by Clara Nipper
The sun was sinking into the horizon, soon to leave me here in the darkness with Brother Otis. To the south, I saw thunderheads. The cicadas were screaming about something, probably trying to drown out the revival. The tent itself was the biggest I had ever seen. And on the supporting poles, fluorescent lights were mounted lengthwise. There were hundreds of hard wooden folding chairs set up and hay thrown down over the swampy areas. In the center there were large sections of carpet in different colors for Brother Otis to tread on. Behind the carpet was a stage elevated six feet, so all could see, and it had a metal stairway pushed up to the edge. On the stage were a podium for Brother Otis and a band consisting of an organ with a massive woman at the helm, a guitar and a tired-looking brother fussing with the strings, and a feisty female drummer with bright eyes, ready to punctuate anything Brother Otis said.
Brother Otis was marching on the carpet, ranting about Revelations and the bloody war soon to come.
I ignored him as I circled the perimeter of the tent warily. The sound of cicadas buzzing in my ears was a comforting counterpoint to Brother Otis’s hammering Christianity. The air grew denser as it darkened, becoming wet and thick in my nose.
“Rain’s coming,” I heard one woman murmur as I walked past their backs.
I stopped to watch a group of children, all in their Sunday best, running past, yelling. Girls and boys all in a messy tumble together. I appraised the crowd. They were all dressed so fine. I checked out the men to see how I compared and then dismissed them. I concentrated on the women.
How lovely they all were. Old and young having strutted in to get God in their brightest colors and nicest shoes. The gathering as a whole reminded me of a fan of peacock feathers or a flock of tropical birds. Rich yellow, creamy orange, bright red, deep blue, dazzling teal, emerald green, royal purple, dark cherry maroon, and crisp white. And shoes and pocketbooks and gloves to match. Then there were the hats! Crowns for Jesus’s royalty. There was every shape and size of hat and all trimmed to go to Glory. Fur and feathers and lace and netting and sequins and flowers and fruit and beads. I shook my head, full of love for women. Love for black women and their fierce pride. And an ineffable dignity that nothing can kill.
All this holiness made my groin stir. Just the presence of The Spirit and all this female flesh devoutly off-limits made me go breathless. “I need something to drink,” I muttered, continuing to stroll.
Women held cardboard fans that Brother Otis had passed out and the audience was a symphony of rhythmic fanning. It was a beautiful silent song as the women struggled to cool their faces while remaining attentive to the Word.
Pungent wet sawdust and hay let me know I was close to concessions. A rusty meat smoker sat in the grass, wisps of fragrance trickling from its lopsided chimney. I reached the table where volunteers sat, flattened and greasy with heat.
“Yes, sir?” one asked.
I looked at what was there. Hard, crumbly loaves of bread, warm grape juice, tepid water in paper cones, and sweaty cups of cloudy lemonade.
“Got any Q?” I eyed the smoker.
“Naw, that was this afternoon. For lunch,” the volunteer said.
“Huh, now ain’t that some—” I stopped and amended, “Something. I’ll take water.”
“Here you go. Just put your love offering into that box.” The volunteer pointed to a cardboard box with a slot cut into it. I could see it was stuffed with bills. I added a dollar and moved away to lean against a pole and watch the show.
I was sipping my water, trying to shut out Brother Otis when a woman stood and walked toward the concessions table.
“Oh my, oh my,” I said, gulping my water and crushing the cup.
“Lemonade please,” the woman said in a syrupy sweet accent. Her dress was frilly and lacy and blinding white. It was tight in all the right places. I checked out the rear view. The woman’s dress hung just right, skimming her generous bottom with enough suggestion to make my fingers twitch. The woman’s hat was wide and white and it curved down over one eye.
“I’ll get that,” I said, sidling up behind the woman and reaching to slide a fiver into the box.
The woman’s one visible eye was round with surprise. “Much obliged.” She held her cup with both hands.
“My pleasure.” I turned on The Smile that I would never forget how to do.
The woman started to return to her seat but I barely touched her on the elbow and she stopped.
“Why don’t you rest back here for a minute? Take the air. I heard a rumor of a breeze.”
The woman smiled, her cheeks dimpling deep. “Well, all right.”
