He Who Laughs Last

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He Who Laughs Last: A Manifesto

I had decided to come home for Spring Break. All it would have consisted of would have been going to one beach or another and getting drunk and laid anyway, and since I was doing plenty of both at college I saw no real need to spend the money when it could go to something I really wanted. Besides, I hadn’t seen the folks since Christmas, so I figured I was overdue. So there I was, after a ten-hour drive, standing in the living room of my youth, my mother gushing over me while my father, the consummate armchair sports aficionado, had a single ear bud leading from his tiny radio to his left ear—listening to the Bulldogs game, no doubt—while simultaneously watching the picture-in-picture Clemson and Auburn games. Mom had planned, on the spot, a feast for tomorrow—after church, of course—and after citing everything from fatigue to the onset of a cold, none of which she gave serious consideration to, I finally relented.

I had stopped going to church just a few months after beginning college. In fact, I was now a full-fledged atheist, but Mom would never know that. It would break her heart if she were to learn this about me, so I would make sure she never did. However, this was not my reason for not wanting to go; it was something from my past, something that just wouldn’t be allowed to die. I’ve grown up; I’ve moved on; why do others seem incapable of the same?

The following day Reverend Fulmer recognized me before the congregation, and at service’s end he announced he would be out of town until Wednesday. As I was leaving the church he firmly grasped my hand, whispered something, laughed heartily, and then slapped me on the back as he ushered me onto the street. Upon our arrival home, we ate the prime rib my mother had slow-cooked overnight. I hung out in my room the remainder of the evening, still citing fatigue and mild illness, but the wheels were turning, and they began a trek down an avenue of thought I had never before considered.

The following day I drove by the church. It was around 9:30, and the only car to be seen belonged to Sister Fulmer, the good reverend’s wife. I pulled in, gave myself a final once-over, then proceeded to the rectory where I lightly knocked and humbly awaited her arrival. She opened the door, and recognition was immediate. “Sean, what a pleasant surprise. What brings you out this time of morning?”

I took in her total physicality. Her hair, which was in a tight bun but, if unencumbered, would have flowed to her waist, was a deep brown color with light graying throughout. Under that old schoolmarm dress she wore seemed to lurk a body with 34-26-38 measurements, and her butt still appeared to be firm. Her face was tanned and weather-beaten; she was not what I would immediately call pretty or even attractive, but she had a sexiness about her that seemed to compensate for that. I feigned anxiety—popping my knuckles, looking at my watch—then I asked, “Um, is Rev. Fulmer here?”

“No, dear,” she announced, “I’m sorry, but he’s in Atlanta at a conference for the next few days.”

“Oh,” I said, disappointment clearly painting my features. “I was just hoping I could… Um, that is…I really needed to speak with him about something.”

She gently placed a hand against my cheek as she said, “You look troubled, my son. Please, come in. Perhaps you can unburden yourself to me?”

I entered as I said, “I don’t know, Sister. This might be of a nature you aren’t too comfortable with.

She led me to the parlor where she proffered the chair which sat in front of a humble desk. As she sat in the chair behind the desk she said, “I must say, you have grown into quite the handsome man. Are there any good Christian girls at college worthy of your attention?”

“That’s kind of what I need to talk about,” I told her, “only…I just…I question if you are the right person I need to discuss this with.”

“Believe me, Sean, when I say I have heard it all,” she attempted to reassure me. “There is nothing you can tell me that I have not heard before.”

“I don’t know,” I said as I ran my hands through my hair and down the length of my face. Then, apparently wrestling with and coming to a decision, I said, “I’ll tell you, but on the condition that you do not speak until I am finished.” She nodded her consent at this, so I began.

“I really don’t date at school, and the reason for that is I have been obsessing over someone; someone who bahis firmaları attends this very church. Whenever I see this woman, my mind is filled with all kinds of thoughts, like I wonder what kind of panties she wears? I wonder if she has a matching bra? I bet she wears a garter belt and stockings. I bet…” I paused and bowed my head, but for effect only. “I bet she shaves between her legs, and I bet she has a beautiful triangle or mohawk down there, but that’s not all, Sister. Sometimes I think, I wonder how she tastes? I wonder if she is into anal sex? I would really like to make love with her. I…I even masturbate to these thoughts, Sister.” I finally looked up and almost burst into laughter at the comical mask of puzzlement that now painted her features. I said, “I knew I shouldn’t have said—”

“Sister Marlowe is a very beautiful woman,” Sister Fulmer said. “I can see why you are so attracted to her.”

She was right. Sister Marlowe was one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen, and these thoughts and feelings I had just expressed to Sister Fulmer were indeed those I had had for Sister Marlowe, but Sister Marlowe was not the reason I was there right now. “Don’t you get it, Sister?” I began to plea. “Everything I just told you is about … you.”

“Oh, my,” she said immediately, then, again, “oh, my!” I knew the direction in which this conversation was supposed to go, so imagine my surprise when it was she who stated, “You need counseling, Sean. Long, intense counseling. Tell me, do you know what a sin-eater is?”

