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I get most of my exercise-outside the bedroom-on my bike. Little did I know you could combine the two so well.
It’s not unusual for me to ride 50 or 60 miles on a Saturday or Sunday. Plus, I only need to drive ten minutes from my condo to be in the country. I much prefer riding my bike on country roads than on bike trails. I leave the trails for walks with Mom, but that’s already been covered in Chapter 2.
The advantages of riding in the country include less traffic and more quiet time to think. The disadvantages include dogs and road kill. But I prefer the solitude, sights and sounds of the back roads. The people I pass tend to be friendlier and I know that if I ever needed help because of a mechanical problem, I could stop at any farm house and be treated with kindness.
I have a favorite route that really takes me far away from the closest city, but is still in ‘civilization.’ Corn and soybean farms that stretch to the horizon are peppered with farmhouses and silos and barns. When it’s not flat, the terrain is rolling and never hilly. Woods still stand in spots. Cows and hogs make up the bulk of the livestock.
And, of course, there are churches. New and old. Big and small. My favorite is a tiny, all white wooden structure that is not much larger than the unused one room schoolhouses you still see in the country. I pass this church on every ride. I stop at it almost every time.
Headstones rise from the ground on both sides of the church. Some of them are so small and old you can’t read them. Others show deaths dating back ‘only’ three decades. Alongside the church is a gravel path used to get to a grassy area in the rear used for parking on Sunday mornings. My guess has always been that the church has no more than fifty members and only half of them attend on a regular basis.
I stop at the church because on one side or the other, depending on what time I’m riding, it offers shade. On this particular day, I badly needed shade and a place to sit, catch my breath, and let my body temperature get back to normal. It was exceptionally hot and heat stroke in the middle of nowhere is no fun.
I rolled onto the familiar path, listening to my tires roll over the loose dirt and gravel. I came to a stop in the shade no more than ten feet from the church. I got off, let the bike rest on the ground on its side, and pulled out a water bottle.
I was about to take a drink when I noticed a single car in the back, close to the church. On a Saturday, this was very unusual as I was used to having the place pretty much to myself when it wasn’t Sunday. I took a long drink of water, then pulled down the zipper of my cycling jersey a bit and poured water down the front, feeling it cascade over my chest and stomach.
I took off my helmet and gloves and sat on the grass, with my back to the church.
The one story structure had four windows on each side. Directly below each of those, in the stone block basement, were four additional, smaller windows. The windows at the congregation level had no coverings. The basement windows had curtains that I had never seen open.
I only mention this because five minutes after sitting down I swore I saw one of the curtains slide back into place when I turned to look at the car in the back. I could have been mistaken, but even if I wasn’t I didn’t think too much of it. I was sitting in the grass, resting. Somebody was in the basement of the church. Big deal.
But then I started thinking; always a bad thing with me. I was down to just one and a half bottles of water and I had more than twenty miles to ride. I normally would have stretched the water and made it last. But what if? What if somebody was in the basement of the church and they would let me fill my water bottles, assuming they had running water?
I had nearly talked myself out of doing it until I had one last thought of how cold and refreshing the water might be. I could breeze through the final leg of my ride.
I sighed, stood up, and gathered together all three of my water bottles. I walked towards the back of the church, closely eyeing the car that had intrigued me from the start. I guess I was looking for signs that maybe it wasn’t a good idea to bother the owner. But it was very nondescript, fairly clean, and certainly not threatening.
The back door of the church was clearly the original. The wood was aged and cracked and what little paint remained was in need of replacement. I knocked. After half a minute with no reply, I knocked again.
When there was still no answer, I tried the knob and was able to pull the door open.
“Hello. Anybody here?” I asked in what I thought was an appropriately loud voice.
Silence. I stepped inside.
Directly ahead of me was a short hallway ending with a wall just five feet away and a left hand turn. To the right were steps down into the basement.
“Hello,” I said more loudly. “Anyone home?”
I was looking down the stairs the entire time, still convinced I saw the curtain move earlier. I began quietly walking down the steps.
“Oh, marmaris escort there you are,” a man’s voice behind me said.
