The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Carmen In Church Country”

mc, mf, ff, gr

Tagline: Shayla shares something holy with Carmen—just keeping it in the family!

Part 2 (of 2): Carmen In Church Clothes

* * *

“I guess I like it here,” Carmen reluctantly typed into the chat window. She had been living in Cherub Cove for only a few days, but was badly wanting to be in Philly with Joey. “These computers are stupid. I wish they allowed phones here, I miss your voice!” There were no phone lines or cell towers anywhere. Only Main Street was paved and even that turned into gravel after the Dairy Queen.

That was one thing about the town that really stuck out upon her arrival. The oil-smelling, long and bumpy ride there nonwithstanding, everyone seemed to be lathering themselves in a contented ignorance. She didn’t know how a “town on the move” could call itself competitive if phones and laptops were all confiscated at Cherub Cove’s boundary, but she was sure she’d piece it together.

She continued typing on the old, faintly yellowed PC, and blew her hair out of her face. It was getting late but she was still in her office. That was one of the perks of working at her host home. Although, she had to admit it was strange that the computer didn’t even have Internet Explorer. She was working in Windows 3.1 of all things, and running a few sites through some web service program called Prodigy that she had never heard of. She couldn’t even load most pages. She’d have written a blog about it but MySpace loaded so slowly.

“Max misses you,” Joey typed. “I started putting the Eagles sweater on him when I take him for walks.” Carmen laughed at the cuteness of imagining the terrier in people clothes. She looked out the window, and could hear crickets buzzing deafeningly. Even though it was almost November, Cherub Cove was stuck in a breezy sort of early August. Tonight, though, it was especially hot and wet.

“Aww—Hang on, I’ll brb,” she told Joey. “I’m going to get some lemonade.” It was the only thing that calmed her down lately. Nobody was allowed to smoke or sell cigarettes, and, of course, she wasn’t of legal drinking age, so she was awfully fidgety since getting to town. As she rounded the corner of the hallway and into the kitchen, she recognized that calling it lemonade wasn’t exactly appropriate. It was more of a slurry, and not really sour, kind of like an icy lemon square, and about 60% cream. But Carmen didn’t care, as long as it was ice cold and at her disposal.

She turned the light next to the refrigerator off and immediately heard the tapping of something on the kitchen window. She looked down to see Paul, basked in a floodlight, tossing pebbles at her. He was one of the younger ministers in town and had counciled her on her doubts of the church earlier on in the evening. She was more than surprised to see him prowling the house after midnight, but nevertheless presented an excited index finger, as if to say, “One second!”

She ran down the stairs and outside to meet him. He unsheathed a bouquet of various flowers from behind his back. “Just something to welcome you to town,” he offered, and she accepted, fascinated with the cute generosity of this guy who was incidentally part of her graduating class at Allentown and had been living in Cherub Cove ever since. In a town where similarities with the other people were difficult to come by, his were convenient and good.

“Thanks, Paul!” Carmen beamed, and ran her fingers through the tips of the floral piece. “You walked all the way over here just to give me flowers? Don’t you know I have a boyfriend?”

Paul laughed. He took a set of keys out from his black pressed pants pockets and pressed a button on them, making a shiny new sport car chirp in the driveway beside them. The lights turned on and he opened the passenger door, telling the girl, “I want to show you one of my favorite places.” His smile was warm and she knew the green pastor wouldn’t dare take advantage, but she mostly wanted to be alone.

“Right now?” she asked, feigning alarm. “In this?” She flapped her Choking Victim t-shirt against her green soccer shorts. It was obvious she hadn’t gotten out of the house all day. “I don’t know, Paul, can we reschedule? I’m talking to my boy—”

“No, no, no! That won’t do at all. “What music do you like?”

Carmen didn’t know why Father Paul’s enthusiasm was so pleasant, but it was. It just shined there on his face like a beacon. She knew she had something else to do, but she was distracted by what felt like a flirt. But that was impossible, this was a man of the cloth! “Um,” Carmen said, twirling a lock of dark curly hair. “I listen to anything, really. Anything dancey, I guess.”

