‘All praise the Lord.

Jesus is love.

All praise the Lord.

Sweet God above’

The whole congregation swayed and clapped in time with our hymn of praise, led by our spiritual guide and mentor, Pastor Kofi.

The Blessed Brethren Church had become such a comfort to me. So refreshing to find a minister – and a congregation – who believed wholeheartedly in every word of the Bible and gave thanks for our salvation with uninhibited and joyful celebration; such a change from the mixed messaging and vainglorious rituals of the Catholic cathedral I’d attended before.

At the end of the service I lingered, and as the last of the faithful filed out, I approached the pastor. It was hard to gauge his age; mid-forties perhaps? Shaven-headed with a full beard, he was physically imposing at well over six feet tall and powerfully built, his physique not hidden by his flowing purple gown. Like most of the Blessed Brethren worshippers, he was of Ghanaian heritage, his complexion the darkest ebony and his dazzling smile a beacon of understanding and forgiveness. A single golden earring hinted at a life lived fully.

“Sarah, my child, you look troubled.”

“Yes, pastor, I…”

“Kofi, please,” he gently interrupted.

“Kofi, yes, thank you. I wanted to understand more about Adam and Eve and God’s order to go forth and multiply. Paul and I are having trouble conceiving, and I wondered if prayers for guidance might help.”

“I see.” The pastor’s eyes moved slowly down over my body. Although I tried to dress modestly for church in a pale blue turtleneck dress, my figure inevitably attracted attention; my very large, firm breasts and protruding bottom were hard to hide and the source of constant catcalls and crude comments on the streets of Brixton.

“These are important theological points.” He paused for thought. “Sarah, are you free this evening? I’d like to come to your home and have a more practical, er, workshop on the miracle of creation and the joy of married congress.”

“Er, well, Paul’s away on business at the moment; do you need both of us?”

“Eventually I’ll need you both together for obvious reasons, but let’s start tonight with a one-to-one session, just you and me. Shall we say 7.00 o’clock?”

….

Fresh out of the shower, I let my towel fall to the floor and studied my naked body in the bedroom mirror. I stepped into some high heels and turned round to admire my full, plump bottom. Why was it that heels seemed to make my bum jut outwards and upwards so much? I traced a fingernail down my taut belly to the tip of my freshly shaven haven, then brought both hands up to cup my breasts, pushing them together and squeezing my erect nipples between scissored fingers.

Mmm, oh fuck!

I was secretly glad Paul was away. It would be easier to talk frankly alone with the pastor. As I slowly rolled my huge nipples between thumb and forefinger, I thought of Kofi, confident and masculine, and then, unbidden but impossible to resist, images of what might lie beneath that flowing purple robe came into my mind: graphic, craven images, unholy and obscene.

Sarah, get a grip on yourself! He’s a man of the cloth; have some respect and remember your vows. You’re a married woman!

Childhood sweethearts, Paul and I had married young, on my 18th birthday, just 6 short months ago. All in white, I was a virgin bride, in the literal sense, and Paul a virgin groom.

My mind drifted back to our wedding night. Paul had eagerly stripped off his clothes, proudly showing me his erection which, although rock hard and skyward-pointing, was much, much smaller than I’d been expecting.

Feverishly, he’d come behind me, clumsily groping my breasts, his little ‘thing’ pressing against my bottom. Overwhelmed by a demonic sexual arousal, I had – God forgive me – climbed onto the bed and, with a brazen disregard for Christian decency, pushed up my bottom and called out, “Fuck me, Paul, fuck me hard and claim my virgin cunt!”

He was up behind me in a flash, gripping my ample buttocks, but as I’d braced myself for him to breach my maidenhead, he’d let out a series of little grunts, and I’d felt a few warm drops of liquid fall onto my bare butt cheeks.

“Sorry babe, the excitement got the better of me,” he’d said and collapsed, spent, and was soon asleep. I’d spent that night – and so many since – with an ache deep in the core of me, a yearning to be filled and stretched, and only by the power of prayer had I been able to resist the temptation to thrust my fingers into my molten cunt and relieve my frustrations with a wanton wank.

‘Ding-dong’

The doorbell snapped me out of my bittersweet reverie.

Fuck! Was it 7.00 o’clock already?

I’d lost track of time.

Shit! I can hardly greet him stark naked.

I quickly pulled on a short pink slip dress and hurried downstairs to greet him. Catching a glimpse of myself in the hallway mirror, I suddenly realised I still had my heels on, the dress was much too short, and my nipples were sticking out like chapel hat pegs. Hardly appropriate attire to meet a man of God.

Too late. I opened the door, and there he was, regal in a full-length ivory African tunic, trimmed with golden inlay at the collar and the hem.

“Damn, girl, you look fine!”

He stepped over the threshold and took me in his arms in a powerful embrace. I was struck by his solid physique and felt how hard he was, every inch of him, every indent on his muscular frame, and his unmistakable male bulge nudging against my bare mound through the thin nylon dress.

