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Pastor Quetzel has an incredibly strong sex drive, and it takes a lot to satisfy him. But his normal sex partner isn't at the religious retreat, and he's going absolutely crazy! How can he survive an entire week without having sex at least two or three dozen times? Then he realizes sexy Aziza may be the answer to all his prayers. Has the perpetually horny preacher finally met his sexual match? ~~~~~ PG Excerpt ~~~~~ In one corner of the spacious cavern, thick pillows circled a low table. Two long-stemmed wine glasses had already been laid out, and a bottle of expensive wine was breathing nearby. Where the back wall curved into a natural alcove, he'd painstakingly hauled up a queen-sized bed and assembled it. Satiny sheets glistened in the flickering light. A thick down-filled quilt was turned down invitingly. Aziza gulped hard. "It looks like a..." Then she carefully changed what she'd been about to say. "You sleep here?" she asked instead, and her voice emerged husky. He'd have given his next ten climaxes to know what she'd been about to say. "Sometimes," he said casually. "Would you like a glass of wine?" He gestured courteously at the low table. "I'm not allowed to drink." She looked almost afraid, as if refusing his offer was worthy of punishment. "All right." He didn't push her; instead he simply poured two glasses. "Tell me about your grandfather's customs, then. Is it true women are forbidden to show their faces in public?" The sparkle left her dark eyes. "Yes, it's still true in many places. And we can still be stoned for disobeying any man who commands us to do...anything. Even a woman's fiance isn't supposed to see her face before the wedding ceremony." "How is he supposed to know whether he's marrying a pretty girl or an ugly hag?" She giggled suddenly. "Oh, there are ways," she admitted with an impish little grin. "The veil is very easy to remove. Girls practice in their rooms so they can tease their betrothed with a quick glimpse without getting caught. It's one of the ways a woman can let a man know she welcomes his interest." "Really!" Fascinated, he nudged her glass a little closer and sipped his own again. "How else can she show him?" "Well..." She hesitated a moment. Men were never supposed to know such things. But then again, Pastor Q wasn't like other men. Right from the beginning, he'd intrigued her. She knew American girls rarely found older men attractive, but every time she saw him, her skin tingled. And every time he smiled at her or touched her, slick wetness glided between her thighs and she felt so empty and aching inside! If she'd had a veil, she'd have gladly flashed him with it. But she had no veil, and the ways American girls flirted were still a mystery to her. How could she show this strong, virile man she ached to feel his big hands on her body, teaching her untold delights? She could start by answering his questions, and drink the forbidden wine he'd poured her. What could it really hurt? They were all alone here...her pulse quickened even more at the exciting realization...and no one would ever know. Had the huge bulge in his pants been for her? She'd longed to touch it, and see if it was really as big as it had looked. Surely it couldn't be! How could any man really have a... Even in the privacy of her own mind, she couldn't use the raunchy word she'd heard some of the girls say. No, surely it couldn't be that big! It would tear a girl apart when he... She grabbed her glass and drank deeply to hide the fiery blush that warmed her cheeks.
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Book 1 of “Wild Sex at the Religious Retreat”
Artwork by Moira Nelligar
Copyright 2018 Pornelope
The annual spring retreat was in full swing.
Pastor Quetzel watched from the shadows as his youth group members laughed and cavorted around the huge campfire. They were having fun, and that was a good thing. They’d worked hard through the winter, and deserved this week of just plain getting away from it all and relaxing.
He was glad they were enjoying themselves. Unfortunately his own pleasure had been severely dampened when he’d arrived at their traditional campsite this morning and learned that Marita, the campground’s ultra-sexy manager, had gone to stay with her ailing grandmother for who-knew how long.
Marita was a sultry brunette with mile-high legs and the perkiest lush tits he’d ever seen. They were high and firm despite their generous size, and her nipples—which crinkled into hard pebbles at the least provocation—reminded him of sun-ripened berries. Absolutely delicious, and so sensitive to even the lightest touch! He could drive her wild just by using his tongue and teeth on them…and she always came explosively when he suckled hard and drove his big cock deep into her tight pussy.
Normally, by now, Marita and he would have left the teens behind, and snuck away to her secluded little cabin in the forest to fuck each other like crazed rabbits for hours on end. But not this year. And already he was going absolutely crazy.
