textfiles/sex/EROTICA/P/preacher.txt

				Preacherman

	For the Reverend Mr. Dimwoody this was a time for quiet contemplation.
He walked slowly around the empty room collecting the hymnals from the
wooden chairs.  The chapel at the Women's Correctional Facilities was stark,
with bare white walls, florescent lights, and a small lectern for a pulpit.
But what put him in a funk was the counseling sessions that followed services
here.  He would sit with the women one-on-one in the chapel and listen to
their petty complaints and bleak lives.  There was always the note of 
loneliness and desperation to their stories, and so little comfort that he
could offer other than spiritual.  So after the counseling was done he had
a little time to clean up and think.  He couldn't wait to get beyond the
grey prison walls, back in his car, driving down the road in the sunshine
and fresh air, heading back toward town and his normal life.
	This reverie was shattered by the sound of a klaxon in the hall.
He as so startled that he dropped his armload of books on the floor.  Just
then a guard burst through the wooden door to the chapel and shut it quickly
behind him.  The guard was surprised to see Dimwoody there, "Jesus, Revren',
you still here ?"
	"What's going on ?", Dimwoody demanded.  The guard stood listening
at the door for any sounds outside.  After a moment, when he was sure there
was no one outside, he turned to the minister and explained breathlessly,
"Riot.  The girls have taken over their cell block and the whole east side
of the complex.  We gotta get you outta here, Rev."
	He turned back to place his ear to the door.  Dimwoody noticed that
the guard, like all the guards that worked in population, carried no weapon.
"Don't worry ", he assured the guard, "they won't hurt us."  This eared him
a disbelieving smirk from the man.  After a while the guard risked opening the
door a crack and peeked outside.
	"If we can make the exercise yard, we're home free, Rev ", the guard
said over his shoulder.  "Follow me, but be very quiet.  One noise and 
they'll be on top of us."
	With that he slowly opened the door and all but tiptoed out into the
hall.  Dimwoody followed, leaving the hymnals in a pile on the floor.  He
tried to stride with confidence, as through the Valley of Death, but also
made sure he did so silently.  They wound their way through a maze of 
institutional corridors, there was the noise of the klaxon and in the
distance sounds of female voices yelling.  As they approached the door
to the 'yard' the alarm suddenly cut off and they stopped in their tracks.
The sudden silence made them feel exposed, and they could here angry women's
voices just around the corner.
	The guard slowly drew the keyring from his belt and took a step toward
the door.  The ring caught on his leg and went flying across the floor in a
loud jingle.  The men froze in terror as the voices around the corner 
stopped.  The guard made a dive for the keyring, but never made it.  Around
the corner came a gaggle of prisoners, dressed in their denim uniforms, and
full of anger.  One of the women stopped the guard with a knee to the head
which sent him sprawling.
	Dimwoody made a move to help the man, but was restrained by a strong
hand on his chest.  He looked at the woman who stopped him.  She was nearly
as tall as the gangly minister, and pure muscle.  No doubt she was one of
the prisoners who spent all of her free time in the weight room, as she
had torn the sleeves from her blue denim shirt to show off massive arm
muscles.  Her skin was as black as coal and her shark-like grin was unco
white in contrast.  Her kinky hair was cropped short, as was the fashion
amoung the Sisters of Islam, the militant Muslim gang in the population.
"Leave him be, Preacherman ", she told him.  "We'll help him up."
	With that two of the other prisoners grabbed the guard by his arms
and hoisted him to his feet.  They kept their iron grip on him and dragged
him over to the older woman who seemed to be the leader of the group.
She was short, but stocky, and her short hair was peppered with grey.
"Looks like we got a coupla hostages ", she proclaimed to the group,
"Coupla bargaining chips."
	"Let's not be hasty ", Dimwoody said with more courage than he
felt. "Taking us hostage won't help your situation.  I'll be happy to help
you with your negotiations with the warden.  You all know me and can trust
me."
	Looking around Dimwoody saw that none of the women were in his
congregation.  From their haircuts they were probably all Black Muslims
or at least played the part.  The leader seemed to consider his words,
but when she spoke her voice was as cold as iron, "Take them to your
cells, girls.  Keep 'em on ice."
	The guard struggled when he heard this, but the two women at his
side kept their vice-like grip on his upper arms and started to drag him
toward the cell blocks.  The woman in front of Dimwoody still had her
hand on his chest.  She grasped his arm and turned him around shortly,
then pinched the nape of his neck so forcefully that his shoulders
spasmed upward involuntarily.  She kept her grip on his neck and he had no
choice but to walk when she pushed him forward.
	It took them several minutes to make their way back to the cell block,
all the way the two women ahead dragged the poor, blubbering guard ahead of
the tall, thin, helpless minister.  Dimwoody tried to assure the man that
all would be well, but the painful grip on his neck made it hard to talk.
