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Pastor Wilson's House Calls
CHAPTER ONEThe golden rays of the late autumn sun crept in through the sheer, diaphanous curtains and cast roiling shadows on the slowly moving blankets of the bed. And urgently growing passion began to fill Diana Wilson as her lithe, lissome body blended burningly against the excitedly eager flesh of her husband. She groaned deeply at the knowing touch of his firm, strong hand as it coursed up under her nightgown and tenderly touched her body up to the upper reaches of her firm, full breasts.The mere touch of his feeling fingers sent lusty shots of pure, provocative pleasure flashing through her electrically and her dormant breast buds sprang to happy little nibs of tingling flesh, puckered and rosy pink. She twisted, moving sinuously onto her back, the warmth of his passionate body commanding her to respond sensuously, willingly, without a spoken word."Oooooo, Peter...." After murmuring his name she wriggled down slightly in preparation for love. She could feel the rock-hardness of his lust-inflamed penis as it pressed against her eager thigh. As his mouth covered hers new thrills raced through her and she returned his searing kiss with an abandon and passion that matched his.Moving in eager haste, Peter covered her body with his, pressing his raging groin against her. His penis wedged tantalizingly between her smooth willing thighs, making his heart thump and his pulses throb. Diana was filled to bursting with sexual urgency, and spread her legs as she sucked his tongue.Suddenly the phone rang. The electrifying jangle shook them."NO!" he angrily grumbled as Diana broke the passionate kiss."Peter, you must!" she breathlessly cried, herself agonized by the untimely intrusion. She knew that it might be important!Despite his attempt to clutch her while trying to ignore the strident and demanding jangling, she twisted away."Damn!" he muttered. His bitter frustration was intense."PETER!" she cried in horror, unaccustomed to his using profanity."Well, I'm sorry! But God made me a man, and a man I am!" Leaving the rest unsaid but clearly implied, he squelched his anger and twisted to reach for the annoying source of interruption. It had rung seven times. "Hello?" he asked in greeting, his voice not betraying his impatience. He glared at his wife, though, fuming."PASTOR WILSON!" the shrill voice cried, "YOU MUST COME!"His lust-hardened pastor's cock suddenly shrank and he cast a hasty glance at his lovely young wife who was now standing beside the bed, nightgown down. She was so incredibly beautiful! And remote!"Who is this? Is this you, Mrs. Clarke?" He frowned at the white receiver and looked back at his wife. It was Wilson's nemesis."YES! YOU MUST COME! RIGHT AWAY!" The stridulent reply came.The sexual arousal that had raged in him a moment earlier was now transformed to alarm in the pit of his stomach. "What's wrong, Mrs. Clarke? Can you tell me?" He was now glowering miserably."NO! NOT ON THE PHONE!" came the unhesitating cry.He was about to reply when he was shocked by the click of a broken connection and the steady hum of the dial tone. In a brief instant many conflicting thoughts raced through his mind. He saw his wife standing close, so alluring, so promising, so distant now. He slowly replaced the receiver, pondering the possible nature of Mrs. Clarke's urgent problem.Deep exhaustion pressed down on him like some cruel and unseen hand, for he had been three nights without sleep, searching incessantly for one of the young girls of his parish who had run away to Omaha. After having found her, he had driven her the seven hundred miles back home, arriving only two hours before. He was tired but the first kiss from his happy wife had sent a thrill through him that couldn't be left unnoticed. He had to make. love. And now there was a conflict. It sounded bad.Duty called. A member of the congregation was in desperate need of his help. He was in desperate need of love and rest. His mind balked and he shook his head wearily."No rest for the weak," he observed mirthlessly, hoisting himself up to a sitting position from the warm promise of their bed. Rage lingered in him now.Reading the distress on his face, Diana moved close and ran her fingers lovingly through his tousled hair."What is it, Peter darling?" She ventured close to him, her hand out.He looked up, staring dully at the beautiful face. Those pouting lips and wide green eyes meant so much to him. Her long golden hair hung in a neat cascade, the tips brushing the crested material of her nightgown at the level where her still-puckered nipples pushed the lace out. "Mrs. Clarke," he said, shaking his head. "Something wrong. Don't know how I'll make it.""You have to go over?" she cried. "But that's not fair!""I know." Saying this, he stood, grasped her arm meaningfully, and then moved quickly toward the dresser.It was only six-thirty in the evening, and the sound of crickets came into the abjectly silent room. An electric tension born of bitter frustration sparked between them for a second, and then Diana sighed."Honey," she said in an attempt to soothe him as she watched him dress, "I'll be here when you come back."Hearing this, he turned slightly and threw her a smile. "Yes, you will, won't you?""Some coffee?" she asked, moving toward the door."No time, Diana," he replied, the edge now completely gone from his voice. Now he