We stood in silence for a moment, the woman listening intently to Brother Otis, but I felt the air between us vibrate.
Chapter Seventeen
Oh, to fuck a holy woman! I imagined the unplucked splendor, the virginal sweetness. First, I would have to chase her, because I loved the chase. Instead of fantasizing about endless gallant courting, I saw the woman running and I, strong and swift and sure, gaining until I finally clasped her in my arms. She would struggle with all her soft strength.
But I was inexorable. I held fast. I could feel her heart beating rapidly, like a bird’s.
“Easy, easy,” I soothed. “Just relax into me.”
“No, I can’t! I won’t!” She renewed her futile struggling.
My hot breath on her neck stilled her for a moment. I gathered her closer and laid my lips on that innocent cinnamon skin, just below her ear. We were joined forever now. She whimpered, going limp.
“That’s it,” I said. “Nothing to get upset about. Just going to teach you some Latin.” I lowered my mouth to her collarbone.
“I don’t want to learn Latin. Hebrew teaches me all I need to know!” She shoved at me, trying to dislodge my grip. I held on, meeting every thrust of hers with my own. Our thighs rubbed together. I bent her backward, achieving victory for a moment. I held her, off balance, dangling above the ground.
“I want you, and you’re going to give it all up to me, understand?”
She swallowed, her eyes wide and untried. She said nothing. I pulled her upright and tight again, savoring her big curves and mountains and valleys and roads that led to eternity.
“God is my Father, Jesus is my master—” she chanted.
“I am your master tonight.” I placed my open mouth slowly over hers. Our breath mingled. “I will be your Jesus tonight,” I whispered to her lips. She was still and then cautious as she responded to my kiss. She closed her eyes and sighed.
“This is wrong,” she moaned.
“Then why does it feel so right?” I panted, eager to devour and plunder.
“Because you’re the devil and you’re tempting me.”
I ran my hands up her waist to her breasts. I could see the sweet nipples straining against the Sunday best dress.
“God made our bodies, right? And they’re made to feel pleasure. So I’m tempting you with heaven because that’s exactly where I’ll take you.”
She frowned, stiffening. I tightened my hold and kissed the pulse in the hollow of her throat. A small coo escaped her lips.
“You won’t have to do a thing,” I said. “Just let me give to you.”
“No.” She twisted and pushed. But her eyes were hungry. And curious.
I laughed, pinning her hands behind her back. Her breasts were thrust out. I savored the sight. “You want me, don’t you?” I growled into her curls.
“That doesn’t matter,” she answered.
“Oh, but it does.” I grinned, still gripping her wrists with one hand. With the other, I stroked one of her nipples through her dress. “You want me to whisper to you all the wonderful things I’ll do?” I continued. She was silent, hypnotized. “All the sweet, dirty shit we’ll do all night?” I kissed her cheek. Her breath was quick. I let go of her wrists but she didn’t move. I petted both plump breasts, enjoying my power. I pinched her nipples, rolling them between my thumbs and forefingers. “This is just the st
art. I can make you feel good everywhere,” I said, then bent and bit her nipples. She squeaked, but it was the right kind. The submissive kind.
“I will turn your body inside out,” I added.
“No,” she whispered.
“By that, you mean yes, don’t you?” I asked, pinching harder.
She nodded.
“Then you’ll tell me no all night, right?”
“No.”
“That’s a good start.” I knocked her hat off and kissed her violently. She kissed back, sometimes moaning “no” into my mouth. I popped the buttons on her demure dress. “Yell it. Shout no!” I said.
“No! No! No! No! No!” she squealed, writhing in her deliciously modest white cotton bra and briefs. This took my breath away. It made me ache. Most times, regular women’s underthings were far more erotic than that sexy underwear crap. If only women understood the sensual appeal of cotton and simplicity.
“Oh, yes. Look at you, so beautiful. Isn’t it all mine?” I asked.
“No!”
I grasped her roughly. “That’s right.” I slid my hand down her curved waist to her generous belly to her cunt. I closed my eyes and moaned as her wet heat met my palm. She jerked and her eyes flew open wide. She shoved me away. I grinned.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?”
“No.”
