Based on a true story, probably.
Edgar rushed out of the rain and into the prayer room, dragging a reluctant Nathan behind him. A zig-zag trail of wet footprints and water dripping from their clothes followed them to Pastor Josiah. The pastor and another regular churchgoer were engrossed in a conversation so deep it may have been prayer. With their heads bobbing up and down in agreement to whatever wisdom the pastor was sharing with the man, they found themselves being nudged impatiently by a frazzled, dark-eyed Edgar.
“Mr Edgar, I was just finishing here, could you take a seat and I’ll be with you in a few minutes,” Pastor Josiah asked, his face a glowing beacon of tolerance and hope.
Edgar was quiet for a moment, he could feel his nails digging into the soft flesh of his son’s twisting forearm; he could feel his son’s nails trying to pry free from his grip. “Let go of, me,” he heard him say. Edgar could see in the corner of his eye, the crazed look in his son’s red eyes; his raspy breath filled the quiet prayer room. His son’s wrist was slipping. If he freed himself, Edgar wouldn’t have the strength to do it all over again. He couldn’t go looking for him in the cold, rainy night. At that point he was too exhausted to even decide if his son was worth the struggle; he hadn’t slept in almost a week and finally he had managed to bring him in to see the pastor, and the pastor wanted him to take a seat and wait his turn! This was his turn, it was now or now, full stop.
“Pastor, if you don’t take my son from me I’m going to kill him,” Edgar said in a voice so crisp and certain it chilled him to the bone. He hadn’t meant to say it but he wasn’t taking it back.
“Get one of the assistants to help you. There is five thousand pounds in here,” Edgar threw a thick, heavy envelope of money at the dumbstruck pastor. “Use it to take him to Diyabha. My son will explain the rest. Take him, please, I can’t live like this anymore. This boy has ruined my life.”
Edgar sucked in long, heavy breaths, he was preparing himself for the hand-over. “Take him,” he begged, yanking his son’s arm towards the speechless pastor.
“Whatever issues you are having, let’s sit down Mr Edgar, and we can find out what’s going on with your son, Nathan. He’s an adult now, I’m sure the three of us can come up with a reasonable solution.”
Pastor Josiah looked at Nathan’s dilated pupils, the boy was almost foaming; his lips pulled tightly into a snarl.
“Please help me, pastor,” Nathan said, close to tears. “Don’t let me go back out there,” he begged.
Edgar threw one last plea at the pastor’s eyes then he let go of his son’s arm and dashed out of the prayer room, shutting the heavy double doors behind him and holding them shut with whatever might he had left in his tired, aching muscles.
It wasn’t long before, belligerent pounding fell on the doors with enough force to make the cement around the doorframe crack leaving dust floating in the noise.
“Let me out!” Nathan, cried out from the other side.
He had fought as hard as he could to stay with the good pastor but the drums were banging in his head, the chants summoning him outside to the tribe. The tribe scattered around the city; there were enough of them to keep him busy until his poor body finally gave out from overexertion.
“Nathan, stop that!” Pastor Josiah yelled in as calm a voice as he could muster. He was shocked that the young man’s small body could command such strength as to shake the building with his pounding.
The pastor clambered after Nathan, twisted his arm behind his back and tried to use his weight to pull the boy down to the floor where he could pin him down until he calmed down. He had known Nathan and his father for over a year since he was transferred to their church, and they had always been courteous, mostly keeping to themselves. There was no logical explanation for Nathan’s aggressive behaviour.
Finally the pastor had Nathan down on the floor; he had stopped yelling and spitting, even his breathing was barely audible now. As the pastor lay on top of the boy, his arms locking the boy’s in place, he felt something he had never felt for another man before. He hadn’t noticed it until the boy shifted his butt, rubbing his firm cheeks against the erection that had formed in Pastor Josiah’s trousers. He hadn’t meant for it to happen, and he didn’t even want it but the more Nathan wriggled, trying to free himself, the more he rubbed his ass on the pastor.
“Stop it, young man,” Pastor Josiah said, though he was less than ten years older than the young man trapped beneath him. The boy had to stop before he drove the pastor to sin, prematurely.
“Pastor, how can I help?” asked the man who had been speaking with the pastor when the father and son walked in. He was on his feet and he was trying to inconspicuously tip-toe out of the room. He came to church to pay his tithe and hope the Lord would forgive him for a lie or two. He didn’t want to have any part in whatever crazy shit was happening with the possessed boy.
