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By Jackie Juggs (smith388@comcast.net)


The first thing he noticed was her long blond hair, then her rounded hips. And then-but a minister wasn't supposed to notice--that her jiggling breasts and protruding nipples were outlined by the thin material of her dress, a very short dress which revealed plump thighs almost up to... well, a preacher wasn't supposed to be looking there either.

The good reverend raised his focus and noticed that her young, pretty face was frowning slightly as if under a strain of some kind. She pursed her lips as if releasing her breath, then her mouth opened in a gasp. She seemed to be going through contortions, but attempting to conceal them while making her way down the street, occasionally pressing one hand to her lower belly as if trying to keep her dress from rising in the wind. No one seemed to be paying her any attention.

She stopped to grab a lamppost for support, and looked up with hooded eyes as a big blue Cadillac pulled to a stop along the curb beside her. Inside she could see a goodlooking black dude leaning across from the driver's seat as the window opened. He had curly black hair, and a gold tooth sparkled in his mouth as he smiled.

"Need a hand?" he asked.

"You can say that again," she said.

"Well," said the preacher, "perhaps I can help you. Get in."

He opened the door. As she got in, her short dress slid high on her thighs as she settled into the plush upholstery. Again the good reverend had to remind himself...

"I'm Reverend Thomas Parker," he said. "What kind of problem are you having?"

"Hi," she said, "I'm Amanda Jacobs. It's the wind. God, I didn't know it would be blowing so hard."

"It is a little chilly," he said.

"Chilly?" she gasped. "Have you ever worn a mini-dress in January?"

"Well, uh," the preacher faltered, "as a matter of fact I don't believe I ... "

"Well, after all, you're a man," she said. "How would you know how it feels with the wind blowing under your dress."

"I can see you're getting goose bumps," he said, glancing at her bare thighs pressed together as she sat half facing him on the seat.

"Am I?" she asked. "It wouldn't be so bad if ... gosh, if I had worn some ... that is ... uh...ummmffff... god... at least here I can ... oooohhh..."

The good reverend knew that it was wrong for him to notice that the unfortunate young woman's dress was rising higher as she squirmed and twisted her hips on the seat. He looked up, only to see her jiggling breasts and her nipples protruding stiffly against the thin material covering them. Gosh, he shouldn't notice that either.

"What happened?" The preacher asked. Gosh, should he remind her that her hem was going much too high? After all, he was a minister of the.

"I was in such a hurry," she said. She wondered if he could see how difficult it was for her to keep her plump thighs together. "And when I found I didn't have any clean undies I thought it wouldn't matter and no one would notice so I just went without.

"Uh, I see," said the reverend. Did she say no undies?

"Oh, do you?" she said. "I was trying to keep my legs together. I didn't mean to act like a ... I mean, I don't want you think I'm a . "

"Well, I..." he stammered. "I'm a minister of the..."

"It's just that the wind was so cold and I could feel it up my thighs and then between my lips and I lubricate so easily . and I don't have any hair so I'm all smooth and slick and maybe I could ... but ... oooohh ... do you mind if I.. if I could just rub my .. uuuuuh ... my thighs together a little .... "Well, I..." the preacher repeated...

"Would you like for me to raise my dress?" She asked, suddenly a little shy, grasping the hem of her dress where it lay on her dimpled thighs just below the curve of her lower belly

"Uh..." the reverend grunted, glancing around to make sure no one he knew was ... Gosh, a preacher wasn't supposed to..."Raise your ... gee."

"Did you say you are a minister?" she asked, the edge of her skirt now barely concealing what lay beneath.

"Uh, yes, said the black preacher, "I'm a minister of the gospel.

"Oh, I'm glad," she said. "That would make it all right then, wouldn't it? I mean, you can help me with my problem. I can show you if you want. You could take a look at me and see if there is something wrong that makes me get so wet and have a climax walking down the ...

"Uh, I don't know," said the good preacher. Geeze, suppose one of the deacons walked by. there weren't many blue Cadillac's like this in town. but just look at those pretty white thighs and she wants to raise her dress, but if she's a lady in dress and. "Uh, if you really want to."

Did he actually say that? Did he really tell a woman-a white woman---she could raise her dress in his car and he was a minister of the.

She lay back on the seat. "There's really not much to lift," she said. The good black preacher was watching. She raised the hem up onto her white abdomen. She knew that he could see the puffy pink lips of her hairless pubic mound. She was showing her unpantied underside to a black man. "Isn't it awful how wet I am?" she said, trailing first one finger then two between the exposed labia. The good reverend could see the shiny meatus of her erect clitoris.

