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SHEILA AND THE PASTOR by BY REX PODIUS "I have prayed and prayed, Sheila, and we absolutely must stop this," I said, looking seriously into the brown eyes of one of our seniors. I had heard her confession many times. Many times she told me about the masturbation, many times she told me about what she did to boys and men. But it wasn't until six months ago, when this high-school senior was of age, so to speak, that I had finally succumbed to her request for a private confession in my apartment. "I've prayed too, father. But I love the way it feels when I play with myself. I love the way it feels when I put something into me. And I love the way it feels when I touch you." "Child, you must stop. We must stop." "Don't call me 'child,'" Sheila said. She was far from being a child. She probably hadn't been a child since she was eleven or twelve when she discovered the pleasures of her fingers, and later of the hot dog and the cucumber. She told me things she did to herself, things that I could not even believe until I saw them. "You could hurt yourself severely," I said again, as I had when she first started to come to confession to me, and told me the details of what she was doing. "Look, father, this doesn't hurt," she said. She pulled up her skirt and ran all four of her fingers through the wetness of her luscious pussy. As I stared, I heard a buzzing, and when I looked up I saw the red and white implement in her hand. She moved it to the crack, ran it around the outer lips, slid it inside her. "Why do you come to me if all you're going to do is torture me?" "You know you love it, father." Yes, I did. I loved it when she teased herself, and I loved it when she teased me, and I loved it when she reached for me. She moved the red and white vibrator around and around her pussy, alternately inserting and massaging. "Come on, father. Undo your fly." "No," I said. "We've got to stop. You . . . we can't continue to do this." "Come on, get your camera." "Don't do this to me." "Aw, father," she said. "Come on and get your camera!" "Yes, yes, my camera," I said, and I hurried to my dresser, took down my Minolta and began to snap photos one after the other. "Father," she said, "your fly, it's not open." "No," I said. "No." She reached over, grabbed the front of my pants and pulled me toward her. With a single, deft motion, she pulled down on the zipper. With another motion, she had my cock out of my pants and she was pulling it toward her. All this while she continued the buzzing and the masturbation with the red and white vibrator. She had her hand all the way around my cock now, and she was pulling the head toward her lips. My cock was hard and I tried to fight it, but she was too much for me, and the devil inside me was too powerful. I looked down into her eyes as she sucked the head of my cock between her lips, and rolled her tongue around it. She put the vibrator far into her pussy, moved it lovingly, as she lovingly sucked on my cock. "Oh, Sheila," I moaned. "Why do you make me do this?" She held my cock, backed away, and looked up at me. "Because I like you," she said, and her mouth went voraciously at me again, sucking and churning. I began to pump myself in and out of her mouth. I put down my camera and I held her head. I went in and out of her harder and harder as she went in and out of herself with the vibrator. "Ohhhhh," I moaned as I held her head and fucked her face. She had me thinking words, using words I had never said or thought even when I was a young man. How could I ever have agreed to give this up, I thought, feeling the pleasure of her lips and her tongue and even her throat, and hearing that pleasure of her groans, as well as the pleasurable hum and buzz of her vibrator. "Uh!" she grunted, and I knew she had done something to herself. I didn't know whether it was something of pain or of pleasure, until I saw the look of ecstasy in her eyes. ------------------------------------------------------------------------
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