Sensuous Stories Read online

  The woman turned to Lisa and gazed at her with dark, shimmering eyes. The smell of sandalwood intensified. Lisa felt her skin prickle with anticipation. “I wouldn’t know,” she said.

  Lisa turned back to the figure, closed her eyes and waited.

  The Second Coming

  Father James Murphy thought about God a great deal. It was his business after all. At first, in the seminary, he rarely felt God’s presence but now, after twenty years serving in His name, James knew God was with him all the time. Even as he stood naked with a scarf around his neck, pumping his cock, he knew God surrounded him. The scarf was tied to a hook on the door, and as he leant forward it tightened. God felt close every time the red haze obscured his vision, making his cock swell with delight.

  His discovery of the joy of connecting with God through his cock happened inadvertently. The seminary had been a hard, bleak place, made worse without the comforting presence of God. He thought of leaving but couldn’t face the shame of returning to his family a failure. A Murphy son always went into the priesthood. From his earliest days everyone assumed he had a vocation. His mother told him his saintly otherworldliness was proof he was destined for a religious life. It seemed she was wrong. God had abandoned him. He’d decided to kill himself.

  With shaking hands he’d arranged the rope and chair, climbed up and placed the noose around his neck. The fear of committing a mortal sin made him hesitate. He stood on the chair and struggled with the need to push it away, all the time feeling the bite of the noose tighten around his neck. At the same time his cock hardened. Joy spread through his body.

  He was confused at first. A hard cock was something for a priest to avoid, but as a flood of happiness swept through every vein and capillary in his body, he couldn’t resist the urge to touch himself. The movement of his increasingly vigorous stroke made him jiggle around on the chair which tightened the noose even more.

  As he came, the glory of God exploded in his mind as well as out of his cock. That’s how he thought of it anyway. In that moment of ecstasy, he knew his semen was holy, part of God’s way of blessing his flock.

  At first he thought God’s message was simple. The best way to reach Him was through a holy orgasm. Even though his teachers preached against this pleasure, in his dark, cold cell, he was convinced God had shown him the true way. Lying on his narrow bed, James squeezed his cock, ready to feel once more, the joy of His presence. Nothing happened except a dark feeling of shame. He despaired, thinking God had abandoned him again.

  He craved that closeness, that feeling of almost touching God. So he set up the chair and rope again and to his relief it worked. When the red haze filled his head, he felt the presence of God enter his whole body. His holy semen shot out and when he loosened the noose and looked down at the puddle at his feet, he saw it glowed with a golden shimmering light. More evidence he was a container for God’s blessings.

  James felt driven to share his new found glory with others, but in a cold burst of reality he knew no one would believe him. They hadn’t believed Christ either. So it was up to him to ensure God’s glory was passed on to His flock.

  The problem was how. It seemed terribly wasteful for his holy semen to end up on the floor in front of him, only to be wiped away and discarded. But he was a priest in training and didn’t know yet how best to share his semen with others.

  His mentor at the seminary, Father Alvarez, often stared at him, burning judgment in his dark eyes. James feared that Father Alvarez knew about his holy masturbation. He would stand, lean and ascetic in front of his class of young priests and lecture them on the need for strength and resolve against the temptations of the flesh.

  In his individual counseling sessions with Father Alvarez, his mentor would again tell James, in a severe and compelling voice, to resist temptation. Father Alvarez would make James kneel next to him on the hard, stone floor while they prayed for strength. Out of the corner of his eye, James would watch Father Alvarez clasp his hands and sway back and forth begging God for His holy intercession. His knuckles were white and when he finished his prayer, James sometimes saw semi circles of blood where his fingernails had pierced the skin.

  One day it was too much for James. He hated to see Father Alvarez in so much torment. He reached out and placed his palm against Father Alvarez’s feverish cheek, wanting to sooth away his pain. The older priest’s eyes flew open, but whatever he saw in James’ eyes made his own fill with tears. James held his head gently and pressed his mouth against Father Alvarez’s lips.