"Gosh, did I tell you I lubricate so easily? But it's not my fault. It's because of the wind, all up under my dress and between my lips and I guess you can see my clitoris is stiff and there wasn't much I could do walking down the street, but I guess you don't know how it feels to have on just a little dress and nothing underneath and the cold wind between your lips and rubbing together because my thighs are a little plump as I guess you can see, although some people call them fat, only I don't think I'm fat, and I guess I had a climax and it was hard not to show it on my face and I didn't want everyone to know that there I was walking down the street having a climax and ... and not wearing any panties and I wonder if something is wrong with me, but maybe if ... that is .. it would help if I... that is, if you... I mean...uh.. do you want to look closer and see if everything... uh ... if anything..."

The good reverend slid closer. She spread her plump thighs on each side of his and lowered her buttocks into his lap with her dress up around her hips and belly. The preacher bent low to look at her pouting pubic lips and inhaled the musky aroma between her legs. Damn, he thought, first time I seen white pussy this close up.

"Nothing wrong that I can see," he said. Now maybe she would pull down her dress. After all, he was a minister of the.

"But maybe you could give me something," she said, "just so I can get to work. I mean, uh, if I could have something really big, maybe I could get through the rest of the...?

"Something big?" he asked dumbly, hoping again that none of his congregation would come by and see him, in the Fleetwood Brougham his church had bought for him, looking under a white woman's dress. What would Deacon Wells say? What would Sister Alice say? God, they would throw him out of the church.

"A really big climax, I mean. One that would really drain me and finish what the wind started. These little ones just make me want another, and it looks so awful when I have to rub myself in public. And I can see you've got a big one too, even if you are a minister. I mean, unless that's a banana in your pocket."

The reverend followed her gaze to the long bulge extending down his left trouser leg. A banana? "No," he said, "It's just the weakness of the flesh. I'm a minister of the gospel. Uh, maybe you should pull down your... that is... uh... what if somebody in my congregation comes by..."

"Well, ain't that something? Worrying about your congregation. And you got the biggest black dick I ever seen . at least judging from the bulge in your pants, and you're going to turn down the best white pussy in town? Because you're a minister of the ...damn ... don't you like my pretty white thighs? Uhhhh," she grunted, "Look how I can swallow my fingers ... but they're too small... oooohh, God... don't you want to give me something bigger?"

"But I'm a minister," he said, a minister of the..."

"Geeze," she whispered as the good reverend adjusted himself to ease the pressure of the growing bulge in his pants, "did I say ten inches? Well, if I didn't, I was thinking it. That thing must be a foot if it's an inch. Is it like that because of me? Because I'm sitting here in front of you with my dress up? And you're gonna tell me you don't like white pussy?"

"I didn't say I didn't like... that is..."

"Ain't never seen a nigger didn't like white pussy," she said, then realized her error. "Uh, I mean African American. Geeze, I'm not prejudiced. Here, let me see if you don't want some of what's under my dress." She moved closer to the black preacher as he sat behind the wheel, pulling one leg up against the dash, the other against the back of the seat so that her dimpled white thighs were fully open in front of the black minister.

People walked by on the sidewalk and paid them no attention. As he blinked at the saucy display under her dress, with nimble fingers she unzipped his trousers, reached down the left leg and with some effort pulled out at least twelve inches of hard black dick.

"Jesus," she whispered in awe as it straighter up in front of her, "What's a preacher need with this? Just look at the size of this thing. Geeze, Rev, you could raise you some money for the church with this. I can't even get my fingers around it." Just look at how black it is, she thought to herself. She shivered at the unholy contrast between her delicate white fingers and the preacher's ebony pole.

"It's the size of my forearm," she whispered, "It'll be like swallowing a fire hydrant. I wonder how it'll look going up in my belly. But I need a little space. I want to get up on it. I want to ride it. I need some space to straddle it. God, I need me some black dick. That steering wheel is in the way." At her urging the preacher reluctantly moved from behind the wheel to the center of the seat.

"It's the weakness of the flesh," he said. "Perhaps an inch would be ok."

"How much? How much did you say I can have?" she asked.

"Maybe just an inch," he said.

"An inch?" said the woman. "How about two?"

"Well, all right then, maybe two," said the reverend. "But you'll have to be careful."

"Careful? Why? I feel loose enough to take the transAlaska pipeline."

"So did a little lady one time in Georgia," said the minister.

"In Georgia?" she asked. "You had a girl in Georgia?"

"That was before I got religion."

"Yeah, ok, before you got relig-but was she a ... that is, was she ..."

"White? Yes. But it really wasn't my fault. I mean, it wasn't like I seduced her or anything ."

"It's all right with me if she was white," said the girl, still rubbing her slick lower lips as she rotated her hips on the seat. "Don't think I'm prejudiced."

