Chapter 2
The next days were spent settling his new guests into their
quarters and introducing them to the villagers. Dinners were
spent discussing future plans, and evenings passed writing
letters.
Rachel Falwell cursed her father under her breath as she she
watched the fat priest stuff another fork full of boiled yucca
root into his mouth. The sight of the man repulsed him. It
wasn't that she disliked blacks or Hispanics for that matter,
after all she cheered the almost all black football and
predominately Hispanic baseball teams on to victory as a member
of her high school's cheer leading squad. She even spoke to the
boys on occasion. Hadn't she mingled with them and even
tolerated their futile advances at post game parties? Rachel
came from a different world. A perfect world, until several
months ago when it had crumbled. Her mother had left
unexpectedly with no explanation, and her father had announced
they were coming here for the summer. Rachel still didn't
understand why, she only knew she was thousands of miles away
from her friends and all she knew and was thrust into a world of
filth and brown skinned foreigners.
Steve Falwell in his early forties was a pious man bent on
winning a place in heaven. Since his wife had forsaken the path
of god and had become a fornicatrice, he had been determined to
save both himself and his daughter from the taint of his wife's
sinful ways. His heart still seethed with self righteous rage at
the adulterous scene he had witnessed not too long ago.
Coming home early from a bible study session, he found his wife
bent slavishly over another man. The man's engorged cock
obscenely stretching her red lips as his hips rose rhythmically
from the bed feeding her the vein wrapped length of flesh. He
had stood transfixed in the doorway of their bedroom, unable to
move or speak. He stood there long minutes watching through tear
blurred eyes, ears ringing with the grunts and slurps, the wet
smacking sounds coming from his wife's throat as she swallowed
the man's long thick cock. Sounds that made her sound like a
lowly whore. He saw the thick cum oozing in a miniature river
from between the swollen lips of her sex, dribbling down the
columns of her thighs. So lost in his private hell, he failed to
hear the cursed grunts powering stiff jets of cum into the back
of his wife's spasming throat. He saw everything, the beads of
perspiration that dotted the small of her back as she labored,
the muscles of her back as they flexed, the perfect downward
hanging breasts as they bobbed, the flushed mottling of her skin,
the surge of her body as she pushed down to capture the entire
length of his erupting cock in her throat attempting to make it
good for her lover as he spewed gob after gob of his rich load
into her throat. It was only when she raised her head licking
the thick white leavings from her hands and chin that she noticed
him. Looking him straight in the eye, she lowered her lips to
give the purple head of the strangers cock a wet lingering
kiss....
He pushed the memories back into the shadows of his mind. The
forced himself to dwell on the love of Jesus. Let it blossom and
fill him mind like some earthly narcotic. He sat for a moment
his nerves tingling with his lord's divine presence.
Yes, he would go to the village to the north there he could
proselytize the villagers, the rebels, bring them into god's
fold. He would not be interfered with by some broken down priest
and his medieval beliefs. He owed no allegiance to a pope, only
to the personal god he carried within his heart. He resolved to
leave in the morning.