Paul beamed. “You need to come with me, oh, man!” His face lit up. Carmen felt drawn to it, as much as it was dorky. The way his lips formed words, so frothy and true. Her tiny tipples turned up, in spite of herself. She could still taste the lone sip of farmer’s lemonade that she enjoyed before hearing the tapping on her host family’s kitchen window.

He could see that she trusted him and he carried on. “I have some hot bangers you might like to boogie to.” She laughed at this total dweeb. He was funny, for a priest. “You like DJing?”

Carmen was startled that Father Paul seemed to know so much about her without saying. The way the people around here operated, she was a notch above liberal city scum, and had just figured that people didn’t waste a breath talking about her. The thing was, she did have an extensive record collection and hooked up her turntables for parties when her friends invited her to. “I guess you could say that,” she admitted.

“Get in, get in!” He enthusiastically appealed, despite the fact that she was two paces toward the car anyway. “I have some twelve-inch bangers that you just have to see to believe!” Ah, 12″ records. She had recently bought a few Crystal Waters singles at Mater Music, and at first she thought it was a bit off that a place like this would have a record store, but then again, they only had vinyl and cassette. Records were so fun! She loved records.

The road wound up the mountain and the priest’s car rolled on for what felt like ten minutes. It was a big mountain. She wondered if there was a nice view. Who was she kidding? There would be nothing but black, black night and though it was a world away from Philadelphia, she didn’t really miss the city. Country living in Cherub Cove was nice and easy, even if it was hard for her to check up on the outside world. Carmen was sure it would carry on without her, though. Father Paul’s car had heated seats!

“Are we almost there?” she asked petulantly, shifting in anticipation in spite of an overwhelming comfort.

“Yes, Miss Mendoza,” he assuaged. “Why are you such a worried soul? You’re not on the clock!” The journalism student blanched at the comment. She knew a good writer never slept, always had some amount of critical thinking to do, but she couldn’t help but wonder how she would piece any investigative report together. She only emailed newsletters to the compound’s franchise of Saint Brittany’s when she was done typing up what church officials asked her to type, and didn’t ever see a printer anywhere. There was, similarly, no stationery or writing implements to be found either. She could fashion a makeshift pencil herself, she reasoned, but that was so much work and she didn’t want to have to explain herself to anybody.

“Well, that’s true,” Carmen agreed, “but I don’t know what the church wants with me, really. I’m a journalism student and all I’m doing is letting parishoners know which daughter or wife is expecting.” There were hordes of ladies with baby bumps and powerful, milk-carrying boobs. If she felt self-conscious about her boyish body in Philly, she was now blushing in inadequacy at nearly every other female in Cherub Cove. Even the sixth graders had birthing hips. “It doesn’t involve any objectivity or impartiality. And plus, I asked for a graphic design program and I got handed a floppy disk with clip art of picket fences, daisies, and baby rattles!”

The car approached a silo atop the stretch and the priest shone his brights on it. “So? What’s wrong with that?” he asked, as if her opinion was coming from a mouth eight or nine years younger than hers. “You’re living with Bobby and Betty Dutch, two blessed souls here. It troubles me that the youth of America don’t see a gift from God when it’s staring them in the face.” He was sort of right, Carmen mused. They were a nice old couple, and had provided every amenity imaginable. Sometimes even too much food, though you’d never notice it looking at her. “Come on, let’s go, you’re gonna love this!”

Though barren and relatively clean, the inside of the silo smelled like livestock and haybales. It managed to be a bit chilly, a welcome oasis of cool air in the humid rural night. There go my nipples again, the Moore freshman thought. Father Paul lit a lantern and Carmen followed suit as he stepped up and into the structure. She didn’t see any vinyl records at all. There were just boxes and boxes of.. what looked like vibrators? She started to back away, severely weirded out even though her interest was piqued. She wanted to bolt and regroup at her farmhouse, maybe try and locate a landline phone. She wasn’t trapped.

