The Preacher's Son: Unleashed

by Jasinda Wilder

  The Preacher's Son: Unleashed

  Jasinda Wilder

  ORLY Press

  www.orlypress.com

  This is an erotic short story, or episode. Each episode stands alone, like a TV episode, but is part of a larger story.

  WARNING: This story contains explicit sex and erotic scenes, M/F. For adults, 18+ only.

  1

  I left the bed and donned a robe from the bathroom, a thin, silky flower-print thing that came to my knees. I knotted it tight so my breasts were covered, hidden. I tried to pretend my heart wasn't knocking in my chest just as loudly as Pastor McNabb's fist was on my door.

  "Stay here," I told Tre.

  I pulled the door open. "Can I help you?" I asked.

  "Where is my son?" It was a harsh demand, no Southern politeness here, just angry brown eyes and sweating jowls.

  "Can I help you, Pastor McNabb?" I repeated, trying to force myself to coolness.

  "I want to know where my son is!"

  "Well I'm not sure why you would come pounding on my door, then. If that's all..." I trailed off and started to push the door shut.

  His hand caught the door and he began pushing past me. "He's here, woman. His truck is in your driveway. I saw you talking to him after sermon yesterday. Don't play games with me, not about my boy." Brian McNabb was furious, jabbing a finger in my face.

  "Excuse me, Pastor. This is my home, and I have not invited you in," I said, pushing him back out the door. "You can leave now. I have no reason to answer your questions. Your concerns regarding your son's whereabouts have nothing to do with me."

  The pastor stood in the doorway, seething. "You seduced my boy, harlot. You ruined him. I know he's in there, up in your bedroom, your...your den of iniquity." He spat on the ground at his feet. "You just tell my son he ain't welcome in my home no more. You tell him that, harlot. He made his choice, now he's gotta live with it."

  I noticed his accent, so carefully cultivated to be charming and reassuring in the pulpit, had taken on a different tone, now. I regarded him with an icy glare, hoping he couldn't see the pounding of my pulse in my throat.

  What had I done?

  "Pastor McNabb, you are out of line. You are barging in here, into my home, making accusations, calling me names, and publicly disowning your son when you have no facts, no evidence, besides your son's vehicle in my driveway." I jabbed my finger at him, as he'd done to me. "You are rude, uncouth, and unwelcome. Please leave. Now."

  He turned and stormed off, stopping at the sidewalk and facing me once more. "You tell him what I said, Mrs. Harley. I meant it. I know the truth, and so do you. You tell him."

  I watched him drive away in his rattling old forest-green Cadillac, and then shut the door. Tre was standing just out of sight, on the middle of the stairs. He wasn't crying, but he was clearly distraught.

  I crossed over to him, took him by the hand and led him into the kitchen. Wearing just his jeans, zipped but unbuttoned and showing that sexy V of muscle and a hint of the thatch of curly black hairs, I felt a flood of desire for him, even as the gravity of the situation permeated the air between us.

  He sat down at the island, perching on the stool, shoulders slumped, forehead buried in his hands.

  "What did I do?" he said. "What did I do?"

  I put my hands on his shoulders, standing behind him. I kissed his back between his shoulder blades, feeling a tenderness for him that I shouldn't have, not so soon, not when this was supposed to be just...

  I trailed off the thought, in my head, realizing I really hadn't considered what this relationship might be, when I invited him here. I just knew I wanted him, and that an afternoon of sex with him would go a long way to helping me realize I had really started my life over.

  And now, suddenly, I had ruined this young man's life.

  "You made a choice, Tre," I said. "I don't know your dad, but he may come around. You never know. And if not...Well, if he's so easily able to disown you for one little choice like this, then I just have to question his...not his love, but his ability to accept you."

  "He won't come around," Tre said, his voice low and miserable.

  "Maybe not," I said. "But, you know...if you're gonna make your own decisions in life, it probably would have come to this at some point. If you decided not to do what your father had planned for you, he'd have gotten angry and told you to do what you wanted anyways and to not come back."