“You can go, Marvin. I have this under control,” the pastor spoke through gritted teeth, mostly he was too embarrassed that a member of his congregation might see him with an erection or worse- one more smooth gyration into his pelvis and he would cum right through his trousers onto the boy’s butt. “Go home, Marvin. I’ll pray for this young man and send him home.”
The man didn’t need to be asked twice. He tried one of the double doors to exit, the handle gave. Edgar had abandoned his son and he was three miles away, driving to his decent little mansion where he would drink himself to much needed sleep.
In the prayer room, the pastor confused and overwhelmed by the scent of the boy’s subtle musk and sweat turned to the only refuge he knew, the only saviour he could depend on.
“Father, I come to you during this difficult time,” Pastor Josiah was rubbing his face into the boy’s wet brown hair, feeling the curls as they clung to his skin before falling back on the boy’s head. The boy’s small wrists were in the pastor’s hand and they were so soft; maybe it was because he had been in the rain, or maybe it was because he was so perfect.
“Father, I pray for this young man’s soul. Shine your light on whatever darkness lies inside. Cast out, with your holy name, whatever demons have taken hold in this young man’s life,” the pastor paused. The skin between his balls and his dick was very sensitive as it rubbed against the curve of the boy’s bottom.
Pastor Josiah jumped up, removing himself from the boy’s body. He placed his hands on Nathan’s head and began pouring his heart out for God to remove the spirit of temptation from him and to save the boy’s soul.
After much prayer, the pastor pulled the boy to his feet and led him to the residential part of the church where he lived with his wife. He found the boy some warm dry clothes and sat him down for a long talk on the Ikea kitchen table.
“What’s going on, Nathan? I saw you in church a couple of weeks ago and everything was fine,” the pastor asked, shaking his head from side to side. His heart bleeding for the young man.
Nathan looked up at the pastor. Pastor Josiah wasn’t that much older than Nathan but he was very mature. His prayers had helped men twice his age turn their lives around. He wasn’t smiling now, but Pastor Josiah had the most beautiful smile. He smiled with his whole body, his brown eyes sparkled with sincerity, and his arms were always open. He was bigger than Nathan, but not built so heavily that he was intimidating, in fact he was kind of cute. Perhaps that’s why Nathan trusted him.
“Whatever the problem, God will help you through it? But you have to talk to me. Start from the beginning.”
Nathan sighed and he began sharing his story, “I don’t how it started. I don’t even know what’s happening to me. A few weeks ago I started hearing these drums banging in my head. It was music I’d never heard before. I didn’t think much of it at first and it even stopped for a few days.”
But the drums had started again one day when Nathan had gone up the steps on the number 87 bus home. It was stuffy up there, with foggy windows and rain pouring outside. There was an Asian couple a few rows away with the woman wearing a black hijab, and way at the back were three black men in trendy flat brim baseball caps.
Nathan sat in front of the couple but the moment his cheeks touched the seat he knew something was wrong. Blood was pounding in his ears, pounding to the beat of African drums. Drums and chanting, a ritual and a prayer. His skin felt hot, maybe it was the stuffy bus. His argyle sweater was scratching his forearms. The cushions on the seat were pushing into his anus muscles and he found himself shifting in his seat so he could feel the firm pressure deeper inside him.
The biggest difference he noticed was the heightened awareness of the passengers on the bus. He could smell the herbs and spices coming from the Asian man sitting next to his wife or girlfriend; he could smell the moist air rising from the crotch between his spread legs. Far back, where the black men were seated, he could sense their manhood, distended between their legs and due for release.
Images of black penises started to fill his brain. Black dicks: soft, hard, and semi. A slideshow playing to the beat of wooden drums. It was a particular dick that was calling him, dark brown skin, almost black. Uncut, with a big hood of wrinkly skin wrapped around a dark glans.
Nathan had never been into black men but some evolutionary mechanism made the muscles in his body relax, gape- from throat to rectum. He was prepared. He was a vessel. He needed to be filled. There were nine men on the bus, four black men but nine men in total. He couldn’t see who was on the bottom deck of the bus but he could feel each man. He could feel the essence of man between each pair of thick hairy thighs. But he was drawn to the black ones. Below, in the moving streets, black men were looking up at him as the bus passed one road after another.