"Well, it wasn't my fault. Like I said, that was back before I got religion. Police picked me up for speeding and I didn't have my license so they put me in a cell for the night, and the deputy gets drunk and they bring in this white girl and I guess they didn't notice they put her in the cell with me. When I asked what she was in for, she told me it was for not wearing any panties and that was against the law in that county. And she pulled up her dress to show me, and I guess I got a . you know.

She paused for a moment then continued, "I mean, it was the weakness of the flesh, although I didn't have no religion back then ... and then we had to sleep together on the narrow bunk and when she felt it up against her belly, first thing I know she was trying to scoot up on it, and I told her it was too big for her, but she said she once took a baseball bat, so I let her and she eased it between the little white lips between her legs then sank down and grunted, and I knew it was too big, but she bit her lips and started to bounce, and I think she came about three times, then I did too, so deep up in her she must have felt it against her liver, and then we heard the sergeant coming, so she had to get off and we pretended we were asleep. But next day she was limping so bad they had to take her to the hospital. My wife brought my driver's license and I went home. But all that was before I got religion. But looks like I still got the weakness of the flesh."

"It doesn't look so weak to me," said the mini-skirted white woman as she scooted up onto his lap. The stalk of black meat stood up under her dress in front of her belly. "But I've got to get up on it," she said. "How can I get up on it? The car is too low. But hey, ain't this is a hog? Hit the button on that seat."

He pressed a button to adjust the automatic seat, giving her more headroom, so that by flexing her lower body she was able to get her slushy split over the vertical black pole now rising from the preacher's open fly.

"God," she moaned as she felt the blunt mushroom helmet against the slippery outer lips under her belly, "I been needing this ever since I felt that wind under my dress." She eased herself down a bit, holding her breath in anticipation ... wait.. " Somehow it wasn't properly positioned and went sluicing up through her split, winding up against her belly and still outside her body." "Dammmnnn," she muttered, "how could it miss? I'm the size of the Grand Canyon down there."

Frantically she raised herself again. "Let me grab the damn thing," she said, reaching under her belly. The demented and shameless white woman shifted the stiff black rod until she could guide it into place with a slight adjustment of her hips. "Now it's in just the right, oooooh..." she whispered hopefully as she lowered her hips. Yessss, now it was pressing her apart. Now she could feel that blunt mushroom sinking upward... "Unnnnhhhhhhh," she grunted as the first half inch or so disappeared, seeming to get thicker as it did so.

The good Rev. Parker looked down to where the white woman's hairless lips encircled his black erection. He hoped none of his congregation walked by. Jeez, he would be fired. He would lose his church. For helping a woman in distress. But it wasn't his fault. Its just that the wind had gone under her dress and she didn't have any clean panties and so she had gone out with none at all and he had no way of knowing what it was like to go around in just a mini-dress and nothing underneath with the wind around your pretty white thighs and not having any hair and such pretty lips and now he could see how plump they were. How they widened out around his meat as she worked her hips in little circles, coming down a little more each time and he could feel himself way up in her belly and her legs were spread as wide as she could get them on each side of his lap and her dress dropped just enough to cover the rigid connection between them.

The first inch was hurting her, but Amanda Jacobs rotated her hips to get more of it in, leveraging herself with her arms around his neck, trying to catch her breath against his cheek. "It's in me," she whimpered, "but it hurts a little. I don't think I've ever had one so ... uh how many inches can I have?"

Two," said the good Reverend Parker. Two inches would be all right. But she wanted more. "Wouldn't four be all right?" she asked. "Ok, she could have four, maybe six."

"Six?" asked the pretty white woman in surprise? "Thank you. But God, I don't know if I can take that much. It's going so deep up in me and spreading me so wide." But she gradually settled lower, spreading her lips out into a circle the size of a coffee mug, the bloated head vaguely somewhere up in her belly.

"It's stretching me," she whimpered. "I think it's getting thicker." With her dimpled thighs spread wide on each side of the black preacher's lap, she raised and lowered herself on the good reverend's ebony cudgel..

"Unnnngggghhhhh," she grunted, grinding her hips and trying to get more as he held her hips in his hands to keep her from sinking too low. "God, I'm cummmmming," she whimpered as she climaxed. The spasms started in her lower lips and spread upward along her hips and breasts.

"You've got seven inches," said the preacher, cupping her buttocks under her dress as she shuddered, keeping her from sinking further. "That's already more than I said you could..."

"Oh, please," she whimpered against his cheek, "Another inch. I need more inches. Just let me... oooooh!" She tried to squirm out of his grasp, to release her buttocks from the strong black hands that kept her from sinking lower.

"I shouldn't, but if that's what you..." He eased her down, giving her several more inches.