  Tre nodded, rubbing his eyes. "Yeah, you're right. He's had my life planned since I was born, and I've never had much say in that. Working at the garage, that's been a big fight for years, ever since I told him I wasn't going to seminary after high school. Now, well...I don't know what I'll do."

  I sat on the stool next to him, loosening the robe a little. "Do you regret it?" I asked him. "Do you regret what we did together?"

  He took a long moment to answer, honestly considering.

  "No, I don't," Tre said. "I made the choice, and I don't regret it. It was the most amazing experience of my life, and I can't believe it was wrong. Maybe it was, but I don't care."

  "Good," I said. "We'll figure this out. And listen, if you want to try to work things out with your dad, I understand. I mean, if you have to...to not see me, to work it out, then I understand."

  He looked at me, his gaze mature and understanding. He seemed to sense how hard that was for me to say.

  He shook his head, saying, "No, that won't work, even if I wanted to try. Even if I crawled back to him and begged him to forgive me, and promised to never see you again and did everything he said, he still wouldn't let it go. It'd always be there between us."

  He turned to face me, putting his knees on either side of mine, his gaze flowing over my body, taking in my hair, still sleep-mussed, and down my neckline to my breasts peeking out of the robe, to my crotch, visible to him as I sat with my feet on the rung of the stool, knees apart a little.

  "So now what?" I asked. "What do you want? You're welcome to stay here, of course, for as long as you want."

  He shrugged, a gesture of not knowing rather than not caring. "I don't know. I don't have anything here, not even a toothbrush or a change of boxers. I can't just hide out in here, never coming out." He grinned at me, flirting. "Although I might enjoy being holed up in here with you..."

  "But we both have lives to live."

  He nodded. "You know everyone will know, now. Everyone will be talking. They already are right now, since Mrs. Henderson must have seen me drive by and not drive back. There's only one house past hers, and she'd do the math, come to the same conclusions as Daddy."

  I grimaced. "Don't call him that. I know it's a Southern thing, but it seems weird to me, a grown man calling his father 'Daddy.'"

  Tre shrugged again. "Okay." He slipped his hand onto my thigh, sliding it up and back down. "I don't care about people, right now. I know they'll talk. I don't care."

  "This is your home, Tre...and I just wanted to say I'm sorry you're in trouble on my account."

  He moved closer still, moving his hand to my hip, spreading the robe apart. "I'm not. You said it yourself: this was coming, one way or another. This just sped it up a bit."

  I sat still, letting him touch me, letting him explore me with his hands and his eyes. When his fingers moved down between my legs, I scootched back off the stool and out of his reach.

  "Not just yet," I said. "First, we need to eat. You need your strength, you know."

  He grinned. "I am hungry."

  I made sandwiches and served him coffee while he waited, sipping my own while I slathered mayo and layered cheese and ham. We devoured the meal, munching on chips.

  He seemed deep in thought as he ate, and I elbowed him. "What's up,
buttercup?"

  He shrugged. "Just wondering. Why can't you have kids? If you don't want to talk about it, I get it. I'm just wondering."

  I took a deep breath and let it out. "That's a long story, Tre. It's long and depressing and old history. I'll tell you some time, I promise. For now, lets just say that I got sick, and things in my body stopped working like they should. I'm not sick anymore, so you don't have to worry."

  He nodded. "Okay, well, tell me when you're ready."

  We finished eating, and I led him back upstairs. This time, though, I had something else in mind. I took him into the bathroom, took off my robe and hung it up. I started the shower, letting it turn steamy hot while I helped Tre out of his jeans.

  "I need a shower," I told him. "A lady needs to get clean after making love to her man."

  Tre nodded, devouring my naked body with his eyes, but kept his hands at his side. He was ready, his cock standing straight up to his belly button as he stood in front of me, just waiting. I let him wait, enjoying a moment of pure ogling.