The Asian couple left, the man smacked the back of Nathan’s head. An acknowledgement of his purpose. He was a slut, and the man knew, they all knew. He was the incarnation of the Whore Supreme, created to fulfil men’s desires.
As soon as the couple left, the black men at the back closed in on Nathan like a pack of wild dogs. They started grabbing at his clothes, feeling his tiny, pink nipples and smooth back. Digging their big black hands and yellow palms into his crotch. Their fingers were burrowing into his hole. One by one they dropped their trousers to the floor, and so began Nathan’s descent.
Over the next week he would board buses, knock on houses, hitchhike- whatever it took. He was on an involuntary quest, spinning between hallucinations of being fucked by black dick and the reality of being passed around in rings of African men. His hole was always sore and dripping and he could never remember when it had happened. His mind was consumed by one purpose. His home was invaded by the descendants of African tribes answering an ancient call to wade through the thick jungle and pay homage to the chosen whore.
Unsurprisingly, the number of thugs and deadbeats leaving their cum stains on Nathan’s bedsheets and carpet emotionally terrorised Edgar, his father, until he was on the brink of insanity and finally dumped his son at the church.
Sometimes the urges would ebb away and, very briefly, Nathan would feel like his normal self but then, like a tsunami, they would engulf him and leave him devastated, powerless, and disoriented.
“It takes too much will to fight the forces calling me to serve those men. I can’t say no. I seek and serve, that’s all I do. I haven’t eaten or gotten any sleep in over a week. I’m fine now but soon the drums will start again and I will have no choice but to go and serve,” Nathan buried his tired face in his hands. “Please pastor, you must take me to Diyabha so they can take it out of me.”
Pastor Josiah looked at the boy, his jaw hanging with enough permanence that he was drooling onto his lap. This boy is a slut, he thought. A fucking slut! A few weeks ago he was just a normal boy who baked cupcakes for the youth group and now he was a filthy slut.
“What’s in Diyabha?” He asked, reminding himself that it was not his place to judge the young man who had fucked every black dick that had slithered from Africa since the first slave ship docked at Liverpool. “Why do we have to go to Diyabha?”
“I just know, father. I could try to explain it but I must make that journey. It’s where it started thousands of years ago. I must go to Africa and find the chief of Diyabha. Only he can save me,” Nathan said. “I’m out of ideas, father. I haven’t been able to hold a thought in my head this long since this started. I know the Spirit of God lives within you. It’s probably the only thing keeping the drums quiet right now. You saw what this has done to my father. It’s only a matter of time before I unravel. We must go to Diyabha and the chief will take out the spirits inside me.”
Pastor Josiah thought long and hard, sitting in silence, looking at Nathan who was clearly in turmoil. He prayed for guidance from the Lord and he saw the boy who had come to shake his hand after church two Sundays ago. The boy who had probably never seen a pee-pee other than his own two weeks ago. That boy was still in there, he could see hope in his brown eyes. He could be saved. Nathan’s soul could be saved, and a little penicillin could undo the rest of the damage from the last week.
But the pastor was uncomfortable with the idea of handing over God’s work to some African voodoo witchdoctor in Diyabha, but he didn’t think he could handle whatever would come out of this boy on his own. He would take the boy and if the chief was godly, then he would let him do his work on the boy. Lord, I need you to guide me now more than ever, Pastor Josiah prayed.
“Go to bed, Nathan. Ava has made a bed for you. I’ll book some tickets tonight and we can leave tomorrow morning,” the pastor said. He had no idea what he was getting himself into but one of his flock was in trouble and he had to do his part to save him.
Pastor Josiah was tired and he still had a raging hard-on from when he had pinned down Nathan. He told his beautiful wife, Ava, he had to take the boy to Africa to remove the evil spirits that were rampant inside him.
“His father, Edgar, came to see me in pieces. And you saw the boy. If there’s anything we can do to save him, we have to try, Ava,” Pastor Josiah persuaded her, grabbing at her full breasts and bringing her closer to him.
“I’ll be back by Sunday for the main service. Pastor Thomas can take care of everything while I am away,” the pastor said, mostly to himself. “Come here, sweetheart. Get on your knees I want to bless you.”
“I already prayed,” Ava said. “Maybe you should take a shower and bless something else tonight.”
Pastor Josiah grumbled and stumbled out of bed, taking his big erection with him. On his way to the bedroom he saw the boy lying on the bed through the open door. He was nude, except for white panties which were illuminated by the crack of light coming from the hallway. White panties that fit tightly around the boy’s tiny bubble butt.
