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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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Archive name: fleet.txt (MF, exh, inter)
Authors name: Jackie Juggs (smith388@comcast.net)
Story title : Fleetwood Gash
--------------------------------------------------------
This work is copyrighted to the author © 2002. Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
to this story. You may post freely to non-commercial
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Thank you for your consideration.
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Fleetwood Gash (MF, exh, inter)
by Jackie Juggs (smith388@comcast.net)
***
Lady in distress gets assistance from a black minister
in his Fleetwood Brougham.
***
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 good-
looking 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 trans-
Alaska 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
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. You only have one body per lifetime,
so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 20