was, on the surface at least, Reverend Peter Wilson, bound to serve his flock. His own pleasure would simply have to wait, along with the much-needed rest.Dizziness from his exhaustion swept over him and his ears rung annoyingly. His eyes burned, feeling like they had hot sand in them. As he stepped into his black trousers, one leg at a time, he had to lean against the dresser. Grabbing his coat, he moved quickly to his wife, cupped her round and exciting breast, and kissed her."I'll be back as soon as possible," he said after breaking the light affectionate kiss."Drive carefully, Peter, but hurry back!"Casting her a quick smile that said everything he knew she wanted to hear, he turned and left. As he made his way through the rush-hour traffic toward the Clarke house, his mind was divided into many parts. He had dedicated himself to a life of altruism, unselfishly serving others. This path was difficult for him as a husband, since his time was not his own. At any moment of the day or night the telephone might ring. Then there was the routine of managing the church, conducting three services a week while also handling the two confirmation classes. Adding monumentally to this workload was the construction of the new church. And his position in the community as a youth leader consumed those last crumbs of his time, leaving him almost nothing to spend as a husband and as a man. His sex-drive, he knew, was healthy and normal.Making love to his wife was, to him, a beautiful thing. But it was too seldom.His penis would often strain against the material of his pants, itching for the normal healthy release demanded by his testicles. And now, as he drove toward the Clarke house, it was doing just that.The palms of his hands were wet against the black plastic of the steering wheel, that wheel he had held just like this for so many hours on end without respite.His mind wandered as he tried to concentrate on both the dense traffic and Mrs. Clarke's possible problem.She was an attractive woman, a widow with three children. He knew her to be in her late thirties although she might easily pass for twenty-eight. Chagrin would flush his cheeks as he would look at her as any other man might, but he didn't consider it lusting after her body as hard-core Baptists might. He realized that he was a man, with all the desires a man might be expected to have. And he had eyes.They came close to offending him when he would happen to see her very full breasts, her narrow waist, those nicely-flared hips and her shapely legs. But what struck him most about her was her terrible plight. It showed in her soft brown eyes. So much trouble to endure!Rebecca Clarke had spent many hours in his study, trying to receive some help with her children. They were all known as bad types, but Peter Wilson couldn't accept that. He had spoken to them all about their futures, had invited them to express themselves freely, had tried tirelessly. Not willing to accept their apparent reticence as a sign of hostility, he had tried to work around the problem. All he could see was one thing: They were poor, living among the rich. And they were too proud to accept what little charity the church might offer.Both Bill and Jack Clarke seemed to like to scandalize him, fibbing about their sexual exploits with the rich girls of the congregation."Aw, hell," Bill would say, "I fucked her silly last night!"And Peter Wilson knew it was just only a fib!Jack and the girl in question had been a hundred miles apart that night, since the girl had been with her family in Madison, Wisconsin. So Peter tried to find out why the boy would lie about his sexual prowess as though it were a badge of manhood.At this thought, Peter's mind burned with seething discontent. He hardly had a chance to prove his own manhood! Diana was the perfect wife, keeping the parsonage perfectly neat, preparing delicious meals, helping with the bookkeeping, playing the church organ. But she also had her hobbies, and good thing, too! She liked to while away her lonely hours painting with oils, and had achieved a high degree of excellence.Wondering about her as he drove along, he involuntarily winced. It irked him to realize that Diana would become very aroused right at first when they would make love, but then she would hold back, as though she didn't completely trust him. Why is that? he wondered. She would respond and become very excited, as though she would give him anything and everything. But then she would tighten up as though frightened, become as stiff as a board, and only seem to tolerate his love-making. This naturally made him question his manhood and her affection but his mind wouldn't let him believe that she didn't love him.They had been married for only a little over a year, and since she had been a virgin he had to believe that her lack of total response was due to inexperience and maybe even innocence. He was beginning to doubt that. It was becoming painfully clear that she might be frigid.Turning into the weed-sprinkled driveway of the Clarke house, Peter sighed. I wonder what this will hold? he asked himself.Confident that her husband would return shortly, Diana left her nightgown on and wandered into the small bedroom that served as her painting studio. The set-up was perfect, with two northlight windows and plenty of space. Her current canvas was a copy of Salvador Dali's Christ, a painting that she loved. The deep blues used in the copy