"You ... unnnnnggggghhhhh," she grunted in an unladylike manner, her thinly covered nipples rubbing against his shirt as she twisted her hips this way and that to get as much of the fucking bastard's black pole into her as she could. Her sucking underside had to widen considerably to take in the hairy root of the black preacher's stiff dick. God, she thought, it feels like I'm taking a fire hydrant. I can understand what happened to that girl in Georgia.

Finally there wasn't much left. She could feel it with her fingers under her hips where the rest of the preacher's pole was buried between the pink and widely stretched labia of her hairless pubic mound. God, she thought, at least another inch. But it's so deep already. It's so far up in my belly. It seemed there was nowhere for it to go.

The distension of her hairless underside and the pressure of the shaft against her clitoris, plus what seemed to be the displacement of her liver and digestive organs was more than she could stand. Another spasm started in her lower abdomen and spread upward into her thighs and hips, triggering contractions she could not control. God, she thought, I don't think I can.

But she could. God, she could. The preacher flexed his hips, driving up the final inch. Amanda felt his kinky pubic hairs grinding against her smoothie, telling her she had it all, that here she was in a black preacher's Fleetwood Brougham, sitting on his trousered lap stuffed with black dick, riding it like a cowgirl, her knees digging into the plush upholstery, her dress up around her hips and belly and nothing underneath but hairless lips and the hole she was opening wider and wider for a black man.

Tentatively she flexed her thighs and raised herself, feeling the massive intrusion slide out of her. Then she lowered herself and felt it go back in. In and out, in and out, up and down she went, her arms tight around his neck and her breathing becoming erratic, "Uh, Uh, Uh," until her face contorted and she convulsed with another unladylike grunt.

"UNNGGHH, SHIT...OOOOOH, I'M CUMMING... YOU BLACK BASTARD, PUMP THAT THING INTO ME. I'M CUMMING.... MMMMFFFFF..." The minister held her tight against him as she spasmed from her distended lips to her naked thighs, from her trembling abdomen to the jiggling mounds of the soft and tender breasts beneath her dress.

"Unnnnnggggghhh... please... oh... UNNHGGGGHHHH," she grunted, jouncing and bouncing in the preacher's lap until she convulsed again, and then again, breathing heavily, gasping, her pelvis thrusting erratically, her legs getting tired, but not tiring of the massive stuffing she was getting as she ground her slushy folds against the black man's kinky pubic hair, giving him more than she thought a man could take, and still he was hard, rigid as steel. He hadn't come. But Amanda was tired. She clung to his neck, feeling the stiff rod still driving up from her underside to somewhere in her belly.

"I could sleep like this," she thought. "I could fall asleep and this thing would keep me sitting straight up." She could feel it up to her stomach now. If it went any further... and then he could take no more and she came again as the preacher erupted deep inside her, spewing her insides with enough adulterous African American sperm to father the next generation of coffee and cream babies. Then she slumped against him, her legs still widespread, her slick lips still stretched around his member as he wilted slightly, allowing her internal organs to readjust themselves...Suddenly there was a tap on the car window. A policeman was looking in, and could clearly see the woman sitting on the preacher's lap, facing him and straddling his trousered legs.

Parker lowered the window far enough for the cop to hear. "Yes, officer?"

"You're in a no parking zone," he said. "Better move or I'll have to ticket you. By the way, what is that woman doing on your lap?"

"We're old friends," said the woman, smiling at the cop. "We're hugging because we haven't seen each other for a long time."

The policeman looked at them doubtfully. He could see the woman's bare thighs straddling the preacher's lap, her dress barely concealing the space between her spread thighs. Well, she could be telling the truth.

"Well," he said, "maybe I should warn you. Lotta Gash is on the loose again, still playing her same old game. Goes around pretending the wind got under her dress and she didn't have any clean panties, and had to go without, and the wind gets her worked up and next thing you know she lifts her dress and suckers some guy into hauling her ashes."

"Lotta Gash?" asked the preacher.

"That's what she calls herself," said the cop. "Better get this car moved."

When the cop was gone, Parker looked at Amanda. "Lotta Gash?"

"Well," she said, "a girl's gotta have an angle, doesn't she? I couldn't just walk up and say I need some black dick, could I? You would think I was some kind of slut."

"I might," he said. "Yes, I might. You wouldn't want me to think that."


The preacher's dick had got hard again and was still buried a good ten inches in the white woman's abdomen. She had to hump fast to get a final climax before climbing off so the minister of the gospel could move his car.

When he dropped her off at her job, she got out and could still feel the wind under her dress, only now she could feel it further up between her stretched lips. How could she go to work like this. Suppose her new black supervisor should look under her dress.

Maybe I should go buy some panties, she thought. Naahhh.

END