  He was hot as hell, standing there, hard for me, wreathed in steam, muscles growing damp from the moisture in the air until he glistened. Eventually I stepped into the shower, gesturing for him to follow me. I got my hair wet and switched places with Tre so he was beneath the water jet, and I admired the way his muscles moved as he lathered his hair. When his eyes closed to rinse his hair, I took his softening penis in my hand, and he jerked in surprise, then relaxed. He went rigid immediately, and I laughed, taking the bar of soap in my hand and rubbing it against his chest.

  "I love how you get hard so fast," I said.

  I soaped him up, rubbing my water-slick body against him as I did so, and he caught on, taking the soap from me and rubbing it between my breasts, slipping in little circles down my stomach and swiping it across my back, kissing me as he leaned over me, reaching around to move the soap on my ass, down the crack to the creases of each thigh.

  Tre ground his hips against my belly, wanting inside me. I held him in my hand, pumping him, getting him going. He leaned back against the shower wall, and I lowered myself to my knees. He looked down at me, head leaning back. I smiled up at him, licking the tip of his cock. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes as I rubbed my thumb in circles on the tip, drawing the pre-come from him. I took him in my mouth, then, all the way, as far as I could, bobbing with him deep inside. He was long enough that even with him at the back of my throat I had enough room on his silk-steel length to wrap my fingers around him. I took his testicles in my hand, rubbed his taint as I sucked him, spat him out, sucked him again. I drew my mouth off to pump him with both hands, now, putting just my lips on the bulbous head. He arched his back, and his knees buckled as he came. His hands drifted to my hair, taking its sopping weight in his hands and stroking my scalp as I continued to bob on him until he was groaning, pushing his cock into my mouth with throbs of pleasure.

  I helped him sit down on the floor, the water raining down on us. When he had his breath back, he looked at me, a question in his eyes.

  "Shea? I was wondering something. Earlier, while we were together, you kept telling me to fuck you," he said the word with less hesitation, this time, and I could tell he was a little proud of it. "But just now, you said we were making love. So, my question is, is there a difference to you in what the words mean?"

  I stood up to wash and condition my hair as I answered. "Well, that's a complicated question, and really depends on who you're talking to. For me, it depends on context, usually. During, like before, I told you to fuck me, and I used that word to talk dirty to you. I just meant it to...I don't know...encourage you, I guess. To let you know I liked what you were doing. But if was to talk about our relationship, in a more general sense, I'd use a different word. I'd call it making love, or having sex, and that's it. When it's not during sex, I don't like calling it fucking because that seems cheap, or something."

  Tre nodded. "That makes sense." He went silent again, just staring down at me, his expression serious. "Do we have a relationship?"

  I froze. I wasn't ready for that discussion yet.

  "Let's not worry about categories just yet, Tre. Okay? I mean, do we have to put it into a neat little box? I like you, a lot. I like spending time with you, just like this, or just eating sandwiches, or making love to you. I want to get to know you, find out about you. But...I just don't think we need any categories, just yet."

  "So it's...casual, then?" He was trying to sound nonchalant, worldly.

  I took his face in my hands and kissed him, deeply.

  "No, Tre. No. Casual would mean we were seeing other people, seeing other people besides each other. That's not what I want, and it's not what I meant."

  He nodded, relieved.

  "Then what did you mean?"

  I wished he wasn't so relentless in this topic, but I couldn't blame him

  "I don't know. How's that for honest? I don't know. I don't know what I want with you besides to spend time together, okay?"

  He seemed to sense he was pushing me in some way, and he nodded, brushing a sopping tendril of my hair away from my cheek.

  We got out, dried off, and wrapped up in towels. He followed me downstairs to the kitchen and sat down, waiting. I guess he knew I had something in mind. I took a pair of beers from my fridge, handing them to him to twist off. He lifted an eyebrow, and then wrenched the tops free.

  "Since you're trying new things..." I said, lifting my bottle to him in a toast.

  He clinked the bottles and took a long swig, longer than I'd expected. This wasn't his first beer.