she had received from England were giving her trouble, and she now mixed thalo and ultramarine in still another attempt to get depth without murkiness. Quite by accident she mixed just a sliver of yellow oxide into her weak blue with the pointed pallet knife and cried out in delight. Perfect!But her joy was crushed, replaced by a crashing fear that made her skin crawl with gooseflesh, made every hair on her body seem to spring straight out like quivering wire, made her eyes flash wide and her breath become strangled in her choked-up throat. Somebody is here! Watching me! OMIGOSH, NO!Rooted to the spot like a statue by stark terror, she fought to remain conscious.Leaning sullenly against the door jamb was a young filthy boy of about eighteen, smirking evilly as he observed the lush womanly body moving under the sheer nightgown. His eyes burned with lewd delight as they fastened on the proud breasts that he could see silhouetted by the light from the windows. She had been moving, revealing much of her torso to his sex-hungry eyes unknowingly. His hot glance would fall to the dark crack between the whiteness of her buttocks and fall a bit in an attempt to distinguish the pubic hair that he knew covered her pussy.He was a callow youth, sullen and pale, dirty and carelessly dressed in blue jeans and a sweatshirt. His hair was slicked back and thick with the grease he used. Dirt and grease was caked in crescents between his bitten fingernails and the torn cuticles, and those unkempt fingers idly tossed a five-inch stiletto from one hand to the other, making a dry clicking noise. A chuckle escaped from his throat as he saw her freeze in fright.Hearing the noise, Diana whimpered and turned slowly, still close to fainting. The thought of a prowler in the same room with her was one too terrible for her to even imagine. Fear gripped her stomach, twisting it into a cold tight knot. Then she saw that it was Jack Clarke, the son of the woman Peter had just left to see only a few moments earlier.Her temporary relief was drowned as though by a bucket of cold water as she identified what he was holding. A KNIFE!Her terror had lessened as she recognized him, but sprang up again inside her as her eyes fixed on the large knife he tossed so expertly from one hand to the other. It lured her glance hypnotically, horribly, and she had to tear her eyes away. Her lips trembled as she raised her eyes and her glance met his. Matching the cold steely glint of the long blade was that in his eyes. She knew that he was up to no good."J-J-Jack," she finally managed to stammer, "wh-wh-wh-what-du-do y-y-you ww-waaaant?"It was a low groan that finished the question since something inside her told her that she knew what he wanted. He wanted to kill her. Murder her, dismember her and scatter her bloody parts in various sewers. She immediately realized with a stunning clarity that everything people had said about him was true!Automatically, her hand dropped the pallet knife and went to her breast in a gesture of desperate self-protection.This move caused Jack to chuckle once again, and his cock bulged out against the soiled material of his pants even harder. Seeing the pastor's wife naked had been Jack's obsession ever since he had first seen her, about a year ago. He had told his older brother Bill that he was going to see her cunt if it was the last thing he ever did, and now the time was right.Everything was just perfect, because he knew from listening to his mother and Bill that the good pastor would be indulging a little bit himself, and wouldn't be back for some time. The time was just perfect!His hand went down and rubbed the lewdly straining member as he reveled in her terror. Silence was his game, backed up with a very sharp blade that would cut tissue paper as though it were air. Advancing toward her slowly, he raised the blade and pointed it at the faint little spot that he knew was her navel. Diana's heart seemed to stop in frozen horror. Commanding her body to move proved hopeless, and she stared at the evilly gleaming point, trying to cry out and plead once again. The pleas strangled themselves in her throat painfully.A mocking leer contorted Jack's face as he inched closer to her quivering form. His tongue flicked across his dry lips, moistening them. His gaze fixed on the faint rose of her nipples just visible through the lace lattice-work of her bodice. The most fantastic of lewd and lascivious pleasures shook him, making it hard for him to breathe. The obscene delight he was taking in his terrorization and subjection of the quivering beauty made his eyes feel as though they were actually smoking.BY CHRIST, I'M FINALLY GOING TO DO IT!Thinking this, and seeing just how frightened she actually was, he began to think of fucking her, something that had crossed his mind more than once. He didn't know if it would be possible since she might put up too much of a struggle, but the depraved thought of raping her began to sear his mind, making his blood run even hotter. As he began to entertain that delicious thought he abandoned his former plan of just toying with her and viewing her naked body. This caused him to harbor ruthless thoughts, and his gaze narrowed menacingly.Reaching out, he took the filmy material of her sheer nightgown between his grimy thumb and forefinger and pressed the knife into it, piercing it. Then, with a quick upward thrust he gashed it straight up, renting it