Preacher's Son Chapter 2
Author's Note:
Folks, here's a part II. I am so touched by the response to this, well, silly little story buzzing around my head. Some of you shared your own high school crushes etc., others provided some great ideas as well. Please let me know what you think of this one: is it steamy enough? Do you hate/like how things have progressed? Should I do Chapter 3 (should you want it) from Eli's perspective. You will find me at agospelpipe@yahoo.com.
Now, if you are, in fact, a minor or are not allowed to access such content for whatever reason, and have stumbled onto this page through a bizarre series of coincidences, please gather yourself and leave.
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Without further ado, then:
Preacher's Son: Part II.
By Alistair Hamish Gospelpipe IV.
Eli and I had become Good Friends. By which I mean, his cock and my hole were inseparable. The guy was insatiable! That is not a complaint, just a fact. We met in the rectory most of the time. But, as time went on, we got bolder.
"U up?" he texted around 11 o'clock at a school night.
"Seriously, Eli?"
"What are you wearing?"
I could almost hear the grin in his text.
"Ratty-ass t-shirt, gym shorts."
"Damn, baby!"
"Yeah, it's pretty sad, but I was trying to, you know, sleep, maybe?"
"Come to the school."
"Like, our school? Are you there?"
"Yea and yea."
"Don't change."
"Never, my love guy."
We don't really have winter `round here. There's summer and there's mild summer. These mild summer nights do have a bit of a chill to them, but I like it. I like the way my skin tingles as the cool air rushes over it. Since nothing in Wolf's Holler is far enough to warrant a car, I just walked to school. It was a walk I made every morning; it felt strange to do so at night.
He was waiting for me outside the grey box-like building that was our school. It had windows, but they didn't feel right: as if the architect, at his intervention, was forced to etch them there. Where the school was ugly, though, Eli was beautiful. He wore a flannel over a tank top that clung to his chest, accentuating the shape of his muscular pecs. And a pair of Green Bay Packers sweatpants. Don't ask; I don't get it either.
****************
"Hey, sexy," he said, as he reached forward to grab me. I immediately stepped back.
"There's no-one here, Dag." He said in a soothing voice as he took a step towards me, closing the distance between us.
"Hey, sexy," he said in his low, deep voice before he pressed his lips against mine. I kissed him back. This kiss was soft, almost romantic. The kisses, when we'd be ripping each other's clothes off, were kinda bestial, I guess. This gossamer kiss seemed to say "Hey, sexy."
I fucking hate myself for writing "gossamer kiss," by the way.
Eli's right hand cupped my ass as we continued to kiss—the kiss now becoming urgent. I could feel my dick harden and lengthen against my thigh.
"Okay..." I broke the kiss. "Why'd you call me here? I am not burying a body, Eli Remington..."
"Oh, we're gonna bury somethin'," he said, gripping and shaking the lump in his crotch.
"The rectory..."
"No, no, no," Eli's voice tinged with mischief. "I wanna fuck you in old Grundy's classroom. Where you first gave me bedroom eyes."
"First of all, you exaggerate about the bedroom eyes. Second, this is a horrible idea."
We stood there in silence for a bit, before I slowly pronounced,
"This is a horrible idea...I can't wait to do it!"
Eli smiled smugly.
****************
Eli, I discovered, could pick locks. So, we walked into that school as if it were a regular day of classes. The classroom he talked about was...a standard classroom. Really, nothing in this town is remarkable.
I stood in the doorway, watching Eli push a few desks together to create a "bed" of sorts. He then turned to me, his gaze calling me over. I walked towards him—no, I stalked—I was so hungry. We kissed again, and this was more familiar: an animalistic "I'm gon' fuck you" kiss. I pushed his flannel off, and I ran my hands over his rounded granite shoulders as he squeezed my ass cheeks hard, making me wince with pain.
We broke apart, as I hurriedly shed my clothes and watched him tantalizingly take his tanktop off, abs stretching, and a Clark Kent chest appearing. He stood there wearing just sweatpants and a grin, the contours of his body illumined only by the moonlight streaming through one of those begrudgingly inserted windows. This man knew exactly what he was doing. Bastard.