Pastor Josiah, without realising it, started walking into the boy’s dim room. He was dripping through his own underwear. He knew in that moment why they called it a raging hard-on. It need to be touched and it wasn’t willing to wait.
How bad could a sin be if it lasted less than a minute? The pastor was so horny and the boy’s ass so appealing that he knew he only needed to touch his dick and he would jizz right on the floor, or maybe he would take a few steps closer and jizz on the boy’s tight underwear, all over his perky butt. Or he could pull the pants down and jizz on his tight pink hole. Or he could slide his dick into his tight-
“Josiah!” Ava dragged the pastor out of the room and shut the door so the boy could have some privacy. “Shame on you,” Ava declared. And casting his shame on himself was the only option the pastor had that night, so, reluctantly, he went to take a cold shower.
In the morning the pastor entered the boy’s room to remind him they had to leave for the airport in an hour but the boy wasn’t in the room. The room was filled with the smell of sweet, fresh cum. Strewn on the bed were the boy’s white panties. The pastor could see that the young man’s panties had a wet dark spot on them.
Taking cautious steps, and keeping one eye at the door, the pastor inched closer to the wet pile of sweet heaven. He made it to the bed and the panties were so close he could touch them. So he did. There was nothing in the bible about touching a boy’s panties- after all the boy was eighteen. He could feel the boy’s slick semen between his fingers as he folded the panties in his hand, wondering if he’d jerked off or had a wet dream before pulling down the panties and prancing away completely naked. Maybe Nathan had had a wet dream about the pastor fucking him in his white panties on the floor of the prayer room, pinned down under the pastor’s weight, and moaning through his luscious pink lips.
Pastor Josiah buried his nose in the panties, not caring that he would have the boy’s cum on his face. He was so hot he couldn’t help it, this boy was trouble. He started rubbing the panties on his trousers, squeezing his thick dripping dick through the panties and picturing the boy watching him on the bed with his big brown eyes.
“Oh yeah,” Pastor Josiah moaned.
“Oh dear!” the pastor’s wife threw her hands in the air at the sight of her husband, again. She should have just fucked him last night.
On the plane Pastor Josiah received a message from the Lord. The spirit in the boy was causing him to have all those impure thoughts and they would intensify as they approached Diyabha. Nathan was next to the pastor, wearing the pastor’s own clothes which were a bit too big for him. Could this boy get any more attractive?
The pastor left the boy to go jerk off in the bathroom. He reassured himself that jerking off was like removing the cause of temptation, if he kept the erection he would have to stick it in the boy’s hole and that would be a sin, but if he went to the bathroom and jerked off to a simulation, that was- forget what it was. The bible said that if something causes you to sin you should remove it. So Pastor Josiah did what the bible said to do.
After landing in Africa the next morning, Pastor Josiah and Nathan were crammed into a white minibus from the airport to Diyabha with thirty sweaty natives. Although he hadn’t been Catholic since he was a kid, the pastor advised the boy to do some Hail Mary’s so he could take his mind off the abundant black dick. Around noon and forty miles from Diyabha, they bought boiled corn on the cob in steaming green leaves, and soft black bananas from a dozen street vendors stuffing their hands through the small windows of the minibus.
When they reached Diyabha and with the unforgiving sun turning their fair English cheeks a tingling shade of red, the pastor and the boy jumped in the back of a sky blue Datsun and jumped off at the turn-off to the village where the “chief” lived. Pastor Josiah started questioning his faith after five miles of walking down an overgrown path with six-foot high brown grass on either side, and the sun starting to hide behind the mountains. But God came through in the end- after three more miles.
The sound of music filled the cool, clean air as Pastor and Nathan reached the village at sundown. They were too tired to appreciate the distinct pink and orange hues of the African sunset. Thatched round huts were scattered in a small clearing with tall grass and corn fields extending in all directions until they disappeared behind the purple mountains. There was a group of black men seated around a fire; they wore some fabric wrapped around them. Though they had been expecting them, they weren’t too happy to see the visitors; the men stopped banging their drums and rose to their feet in unison.
“We’re here to see the chief,” Pastor Josiah yelled to the men who were circling him and Nathan.
The flames that were filling the air with the sweet smell of well-done beef cast shadows on the black men’s hard, sun-burned faces.
