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The congregation clapped, praised God, and cheered for his salvation. The Pastor prayed, his righteous words punctuated with the staccato of the organ. They passed the collection plate and whispered softly, “Every penny of it, Steven, I want you to put every single dollar in that collection plate.” His hands trembled as he reached for the envelope in his back jeans pocket and he placed it on the pile of fives, tens, and twenties in the red-velvet-lined brass plate. He closed his eyes and begged God for forgiveness, to absolve him of his sins, to release him the sexual sickness that consumed him, that prevented him from forming any sort of real, substantial relationship. He prayed to be normal. As much as he pretended to be happy as a freak, he deeply wanted to be loved, accepted, and respected by a woman who would love him for something other than his money. It had been more than 30 years that he had even allowed himself to think such thoughts. He prayed to the image of a. "Oh, go ahead," she told him disgustedly. "You've already cum in her a little; you might as well let her have the rest." Dad's eyes lit up; and he looked at me for confirmation. At my slight nod (Well, after all, his sperm already WAS inside me by then. What difference would a little more make?) he mumbled, "Thanks, Hon," and came down on my body, while his prick twitched, swelled, and spurted the remainder inside me. God, I was really fucked, but good. My own father cumming inside me, while was right between periods, and probably ovulating too. Well, if not today, then sometime in the next day or two... and sperm usually lived two or three days in a woman's body. God, what a stupid thing to do. Still, the deliciously FUCKED feeling I had as Dad's prick slowly shrank inside me, made it hard to be too analytical or even worried about such things. God, it felt good. "Now when your father pulls out," Mom instructed me; looking down at where her husband's penis was draining the last few.
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