"Come over here."
"Okay." My voice was weirdly tinny.
He kissed me once again, and then held me at arm's length. I could see him scan my toned, if unmuscular (compared to him) body.
"You're beautiful, baby. I just..."
"You just what?"
"Want you to suck my cock. Get on your knees."
I basically pantsed him, and collected my rock hard, thick 7-ish inch long prize. Stroking it slowly with spit-covered hands first, and then nibbling on the head a little. He was breathing hard. Good. I ran the tip of my tongue up and down the length of his shaft before finally swallowing his cock.
"Oh, fuck, Dag, you fucker..." Eli groaned.
"I can stop, you know, if this is killing you so much" I wanted to say, but I wasn't going to take his cock out of my mouth. It was hot, it was salty, and it had been several agonising hours before I'd sucked him off. I settled into a steady rhythm, bobbing back and forth, tugging at his balls from time to time.
"Stop, stop, stop..." He cried.
"That bad, huh?"
"I don't wanna cum yet. Not in your mouth anyway."
My hole twitched as if by some ancient reflex. Odd, but appropriate.
"I can think of another place you can drop it like it's hot. Because it is."
"That was so bad," Eli said laughing. "Now, get on the desk. You gotta be punished for that shit joke."
The little "bed" of desks pushed together was a good idea in theory, but it was uncomfortable in practice. Missionary proved impossible. The thing with me legs splayed open as I balanced on the desk with part of my ass and lower back while Eli stood and worked his cock into me was horrible. I almost fell over. All of this was funny, nothing was sexy.
"This isn't working," Eli said, cock somehow still raging hard.
"I could bend over the desk and you could..."
"But I want to kiss you." Fuckssake. This man. He had to stop saying things like that.
"Weigh the two alternatives: mouth-hole versus asshole."
Eli rolled his eyes. "Boy, you make a good point; bend the fuck over, I'm gon' breed you like you deserve to be bred, little bitch."
Despite however many times it had happened, I was always nervous each time Eli's cock attempted to push through my hole. And I felt it again, the heat of that head. He pushed forward. I felt myself open as I cried out through gritted teeth.
"You okay?" Eli asked tenderly.
"YES, please keep giving it to me, Eli. Fuck me!"
"Sir, yessir."
Eli let out a contended sigh as pushed through my ring, the length of his cock filling as the girth of it stretched me out.
"I keep fuckin' this pussy, and it stays as tight as the first fuckin' time."
He began to thrust. The friction was driving me wild, as I moaned with no regard for how loud I was being. I kept turning around to look at Eli. He was hard at work, starting to sweat, but he smiled each time I caught his eye.
"Look, baby, no hands!"
I turned out and saw him smirking, both hands behind his head as he drove his hips forward, giving me the most pleasure I ever felt...since the last time we fucked. The shaking of the desk was an unexpected bonus to the pleasure I was feeling.
"Oh my FUCKING God," I shouted, barely coherent. He'd found my "spot" again. Like every time, a wave of ecstasy too decadent to be calorie-free arose from that spot and traveled throughout my body, igniting my senses.
"Keep fucking me, Eli. Keep fucking fucking me...please...I want that cock, I love that cock...keep fucking me!" I was practically crying.
"That's the plan."
After a few more thrusts, he pulled out.
"Excuse me, the fuck?"
"Greedy bitch," he said smirkingly. "This desk will fall over if I go any faster, but stay there, baby. Your man's got a plan."
My man...holy...
"Hold them cheeks open."
I heard him start to breathe heavily, the sound of something slick being worked accompanying him. The breathing got heavier and transformed into groans. These started low and began to get louder and louder:
"That tight fucking pussy. You make me feel so good, Dag. Your little pussy makes me feel so so good, baby..."
