“Thank you for the warm welcome, Pastor John,” said Sydney. “It’s a blessing to be here before the beautiful family of God.”
Sydney preached as Cyril for a good three hours, watching the women fan themselves, red cheeked and glowing in the humid heat, and the men listening intently, unfazed by the sweat dripping down their good shirts.
In the third row, she caught the eye of Mrs. Edgar Ellison. Barbara “Bobbi” Ellison was just on the plump side of pretty, the kind of girl you could get a good handful of. And when Bobbi had called on Reverend Cyril last night after the service, Sydney had done just that. It was easy to tell when a woman had come for the Goodblood touch. They blushed before they’d ever said a word, touching the reverend’s hand just a little too long, breathing a little too fast. There almost seemed to be a competition among the women that came to her services to see who could win the reverend’s favor. The ladies of Apache County seemed particularly hungry for closer communion.
Bobbi had asked the reverend to pray for her, and had gotten down on her knees, letting Sydney lay her hand against her forehead while she prayed for God’s will to be done in Bobbi’s life. It was then that Bobbi had grasped Sydney’s hand and begun to kiss it in profuse thanks, as if Sydney were the pope. Sydney had pulled back, sitting down in her chair by the dressing room mirror under the hot glow of the round white lights, and Bobbi had scrambled forward and parked herself between Sydney’s knees, reaching for her belt buckle. It seemed to be the first thing these provincial women went for, as if it was what they were used to. It was a sad commentary on the men they knew that they were all too eager to give head before they’d even gotten a kiss on the lips.
Sydney had pushed her hands away and pulled Bobbi up as she rose from the chair. Bobbi’s eyes grew wide as Sydney pushed her back and set her ample rear onto the dressing table. “Let me minister to you, Bobbi,” she’d whispered in her ear as she kissed the warm neck. Bobbi had sighed as Sydney kissed her way slowly down her throat, opening the buttons on Bobbi’s dress to kiss the tops of her breasts above the Maidenform bra. Bobbi needed just that little bit of extra support for full-figured gals. Sydney slipped her hand into the dress and popped the clasp at the back with practiced ease, letting the bra slide down Bobbi’s half covered arms and release her full figure.
Bobbi had gasped as Sydney pressed her mouth over one taut, pink nipple while pinching the other. Mr. Edgar Ellison apparently wasn’t much of a tit man. Bobbi was moaning and squirming as Sydney sucked the warm flesh into her mouth. It was clear it wasn’t going to take much to put her over the top. Sydney ran her right hand down Bobbi’s side to squeeze the soft swell of her ass against the table and then finished unbuttoning her without missing a beat at Bobbi’s breast. She laid the Sunday dress open and pulled the white panties down to her knees, slipping two fingers down between her parted legs into the warm hollow. Bobbi’s clit was swollen.
“Oh, Reverend,” Bobbi moaned as Sydney softly stroked the hood. Sydney moved her mouth to the other breast, holding it in her left hand so she could get her mouth around more. Bobbi giggled nervously and then shut up quickly with a soft little pant as Sydney’s fingers found their way between her wet lips and deep inside her. As Sydney suspected, she was already on the edge, sucking in her breath in a series of tiny gasps as Sydney stroked inside her and rubbed her thumb against the warm clit.
Sydney let go of Bobbi’s breast and got down on her knees like a penitent at the altar and tasted the sacred flesh between the woman’s legs. Bobbi was loud now, and it was a good thing the elders had all gone home before Sydney had let Bobbi in for counseling. She ran her tongue beside her sticky fingers and sucked at the flushed center. Bobbi was sweet and hot, like a tropical fruit. It was like burying your face in a ripe, slick mango on a hot summer day without worrying about the juice dribbling down your chin. Some things were just too good not to be messy about.
Bobbi let out an almost surprised squeal, making a “joyful noise” as the scripture bid, and slid to the edge of the table, pressing hard against Sydney’s happy, sticky tongue. Sydney sucked in harder against Bobbi’s clit as the noise died down, drawing a second climax out of her. From the way Bobbi was shaking, almost crying, Sydney figured one was at least a rarity with Mr. Ellison, and two was downright unheard of.
Bobbi was shy afterward, and a little shocked when Sydney kissed her, as though she’d never tasted herself before, though she didn’t pull away. Sydney pulled out a handkerchief and cleaned herself off as Bobbi pulled herself back together, hooking and buttoning what Sydney had released.
“Reverend,” she said, looking down as she buttoned to avoid meeting Sydney’s eyes, “I know we shouldn’t have—”
“Nonsense,” said Sydney. “As the Lord says, ‘This is my commandment, that you love one another, that your joy may be full.’ He doesn’t begrudge us a little joy. If those in our lives who ought to aren’t ministering to our needs, well, I think the Lord understands.” She smiled and took Bobbi’s hand to give it a warm, pastorly shake.
“Thank you, Reverend Goodblood,” Bobbi had whispered, and slipped out into the warm summer night air to go home full of the joy of the Lord.
Sydney winked at Bobbi who was watching her now with rapt attention from the third row, and Bobbi smiled and blushed. After that she seemed to squirm a bit in her seat as Sydney paced back and forth across the stage, exhorting them to open their hearts and listen to that still, small voice, to give that they might receive.
As usual, when Reverend Cyril called on them to come down and dedicate their lives to the Good Lord, the aisles filled. With filled aisles came filled donation buckets that the elders held out to them on their way to the altar.
They were holding their hands out toward Sydney, hoping for Reverend Goodblood’s blessed touch as Sydney stepped down and walked among them. A pretty blonde with a heart-shaped face and a rose-print dress was making her way down, looking anxious, not quite able to push through the crowd. Sydney had seen her at the altar before, hoping for a touch from the man of God. She figured she’d make the woman’s day.
“What’s your name, sister?” Sydney asked in Cyril’s best shepherd’s voice as she reached over the crowd for her hand.
“Ruby,” said the blonde, her face flushed.
“Bless you, Ruby,” said Sydney, putting a hand on her head. “The Lord told me you needed a little something extra today.”
Ruby blinked up at Sydney as if she were the Lord himself. “Thank you, Reverend,” she breathed. “I’ve been hoping I could talk to you after the service.”
Sydney smiled at her. “You come around back after the closing worship,” said Sydney. “Share what’s burdening your heart.”
The counseling room behind the stage was partitioned in two. A door in between opened onto Reverend Goodblood’s dressing room where Cyril was “reborn” each afternoon. Sydney had grown up around carnies and religious snake-oil salesmen, and had watched them carefully, learning their moves, seeing what worked and what didn’t. She was following in her father’s footsteps.