“Where are you going?” Paul called out a few feet ahead of her, crestfallen she didn’t see the beauty in this makeshift warehouse.

Carmen crossed her thin arms across her flat chest. “For shame, Father. To think, I thought you were a nice, God-fearing servant. You just want to—”

“To what, Miss Mendoza? To show you my collection of twelve-inch bangers?” He held a box up to the light. Sure enough, they were a foot long and had a cross embossed along the side, and, sure enough, the name of the product was The Banger. He had tricked her! She couldn’t believe it. Still, they were fairly impressive, to his credit. They looked fashioned out of shiny chrome, but were clearly ergonomic and.. a bit fleshy.. veiny..

“These—these are just dildos!” she cried, incredulous and flush with the heat of panic.

Father Paul walked over to Carmen and extended a cupped palm to her chin. He was presenting her with more of those yummy espresso beans that her sister gave her at her coffeeshop. A momentary lapse in judgement seezed the poor girl and she gobbled them from his hand, licking and scarfing like a billy goat.

She looked up at him, mouth contented to be superglued to his palm. “They’re not just dildos,” he soothed, “they’re instruments of holy power. Watch,” Father Paul instructed, “look what they can do!” He opened a box and took out a ten-inch Banger. He pushed at the base of the vibrator and it sounded in a soft click.

“These aren’t just for your pleasure, these are for your worship.” A tiny angelic chorus wisped out of the thing, like the music was coming from behind her eyes, playing around in her heart. It was like “Avé Maria” but more.. crystalline. The silver dick shone under the lamplight and twitched like the real thing. Carmen’s pussy creamed in her soccer shorts. She wanted to reach out for it, perhaps kiss it, but she knew had to do something.. that feeling this horned-out and willing was wrong somehow.. But why?

The thing glimmered and pulsed in the silo, the beautiful music now growing all inside her body. “Cool!” She admitted, salivating. “I gotta ask, Father,” she playfully begged, “aren’t we supposed to rise above our earthly desires?” The taste of the espresso beans swam around her mouth, shooting the most fluid and bubbly endorphins up and down her spine.

“We just don’t like our interns to be tempted to act on any... impulses. You see, the fact that you have a man back home wouldn’t normally be the concern of any megachurch, but there’s just something about Cherub Cove, y’see.” Had he said interns? She wasn’t aware of any internship, she was expressly told she’d be getting top dollar. The priest’s voice turned suddenly more.. back country. “It changes people for the better, especially you young girls. It makes—”

“It makes girls cock-crazy and eventually knocked up? I’m not stupid, Father Paul,” Carmen said matter-of-factly, rolling her eyes. “But I’m not some girl starved for attention. My boyfriend is coming up eleven days from now, but who’s counting?” Had she really said that? She opened another box, going for the twelve-inch size most subconsciously. She turned it on and waved it at her crotch. “You think this is funny?” Though he was uniformed in midnight black pants, Carmen could plainly see a hardon quickly approaching “raging and ready” status.

“No, no,” Paul said, “but I can see you need one of these. I’m just trying to be a good Christian. Look!” He pointed at her crotch. It was soaked, a dark forest green in the crevice between her thighs, quite obviously a fresh dousing. As if to silently acknowledge her arousal, she pointed at it directly, brushing against herself. She turned the twelve-inch banger in her hand off and pulled herself together. Just stop thinking about sex, she said to herself at least three times. When she opened her eyes after the frustrated bout of concentration, her eyes immediately honed in on Father Paul’s package. “We don’t want our visitors to bring a child to term. Bad P.R., Miss Mendoza.” His lips said this but she nodded at his pelvis as if it had.

“That seems good,” she said without even considering the words, undertaken with heat and a pungent farmy smell. Carmen was seconds away from moving her panties aside and sticking the vibrator past her shorts when Father Paul put his hand on her shoulder and, extending the lantern in front of him, led the girl out of the silo, frazzled and clutching onto the big silver Banger like it was her baby formula.