Blushing and flustered, I led through to the living room, acutely aware of my breasts and bottom bouncing and wiggling, unrestrained by underwear.

Kofi took the middle seat on the sofa. “So, Sarah, you wanted to know more about Adam and Eve and God’s order to go forth and multiply.”

“Yes, pastor.”

“Kofi.”

“Yes, sorry, Kofi. Well, it’s…” He raised a hand to stop me.

“Look, before we get to theology, let’s just check the biology. You’re off birth control, right?”

“Er, yes, that’s right, but…”

“And you’re fucking at least three times a day during your fertile cycle?”

“Well, we, er…” Slightly surprised at his colloquial term for lovemaking, I felt the need to explain, but the minister was in full flow.

“The best position to get you pregnant is on your back with your legs held back behind your head. That way Paul can really fire his sperm deep into your womb. Second to that is from behind, deep doggy-style pounding until he floods you. Hmmm-mmm, I have to say that’s my favourite, and with your plump booty, I bet it’s Paul’s too. Am I right?”

I took a deep breath. “Well, Kofi, the truth is that we haven’t … er, managed to … er, well, we haven’t, er, consummated our marriage yet.”

“Say what? Are you shittin’ me, girl? He hasn’t even fucked you yet? That is a crime against nature, not to mention an affront to our Lord. What the fuck is wrong with him? Is he gay?”

I was somewhat taken aback by the holy man’s profanity.

“No, no, although he’s …er… on the small side, he gets very good erections and loves me to bits; it’s just that he gets a bit …er… over-excited, too early, as it were, before we’ve actually started to, er….”

“Ooohhh, okie-dokey, I get it; he pops his cork before the party’s started, is that it?”

“Well yes, that’s one way of putting it, I suppose.”

“And you say the boy is ‘on the small side’. What are we talking about here? Six inches? Seven?”

“More like four,” I replied.

“No babe, I mean when he’s erect.”

“That is when he’s erect.”

“Damn! I’d heard white boys were hung like mice, but that is fucking ridiculous. Four inches isn’t going to get his feeble sperm halfway up your pussy, even if he manages to last that long. Does he at least go down on you after he’s blown his load?”

“S…s… Sorry? What do you mean, sir?” I stammered.

“What the fuck do you think I mean? Does he eat your pussy and make you cum?”

“What? No!” I was shocked and astonished. “Surely that is a sin? Oral sex isn’t mentioned in the Bible, is it?”

“Sweet Jesus, girl, no, of course it’s not a sin! How the fuck are you getting off then? Dildos? Your fingers?”

This wasn’t the conversation I’d expected at all. “Well, I, er, I don’t. I’ve been trying to be a good girl and practise abstinence until Paul is, er, better. Isn’t that what God would want?”

“Hell no! What the fuck gave you that idea? Look, we need to get back to basics. Sarah, do you read the Bible?”

“Of course.”

“So tell me, what were Adam and Eve wearing in the Garden of Eden?”

“Wearing?” I was confused.

“It’s not a trick question, girl. What were they wearing? Tuxedo? Swimsuits? Yoga pants?”

“Er, no, they were naked.”

“Correct-a-mundo, and that’s what we’re going to do now: get naked.”

The pastor rose from the couch, took the hem of his tribal robe and, in one swift movement, pulled it over his head.

The sight that greeted me made me reel back in astonishment and alarm. The body that I’d felt through his robe was now revealed in all its glory. An ebony Adonis, completely nude, every muscle clearly defined and not an ounce of fat on him. 'Fat', on the other hand, was the perfect word for what he had between his legs. Fat, long and rapidly rising, rising and lengthening as I stood there in shock. A huge black penis proudly emerging from a thick jungle bush of Afro hair, hanging below which were his two male orbs, the weight of them evident by the low-hanging sac.

He stepped forward, his eyes locked onto mine, took the hem of my dress and pulled it up over my head, my breasts bouncing as they were freed.

“But Kofi, what about Paul? I’m a married woman.”

“Fuck him!”

Kofi greedily grabbed my tits, squeezing them together, and bent forward to suck each erect nipple in turn, his erection now pressing hard against my cunt lips.

“Fuck, girl, you are stacked!” He moved round behind me and spanked my ass cheeks.

“And jacked! I think I might blow my load myself. Fuck me, bitch, you are one hot piece of ass. It’s time for some serious worship, girl. Sit yourself down on the couch.”

Dazed and almost delirious with a heady mix of arousal and forbidden desire, I sat back on the sofa and spread my legs. I knew what was coming.

The holy man knelt before me, bowed his head and in a reverent tone recited, “Thank you, oh Lord, for this gift from Thy bounty. Amen.”

He plunged his face into my virgin mound, his thick beard tickling my thighs as his tongue found my engorged love button, and I was unable to stop myself screaming out in ecstasy, “Oh my fucking Christ, I am going to cum,” and within a minute of him tasting me, I did, writhing on the sofa, the cushions wet with my juices as a torrent of cum squirted into his face as I went over the edge of heaven.