“You cannot stay here, go down that path until you see a giant baobab; spend the night there. We will come for the boy when we’re ready,” one of the men said. The pastor didn’t want to think it but the men all looked the same and he hoped the chief would have a feather headdress or something to distinguish him from the others.
The pastor led the boy down the path until he found the large baobab tree. Most of the light was gone and the Pastor prayed for God to keep the wild animals away or at least lead them in the right direction. “Lord, may your will be done. This immoral boy who has committed adultery more times than it is mentioned in the entire bible deserves to live as much as me, a pastor who has helped hundreds of people in my short life, and never committed adultery- except for the grey-area panties situation.”
The pastor had only packed one sleeping bag so the boy crawled into the bag after the pastor. Once again Pastor Josiah’s dick rubbed against the boy’s little butt. But it was too exhausted to give a fuck. Sometime in the early morning, shivering and thirsty, Pastor Josiah woke up to the sensation of his balls pulsating and ejaculating into his underwear. It was his turn to have a wet dream, too bad he didn’t remember it.
As he took a moment to enjoy the aftermath of a hands-free, guilt-free ejaculation, Pastor Josiah noticed that there was more room in the sleeping bag than there had been the previous night. The boy was missing!
He jumped to his feet, tripping on the sleeping bag and cursing at the dewy grass. They had come for the boy. Or maybe he had relapsed and gone away to serve every big black dick in sight. That was a tall order even for a slut, especially in Africa, the last wilderness where the big black dick roams free.
Pastor Josiah felt his way along the path he had followed the previous day, straining his eyes to see in the scarce, early morning light. Eventually he came to the clearing that was the chief’s village and he was shocked by what he saw.
All the men were seated around the fire, dicks dripping and nuts roasting. The boy was squatted in front of one, who was standing, perhaps he was the chief. Clearly the boy was sucking that man and he had to have already gone around the circle because the other men all looked satisfied and they seemed to have lost interest in the boy.
“Nathan!” Pastor Josiah called out and ran to the boy.
The man he was sucking raised his hand and commanded the pastor to stop. “We have lifted the evil spirits from the boy. You may take him with you when the roosters are up. The boy is renewed, pure again. His mind is free. His soul forgiven.”
The pastor kept stepping towards the boy, drawn by the puckered hole, resting between the boy’s squatting legs and dripping with the cum of a dozen native Africans.
“Resist the devil and he shall flee from you,” the pastor repeated the mantra to himself as he closed in on the boy, in a trance. He bent to his knees and started crawling towards the boy’s hole.
The other men disappeared into the shadows, the village melted into the fields of grass and corn. All that existed was the pale boy’s body and the cock-a-doodle-doo of the earliest rooster. To the pastor all that mattered was the boy’s dark locks of hair, tangled in sweaty clumps, his tight little hole, and the memory of his sweet cum drenched panties.
“Father, please, I don’t want to sin. The heart wants to obey your commandments but the flesh is too weak,” Pastor Josiah prayed desperately, yanking at his balls.
The fire was dancing enchantingly on the boy’s buttocks. He was pure again, cleansed by the semen of the natives. The boy was his to take; he had been brought to him, his soft skin had been brought to him. His father had offered his hairless ass as a sacrifice for his feasting.
“Please forgive your servant,” the pastor prayed, the tips of his trembling fingers almost touching the boy’s smooth back. He shivered in the morning coolness.
The boy pulled the dick he’d been sucking out of his mouth and turned to the pastor with an innocent smile, “Pastor Josiah, you saved me. I can go back home now. I can be a good boy again.”
His mouth said good boy, but his lips were begging for penance. His pink lips on soft white skin.
You can touch him, the pastor told himself. Just touch him and then you can take him home to his father. His father trusted you to help him and give him back. You’re a married man. Just touch his soft skin with the tip of your finger, the tip of your lip. One kiss on his pink lips and then you can go.
The pastor touched the boy’s neck with his lips and immediately ripped his trousers off and pushed his throbbing dick into the boy’s tight hole. He let out a huge sigh of relief to the heavens then grabbed the boy’s hips and started fucking him hard and deep.
“You’re going to make me come, you whore.” Pastor Josiah leaned forward and moaned into the boy’s sweet brown eyes, “Look what you’re making me do with your tight ass. You’re going to make me cum, you little slut. Stop it. Get out of my head. Nathan, please, I’m a man of God.”
And so Nathan was saved but it was only the beginning for Pastor Josiah.