Novelas y relatos de Pastors Eat Pwussy Too

My English teacher. He wasn’t even that young, but his smile did something to me. It was warm and effortless. Like he saw the world in color while everyone else lived in black and white. I remember sitting in class, pretending to focus on Shakespeare while my heart raced over the sound of his voice. That was the moment I knew. And it terrified me. There was this one Sunday morning in church that still haunts me. The pastor was preaching about “unclean spirits.” About men who desire men. About how such urges were a test from the devil himself. I sat frozen in the pew, my spine stiff, my shoulders tight. I could’ve sworn his eyes were locked on me.

I lean up and stare into her eyes. "Calm down," she says, pulling me back against her. "I'll tell you the whole story." She leans back staring at the ceiling and begins speaking in a low voice. "Most of what I've told you is true. My husband is a minister and he does neglect my needs but not for the reasons I gave. He belongs to a men's fellowship group that worships every Thursday night. Except one of my friends found out that what they're worshiping is white pussy. We live in a mixed neighborhood with a fully integrated congregation. There is no shortage of women in our church who are aching to experience a black man reaming their snowy white pussies, all the better if the black man is the

The typing dots lingered. Bad Boy: Guide me? To where? Your God? Or your bedroom? My stomach dropped. I clenched my thighs together under the table, fighting the rush that pooled low in my belly. Gloria: Don’t be disrespectful. This isn’t a game. Bad Boy: Everything’s a game, pastor’s wife. Some people just too holy to admit they like to play. I sucked in air, my heart thrumming painfully. He wasn’t letting up. He wasn’t like the brothers in church who lowered their gaze, who bowed with Yes ma, No ma.

The pastor started crying loudly. “Earlier today, you welcomed me with open arms and thanked me for what I have done for a lost soul. I must confess, I have sinned, instead of assisting a lost soul, I encouraged it for my own selfish pleasure and desires. I have seen and done horrible things, for a few extra coins. Too many times have I looked the other way, turned a blind eye, to save myself from guilt. And yet, here I am, and I confess, I am guilty.” He wailed. The cries brought attention to the pavilion.

“Yeah. I was just thinking to myself how we've actually been living that kind of life for months now." "This is above average babe." He pointed out. "I know but not half as extravagant as our old life, don't you think?" "Yeah," He gave said with a conceding hum. "We're getting that life back though." "Amen to that. But how?" I could not help but ask. "Leave that to God." "Yes pastor," I teased him. "Oh no you don't." "What's wrong with being a pastor?" I laughed as he shook his head vigorously. "That's too much work."

Big mummy taunted behind me. I hissed as silently as I could. "I don't have evil spirit ma" I simply replied. "That spirit of disobedience, gossip, lying, dressing indecently, backbiting and so on nko? What spirit do you think they are?! Will you go out now or should I drag you out?" She snapped. I walked out reluctantly and stood behind Tomiwa. The pastor started to lay his anointed hands on every soul on the alter as they fell one after the other speaking in tongues and screaming. It seemed like he was just pushing them to me.

I can't remember what the week-before that was. A part of me wants to squeal with glee every Sunday she cooks up a new excuse, the idea being: Mumsi becomes lax equals Chidi becomes laxer; but there is this look on her face when she says it, a submissive weariness that feels like something in her is broken, something that can never be fixed. It makes me very uneasy. "Have your seats majestically in the house of your Father," pastor gabriel's voice booms. Can it get any cheesier?. The answer is yes, when two seconds later he tells us to 'take a moment to welcome our brothers and sisters in the Lord' to church.

And the man on his knees in front of me — the respected Pastor Josh — looked happier than I had ever seen him. He kissed the head of my softening cock reverently and whispered, “It won't stop here Stephen. Next time… I’m going to claim that tight asshole I've seen you shake inside the church all morning.”

"It's pussy. All this virgin pussy, all around us. Man, just think of all those little pussies all around us, man." As much as he wanted to tell him to shut up, Sergei let him go. Maybe someone would hear him and he'd be fired. The thought brightened up Sergei a little. "The only guys who don't get it," Mark still went on. "Are the fruits. And the priests, yeah? Just like this guy, hey? Can't even clean up for himself. I mean, what is he, Sergei, huh? What is he? The dude doesn't fuck, he can't clean a floor. What is he?"

For one, here was a young pastor from our locality fully engaged in male prostitution and worse, he knew my husband and he knew why I would be in such a place. “Alex, nice to meet you. How is Mama Wambui?” I asked him, much to his astonishment. I knew he was married, but very secretly such that people thought he was single. That showed the extent to which the society was leading a secretive life, totally different from what we used to see in the outer world. It was marvelous that someone can be a pastor, a very charismatic pastor but secretly fucking rich women to get money!