And then, something hot hit my hole. And again, and again and again. I gasped. He was cumming *on* my hole. Ingenious. I felt his cock against my butt cheeks again, he was using his cock like shovel to feed his spilt seed into my hungry hole. I squirmed. It was amazing. *Actually* causing amazement, not "amazing" the way people say it to describe, I dunno, fucking lemon bars or whatever. And then? And then he thrust forth into my hole once again...fireworks. The slickness of my hole, the heat of his cock and the fruit of it, and his languorous groan in that deep voice...fireworks. I think I heard Stars and Stripes Forever.
"ELIIIIII," I was a mess. "Holy fuck..."
"That, my friend, is a Boston Cream Pie."
That didn't sound right, but I could have followed this man into an active volcano after how he'd made me feel.
"Why did you so specifically want to fuck me here?"
We had managed to locate all our clothes, cleaned the cum off school property and were getting dressed.
"I dunno," Eli said, jaw tensed. "It's...Just something I wanted to do."
****************
So, the lights were on when I got home. Great. There was no sense in just standing out here. The plan now was to play it off as Stupid Things Teen Guys Do™.
"Onward, Christian soldier," I mumbled unlocking the door.
"Dagwood." My father, the imposing Sherwood Aurelius King, stood up from his easy chair just as I was trying to sneak past the living room.
"Daddy, I—"
Silence.
"I am really sorry, Daddy, I was just kickin' it with the guys..."
"Do you want a sandwich, son? I am gon' make one for me. You must be hungry too after all that adventurin'"
I knew that it was better to go along with whatever was happening here, but what in the blue hell WAS happening here? Sullenly, I followed him to the kitchen.
"Peanut butter-jelly okay?" he asked in a creepily sunny voice.
"Yessir. Thank you, sir."
We ate our sandwiches in silence. A little heavy on the jam, but this didn't seem like the time to bring that up.
"Where were you?" He finally asked.
"Oh...just out...joy-ridin..."
"A lie." He pronounced with finality, but not anger.
"No, daddy, please..."
"I saw you, Dagwood. With the preacher's boy. I saw you. Outside the school. I heard you leave the house, so I followed."
Tears sprung to my eyes. I suddenly felt too tired to deny anything. I didn't have the capacity to make up a lie, and what kind of lie would explain away why the preacher's hunky son was kissing me and squeezing my ass? He did it on a dare? Get real.
"Daddy, I am sorry, I just—I don't—Daddy, I'll never--Oh, God..."
My father raised his hand. I fell silent. Still snivelling, but quiet.
"Dagwood," he said after I had composed myself some. "No-one will understand."
"Huh?"
"No-one in this town or in this family will understand, son. The preacher sure as fuck won't; he's obsessed with homosexuals for...I don't know why...but not in any accepting, loving way."
I stared at him mouth agape. What in the crippling fuck was happening here right now in my life? I mean, Daddy said "fuck!"
The thing you must understand about my Daddy is that this is a stoic man, strong of body—built, not in a fancy gym, but by baling hay. He built this house with his hands, he runs the farm, and he does not speak to his wife or children in sentences. Fiercely protective, reliable, a great provider, just not a talker. This might be the most Daddy has ever said to me, and there was still more coming, apparently.
"Dag, son, you have to stop. You do whatever you want when you leave this town for college, but this here must stop. I am not sayin' I disapprove, I am sayin' that they will run you both out of town, and I am not above shootin' some bastard down to protect my own. I don't want to, but I will make enemies in this town, if I have to. I need you to understand how what you have started here will end."
I started...? A dam broke within me, and I sobbed.
"D-d-daddy, I...sorry...daddy..."
This hulking man, my father, awkwardly placed a firm hand on my shoulder.
"Pull yourself together, boy. Nothin' to be sorry about."
"Daddy, we'll be careful."
"Careful? You were...kissin' right outside the school!" He winced at the thought. "End it, Dagwood."
"Yessir." I said. But, I had an idea...
"Oh, and son?" Daddy turned around as he was leaving.
"Yessir?"
"He's a good one, that Eli Remington. Strong. You chose a good one."
I'm sorry, what? WHAT?