I shrieked and nearly fell forward, managing to steady myself and dropping only one of the water bottles. I turned to look, but I could only make out the man’s outline against the gleaming brightness of the open door behind him. At that point I wanted to walk back up the steps and avoid being in the basement with him. But then I would have had to walk right into him. Also, a bottle I needed was on the basement floor. So I stood frozen in place.
“Can I help you?” he said.
“I…I saw the car and…and thought somebody was in here,” I stammered. “I wondered if I could get some water?”
He stepped forward and at least I got a better look at his face.
“Of course. Come on down,” he said with a smile.
I turned and took the final steps to the basement floor. There, I picked up the third water bottle, subconsciously turning my body so I wasn’t directly in front of him when I did it.
In the normal light I saw that he was probably in his early fifties—twice my age—clean shaven and not at all bad looking. He didn’t appear to be an axe murderer after all.
“I saw you resting out there,” he said. “It’s awful hot to be riding. How far do you have to go?”
“About twenty miles. Not that far.”
He looked surprised. “Not that far? How far have you ridden already?”
“Forty. Approximately.”
He shook his head. “C’mon. The water’s over here.”
The basement was very plain. The block walls were painted but not otherwise covered. Several long tables were aligned in the center with perhaps two dozen folding chairs. Two closed doors led to either offices or storage rooms. Another led to the restroom, which is where I was told I could fill the water bottles.
“Thanks,” I said, entering the restroom.
I left the door open and filled each bottle from the sink with what I found to be unexpectedly cold water. In the mirror I caught a glimpse of him sitting on the edge of a table, watching every move I made. Or my ass in spandex cycling shorts, one or the other.
As I came out the man’s eyes reminded me that the zipper on my jersey was still pulled down a little from my quick shower outside and that the wet shirt was clinging to my body. So if I had accomplished nothing else, I had given this guy a good show from front and back.
“This will really help. I appreciate it,” I said, with every intention of leaving.
“Sit down and rest if you want. There’s no air conditioning, but this basement is naturally cool,” he said.
He was right about that, but I was still in the mood to get back on the bike.
“Nah, that’s alright,” I said.
“Want some food? You must be starved?”
By now I’d had a good chance to look him over and some of my defenses were letting down due to his uncommon allure. His eyes were bright and alive. He sat in the most comfortable manner considering we had never met. His whole body language invited me to stay.
“Oh, OK. What have you got?” I inquired with a grin.
He jumped off the table and went to a small portable refrigerator, like the kind you see in college dorms. He opened it and looked over at me.
“Peanut butter. Jelly. Bread.”
I nodded.
He pulled them out and laid everything on a table. “We use this for the Sunday school class. It’s just a few kids, as you can imagine.”
“You teach?” I asked.
He smiled. “No. I’m the pastor here. My name’s Jim.”
“Hi, I’m Traci.”
I watched him spread far more peanut butter and jelly into a sandwich than I ever would have, but it gave me a few more seconds to examine his muscular, athletic frame. Even with shorts and a t-shirt on I could see that this guy was in great condition for his age. Any evil thoughts I already had were increasing rapidly.
He presented me with his finished sandwich and sat across from me at the table. I took a few small bites as we chatted.
A twist of fate and my natural tendency to flirt set in motion a series of events that would turn Pastor Jim’s life upside down.
During the next bite I took, a bit of jelly fell from the bottom of the sandwich into the opening of my jersey. It rested on the side of my breast, just barely in view.
A moment of silence was broken when Jim rose from his seat and said, “Wait. I’ll get a towel.”
I guess my intentions were established as soon as it happened. My wicked mind instantly saw an opportunity. I stood at the same time the pastor did.
As he was about to pass me, I opened the zipper another inch or so and said, “No. Come here.”
He stopped and faced me, not more than a couple feet away. I used my hand to pull the jersey open a little more, exposing nearly half of the jelly-covered breast.
“Lick it off,” I said calmly.
His eyes darted back and forth from the jelly to my face. His mouth opened, but at first he didn’t speak.
“No. I…I….”
I stepped towards him until we were close enough to touch, still holding the jersey open.
“Please,” marmaris escort bayan I said.
It was almost humorous watching his evil side win out. The pain on his face was conspicuous as he leaned forward. I knew I had him.