  "Me and Jimmy sneak beers all the time. Jimmy's dad drinks and don't notice when we take some."

  We drank our beers in the living room on my tan suede couch, chatting as the sun went down. I told him about growing up in Savannah as a preacher's daughter, and he told me about his adventures with his friend Jimmy, hunting, fishing, hiking out into the wilderness and once getting hopelessly lost in the woods for two days. We drank a second, and a third, and that was when he started to slur a bit. I was sloppy myself by then, never having been a hard drinker.

  I kissed him, suddenly. He nearly dropped his beer, then reached over and placed it on the coffee table. We'd been wrapped in our towels the whole time, and I untucked the edge of his towel, lifted it free and set it aside. He did the same to me, and I pushed him down on the couch, onto his back, laying on top of him, lifting my hips to push him deep inside me.

  We took it slow, then, moving our hips in a slow roll, arms wrapped tight around each other, bodies clenched close. He kept it slow, even as he rose to orgasm, forcing himself to keep it slow, and I felt a pang of deep affection for him for that. He lasted, and lasted, and when he started to come and I wasn't ready, he slowed, stopped, gritting his teeth and straining every muscle in his body to hold back. I kept still, awed at his control, the strength it took to hold back like that, especially when he was still so new at all this.

  I came hard, biting his shoulder, and he released into me, clutching my ass to himself as he exploded, sighing in pleasure.

  We made love again and again that night, usually with me on top, until Tre was too exhausted to move, and I was sore in all the right ways. Dawn came and found us just falling asleep.

  2

  Tre strode confidently up the door of his father's house, arms swinging wide, gait easy, back straight.

  He'd decided as we ate a late breakfast—late being past noon—that he had to at least talk to his dad once. I agreed, and admired him all the more for the courage I knew it must take to face his father.

  I offered to go in with him, present a united front, which was a difficult thing to offer, but he refused, saying it was between him and his dad, and it wasn't really about me at all. I admit I was relieved, and sat in the passenger seat of his truck, watching him go. I was proud of him, and scared for him.

  Most of all, I wondered where the hell this relationship was going. I'd only been in Yazoo for two weeks and I
was already bored. I was glad I'd rented the house instead of buying it like I'd considered doing. If things with Tre continued, we'd be the scandal of the town, and I had no desire to stay and be the fodder for gossip. I wasn't sure I was ready to take Tre with me, though. I went in circles while I waited, weighing my options against my desires.

  Nearly an hour passed before Tre came out again, anger written in every line of his face, in the aggressive stomp of his boots.

  "Bastard," he said as he sat down in the driver's seat. "Stubborn old goat. I didn't expect any different, but still, it hurts. And it pisses me off. I'm so angry at him I could spit nails, I swear."

  I took his hand, twined our fingers, not speaking. He didn't need my words, just my presence. He let me hold his hand as he drove, heading not toward my house but somewhere else, outside of town in a direction I'd not explored yet.

  "Where're we going?" I asked.

  "I thought we'd hang out with Jimmy. I want to introduce you. He's my only real friend, and the only person left who cares about me."

  I realized then that I'd never seen his mom, or heard him talk about her. "What about your mom?"

  His shoulders tensed. "She's just...there. She don't stick up for me, or care much. I don't know. She's just there. It don't matter."

  His accent always got more pronounced when he was upset. I placed our twined fingers on my leg and let him drive, kept the silence. Sometimes a man just has to stew.

  Jimmy Dixon was the opposite of Tre in every way. Short, thick, with long brown greasy hair held back in a ponytail, Jimmy was a nice guy, shaking my hand and appraising me appreciatively. We sat in an old barn and drank beer and talked, and Tre sat beside me, his arm around me, trying to act casual.

  I decided to show off a little, for Tre's sake. He wanted to impress his friend, and I thought I'd oblige. When we all finished our beer, I offered to get more and as I came back to pass them around, I sat down on Tre's lap, draping myself across him. He cast his eyes towards mine, smiling at me, letting me know he knew what I was doing.