  Later, as James stood in Father Alvarez’s study with his cock down the older man’s throat, he knew Father Alvarez was wrong. The devil twisted God’s words to so that pleasure was equated with sin. But James knew the truth.

  His increasing resolve to spread God’s word made connecting to Him easier. Soon he was able to feel His comforting presence any time he touched himself or let others touch him. The connection was always best when he demonstrated to God his willingness to join him in the after life, but increasingly he didn’t need the rope to experience the flood of happiness through his body.

  It was immediately obvious to him that his holy semen helped others connect with God as well. Every afternoon he stood in the Father Alvarez’s study and watched the avid lust in his mentor’s eyes as he sucked on James’ cock. Father Alvarez was desperate, James knew, for the healing grace of James’ semen. James held his head, feeling the wiry dark curls scrape against his fingers as he thrust into Father Alvarez’s mouth, urging him to take him deeper.

  “That’s right,” he’d murmur with soft reverence, “take it right in.”

  Father Alvarez would squeeze his balls and James would again feel the presence of God explode into his body. As he shot off into Father Alvarez’s throat, James held the older priest’s head hard against him, not wanting one drop of the precious fluid wasted.

  He knew Father Alvarez was unhappy and believed the more semen he took in, the closer Father Alvarez would move toward God. It seemed to work. Within a few months of their afternoon sessions, Father Alvarez disappeared. The rumor among the young priests was that he’d left the priesthood and returned to Venezuela to work with his people. James was glad and knew Father Alvarez had come to his truth through the semen. He was sure it would happen with others.

  It was the same with Father Ryan. As James eased into his tight arse, James knew the young priest wouldn’t last long in the seminary. He didn’t know why he knew, but it had something to do with the way Father Ryan begged him to fuck him. He wanted it hard and rough, wanted James to dig his fingers into his hips and pump his cum into him. James hoped Father Ryan would realize he needed to serve God some other way. He was pleased when he too, disappeared. The rumors indicated he moved to New York to become an actor. James lit a candle for him.

  When James became a parish priest in a deprived suburb in western Sydney, he was confident better opportunities would arise to share the grace of his holy semen with others. The most obvious way was through the host. Not only would his parishioners ingest the body of Christ but also his life transforming holy semen.

  With reverence, James would lay out the hosts in front of him, tie a scarf around his neck and spray the hosts with his seed. He didn’t think of it has his seed anymore rather as His seed. It was no different to the host, just an added extra.

  Through his duties as parish priest, he became aware of the pain and misery of this female parishioners. They prayed and prayed for salvation and worked tirelessly for the Church, sometimes with black eyes and swollen bellies. He knew his holy semen would help them, but confronted their resistance to break their marriage vows.

  He believed that just like everyone else, they were ensnared by the Devil, caught up the lie that sexual pleasure was wrong. It was his mission to show them the truth and heal their misery. And allow them the experience of the holy semen.

  At first the good women of the parish resisted him. They’d come to see him, wanting spiritual comfort and sympat
hy, but he could see how they would gaze at his body, their eyes out of focus with long repressed lust. Didn’t they know that lust was the highest expression of worship of the Lord? That the shifting wetness between their legs, the aching need to be filled and stroked was evidence of His divine purpose for them? He had to show them.

  Their resistance didn’t last long in the face of his relentless sympathy and support. He knew, when he wrapped his strong arms around a weeping woman who cried about the latest atrocity of her brutish husband, it was only a matter of time before his comforting hands eased her out of her clothes and onto the carpet of the presbytery floor.

  There he’d push her legs open and lower his mouth to her wet slit wanting to taste God’s evidence of her holy lust. As she cried out God’s name while his tongue circled her clit, he’d unzip his trousers to squeeze and pump himself. Before he’d come, he’d make sure his semen wouldn’t be wasted. He understood the fear of pregnancy so he made sure his semen found her mouth or her breasts.