He was delicate at first, simply trying to pick the jelly from my skin with his lips. But then his tongue slid across the side of my breast and I had to make sure he didn’t quit there. I put my hand on the back of his head and pulled it closer. He spread his lips and took more of my tit into his mouth. I yanked on the jersey and gave him access to my nipple. As soon as he tasted it, whatever resolve he had was gone.
The zipper on a cycling jersey goes all the way to the navel. I pulled it all the way down while Jim assaulted my tit. Almost before I let go, his hands were on my chest, pushing the jersey aside to expose both breasts.
I was a little concerned about being caught, although I had far less reason to be concerned than the pastor. So I assumed we were safe as long as he thought we were. Jim had the jersey open so far it slipped off my shoulders. When he felt that, he pulled it down and let it collect around my waist.
Now with my breasts at his disposal, he wasted no time alternating between my tits, sucking on them and nibbling on the nipples until I felt my pussy respond. He showed no signs of letting up and I reached for his crotch.
I probably expected to have to do some work to find his cock through his shorts. I was wrong. He was already very long and hard and I easily wrapped my hand around him and began to stroke his erection. What started out as advanced flirting on my part was turning into much more, and my body was saying ‘Let’s do this.’
I managed to get half of his cock outside of a pant leg. I immediately dove for it, pushing as much of the material aside as possible, and taking him in my mouth. It was then that I realized just how big he really was. It was then I realized I might do more than just thank him with a blowjob.
We were like this for about one minute. Then Jim said, “C’mon, Traci. We better move inside my office.”
I followed him the length of the basement and into a tiny, but neat, office. It had a wooden desk, a chair, a couple book shelves, and walls. That was it. He closed the door and I heard him lock it.
I nearly had his shorts and underwear off before he was done. To my delight, he had not lost any of his erection. In fact, he might have grown thicker and I eagerly sucked on as much of the cock as I could force down my throat.
Jim lifted my jersey off and I resumed the blowjob, cupping his balls in one hand and squeezing his ass with the other. Occasionally I would switch to a handjob, mainly to get a better look at his incredible cock. I rolled it across my tits, marveling at the huge, pink head and dreaming of how it feel inside me.
“Stand up,” Jim interrupted me. “I need to see you naked.”
I didn’t wait for him to do it for me. I put my hands on the top of my spandex shorts and pushed them down. Soon, I was naked. Jim removed his shirt and we stood together by his desk, eyeing each other with appreciation.
“Turn around,” he said softly.
He came closer and his hands began a slow, but thorough, journey up my sides, down my chest, across my ass and around to my pussy. His cock pressed against my ass while he played between my legs. Jim teased my clit but never stayed in one place long.
I put both palms on the edge of the desk and leaned over. No directions were necessary. I spread my legs and felt his massive cock get into place. Jim placed his hands on my tits and pushed.
I cried out in total delight as his thick cock penetrated me. He was gentle and deliberate. The pace was steady and designed to last a long time. All day would have been fine with me.
Our moans grew in volume and frequency over the next few minutes. Then he suddenly told me, “Get up on the desk, Traci.”
I climbed up, leaned back, and watched Jim begin again while holding my legs in his hands. It was magnificent. I rested my legs on his shoulders and he pounded me a little faster and harder.
“Cum on me, Jim. I want to see you cum on my chest,” I said.
He smiled and nodded. Another couple minutes of perfect sex ensued and I found myself on the verge of cumming. Would he wait? He reached down and squeezed my nipples.
“Oh God. Yes! Yes, Jim! Now. I’m…cumming!”
He stayed in me the entire time, God bless him. I came in torrents, many times over. But he stayed in me and thrust that huge cock into me until I screamed with pleasure…and then begged him to stop.
Then, and only then, did he pull out and begin to masturbate. I panted while his hand slid back and forth along his shaft. I saw the precum. I heard him groan.
“Ahhhhhhh fuck. Yessssssss!”
The first shot actually hit my chin. After that, stream after stream of warm, white cum accumulated on both tits and my stomach as Jim frantically pulled on his cock.
In the end, neither of us had a single thing to complain about escort marmaris except, perhaps, that it didn’t last all day. Jim helped me clean up in the little bathroom, which would have resulted in a second session had I not insisted on leaving before we were caught.