to the neckline so that the two parted halves dropped apart, revealing the cream-white upper slopes of her lust-inciting breasts."NNNOOOOOO!" Diana screamed, terrified to the point of revolt. Cold nausea swept over her, making her jump back involuntarily. Her fright had crested to such a height that she was ready to fight or die, no longer willing to be paralyzed and face certain death.Her jump carried her against the easel, which tripped her and sent her sprawling in utter confusion. Seeing her down like that incited Jack even more since her hem went up over her knees, revealing her crotch to his hot hungry view.Oh, God, is this the end? was all she could think.Looking up a bit, he saw that one of her breasts was also exposed to the rose-ringed nipple. Mixed with his lust was a new surge of hatred for this holier-than-thou bitch. His blood boiled, filling his already throbbing penis.Glancing back, his eyes fixed on the barely visible pink slit hidden by the golden wisps of her pubic hair. She saw that he was looking at her crotch and recovered enough to thrust her legs together and roll, trying to escape, find some weapon to protect herself. The brutal authority of his knife was hard for her to challenge and she hoped against hope that she could somehow reason with him or make it to the phone to call Peter or the police.Panic now galvanized her to attempt an escape, and she found her hand closing on the pallet knife. His mocking laugh cut into her ears, making her realize that a knife-fight would be hopeless and stupid. Gradually, slowly, her fight draining away, she released it and looked pathetically up at him."Jack, please," she pleaded, trying to reason with him as a last resort, "don't do anything rash. What have I ever done to you?"Her eyes flooded with tears and her pale lips began to tremble uncontrollably as she cowered on the floor.Ready to break the silence since he knew he was the utter master of the situation, he spoke, his voice one of cruel authority. "Not what you've done to me, bitch!""B b but, wh-wh-what, then?" she stammered, tears now running down her cheeks in twin streams."You and that high-class do-good husband preacher! Always talk a good game, now don't you? What the hell do you ever do for someone, huh?""We try, Jack, don't you know?" she asked.This was received with a gruff laugh, raucous and piercing. "You'll try, all right! Or you'll eat steel!" He brandished his blade menacingly at her and smiled as she flattened against the braided rug on the floor. The sight of the luscious woman clad only in the opened nightgown filled him with lewd excitement that he was finding hard to contain."Jack!" she cried out as she shook her head. "No-no! Now you go, please, and I promise that I won't say a thing! I mean it, Jack, not a word!Pleeeaaaasssseeee!""Aw, fuck that! You think I'm some sort of idiot?" Saying that, he threw himself upon her with savage force and ground his mouth down upon hers in a sudden, searing kiss, his lips burning against hers.She tried to twist her head, fighting against the alien intrusion of his tongue, but he seized her lower lip between his teeth and bit cruelly. Yielding was her only alternative, and a wave of revulsion shook her as the tongue entered her mouth. A new spurt of determination animated her threatened body and she struggled under him, managing to force him away and scurry from his indecently grasping hand. But he was young, determined and quick.His hand darted out and grabbed the hemline of her nightgown, ripping it off as she crawled so frantically. Quick as a flash, his hand encircled her ankle and he pulled the struggling woman back toward him. The tangled garment was thrust quickly aside, leaving the hapless victim stark naked.OH GOD, HE'S GOING TO RAPE ME! she thought.Twisting her leg, Jack glanced up her crotch, reveling at the sight of her completely exposed genitals. As she thrashed the hair-covered slit seemed to open to his view, the taunting pinkness of her cuntal mouth thoroughly gorging him with the most profound lust he had ever experienced. Bill just won't believe this!"All right, bitch!" he growled, "if you want to fight, you have one minute to say your prayers!"The words burned into her, leaving her quivering in confusion.Prayers? Is he really going to murder me? A final resignation swept through her muscles and she slumped dejectedly onto the oval rug, hoping that it would all be over soon. Her glance revealed that the point of his knife was now close to her navel and she closed her eyes, praying silently.Then she felt his hand grasp her breast and an involuntary whimper escaped her lips. That the loathsome and arrogant young rapist should handle her before murdering her made her want to die and die quickly, without humiliation or degradation at his hands. Then a new horror crashed in on her as she felt a cold sharp metal object lightly brush her other breast.A gasp of disbelief burst from her lips as she saw that he was teasing her breast with the cruelly honed tip of the knife."NNNNOOOOOOOO!" she moaned."How's about a whacked-off tit, bitch?" he asked, his voice heavy with leering sadism."NNNOOOOOO! Anything! ANYTHING!" Her voice cried the words out seemingly of its own volition, uncontrolled and unwilled by her rebelling mind. Simultaneously she tried to force her body down into the wood of the floor, hoping to escape from the taunting prods of the terrifyingly sharp instrument.