In a motel room just outside of Columbus Ohio, David Molven relaxed, stretching out on the bed. In the closet hung his disguise, the one he used to great effect. It was the long flowing robes of a preacher, and it had taken him to many small towns, where the simple, god-fearing country folk lived. To them, he had been Preacher Dan. They were easily led, with it being 1932, all you had to do was be commanding, carry a Bible, recite easily remembered Biblical scripture, hold a fire and brimstone sermon on a Sunday, and they believed. It was a great place to slip in, like the proverbial wolf in sheep’s clothing. The last small town had been very rewarding.
He always enjoyed taking his followers down to the river and baptizing his flock. Especially the teen girls, he had baptized many young, nubile teen girls in the flowing water. They were baptized alright, in front of the townspeople, but being baptized in the flowing waters of the river was merely a pretense. The easily led townspeople believed him to be a prophet and eagerly handed over their daughters for his religious guidance.
They were guided alright, right out of their clothes and into his bed. It was the guidance that came after, in private, when he baptized their virgin womanhood with his hot sperm, that made the masquerade worthwhile. Of all the young teens that he had taken into womanhood, every one of them had been a virgin. After giving them his private baptisms, not one of them was still as pure and innocent as their parents believed them to be.
Using his magnetism, his commanding voice, and his good looks, he convinced the teens that he was indeed a holy prophet, and the blessings of God would be bestowed upon those who followed his command. Being simple country folk, the teens had never questioned his authority, even when he commanded them to strip naked and spread their legs for him. The sounds that they’d make as he violated them, his penis breaking open their precious virginity, burying deep and getting into a fuck rhythm, the tight gripping cling as their virgin womanhood was plundered by his hardness was amazing. Some of the teens bore the discomfort as best they could, while other teens became eager, liking the feeling of being ridden, and he’d heard the pants, cries, and moans of pleasure as their tight little holes were stretched out, the sounds were like music to his ears, bringing him to a grunting orgasm, he’d make a cross sign in front of their faces, blessing them as he anointed their wombs with his hot seed.
The last one, Becky Wilson had been the best. She was 18, blonde-haired and green eyes, had a large, firm chest, a corn fed, solid country body so ripe for the plucking. During the river baptizing, she had worn a long cloth robe, when it was sodden with the river water, it had clung to her body. He knew that she would be the crowning touch for this small town. When he had gotten her in private, stripped and ready for action, she did not question what he was about to do.
Once she was naked and laying back for him, he slid between her legs, making the sigh of the cross and quoting some biblical scripture as he rubbed his swollen penis against her clitoris. He saw her eyes open wide, a soft moan of pleasure sounded as Becky felt the ecstasy of being stimulated in that way filled her. He pulled her closer to him so that his manhood was rubbing against her folds. Little whimpers escaped her lips as he slowly moved his hips up and down, rubbing himself against her just before he positioned his hardness.