“I know, baby. Come here.” I jerked her close. “Let’s have a look at your back porch.” I spun her like a mannequin. She trembled, but stood still. I slowly drew down the panties that were full of innocence. Gooseflesh rose all over her lovely plump ass. I knelt and moaned. I laid my cheek against her buttocks. “Oh, yes, this needs much care and feeding.” I stroked and stroked her skin. My hands made a glissando all over her buttocks. She began undulating almost imperceptibly. I smiled at her back. I lulled her into a trance of relaxed pleasure and then gently spread her cheeks. “Mmm,” I breathed. I kissed her. She pulled away and turned around, fumbling for her panties, which had fallen to her ankles.
“No, don’t kiss me there; it’s nasty.” She rolled her eyes. I drew her back, easing her underwear down again and hugging her stomach.
“Trust me. You’ll love it.” I kissed her plump tummy. “Just let me. You’ll see.” She shook her head, her legs closed and trembling. “Just try it for,” I looked at my watch, “five minutes.” I could see her consider it and knew I had won.
“No,” she replied, pushing softly on my shoulders.
I grinned. “Come on, turn around.” I spun her and was again facing the dusky round jewel that was her fat bottom.
“No,” she whispered.
I began gradually. Kissing and licking and nibbling the skin was always an easy start. I kept my ears open for her response, giving unconscious permission to go further. I had to restrain myself from closing my jaws in a terrible bloody bite of her lush flesh. Oh, a woman’s ass was manna from heaven! Her legs were still closed, but I heard sweet little squeaks, so I slid my hand between her generous thighs and they parted. “Beautiful,” I whispered.
“Just five minutes, you promised.”
“I know, baby, just don’t think.” I parted her slightly and bit the edges and just grazed the interior. To relax her further, I alternated this with reaching up and stroking the outside of her pussy very slowly. I enjoyed doing that until I heard a whimper. Then I used both hands and spread her wide. I lowered myself into it but started slowly. She was a beginner, after all, and I must proceed accordingly. I just kissed; the sucking, biting, probing and fucking of her ass would all come soon enough. I checked the time. Twenty minutes had passed.
“I can’t stand up anymore!” she gasped.
“Good.” I kept going.
“No!”
“Then by all means, lie down,” I said. “Just for five minutes.”
She sank where she stood, her body glistening as if it had been buttered.
“Now, on your belly.” I smiled.
“No.” She pouted, but turned over, her ass rising like a majestic mountain.
“My, my, my,” I said, reflecting on how quickly a true “no” had become a delicious “no” and how fast she was sprawled here, nude and juicy, just for me. Because of me. I am so bad, I thought. I am so bad, I don’t even feel guilty.
Back in the tent, I wiped sweat from my brow. “What’s your name?” I husked.
“Not gonna tell you that,” the woman murmured, her voice blushing. She bowed her head and sipped, two-handed, from her lemonade. She glanced at me, her lips wet. She licked away the clear dots of lemony mustache resting above her mouth. Mosquitoes whined around my ears.
“Oh, honey child, you can tell me,” I purred, inching closer. I caught Sayan’s horrified glance just out of the corner of my eye.
“Uh-uh.” The woman grinned into her drink.
“I’m going to call you Easter Bonnet then,” I said.
“No. My name’s Janet.” She blinked and giggled, her head bowed. I stretched my arm up the pole that Janet was leaning against so that I was close indeed. She edged away, but it was a yield, not a stop. I cupped my hand around Janet’s hands holding the lemonade. She extracted her hands, her creamy skin sliding away from my experienced calluses. I drank from the cup, my eyes never leaving the dark, round ones of Janet, who stared at me in open amazement and a shiver of uncertain innocent possibility.
As I returned the lemonade to Janet, I made a smacking noise. “Tart and sweet. The perfect…” I closed my eyes and licked my lips. “Combination.” I noticed that a bead of perspiration had gathered at the hollow of Janet’s throat. Where her collarbones joined her neck pooled a tiny clear puddle. I wanted to slurp it. I wanted to dabble my fingers in it and taste the saltiness. I wanted to find all the other sweat trails and follow them home. I would drown myself in Janet’s delicious armpit musk. I would kiss and drink every hairline. I would lick away all the salt from her thigh creases. I would nuzzle dry her navel. I would split the rosy tan melon of ass and smear myself in Janet’s tribal perfume. I would replace sweat with my own saliva. I would ingest Janet and Janet would surrender to me.