  There were some parish women who quickly saw the benefits of his holy ministrations. Mrs Deleany in particular seemed to need a great deal of the healing benefits of his semen. She came most days to the presbytery to pray with him and take in his seed. She confided in him that she believed his semen made her happier and healthier, especially when he shot off in her anus. When he knelt behind her and rubbed the lubrication she supplied onto his cock while she begged him to hurry and get that hard, long tool into her, to drill her and shoot his spunk into her, he had a moments unease that perhaps she didn’t really have the appropriate reverence for his semen, but her cries of rapture convinced him she experienced the glory of God with every thrust.

  It was the same with Mrs Andrews. She connected with spiritual ecstasy when he straddled her and pushed his cock between the breasts she held together, all the time exhorting him to come hard on her tits. She’d rub the holy semen into her skin with a beatific smile on her face while he rubbed her clit, bringing her to cry out her gratitude to God.

  Now after many years of serving God and the Church through parishes throughout the State, James had achieved what he thought of as a reward for his tireless work. The parish of St Stephens, in the eastern suburbs just near the beach, was a pleasant, leafy place, full of interesting sights and sounds. The main street consisted of restaurants and shops reflecting the cultural diversity of the city. On any day as he strolled down to the beach, he’d see exotic Sikhs, orthodox Jews or dark Ghanaians in colorful tribal robes.

  Even his housekeeper was from India. Although, when he thought of her, a sense of unease prickled under his skin. In all his years spreading God’s word, he never wanted for himself anyone he blessed with the holy semen. Always his happiness and contentment came from knowing sexual congress and the ingesting of his semen led to his parishioners leading happier lives, closer to God and to their own purpose in life.

  But when he saw Lakshmi he knew he would be tested. Her dusky skin smelling of turmeric and cloves and her black eyes that looked at him with cautious uncertainty, blotted out all thoughts of God and His word. All James could think of was how his semen would look splattered across her breasts or even more worryingly, how his cock would feel enveloped by her silky wetness.

  He tried to banish thoughts of her from his mind and concentrated on his parish duties. Although he had only started working in the parish for a few weeks, already one or two parish women had realized the benefits of his spiritual comfort. Mrs Howard had shown commendable understanding of the power of his semen and had his cock out and in her mouth a few short minutes after being shown into his study by Lakshmi.

  Mrs Howard’s mouth could have been made for the glory of God. James closed his eyes and prayed as she took him in as far as her throat would allow and sucked him hard. He jerked as an image came into his head of Lakshmi doing just that, on her knees with his cock sliding in and out of her delicate mouth. He opened his eyes just as he came and saw Lakshmi standing at the crack in the doorway, watching. Her hand was at her breast, kneading.

  James came with a roar, pumping the holy semen down the throat of Mrs Howard. She seemed delighted with the whole experience, as he knew she would be, and made an appointment with him for the next week for more spiritual counseling.

  James felt a fraud. God was not in his mind when he came. This was not how he should be offering spiritual counseling. He worried and worried, tried to avoid Lakshmi as much as possible, but couldn’t avoid his dreams. She would visit him every night. He’d wake with his holy semen spurting onto his sheets after dreaming of her riding him, her cunt undulating around him, squeezing and sliding up and down his thick pole. She’d tip her head back in ecstasy and he’d feel her long, black velvet hair sweep against his thighs.

  One night when he woke, she was there, fucking him, doing exactly what he’d dreamed of. Her dark eyes glittered in the dim light and she grabbed his hand and pushed it against her small breast, her nipple sharp and hot.

  “Fuck me, holy man,” she murmured. “Fuck me now.”

  He groaned with despair and wild, ravenous hunger. God was lost to him as he grasped her hips and thrust up, over and over, feeling the tight, squelching heat of her glorious cunt. All night he had her, his semen in her every orifice and across his own skin and in his mouth. They slid against each other rubbing, pushing, crying out their need and hunger to God. But James didn’t think God was there to hear them.