Soon the women turned into a cell with the guard in tow, but Dimwoody was
forced to march ahead a few more cell doors before he was shoved into what
was his controllers cell.
	She sat him down on the bed before releasing her death grip.  He
hunched his shoulders a few times to get the feeling back into his neck.
As she sat on the iron bedpost between him and the cell door, Dimwoody
looked around the bleak little cell.  The cinderblock walls were painted
a dull green and the florescent lights were behind a metal grate.  In
addition to the iron bedstead there was a toilet and sink in the corner,
just sitting out there in front of God and everybody, and a small table
and wooden chair.  A small bookshelf contained toiletries and knick nacks,
but no books.  The minister wondered if his warden could even read.
	His attention went to the near wall.  Over the bed were pasted
dozens of magazine photos of men.  They were all muscular, handsome men
posing in very brief swimsuits at the beach, or in a few cases were
quite naked.  How she had smuggled _those_ kind of magazines into the prison
was more than the man of the cloth wished to consider.  She caught him
looking over her collection and gave him a big grin.  The minister looked
away and blushed.  The odd thought came into his head, though, that none
of the men pictured were black, they were all quite lily white.
	"Like my gallery, Preacherman ?" she asked boldly.
	"I would have thought you could have spent your time more ...er..
productively", he scolded.  The grin left her face and his blood froze.
	But the tone of her voice was more edgy than angry when she replied,
"It's been a looong time since I've had a man.  You wanna see what I've had
to make do with, Preacherman ?"
	Dimwoody refrained from replying in the negative as the woman 
unscrewed a cap from the bedstead and pulled out a long, thin, ivory colored
plastic dildo from inside the iron framework.  She held it out in front 
of him with it pointing upward.  "I call him White Boy ", she said with a 
raucous laugh.  The minister looked away and blushed again.  He was 
getting quite warm under his collar.
	Just then a screech came from down the corridor.  Both their heads
snapped around looking in the direction of the yelp.  Dimwoody recognized
the guard's voice and rose instinctfully to go to his aid.  This earned him
a thump in the chest which sat him smartly back down.  As he desperately
gasped for the wind that had been knocked out of him his cellmate said,
"Don't worry 'bout him, Preacherman.  He's only gettin' what he got comin'
to him."
	Somewhile later one of the women who had been guarding the guard
sauntered into view, wearing his utility belt and twirling his handcuffs 
on her right index finger.  Dimwoody called out, "We just heard a scream down
there.  You haven't hurt the guard, have you?"
	She smiled a wicked smile, "Nothin' permanent, Revrun'.  Just
fun'n'games."  She tossed the cuffs to Dimwoody's guard saying, "You
can use these, Fahtima.  We got _our_ prisoner all tied up."
	As she unlocked the cuffs, Dimwoody spoke up in a startled voice,
"Now then, Fahtima, is it ?  There's no need for those.  I've given you
no cause not to trust me, have I?"
	"Nah ", she answered.  "But what if I have to go to the bathroom ?"
	He was horrified at the thought of being handcuffed and forced to
watch as she sat on the toilet only a few feet away from him.  "I give you
my word as a minister of God ...", he started.
	"Whose God ?", she asked and grabbed his right hand.  With a metallic
click she locked the cuff on.
	"Our God, Fahtima ", he said in a shaky voice.  He tried to continue
but she shot from the bed and walked behind him, pulling his arm over his
head and down.  He was forced to lay back on the scratchy blanket while she
threaded the free cuff through the bars of the headrest.  She swiftly yanked
his left hand up and secured the other cuff on his thin wrist.  She walked
to the side of the bed and shoved his legs up on the bed so that he was
lying supine.
	She straddled his waist and sat directly down on his stomach.
She wiggled around on him and in a deep, sultry voice said, "Finally I
got a man between my legs."
	Dimwoody suddenly felt terrified, this was a turn he hadn't expected.
Being helpless with the handcuffs was bad enough, but surely this woman
didn't intend to go any further ?  He struggled under her weight, but it
was to no avail.  Worst of all, he felt himself start to become aroused.
That was the _last_ thing he needed, he thought, as sweat broke out on his
forehead and he blushed furious crimson.  "Don't do anything that our God
wouldn't want you to, Fahtima", he said in a desperate whisper.
	"I think Allah wants this for both of us ", she smiled at him and
he could feel the heat of her through the prison jeans she wore.  She picked
up the forgotten dildo from the bed beside him and held it under his nose.
He crossed his eyes to look at it.  "I'm wonderin', Preacherman.  Are you
bigger or thicker than White Boy ? Les' find out."
	"No ", he begged as she slid herself down to his knees.  She busied
herself with his belt buckle and he continued to beg her not to continue.