Kofi rose to stand over me, his hands clasped together as if in prayer. His monstrous penis was in my face, the thick vein on the underside pulsing, making it twitch and bounce to the rhythm of his heart.

I felt suddenly calm and peaceful, blessed and guided by an unseen deity. I’d had a Damascene conversion; no longer was sex something dirty and shameful, but instead, the greatest gift from the Almighty, to be enjoyed with wild abandon.

His body was smooth as silk all over apart from the thick forest of his groin. I leant forward, my clitoris still pulsing from the last vestiges of orgasm, and caressed the pastor’s full round buttocks.

Looking up, I saw that his eyes were still closed, his hands clasped and his lips moving in a silent prayer.

Grasping the root of his massive shaft, I pulled it down to be horizontal and studied the swollen bulb of his cockhead. I kissed his glans. First softly, then deeper, moving my lips forward, stretching them wide to overcome the pronounced ridge of his crown until, with a sense of pride and triumph, I managed to encompass him fully in my mouth and swirled my tongue around the twin holes at his tip.

I continued like that, my lips moving back and forth over his purple bulb, until the preacher's prayer became a chant, a demonic incantation, and he gripped my head, held me steady, and started to move his hips back and forth, at first stopping his thrusts as his helmet reached my throat, but then pushing harder, deeper, opening my windpipe until finally he had every inch deep inside me and my face was immersed in his thick pubic bush.

I felt the spirit of holy passion inside me as my breath came in desperate nasal gasps, mixed obscenely with spurts of drool and snot in a craven display of devout oral submission.

I was braced for him to shoot the contents of his big balls into my throat, but just as that moment seemed to be approaching, he suddenly withdrew, his prodigious penis springing up and slapping hard against his six-pack, thick loops of drool hanging between my lips and his enormous cock.

I reclined back on the sofa, my legs spread, my glistening pussy splayed open in a brazen display. What was about to happen was the inevitable conclusion of a chain of events that had been set in motion when I lingered after service on Sunday. He knelt before me, took hold of my ankles and spread my legs as wide as the Red Sea waters had parted for Moses.

“Sarah, a man and a woman in joyful and productive sexual union are the closest we can be to Heaven on earth. The Lord has spoken to us this day and brought us together to unite our bodies for the miracle of creation.”

We were to breed. Of course we were. Two perfect specimens, the pinnacle of human evolution, made in God's own image – how could we defy His order to multiply?

I reached down and wrapped as much of my hand as I could around his gargantuan trunk, pulling down his erection to be against the entrance to my virgin cunt.

It seemed impossible that his vast girth could be accommodated by my tiny opening, but in the same miraculous way that the angels had rolled away the stone, my tight entrance opened to receive his engorged tip, and with a firm thrust and primal grunt, he broke through my virginal barrier and was inside my molten cavern.

Immediately I felt a surge of divine pleasure rising up in the core of me. He had just three or four inches of his length inside me, and the upward pressure against my walls seemed to be pressing on a secret spot.

He moved just gently, an inch or so, back and forth, his tip seeming to massage the root of my clit from inside my pussy, and soon that surge became an irresistible eruption as an orgasm of biblical magnitude detonated inside my hole.

As my thrashing and wailing eventually subsided, Kofi plunged the remaining entirety of his totem into my depths until that thick Afro forest was nestled against my smooth bare mound and I was stuffed full of him, almost to bursting point, screaming now and calling out for him to claim me and fill me.

Another overwhelming orgasm was building all through my deepest recesses as he built a relentless pounding rhythm that continued until we both exploded together, like two stars colliding. Kofi unleashed a Great Flood, and I felt his divine elixir making a liquid pilgrimage to my egg-laden shrine.

The conception was immaculate.

The following Sunday

“The body of Christ, the blood of Christ.” Pastor Kofi administered holy communion. At my right, smartly attired in a navy blue suit, knelt Paul. He took the wafer and the wine; “Amen.”

At the end of the service we lingered, and as the last of the faithful filed out, we approached the pastor.

“Sarah, so good to see you again. You must be Paul.”

Meekly, “Yes, sir.”

“Paul’s got something to tell you, Kofi. Something to tell you and something to ask.”

The pastor slowly turned to look down at Paul, waiting, a kindly smile playing on his lips.

“Yes sir, I, er, just wanted to say, er… Well, I just wanted to say that Sarah, er, explained everything to me, and, er, we’re both so, er, well, thank you!”

His eyes were welling up with tears; he was overcome with gratitude and emotion. I gave him a little nudge: “And what do you want to ask Pastor Kofi, Paul?”

“Well, I, that is, we” – he’d turned bright pink and was visibly trembling – “well, we wondered if you are free tonight at 7.00 to pay us a visit and continue your guidance?”