The ride home was awkward. She didn’t know whether to cuss this guy out or rest her head on his strong Christian shoulder. Twice she was tempted to stick the silver cock deep in herself and thrust along with the rhythms of the rocky holler road. After Father Paul took her hand and guided her eager fingers to the power button, she let it slip in and soon the car was filled with the sounds of a smooth, sacrosanct, gorgeous choir.

I can’t believe this, Carmen thought, relishing in the lovely confusion. Not here a week and I already have a warm metallic gourmet dildo in me? I’m a fucking bad girlfriend. The priest met eyes with her and smiled his approval, unzipping his pants and putting a foot on the accelerator. She smiled back and her mouth watered some more. Carmen dove for it and sucked the—well, surprisingly pretty large—dick. The music grew louder and louder the closer they got back to the homestead she had been living in. The phallus in her slit that was playing it pumped warmer and more in step with the blaring hymn at each turn.

Finally, the priest came in her mouth. Had she not been extending all her effort to gulp down all of the holy man’s juices in one swallow without letting any of it dribble down her chin, she would have noticed the wild pulsing and thrusting the Banger had employed at the moment of the blessed ejaculation. She could have sworn..

“Vibrators don’t cum, right?” Carmen bit her lip when she realized how the question exposed her lack of experience with the subject. Father Paul’s fingers grazed her mouth.

“Shh, shh, good Christian woman,” he said, laughing. “Of course not.” Phew, she mused, gazing lazily at his face. That’s what I thought. What a pleasant coincidence! They had reached her house not a minute after she plucked the sticky shining dick out of her, coffee and cum aromatically coating the back of her throat. She inspected it. It sure was shiny and slippery and juicy, but there was nothing white or thick on it. Fair enough.

Carmen swerved in as she unbuckled her seatbelt and tried to kiss Paul for no other reason than she felt a compelling urge to serve her parish. He simply lowered his head and instead embraced her in his holy arms. He grabbed hold of her face and smooshed her cheeks together. Even that got her worked up.

“You’ll soldier through this, girl,” he told her. “Your dedication to Saint Brittany’s will not go unnoticed.” She felt happy to volunteer for such a wonderful man. Helping her out in her time of need. Now that she slobbed his knob, she wouldn’t have to cheat on her boyfriend! It.. absolved her of her sins. She beamed as he opened up his glove compartment and presented her with a big heavy bag of.. those white chocolate-covered espresso beans! Yum!

“This is a two and a half pound bag, Miss Mendoza,” he warned. “I don’t want to see you finish this in a week.” She stirred, still a bit randy and drunk on compliance. She tried to push cocks out of her brain and think hard about restraint. But it was hard. “I want to see you knocking on my door tomorrow or Thursday. I’m serious. These will help you, and Saint Brittany’s makes these! They’ll help with your... cravings. And they’re decaf, so they won’t keep you up at night. Not like those city beans.”

Carmen sighed and grinned, wide-eyed even though she knew they weren’t her cravings. They were divine cravings. She bounced up and down like the schoolgirl she was. Why not own the role? “Oh, thank you thank you thank you!” she squealed. “But can you feed them to me?” She crossed her legs together and squeezed her thighs, tapping her feet against the car floor. “Pretty please?”

“Sure thing, Sister Carmen, how many would you like?” He poured a rather sizable amount into his hand and began to feed them to her, four or five at a time. She was beginning to feel really dopey and pleasant.

“Oh... I dunno, just keep feeding me,” she muttered, half out of it. About three big handfuls later, she slinked out of the car and slowly began to amble up the long dirt driveway to her farmhouse. She could scarcely believe this life, and shook her head, as if to rattle off a syrupy miasma of lust and distraction.

“Carmen!” Father Paul called out. She turned away to see his handsome jaw with that hot dorky grin again. “You’re forgetting something!” He waved a pair of white panties just outside the car door. She slapped herself on the forehead playfully and retrieved them, pulling the moist underwear on, thanking the priest and sweetly kissing his fingers that dangled outside the cracked window.

