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Reverend Marcus Stone was a man of God.

At least, that's what the ten thousand members of Prosperity Covenant Church believed. That's what the television cameras captured every Sunday morning as he preached about righteousness and family values, his beautiful wife Sarah smiling from the front row, his three children perfectly groomed in their Sunday best.

That's what his young secretary, Grace Miller, had believed too.

Until three months ago.

Grace had been working at the church for six months....fresh out of Bible college, eager to serve, naive enough to think that a man who spoke about God's love every Sunday actually lived those principles.

She'd been so stupid.

It started innocently. Late nights helping with sermon prep. The reverend's hand on her shoulder....fatherly, supportive. Compliments about her dedication, her beauty, how God had truly blessed her.

Then came the private prayer sessions in his study. The door locked. His hands that wandered during "laying on of hands." The way he'd press against her from behind while reaching for books on high shelves, letting her feel exactly what she did to him.

"This is spiritual mentorship," he'd said, his breath hot on her neck. "God wants us to be close. To share everything."

And Grace...twenty-four years old, raised to respect authority, taught that men of God were beyond reproach—had believed him.

Until the night he bent her over his desk and showed her exactly what kind of man he really was.

Now, three months later, Grace stood outside his study at 6 AM on a Sunday morning, her hands trembling as she knocked on the door.

"Come in," Reverend Stone's deep voice called.

Grace entered to find him behind his massive oak desk, reviewing his sermon notes. He looked up, and his eyes...those piercing blue eyes that commanded attention from the pulpit....traveled over her body with undisguised hunger.

"Grace. Right on time." He stood, and Grace's breath caught.

He was imposing...six-foot-four, broad-shouldered, with silver-streaked dark hair and the kind of commanding presence that made people obey without question. In his expensive suit, he looked every inch the successful megachurch pastor.

But Grace knew what was underneath that suit.

Knew about the tattoos he kept hidden. The body maintained by a personal trainer. And most of all, she knew about the monstrous cock that no man of God should possess...especially not one who preached about modesty and self-control.

Fourteen inches. Thick as her wrist. Veiny and brutal and absolutely devastating.

She'd measured it once, after he'd commanded her to. Had wrapped both hands around it and still couldn't cover the length. Had taken it in every hole and still couldn't accommodate all of it.

"Lock the door," Reverend Stone commanded, his voice dropping to that tone he used when they were alone. Not the warm, paternal pastor voice. This was darker. Hungrier.

Grace locked the door with shaking hands.

"Service starts in three hours," he said, walking around the desk. "That gives us plenty of time for your... spiritual education."

"Reverend Stone, I..."

"What did I tell you to call me when we're alone?" His hand shot out, gripping her jaw, forcing her to look up at him.

"Marcus," Grace whispered.

"Good girl." He released her jaw only to fist his hand in her hair, pulling her head back. "Now, I've been thinking about your sweet pussy all week. Been imagining bending you over this desk while my wife sits in the front row downstairs, completely oblivious."

"That's wrong," Grace breathed, even as heat pooled between her legs.

"Of course it's wrong." His smile was wicked. "That's what makes it so fucking good."

He pushed her down onto the desk, scattering his sermon notes...pages about fidelity and God's plan for marriage floating to the floor.

"Lift your skirt," he commanded.

Grace obeyed, pulling her modest church skirt up to her waist with trembling hands.

"No panties." Marcus's voice was approving as he gripped her ass, spreading her cheeks. "Did I tell you to stop wearing them, or did you do that all on your own?"

"You told me," Grace admitted, her face burning. "Three weeks ago. You said you wanted access whenever you needed it."

"And you obeyed. Such a good, obedient little secretary." His finger slid through her already wet folds. "Already dripping for me. Your body knows who it belongs to, doesn't it?"

Before Grace could answer, he dropped to his knees behind her.

The first stroke of his tongue against her pussy made Grace gasp, her hands scrabbling for purchase on the smooth desk. Marcus ate her out with devastating skill....his tongue circling her clit, then diving inside her, fucking her with it, groaning against her flesh like she was the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted.

"Marcus!" Grace sobbed, trying to stay quiet, knowing the cleaning staff was somewhere in the building. "Please—"

"Please what?" He pulled back, and she heard him unbuckling his belt. "Please fuck you? Please destroy this tight little pussy? Use your words, Grace."

"Please fuck me," she whimpered. "Please, I need it...."

"You need what?" The head of his massive cock pressed against her entrance, and Grace's whole body tensed. "Say it."

"I need your cock! Please, Reverend....Marcus...please give it to me!"

He slammed inside.

Grace screamed...the sound muffled by her own hand clamped over her mouth...as fourteen inches of thick, veiny cock stretched her impossibly wide. No matter how many times he fucked her, it was always too much. Always overwhelming. Always felt like he was splitting her in half.

"Fuck!" Marcus groaned, his hands bruising on her hips as he bottomed out. "So fucking tight. Three months and you still strangle my cock like a virgin."

He pulled almost all the way out and slammed back in, starting a brutal rhythm that had the desk shaking, his sermon notes falling to the floor, a picture of his wife and children teetering on the edge.

"This is what you were made for," Marcus growled, pounding into her relentlessly. "Not to answer phones or file papers. To take my cock. To be my personal fucktoy while I preach to thousands about purity."

Grace could only moan brokenly as he destroyed her, each thrust hitting her cervix, pushing against her womb, reaching places that should be impossible. The pain and pleasure were indistinguishable, blending into overwhelming sensation.

"Look at you," Marcus continued, one hand sliding up her back to fist in her hair again, yanking her head back painfully. "Such a good Christian girl. Saving herself for marriage. And now you're getting fucked raw by a married pastor old enough to be your father."

"God forgive me," Grace sobbed, but she was pushing back to meet his thrusts, chasing the pleasure despite the shame.

"God's not in this room, baby." Marcus leaned over her, his chest against her back, his mouth at her ear. "Just you, me, and this monstrous cock ruining you for any other man."

He reached around to find her clit, rubbing it in brutal circles, and Grace came with a scream she barely managed to muffle against the desk. Her pussy clenched tight around him, and Marcus groaned, but he didn't stop. Just kept pounding through her orgasm, chasing his own release.

"Where do you want it?" he demanded.

"Inside," Grace gasped. "Fill me up. Please."

"Dirty girl. Wanting a married pastor's cum inside you." But he gave her what she asked for, slamming deep one final time and flooding her with hot spurts that seemed endless.

When he finally pulled out, Grace collapsed boneless against the desk, cum already leaking down her thighs.

"Clean yourself up," Marcus said, his voice returning to that calm, authoritative pastoral tone as he tucked himself back into his pants. "Service starts in two and a half hours. I expect you at your desk, looking presentable."

Grace pushed herself up on shaking legs and looked at him—this man who'd just destroyed her, who was married, who would preach about family values in a few hours while his cum was still inside her.

"This has to stop," she whispered.

Marcus smiled...that warm, charming smile he used from the pulpit. "We both know it won't. You need this as much as I do. Now get to the bathroom. We're not done yet."

"What?"

"Did you think once was enough?" His hand closed around her wrist. "I told you. Three hours. We're just getting started."