It was the end of Summer Bible School and I was wiped out. The kids in my class had been willing to anything to get out of listening to a 20 minute bible lesson. It was a relief to watch them finally walk out the doors with their parents, never to return again.
"Good riddance to bad rubbish," I said to myself, tearing down the last of the themed decorations. Groaning at my sore back, I began hauling the regular furniture back into the room. After setting up the last of the wall hangings, it dawned on me that the heavy metal table was still mashed up against the wall.
"Crap."
"Hello? Is anyone still down there?"
I groaned again to myself as I heard the voice of Pastor Peter float down the stairs.
"I am going to shut off the lights. If you're there, speak up!"
"Keep them on! I'm still down here," I exclaimed as loudly as possible. While not afraid of the dark, the downstairs switch was a good distance from the pool of light coming from my open door. Chairs were strewn all over the hallway from rooms half put back together. The idea of sprawling over one was not exactly appealing to me.
Going to the back of the room, I began to lug the heavy table towards the middle of the room. Almost to my destination, I heard a knock at the door. Turning, I saw Pastor Peter leaning on the door frame with an amused look on his face. I was not pleased to see him. The little shit hadn't done anything during the entire week except snap pictures on his fancy digital camera. He seemed to be in my classroom an inordinate amount of time pointing the damn lens at me and distracting the kids from the daily lesson. Even in the more public spaces upstairs it appeared that he was where ever I was. It was beginning to creep me out.
"Need a hand with that load," asked my minister.
Glancing at the short, wiry figure, I mutely nodded my head and turned back to the unyielding mass of steel. Paster Peter was a first year minister and this was his first placement out of seminary. He was young, only 24, and married with two small children. Short, with slim arms and dark black hair, he wasn't ugly, but he certainly didn't enter my mind when I was desperate for release at night. His offer to help move the table was almost laughable as I towered over him a good 8 inches and had about 50 pounds on him.
Being alone in the room quickly made me uneasy. As we finally tugged the table to its final location, I caught him trying to peek at my breasts through the neckline of my dress shirt. This was hardly the first time, and it irritated me to no end. I had tried being friendly to him and his wife when they first arrived to my small town. As time wore on, his wife grew distant and Pastor Peter began to hound me about joinging this committee or that group, and hung around my conversations with others after church. When shaking hands at the end of each service, he would lean into me more than necessary or stand way too close to me to talk. It was getting old.
I left the room to grab the short chairs lining the hallway wall. Upon entering, I found Pastor Peter standing in front of the table, legs spread apart, and a smile on his face. Then I noticed that the fly of his dress pants was open and a 8" penis was languidly swinging free. The words that came out of his mouth stopped me cold.
"Excuse me, did you just tell me to fuck you??" I could feel my face go beet red and then drain.
"Absolutely," came his reply.
What color was left in my face quickly sank to my toes. Dropping the chairs in my hands I began to beat a hasty retreat out the door. Intent on making my way upstairs to my car outside, I didn't hear his footsteps closing in behind me.
The hand around my mouth was far less terror invoking than the hand that molded itself around my left breast in a vice-like grasp. Twisting around and out of his reach, I put my hands up to shielf myself.
"Don't you ever do that to me again. You have no right to touch me, let alone grope me," I managed out of me clenched teeth.
His phallis began to harden and stand up as a grin spread across his face.
"Oh, but I do have the right. And after watching you swish that fine ass of yours all over the church this week, I intend to do just that."
Paster Peter took a step closer to me. Instinctively, I took a step back, then cursed myself. I had just walked right up against the concrete block wall.
Trapped.
Shit.
Moving like a jaguar, Pastor Peter grabbed my hands, shoved them over my head and slammed his body against mine. His face was centimeters away from mine and I could smell his aftershave mixed with that night's themed snack.
My heart was in my throat but I managed to croak out something that sounded like:
"Why are you doing this?"
Grinding his stiff member against my thigh, Pastor Peter let out a moan and then spoke.
"Because I want to and so do you."
He was so matter-of-fact about it that if I had not been so terrified, I would have laughed.
"And exactly why do you think I want this," I squeaked. His grip was beginning to hurt my wrists and the feeling in my fingers was starting to fade away.
"Every week I watch you saunter into this building. Every week you tempt me with your hips, your ass, even your lips. Don't tell me those pouty lips of yours aren't for me. And those necklines showing me just a peek of the firm breasts beneath? You do that for me too, don't you?" The grinding continued as he began to nuzzle the side of my throat.
"What about your wife? You can't seriously think you can cheat on her! You're a minister for God's sake!"