Then she turned around and ran right to the steps, a big vibrator in one hand and a bag of candy in the other. She felt so pampered and so appreciated. She turned on the light in the kitchen and poured herself a nice thick glass of that creamy frozen lemonade slushy thing, throwing the coffee beans near the bananas. The taste had, much like those coffee beans, the barbecue chicken pizza from Our Lady of Stuffed Crust, and honestly almost everything in the town had stayed with her ever since she first tried it in Philadelphia when she first went to Shayla’s fun new church.

She and Joey had had a great time then. She almost dropped her glass of farmer’s lemonade at the name. Luckily her grip on the big Banger was unwavering. Joey! She looked down at her stained dark soccer shorts. She looked at the irradiated clock on the wall. Had six hours really passed since Father Paul dropped by? Her head spun.. She trotted with intent to her office nook, hoping and praying, really praying that her boyfriend was still online.

The lights and the computer were off. She immediately flipped the lightswitch and noticed a post-it note on the keyboard. This computer is not a play toy. You and I need to talk.—Betty Miffed, Carmen took her lemonade and dildo and calmly walked to her bedroom for some fun and easy playtime. Oh, I’ll talk to you tomorrow, she thought. I’ll talk to you about how I’m not about to lose contact with my boyfriend for no reason. I’ll talk to you about my rights, you bitch. She knew she could leave at any time. She wasn’t really worried about anything.

Except how to turn the volume down on her holy 12″ Banger.

* * *

Nine days later...

A rooster crowed and announced the start of another new day in the country. Carmen stretched her arms out and reached for the much-abused vibrator on her nightstand. Just a little bit of that big-cocked funtime and then I’ll get up for breakfast. The sun sparkled and shimmied its way through the pink drapes. She could smell bacon and eggs. Her little pooch of a tummy growled.

She slipped the holy device in and it eased forward quite handily. The first couple of times she used it, it took a few minutes of prodding and the occasional swath of lube to really get the thing in at a good groove. But now, she was just slick and stretched apart enough that it sunk in with a pleasant, gaping rush. She hummed along with the celestial melody and thought of the past week.

She remembered the church dinner cleanup time on Thursday when she and the four priests there in Cherub Cove had enjoyed a half dozen discreet hard drinks. She had agreed to wash dishes topless, and after unbuttoning her modest brown cardigan, was doing just that as the men of the cloth looked on, lecherous but still laissez faire. She thought of how her boobies bounced up and down with every scrub, sudsy and sexy.

They had sprung up in a growth spurt she scarcely even noticed, so simultaneously slow and quick that it felt completely natural to have them. Bobby and Betty had sat her down and had one of their “farm talks” about bras and the official town policy about them. Apparently, as long as you were a growing girl (which, she ildy wondered, how it could apply to her, being almost nineteen and all) and not already hitched or pregnant, they were just not allowed. And neither were panties!

They had taken away all her clothes, which really wouldn’t have fit anyway, and gave her a sheer cotton nighty to wear to bed and a baby blue checkered dress to wear out during the day. The comfy clothes felt really roomy and big at first, but she could lately see and feel the brief nightgown bunching around her ass and puckering underneath her round boobs. When the old couple had, after what felt like months and months of their constant surveilance, ducked out at last to pick up some more cornmeal and lemonade for the house, Carmen snuck into their master bedroom and tried on one of Betty’s bras. It was a 36D, and while she couldn’t quite fill the cups in all the way, she was amazed at how close she came.

Just acknowledging her budding bosom made her pussy clench without provocation and the Banger followed in step. She was getting good at teaching the seemingly animal device how to conform to her needs and movements. The fake dick was almost starting to feel like Father Paul’s. That was another thing. Over the past couple of nights, he had been helping her out with her relationship problems. He was plugging her two or three times a day now, and she had to admit it made her miss Joey less, so that was a plus, but why was the thought of cheating on him making her cum? Especially if it wasn’t really cheating, it was technically confession!