That was it, the one word that my entire argument was to hinge on, and she was offering it for discussion. I would have to approach this carefully. “I’ve heard it before, Sister, but I really don’t know what it means.”

She explained that a sin-eater was generally a woman priest from Biblical times who, through sex, would take unto herself the sins of the wicked, thus absolving them from their sin. She then said, “I want to help you in this regard, Sean. It’s God’s work. He brought you to me, and now He wishes to use me as a vessel to help you once again attain salvation.”

“Are…Are you sure about this, Sister? I mean—”

“I do not question the Lord’s ways, Sean; His will be done. Now tell me, of all these demons that have a hold on you, which is the strongest?”

I mumbled some unintelligible thing, and when she questioned me about it I said rather apprehensively, “Anal.”

“Then this is where we shall begin,” she said as she rose from her chair.”

“But Sister, do you even know what to expect from this?” I asked her, almost begging her to reconsider. “I have spoken with women who have participated in this and they say it is a terrible pain, the likes of which takes several sessions from which to recover. If you are a virgin back there—”

“I am a virgin back there,” she told me.

“Then I think you should be aware of how much torment it will put you through.”

“It must be done,” she said. “There is no other way.” She then removed her dress, then her white granny panties (huge disappointment), then made her way to the sofa in the room. She directed me to a bottle of lotion, and after applying a liberal amount to my swollen cock, she rubbed some on her rectum. She was on her hands and knees, and I was thinking to myself I entered the rectory then entered her rectum. I almost burst out in laughter. I was sure it would feel like a blast furnace once I got inside of it, but unlocking that door might prove to be more of a challenge than even she was willing to undergo.

I pressed myself against her tight anus and gave a light push, and with a gnashing of teeth she yelled, “Oh, it hurts.” I told her that she didn’t have to do this, but she said, “Your emotional trauma must become my physical trauma. How else may you be redeemed in the eyes of the Lord? Now stop screwing around and push that prick into my butthole!” I did, and as I finally penetrated, more screaming, and then she began to rebuke me, “You son of a cock-kissing Gomorrah whore. You son of a Philistine bitch. You’re ripping me apart.”

“Sister, maybe I should stop and—”

She then reached behind her, grabbed her ass cheeks, pulled them as far apart as she could, and began to slam herself to the hilt of my manhood. “Fuck my butthole with your prick, you great, horned beast. Fill me with your hard, young cock meat, you sweet, sweet Sodomite,” kaçak iddaa and finally, “Oh, the Spirit of the Lord is overtaking me,” and with that she began to convulse spasmodically as she had a monumental orgasm, the first in many, many years was my guess.

She just lay there, juxtaposed, as I continued my merciless assault on her virgin ass, mixing long, deep strokes with quick, small thrusts. She began to return from her stupor, and I had her lay on her back as I continued my anal onslaught. She screamed, “Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil, but this butt-fucking is tearing my asshole apart.”

I threw her legs over my shoulders, and soon after her face started to twitch, and I said, “Look me in the eyes when you have this one, Sister.” She held my face in her hands, looked me deep in the eyes, then her own eyes began to well up with tears as she came once again. Without saying a word she drew me close and began kissing me, and I began to experience a moving of the Spirit of my own.

“Do it,” she commanded me. “Do it. Finish it off. Plow my butthole the way Adam tilled the soil of the land. Do it. Unleash that demon that holds you captive,” and I did. I grunted, screamed, in a most primal manner, filling her ass to the brim with cock and cum.

I collapsed next to her, then noticed for the first time, “Blood. Sister, I am so sorry.”

“You have been washed in the blood of the Lamb,” she told me in a soothing voice, “but I must say that you still have a ways to go before we exorcise all the demons that inhabit you.”

“Well, when can we…?”

“Tomorrow,” she answered when I didn’t finish the sentence. “Same time, only, park a few streets over. We wouldn’t want anyone to become suspicious.”

The remainder of the day all I could think about was how good a fuck Sister Fulmer had been, but as horny as it got me, as much as I wanted to jerk off, I didn’t; I was going to bust two nuts in her tomorrow, and I knew it couldn’t be an all-day affair. Time, unfortunately, was not on my side. So, fast-forward to the next morning, and I parked my car at the court house parking lot and walked over. I knocked on the door and entered when the command to do so was given. I heard Sister Fulmer say, “Be right out,” so I made my way to the parlor and took a seat.

She appeared from a side door that led to a bedroom, and I was disappointed to see she was wearing her choir robe. “Oh, it’s not what you think,” she assured me. Then she said, “Watch this,” as she removed a large pin from her hair, and the bun gave way as her hair billowed around her shoulders. I just became aware that she had put a light amount of make-up on, and I have to admit, she looked pretty hot. “And now for surprise number two.” She then turned her back to me, and I saw her arms move up, then the sound of her robe unzipping. She finally allowed it to fall to the floor, and I beheld…well, she had on a black bra and matching thong, black garter belt, black stockings, and black three-inch heels.