Janet looked away and sipped her drink. A subtle grin rested in her dimples.
“Hot, isn’t it?” I choked out with difficulty, for my mouth had gone dry.
“Not too bad,” Janet answered.
“Why don’t you give me your number and I’ll take you somewhere nice and cool this weekend?” I said.
Janet looked at me, uncertain. Her eyes glowed with inbred goodness and obedience. Beneath that was a darker desire for some danger.
“Don’t you want to experience life outside of Scripture?” I asked hoarsely.
Uh-oh, too far, too fast. Purity took over. Janet clutched the lemonade so hard her knuckles went latte. “Oh, no, Jesus is the only way. But I thank you kindly.”
I leaned closer, cutting off Janet’s polite response. “Don’t you want to go somewhere cold and comfortable?” I had no idea where this would be. I could only see the two of us in a hotel room with the air conditioner turned down to zero and me raising goose bumps on Janet’s skin as she lay nude, stretched out on her stomach while I traced ice all over her body. I would even put ice in my mouth, loving the chilled balloons of air that I could exhale and I would kiss Janet everywhere she was hot. “Go for an ice cream sundae, maybe?”
Janet made a tiny chirp and took such a deep breath that her chest rose and sent me directly into another fantasy.
“Mmm hmm, girl, you sure are fine!” I smacked her big booty and her white cotton underwear jiggled. “I’ll take care of this.” I hooked my thumbs in the elastic waistband and pulled. When the panties fell around Janet’s feet, I stroked her huge black moon of an ass. “You’ve been a bad girl, haven’t you?” I was gentle.
“Yes,” came the reply.
“Going to have to punish you.” I pinched her. “Teach you a lesson.” I swatted her. Janet jerked and moaned but didn’t move. “Isn’t that right?”
“Yes,” Janet cried.
>
I tickled her pubic hair, longing to plunge in deep, but restraining myself. “Spread your legs,” I said. Janet complied, dragging the panties on one ankle. I ran one wet finger from clit to asshole, loving the aroused puffiness and the hot juice. Janet groaned, her legs shivering.
“Not yet.” I grinned.
Janet bent forward and stared at me, upside down. “Please,” she said. “I need you.”
I parted her pussy to feel this and Janet closed her eyes. “Yes,” she breathed.
“You want me to fuck you?”
“Oh, yes, yes,” Janet said.
“Let’s have some perspiration before the relaxation destination!” Brother Otis yelled, interrupting my thoughts. “Before the exaltation exclamation! We must have the castigation of the aberration! We need the inclination for inspiration! We need amplification and clarification for the deliberation of our situation!” The crowd swayed with Brother Otis’s rhythmic speech. The guitar player added a thumping bass to the perky drummer’s snare taps. I just watched Janet with smoldering eyes and Janet, oblivious, remained standing calmly near the bonfire of my desire without a worry.
The women sang, “Well, well, well!” and the men cried, “Hallelujah!”
I was tiring of this. I swept Janet up into my arms, Janet’s white dress fluttering, and her cup of lemonade spilling forgotten into the hay already swarming with flies. I walked with Janet cradled to my chest up to the stage where I laid her down gently. The crowd disappeared. Only mine and Janet’s matching breathlessness existed.
“It’s finally time,” I said, kneeling between Janet’s knees. I raised Janet’s skirt and eased her panties off. “Now my sugar angel will feel very good.” I bent down. Janet was trembling. I put my whole mouth on Janet’s cunt and licked her open. Inside, was her throbbing, aching clit and plenty of slick cream to tell me exactly what to do. I licked and sucked, following Janet’s moans and movements. She was transported, never having had even a glimpse that such a thing was possible. I inserted a finger into Janet’s eager pussy. She groaned loud. I licked and fucked, but Janet’s pussy was hungrier than a finger or two, so I grabbed Brother Otis’s silver cross from the podium, its ancient age having worn the sharp corners smooth and rounded. I moved to straddle Janet’s breasts so I could still suck her clit and I eased the cross into her grasping cunt. Janet yelped in pleasure, her hips bucking to gather more. She squirmed, pulling more of the cross into her swollen pussy. Her ass jerked and she landed on the corner of an open Bible.