Carmen’s whole body rocked and spasmed as the rooster crowed again and the vibe’s hymn resonated throughout the entire house. Betty was whisking pancake batter and caught eyes with her husband. They could hear it all, all of it, including the headboard banging against the wall and satisfied grunts. Bobby smiled and took a sip of coffee. Their dog, Sam, barked and ran to the girl’s room, scratching and whimpering at her door. The fact that an animal was outside the door and could hear her in her throes just set her off even more. Even riding in the wagon and glancing at pigs at the trough had the capacity to turn her on. She came hard, sweaty and long. Starving.

Coming down, she went to pull out the phallus and was met with a certain amount of resistance. The more she tugged, the less it was giving. It just kept pumping and twitching inside of her, and though she managed to put her feet on the dusty wood floor, trying to stand up and get the attention of her host parents, it just curled up further inside her and pounded, sending her right back down on the fluffy nice mattress.

Without warning, it shot some hot stickiness inside of her. It sure felt like cum.

The Banger retreated from her pussy on its own, still spurting white milky stuff on her fertile bush. As fearful as this impossibility made her, she positioned it close to her mouth and the dildo seemed to be conscious of its proximity and began to unload its goo even more relentlessly. She licked her lips. It tasted like Father Paul’s jizz with a hint of her favorite lemonade drink. There was something up. She zoomed to the kitchen in her cute nighty, neglectful of the threads of white dropping down her thighs. Or the smear of white across her face.

“Mom! Mom!” She screamed, bounding to the kitchen. “I mean, Betty! Bobby!”

Cum was falling down to her ankles in a stream. She scooped a bunch of it up with her fingers. Bobby’s eyes widened. The old man unfolded a newspaper. “What is this?” Carmen demanded, somewhere ambiguously between terrified and filled with pride.

“Oh, that’s just farmer’s cum,” said her host mother, ambivalent, as she flipped a pancake high in the air. “Don’t worry about it, it won’t make you have a baby. But it sure feels good, right?” Carmen nodded sweetly. “You can eat it, too. In fact, almost all the food you eat here is made with it. Isn’t that fun?” Betty whistled and put a filter in the coffeemaker, and turned around to face the girl.

“Look,” she levelled, “I ain’t fixin’ to lie t’ya. It also sweetens up that pretty pussy of yours. Makes ya good and fertile for the real stuff. Kills all those bad birth control bacterias, that’s what it does.” Carmen wasn’t sure that birth control had any reason to be in the same turn of words as bacteria, but what did she care? She had forgotten to take any in the past.. week.. or something..

“And it gives you those pretty little titties,” Betty said as she put two fingers underneath a freshly grown boob and jiggled it jokingly. Her nipples, themselves a curious case of enlargement every which way, happily pricked up in the tight white cotton.

Bobby pulled up a chair to the kitchen island. “And that pretty big ol’ bitty!” He laughed, comfortable and delighted, and gave her soft and comfortable ass a healthy swat, bringing her down to his knee and positioning her thusly. “Sit on my lap, have some breakfast,” he encouraged, and she did just that. The dog began to lick at her calves, but the old man kicked it out from underneath the table.

“Scram, Sam!” He chortled. “How’s my little daughter?”

She had told him so many times that she wasn’t his daughter, that her father was dead, even, but sometime in the past week, she had abandoned hope of this ever truly getting through to his cornpone brain. Now she was too overwhelmed with thoughts of bacon and boobs and babies and her goosebumpy legs that she didn’t even remember herself.

“I’m okay, Daddy,” she chirped, rocking in his lap. She could feel his fat dick pumping up as she flitted her feet. She doused a forkful of pancakes in thick syrup and shoved it in her mouth, the tiniest drop staining her little lily-white bedtime dress somewhere along the side of a boob. “Oops!” She blurted, giggling with her mouth full. Bobby buried his face into her tit and licked off the offending syrup. The whole family laughed. Sam barked and a thresher gritted its way through a field in the distance.

“I just don’t know how I’m ever going to leave this wonderful home!”