“Oh, my god,” I said as I stood and made my way toward her. I scooped her into my arms, then took her into the bedroom where I gently lay her on the bed. She popped a button on the front of the bra and it separated, exposing her neglected breasts to me. “Oh, Sister,” I said as I took a nipple into my mouth. Her orgasm was instantaneous. I then began to kiss her, and she me, and we lay there together for several minutes, doing just that and nothing more. I then slithered down and grabbed the straps of her thong, and as I worked them off her pelvis…There it was. She had indeed shaved, and there was a beautiful little triangle perfectly centered just above her clit. As much as I wanted to go down on her, I instead chose to enter her.

“Oooohhhhhhh,” she moaned as I achieved complete penetration, and I wasn’t three good strokes into it when she came again. Tears in her eyes, a smile on her face, she said, “Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.”

I continued with that slow, steady pace for about five more minutes, and then, “Sister, I feel a quickening of the Spirit.”

She pulled herself from me and began to jerk my cock as she said, “It is far better to place thy seed in the belly of a whore than to spill it on the ground, and the quickest way to my belly is like this.” She then took my cock into her mouth. I felt all the strength ebb from my legs as she expertly sucked my cock, not missing kaçak bahis a beat, even as she swallowed. When she finally released my still-hard cock from her mouth, she ran a thumb along the main vein, getting that last pearl of cum, and kissed it from my cock head.

She lay back down, brimming with pride, and said to me, “It is now time to give good supplications of great thanksgiving.” She placed a heel behind my head and drew me close to her pussy. Then, as she guided my mouth to her engorged clit, she said, “And as you work diligently to expulse this demon of diver’s lusts from your being, we ask that the Lord grant you the gift of tongues.” Not that He needed to. I mean, I was pretty good at this on my own, and the fact that Sister Fulmer was flopping on that bed like a fish out of water was a true testament to that fact. After a few minutes she announced, “I’m getting caught up in the rapture.” She mentioned a few other things of which I caught just bits and pieces, like, “Eat of my flesh,” and “…do not have to re-enter the womb to be born again,” but all that faded away quickly enough as she moved into a sixty-nine just long enough to lubricate my cock with spit, then forced it deep into her asshole once more. She rode it like a champ, grimacing at the pain while indulging in the pleasure me rubbing her clit brought on. Finally I came again, and before I left I had convinced her to sit out tomorrow night’s service so she and I could work on saving my wretched soul while the good reverend preached the Holy Gospel.

Sister Fulmer and I got together every day that week, even on Saturday. It seems ol’ Rev got an unexpected call, taking him out of the house for a few hours. Oh, who am I kidding? Disguising my voice, I called the man and told him there was trouble within his church and he should get to Lake Park right away; that I would have all the pertinent information waiting for him. I had paid someone to forget my name and deliver an envelope, which would send Reverend Fulmer back to his house. It read, “Your wife is cheating on you. Head back home now to catch her. Do not call. The phone is off the hook. The back door is ajar.”

It was set up perfectly. I insisted on the parlor, and Sister Fulmer was enjoying my cock up her ass, facing away from me as she rode that bologna pony for all she was worth. I began to rub her clit and she said, “Ooo, yes. Ooo, thank you, Jesus. Thank you, Lord. This ass-fucking Sodomite is indeed a gift from your bosom. I’m going to cum. I’M GOING TO CUM!!”

And then, “Shirley, what is the meaning of this?”

It was Reverend Fulmer, like I gave a rat’s ass. I continued to diddle Sister Fulmer’s clit in perfect harmony with every thrust of my cock up her ass as I said to her, “Look him in the eyes. Look him in the eyes and let him know what this means to you.”

“George, it is so beautiful,” she told her husband. “He is so divine. He truly is the son of God.” With that, she tensed up, convulsed, and her body wracked with wave after convulsive wave of pure pleasure, which brought on my own orgasm, that perhaps I was just a little too melodramatic with.

Rewind to Sunday. As I was leaving the church and Rev. Fulmer whispered in my ear, what he said was, “I hope you’ve found something else to do with your dilliwop.” Rewind even further, to right before I left for college, and my mother caught me masturbating one night. Yeah, stupid me, I forgot to lock the bathroom door. Anyway, my dad was out of town at the time, so my mother took me to talk with Rev. Fulmer about masturbation. From that moment on, every single time he has seen me he has brought it up in one fashion or another. Dilliwop. Huh. This past week was the final straw. I decided then that the old bastard needed to be taught a lesson, so it was just a matter of finding the best lesson to teach.

As Sister and Reverend Fulmer argued over this trespass to their marriage, to their Christian beliefs, and to the sanctity of the church itself, I got dressed, and just before I made my exit I said, “So, Rev, would you say I’ve finally found something else to do with my dilliwop?” I then left and went home, sure the reverend wouldn’t come along to start anything, and he didn’t. I returned to school, got on with my studies, and after about six months I got a call from Sister Fulmer, who wanted to know that she was more than just a tool of revenge. I assured her that she was an innocent bystander, which opened the door for her and me to begin seeing one another again for…spiritual enlightenment, which is about once a month. She and the rev are still married, and their lives are about the same. I’m gonna milk this thing for everything I can.

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