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Note: You can change font size, font face, and turn on dark mode by clicking the "A" icon tab in the Story Info Box. Please consider leaving feedback on issues you experience or suggest improvements. I was always timid. Don't know why. Just never the rough-and-tumble sort. And I was a homosexual before I even knew what the word meant. I liked cocks even before I knew they could do more than piss, clear back when the only word I knew was "peepees.
Being "queer" was unthinkable, unspeakable, impossible for a sane person. The guilt came hot and heavy. I lived with it to high school graduation, but by then being a damned soul was too much to bear. I agreed to be "called" to become a missionary, hoping somehow to find a cure for the "evil perversion.
Ased to go to a Spanish-speaking country, I went first to the so-called Language Training Mission at BYU, a facility using a building once a women's dormitory. There I did well enough--the physical bullying of high Gay mormon sex stories was over--and I had a knack for languages. The technique, after a day spent in language classes, was to recite the day's lessons to young native speakers, BYU students from Spanish-speaking countries called escuchantes : listeners. They were hired to listen to the missionaries and help them with pronunciation, intonation, etc. As I got better at Spanish, I finished many of my recitations early and spent the rest of the time practicing Spanish chitchat.
No, and as it turned out, after a series of answers moving her "boyfriend" up the ranks and the term gradually moving from amigo [friend] to amante [lover]the process of elimination left one astonishing conclusion. I gulped. Not a month earlier I heard President Pronov, a tall, distinguished-looking business mogul, mourn the death of his wife in an emotional speech.
Fighting to control himself, he muttered, "Sometimes we cannot understand the Lord's plan I found that revelation turned me on so bad, I broke a resolution and found myself in a restroom stall, jacking off to the seething mental image of the mission president rutting on the young woman.
So I'm not the only Mormon ruled by his balls! The next time I recited to her, I took a bold step: I asked her to let me watch them the next time he made love to her. Smiling shyly--and proudly--she agreed. That very evening as the escuchante sessions came to a close, I moved quietly through the halls of the Language Training Mission to the door of the mission president's office. It was not locked--she had left it ajar for me. I pushed it open quietly.
The president's office was a step into an old, dignified world. Dark wood framed the windows and ran mid-height around the walls. Heavy, Gay mormon sex stories mahogany chairs grouped around the huge desk. A ceiling-high bookcase behind the desk held big, leather-bound heirloom volumes. The whole atmosphere of the place was dark, intellectual, and powerful. The young escuchante lay naked on the president's desk, her legs uplifted and held apart in the hands of a man a good 40 years older.
President Pronov stood at the edge of the desk, skewering her, and she lifted her head, staring down at their ing, her face a mask of grim, panting lust.
I'd never seen a woman in such a helpless position. Her pushed-back knees almost touched the desk surface. But she wanted it--her own hands gripped his arms, helping him to splay her. I once caught my parents fucking. I heard sounds and pushed their bedroom door open for a peek. Dad's hips humped against Mom as she lay under him, but because the blankets covered them, I couldn't see any skin.
Nonetheless, from the outlines, I could tell Mom's legs weren't raised, and Dad wasn't on his knees, let alone standing. Compared to the escuchante's position and the mission president's mount, my parents' fucking was poetic and romantic.
President Pronov fucked in an erotic, dominant, conquering way, his bitch doubled up in what had to be an uncomfortable donut. But I heard no complaints. In fact, she gasped encouragements: "Ay, por Dios! Deeper, mi amante, fuck me! It was also the first time I ever saw the mission president without his trademark dark blue suit and conservative tie.
Or pants. And as a fan of the plug more than the socket, I was awed: President Pronov had a cock of biblical proportions. My mouth open in astonishment and an overwhelming, dizzying rush of lustI figured the mission president's cock at a good 10 inches.
And thick. Scary thick. Thicker than his wrist! The escuchante groaned as he reamed her out to his caliber, gradually dropping her head back, eyes rolled up in her head. His hands kneaded her breasts, pinching her nipples into hard, brown bullets, and I could hear his grunts: "Yeah, baby, nice titties. I moved aside for a better look. He wore no rubber. Barebacking her. The mission president's sperm was free-range and cage-free. But again, that was man's role on the earth: to bring down spirits from heaven to take human bodies. And damn, was he ever taking her body! Opening her eyes again to look up at her lover, the young escuchante noticed me from the corner of her eye.
She looked over at me and smiled. Following her glance, the mission president looked back at me. Oh, shit. I moved closer, my heart pounding. I'd never been so close to such an incredible scene--and nothing could have prepared me for what I heard next: "Take off your clothes, Elder, and us. As I pulled off my Mormon garments, finally naked, the president got his gun, thrusting all 10 inches up the screaming escuchante, driving her into yet another orgasm, and he froze, his legs trembling, cumming up the hot woman's cunt.
The smell of sex was heavy in the air as he bent over to lie on her, sweating and breathing hard. Finally I heard him growl, "Come around here where I can see you, Elder. I had seen my father in the bathroom a few times. Long enough to swing back and forth as he moved. Mine was the teenaged version, but I often got admiring glances in the locker rooms. Let me see that thing. I went weak in the knees! I was still in awe of the mission president. For one thing, he was the most powerful man in my life.
And for the first time in my life, a Church authority knew the real me and didn't damn Gay mormon sex stories to hell. Indeed, stripped naked with my cock in his mouth, I had nothing left to hide--and on my part, there was nothing about the mission president I didn't know, from the look of his big cock, wet and slimy from the cunt-juices of his worshipful young bitch, to his wrinkled, winking asshole ringed with hair. While he sucked, I gazed down at his slimy incher as it recovered from the recent ejaculation, his big foreskin folding Gay mormon sex stories over the head like a hangar door slowly closing.
Never dreamed my first orgasm with a partner would be from a mission president's blowjob. My tongue welded to the roof of my mouth, my eyes clenched shut in ecstasy, and I was a lunatic meteor shooting into the sky, out of my mind from the thundering orgasm. His lips formed a bowl around my exploding cock, and I filled it with surge after surge of boiling, slimy cream.Gay mormon sex stories
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