  Over the next few months James lived in a state of confusion and anxiety. He felt further and further away from God, but experienced more transcendent pleasure with Lakshmi every night, than he’d ever experienced through his parish work. But he knew this pleasure was not about spiritual comfort. He didn’t feel God’s presence when he fucked Lakshmi.

  But when she came to him and told him she was pregnant, a fierce joy filled him. It was exactly the same joy he experienced the first time God showed him the truth about sexual pleasure. This was meant to be. God had made Lakshmi his vessel for His son. James was overjoyed.

  His son would be the new Messiah.

  He reassured her when she looked at him doubtfully and told her the Bishop and the Cardinal would have to believe him now. Indeed, after he hung up the phone to the Bishop it was only a short time later that the Bishop appeared at the Presbytery with some of his advisors. One was a nice young man with kind eyes. The young man asked James if he’d been under any pressure lately. He was so sympathetic, James told him the whole story of his holy semen and the spiritual counseling he did with the parish women.

  James saw the Bishop pale at his words, no doubt overwhelmed with the reality of the Second Coming. When the young man suggested that James may need a long rest after carrying the burden of God’s truth, James felt himself relax. The young man was right. He did need a rest. Perhaps Lakshmi and he could go on a holiday and wait for the birth of the Messiah.

  James beamed at the Bishop and his entourage and threw an arm around Lakshmi. Doing the work of the Lord had never felt so right.

  Strawberry Flavored Joy

  Gina Davies sighed inwardly and thinned her lips. This was the last time she’d rescue a stray waif as a favor to her English friends. She liked being hospitable, she liked meeting new people, but she did not like housing morose depressives with nothing to say. Even if he did at first bowl her over with lust. That had long since disappeared in the face of his relentless gloom.

  She’d tried everything to bring him out of what ever was torturing him. She cooked, supplied good wine, took him with her to meet her friends, tried to connect him to new experiences and new sight and sounds. In a state of considerable sacrifice, she even dragged out her walking boots and took him into the bush. While she might live on the edge of a National Park, that didn’t mean she liked walking in it. She much preferred gazing at craggy cliffs and mist in the valley from the safe environs of a glass fronted café, with a strong espresso in front of her. But she hoped fresh air, waterfalls and panoramic vistas would give him some vim
and verve. Nothing worked. He remained a tall, dark, brooding presence in her spare room.

  Not that she had anything against tall, dark and brooding. Gina was a red blooded woman who wasn’t averse to romantic stereotypes, particularly when the stereotype in question was at the end of a brief four week holiday and would leave, back to chilly London. He’d spent the first three weeks travelling around, going to the Northern Territory and the Kimberley’s and now was ensconced in her house, allegedly because they not only had mutual friends, but because he wanted to spend some time in the Blue Mountains bush walking and abseiling. So far he’d shown no interest in either.

  She’d tried questioning him about where else he’d been, thinking he’d show some enthusiasm for Kakadu or Uluru. At one point she thought she saw some actual passion in his eyes, which made her momentarily hopeful, but he still only managed one syllable responses to her questions. She wondered if he’d really been to all those places. Maybe he’d holed up in some hotel somewhere, spending the last three weeks watching television and wanking. Although even that seemed to require energy she didn’t think he had.

  When she first saw him, standing on the railway platform at Katoomba, she’d said a prayer of thanks to the Stray Waif Goddess and blessed her friends for sending her a perfect holiday fuck. Just the kind of man she liked. Neat. Tidy clothes and if she wasn’t mistaken, ironed jeans. She’d licked her lips with anticipation, impatient to peel him out of them and tousle that dark, combed hair.

  Gina helped him load his backpack into her car, all the time chatting about their friends and what he might like to do. At first she discounted his lack of response, thinking he must be tired after the two hour train trip from Sydney, but after he’d had a brief nap and a reviving glass or two of wine, she realized he had nothing to say.

  After two days of torture, Gina shut herself into her bedroom, stretched herself across her bed with the phone and a stiff whiskey and called her friend Liz in London.