Quetzel was a good pastor, full of convincing sermons and always ready to go the extra length to help a friend in need. His congregation trusted in him because he truly believed in the messages he was preaching.
But he’d also been born with an outrageously strong sex drive. And using his hand just didn’t solve the problem. No matter how many times he came, he was always still hard and needy afterwards. Only burying himself in the silky-soft wetness of a woman’s lush body gave him true release.
He’d toyed a few times with the idea of getting married. But none of the women he’d dated even began to match his keen enthusiasm for the sweatier sports. That was probably because most women who yearned to marry a pastor were pretty religious themselves. Indulging in energetic no-holds-barred sex every couple of hours wasn’t normally part of their personality.
So over the years, he’d learned to spread himself around.
Audrey was the plump little blonde who lived a few miles out of town. He thought of her sweet rounded curves as womanly rather than chubby, and her personality was just as sweet as her pretty body. She owned the local bakery, and always plied him with delicious sticky buns or cinnamon rolls—for energy, she claimed, because they’d surely need it—whenever he came calling.
Sometimes she brought home some of the sugar glaze she poured on donuts and pastries, and let him drizzle it between her widespread thighs. The taste of it mixed with her naturally sweet juices was absolutely addictive! She could be counted on for sex every weekend, though he always had to leave early because, like all dedicated bakers, she started her day shortly after the drunks made their stumbling ways home.
May was long and lean, with a dancer’s slender body and subtle breasts. She was a tomboy who felt most at home in a stable full of horses. Absolutely nothing pleased her more, she claimed, than being filled to the brim with his steely ten-inch cock. Someday she’d be able to take all of it, and ride him like one of her half-wild broncos.
In the meantime, she could deep-throat like a pornstar, and she wasn’t afraid to try anything at all. If he felt like fucking her up in the rafters, she’d rig up a hammock to hold them securely above the huge hay mound filling half the barn’s open floor. She was free on Tuesday and Friday nights, and always let him stay overnight so they could fuck until the sun rose.
Lynette…ah, she was as fiery as her long red curls suggested. And never too busy or tired to striptease off her prim banker’s suits and flaunt her gorgeous breasts and equally fiery pubic curls. She was so petite, he could curl both hands around her waist and easily lift her into the air. An instant later, her legs would lock around his waist, and she’d ride him like a dervish until his own legs collapsed and they tumbled together onto the bed. Or the couch. Or the kitchen table. Or the floor.
She was one of the most uninhibited women he’d ever known, and he’d given serious thought to making her an honest woman. But the one time he’d casually mentioned someday getting married, she’d told him bluntly she was married to her career. Oh, she was absolutely delighted to share her three free mornings with him every week. But she wasn’t willing to give up all the joys and responsibilities of her job or the various committees she chaired every year.
Between them and a dozen other warm, willing women of every size, shape, and nationality, he only had to resort to whacking off once or twice a day. At least that took the edge off a little until he could make arrangements to drop by the next one’s house for some desperately-needed release.
He truly believed God meant for people to be happy...and if there was any greater way to share happiness than through ecstatic sexual pleasure, he’d never heard of it.
But at the same time, he was always careful to choose women who were single or divorced, because he couldn’t very well stand behind his pulpit and decry the sins of adultery when he was encouraging it with his own behavior.
And anyway, he didn’t fancy getting shot by some jealous husband. He intended to live to a ripe old age and die in bed...preferably with a sexy young babe writhing vigorously beneath him.
He’d counted on Marita’s boundless enthusiasm to get him through this week, when none of his other energetic partners were available. But now she was down in sunny Florida, and he was standing alone in the shadows, slowly gliding his hand up and down his urgently throbbing cock.
It just wasn’t fair.
Hell and damnation, he was never going to make it through the week!
Maybe he could skip out for a few hours and head back to Hazard long enough to spend the evening with Sandra and her identical twin, Suzie? Or tomorrow morning with lusty little Alicia? It wasn’t like the kids would miss him; they were having a grand time with their singing and dancing.
Automatically he did a quick head count...yeah, they were all still there. He had no doubt that before the week was over, some of them would drift away for some illicit frolicking of their own. But at least for now, they were all still behaving.
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