggerated. Lower and lower, the belt inched down until he crossed her belly button and passed by her piercing and its metal ring marking the place like a signpost, the danger zone below. The slaps penetrated this zone, past the invisible tan line and on the smoothly shaven area just above her pussy. Her pelvis arched slightly to meet the leather. The "slap, slap, slap" echoed in her room and then he moved the belt lower hop scotching to the tops of her thighs. She felt the sting strike her tender flesh as the belt wrapped around her thighs.

Her face bore a grimace but her eyes remained calm. Nowhere, did he see the tightly clenched eyelids that he witnessed back in the garage. He dragged the belt across her, it almost tickled, and, when her cheeks relaxed, he raised his fist and sent the belt flying again. It struck her legs, her stomach and her breasts. He drew it across her again and alternated teasing with its tail and tormenting with its sting. He thought back to the garage, it seemed lifetimes ago, and realized that, for the second time in one night, Jessica was bound, exposed, and forced to endure a man's punishment. There was something very different about this scene. A communication on a deep primal level was happening between Jessica and the Reverend. He struck and she received, he pushed and she opened, and when she faltered at the edge, he drew back and she reopened herself.

It was not as if he hadn't played this game before. He had. There were times when he flung the door open and allowed the dragon to snort its fire freely. He was certainly no expert, but had delighted in tying clever knots and composing simple designs with clothespins. He had spanked, pinched and listened for the hidden "yes" in the "no" but had always stopped long before tears welled. During these times, they were lonely travelers, moving on private one way streets and his only memory was how they seemed to meet and then fade away, with only traces of red tail lights in his mirror and fading colors on her flesh.

Tonight, with Jessica, it was different. She was bound on her own bed and had fully given herself to him. It was as if she could anticipate his every move, and he could anticipate hers. They had not spoken more than a dozen words to each other since leaving the garage, but with their bodies, they freely talked. He was vigilant as he watched the pain mix into pleasure and with each strike of the belt he felt a power welling up inside of him, each muffled cry a pulse in his soul. He was not the officer in the garage whose quest for domination had become a vicious tornado, a man whose void twisted and shattered everything in its path. No, tonight the Reverend had found life and although the passage they walked was dark, he was her guide and her fire glowed brightly, their darkness gave way to light.

A tingling arose on his back. It started low and crept up his spine where it spread out across his shoulders like a mantle. It was pure animal sensation, primal, beyond words, before thought. The hairs on his back stood erect. He was covered in quills, bristling, and ready to defend or to devour. He had become a grizzly bear inside, infused with instinct, ready to command and to control. Deep breaths filled his lungs, his nostrils flared and his eyes bore into hers. Letting go of himself he gave way to the animal within.

The Reverend reached for her legs and swiftly untied the stockings and pulled her legs up, over her head and refastened them at the headboard, next to her arms. Her body was now bunched up, her knees at her elbow, her ass raised off the sheets and her swollen pussy lifted in the air. He restarted his lashing. The soft flesh of her buttocks and the tender skin on the back of her thighs had been waiting. Here, surrounding her most sensitive parts is where she craved the stinging; here, protecting her vulnerability is where the belt strikes would be the fiercest.

Firmer and harder he swung. "Crack, crack, crack," sounded the belt and he darted from one side of the bed to the other, alternating his blows, listening to her moans echo the staccato of each lash. Her eyes were closed and his never left hers, the thin veil of skin did nothing to hide her, with each stroke she led him further and he followed, prodding her forward.

The pain in his scrotum, where he had been mercilessly clubbed hours before, began to throb anew, his blood pulsed and his hormones raged. He struck harder, she writhed on the bed, and he watched each lash ripple through her body in wave after wave of sensation; the waters of pain surged towards an ocean of pleasure and her vaginal lips oozed and rippled with contractions like breakers as they rose, curled and crashed against the beach.

Her ass was glowing and traces of welts could be seen in her flesh. Looking up, he noticed the eerie dance of candlelight giving way to daylight. Fear gripped him and he realized that dawn was approaching. The light of the day caused him to feel naked and he sensed that soon the sun, the great adjudicator of darkness, would find him and strike back, scorch him for the transgressions of his darkness and exile him into the reality of the day.

Harder and harder he struck, with an increased vigor, each "crack" became a feeble attempt to scare back the approaching light. He sought the protection of the cave, this dark place where the sins of the flesh were atoned in hedonistic pleasure. He felt the animal snort fire as it warily eyed the opening and he knew that he must open the cave before the light of day would expose its carnal existence. There was not a moment to lose. The animal's lifespan was counted in hours, not years and the creature must return to darkness, to safety before light filled the room. He raised his belt and struck. She recoiled and her hips trembled. He struck again and her legs shook like a great mountain bowing before an earthquake. The opening quivered and the crack grew wider. He struck again. He did not know how much pain she could bear, but it was here, between her lips that the belt landed. He lashed and she clenched. He lashed again and waited for her to recoil and then open herself wider. Again and again, he pummeled her sensitive opening. Again and again, she opened herself to his assault. He whipped her with an endless flurry and like bats in the hour before dawn; the whir of his belt clouded the entrance of the cave as they descended from the darkness and sought refuge in the cave.

She had left long ago, gone to a place deep inside, and the pain hardly registered now. She had entered her own cave and felt a weightlessness and freedom. Her body had become a shell and her soul, propelled onward by the pain, soared with freedom. She had dropped over the edge and was now spelunking in her soul. He had pushed her and though she could not see or move her limbs, she knew that she was safe and that he alone held her lifeline. He wished he could follow her but each lash of his whip sent her further and deeper in the cave. There were only her eyes, and though closed, he knew that through them she could signal. Once more his belt landed between the tender and swollen pussy lips and then, he stepped back and watched as a great eruption shook her body. Now was the time, he could wait no longer.

He crouched like an animal and positioned himself in front of her gaping hole. There was no thought of foreplay, no tenderness, no teasing. He would not toy with her now, he had no desire to slide his cock across her open lips and feel her wetness lube him, he would not bounce himself against her engorged clit and slap her with his throbbing appendage, no, now was the moment and he felt pure manhood, animalistic in its most basic urges propel him forward. He lunged and jabbed himself into her. With a single stroke pierced her and entered her fully.

She shuddered as she felt him expand in her loins. The anticipation of the long night was finally shattered. He was inside her now. Pulling out, he stabbed her again, sliding his cock effortlessly into her like a knife slicing flesh. Recoiling, he stabbed her repeatedly, each stroke harder and deeper. He now slammed himself into her and through she shuddered at the impact, she felt herself pushing to meet his onslaught, forcing him deeper and when he pulled back, she followed the path of his retreating cock with her pelvis lifting and readying herself for his next stroke.

He slammed into her and she strained to open herself wider, to split the walls of her cave, to give way to the battering ram that stormed her door. His pelvis ground into hers, his hips pounded her petite frame. She groaned as each impact filled her loins and emptied her lungs, yet he paid no attention; she was surrounded and captured, her defenses were breached and she lay frenzied and ecstatic in her surrender. Again and again he plunged into her, the tyranny of his cock ruled the night.

This man was no longer the Reverend, there was nothing cautious or conservative about him, a new entity embodied him tonight. He was ancient, primordial and had become pure animal. With each thrust he entered her and with the single-minded intentness of an animal pursing its prey, he pushed and clawed into the musky damp earth, forcing his way deeper and deeper into the cave. He pulled back and slammed into her with his pelvis extended like a missile, so he could squeeze into her cave, his cock engorged in this wet and warm cavity and his soul craving release within her primordial womb.