He was frightened by the furious, nervous energy with which her shaking
hands pulled down the waistband of his pants.  She rebuckled the belt
around his knees, immobilizing his legs.  She slid her sweaty palms up
along the sides of his legs, reaching for his underpants' waistband.
He gulped when he realized how uncontrollably excited she was, it had been
years since she had been with a man.  He closed his eyes and tried to
will his organ to deflate as he felt her fingers curl around the elastic
band and grip tight.
	A steady pull and his John Thomas sprung free.  He could feel
her warm, jagged breath on his naked skin as she tucked his shorts
down out of the way.  He opened his eyes again when he felt something
hard and plastic against his member.  She was holding White Boy up
against it, doing a comparison test.  "Oh yeah ", she said appreciatively.
"Much bigger and thicker. You're gonna fill me up."
	The Reverend Mr. Dimwoody realized how long it had been since _he_
had been with a woman.  He and Mrs. Dimwoody had long since settled into
a comfortable, icy arrangement with not so much as a hug between them, but
he never would have betrayed her or their marriage.  Yet he found he 
couldn't help be get excited from the very touch of this woman.
	She leaned down with her face over his crotch and her surprisingly
pink tongue shot out and dragged up the length of his shaft.  His eyes
nearly rolled back into his head as he let out a groan from the depths of
his soul.  He had never felt anything that good happen to him down there.
She got off the bed and with both hands pulled open her shirt, the buttons
went flying everywhere.  The cheap, white cotton bra was a startling contrast
with her skin, but it was soon flung in the corner with the shirt.  Dimwoody
noticed her 'stealth' nipples, black against her dark black skin he had
trouble seeing them at first.
	With her weight off him he tried to wriggle his knees free from the
tight belt and also his wrists free from the steel bracelets, all to no
avail.  She laughed to see him gyrate helpless on the bed, all it did was
make his hard dick bob around in the air.
	She doffed her sneakers then undid her jeans.  As she was standing
there in her white panties the minister saw her naked thighs for the first
time.  They were huge !  The sleek, black torpedoes were larger around than
his own legs, the muscles were so well defined he thought he could see each
fiber.  With one swift, violent move she tore her panties off, dropping the
shreds of fabric on the floor.  "Time to git bizy ", she said as she once
again straddled his waist.
	"Wait, no, don't do this ", he begged, playing for time.  She did
stop with her crotch less than an inch above the tip of his wang.  "What ?",
she demanded.  "Shouldn't we ...er...um...practice safe sex ?", he asked.
	She snorted, "Where the hell am I supposed to get rubbers in a
Woman's prison ?"  
	With that she reached down grasping his penis and positioning it 
under her.  She sat down on it and the tip went inside her.  Dimwoody 
felt the wet heat envelope his pecker and let out a totally animal 
sound.  Then she sat down all the way and he was engulfed.
	He felt more trapped than before, not only was he secured down but 
he couldn't pull out of her if he had wanted.  She slowly pulled herself 
up and let herself down, enjoying the feeling of fullness that she had been
lacking for too many years.  When she looked down at the stark white body
beneather her she started to ride him harder.
	Her breathes became shorter and she began to grunt on the downbeat.
Then she began to speak, saying something over and over like a mantra.  But
Dimwoody couldn't make out what she was saying, whether it was "Deeper" or
"Beat me" he couldn't be sure.  Anyway, he was finding it harder to 
concentrate as his hips began to buck up to meet her stroke.  He was giving
way to instinct and could no longer hold on to his dignity.  He wanted 
relief of this incredible tension, and he wanted to hear her scream in
utter animal satisfaction.  He slammed up against her as hard as he could
and her large buttcheeks slammed down against his balls.  He was surprised
to find he had been grunting "Harder" for some time now.
	Then she came, letting out a high pitched whine.  It felt like
fire all around his dick and then the walls of her pussy seemed to be
grasping at him.  That was more than he could take and he orgasmed.  He
felt his hot cum shoot up into her, and part of his brain tried to stop
this, but this only made him cum harder.  He was yelling now with every
spurt, " God. Oh God. Yessss, God Almighty!!!!"
	As if awaking from a dream, he slowly became aware of the room
again, and of the people standing at the cell door.  Several of the
Sisters of Islam were watching the show, big grins on their faces.  He
couldn't have been more mortified, but Fahtima, when she noticed them,
was nonchalant.  "OK, girls, who's next ?", she asked them.
	One of the women came forward, but when Fahtima arose from her
squat she saw the sticky mess of their conjoined crotches.  "He done
shot his load !", she complained.
	Fahtima gave her a dirty look, "He's got a mouth and tongue,
ain't he ?"
	"Oh, yeah !", she said as a big grin spread across her face.
	"No, no, please not that ...", the preacherman begged before
he became muffled.
	The siege at Woman's Correctional Facility went on for five
long days.