“I’m glad you stopped,” Jim said after I was dressed and we were back in the main room.
“Me, too,” I assured him with a grin. “The only thing better would have been if you had snuck up behind me down here and ravaged me without warning.”
We both smiled. “Next time,” he said.
“I can be here next Saturday.”
He looked at me for a moment. “I can ravage you.”
After a pause, I said, “OK. Let me come inside. Don’t let me know where you are. Be naked and prepared, if you know what I mean.”
I playfully ran my hand across his crotch.
“I’ll be ready.”
I left him with a kiss. Then waited out one of the longest weeks of my life, anticipating another encounter with the pastor in the recesses of his little white church.
The following Saturday, I was pulling into the church at roughly the same time as before. His car was in the back. My heart raced, knowing what was about to happen. When and how it would happen was a mystery, and that was exactly how I wanted it.
I cooled off for a second and pulled down the zipper of my jersey until it was even with the sides of my tits. Then I walked around to the back of the church. The stillness was deafening as I approached the back door and opened it. The creak of the hinges echoed in the church and I knew if Jim had not been watching for me, he knew I was there now.
I started descending the stairs into the unlit basement. At every step I anticipated his approach from behind, or in front, or the side once I reached the basement floor. But still no sign of him and not a sound other than my own shoes.
I headed for the bathroom. The door was half open and I cautiously pushed it all the way open. Nobody in sight. I walked towards the first closed door at the other end of the room—his office. This was it, for sure. I put my hand on the doorknob, turned it, and prepared myself.
The room was dark and empty.
I could hardly breathe from excitement. The next door over was also closed. My hand shook as I turned the knob and entered the pitch black space. I flicked on the light and found a storage room, but no Jim.
Every step I took was an effort to keep from screaming. I decided I had to head back upstairs and enter the sanctuary, an odd term, I thought to myself, considering what might happen there. The stairway was nerve-wracking as I expected him to come up from behind. But I made it to the main level of the church without incident.
The inside of the sanctuary was even smaller than I pictured it from outside. The pews took up nearly all the space as I looked in from the front left corner. Ahead and to the left was the altar. There appeared to be no use in heading down the side aisle, so I walked out between the first row of pews and the altar.
Jim’s attack was fast, efficient, and frightening. Exactly what I wanted. My squeal was muffled by his large hand over my mouth. I was picked up like a ragdoll and transported up a step onto the altar. I caught a quick glimpse of his nude body, but otherwise he kept me in front of him. He laid me, face down, on the carpeted floor and put his weight on me, half sitting and half kneeling.
“Now it’s time for today’s sermon,” Jim said in my ear. “And the lesson is compliance. Thou shalt not scream, kick, or otherwise fight me. You are a woman and I am a man desirous of you. Obey me, child.”
I could feel his cock on my shorts; his wonderful, huge cock. He had come truly prepared.
He pulled up my jersey. He wasn’t rough or particularly fast about it. Jim evidently wanted to make a show of this and I was fine with that. When it was off, he reached under me and massaged my tits. I gave him plenty of space, but he would not let me look back at him. I swore he got even harder in the next minute.
Then he pulled down my shorts, inch by inch, appreciating every new detail of my ass and legs that he exposed. Soon, I was as naked as him and probably just as horny. The setting was driving me crazy, knowing what went on there every Sunday morning and what it was being used for now. I hoped I wouldn’t cum too quickly.
He stretched out on top of me this time, completely covering me with his prone body. I could only concentrate on his rock hard cock in the crack of my ass as he played with my tits some more.
“I’m going to fuck you, Traci. But only after you beg for it. Compliance must be paired with submission to be complete. The taking of you is easy. The owning of you is required.”
He put his cock at the entrance to my pussy. I pushed back against him and he instantly pulled away.
“No!” he cried out, slapping my ass with enough force to make me yell. “You are not ready. You will beg me first.”
He slapped my ass again and I gasped. Then his hand slid between my legs and found my soaking wet pussy. One, and then two fingers, entered me. I raised and lowered my hips to assist his efforts and he did not stop me. I honestly thought I might be able to have an orgasm, perhaps without Jim knowing it, but he had other plans.
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