Friday at 4 PM

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Friday came too quickly. As I walked towards Rav Yosef’s office, it was clear that he expected to take me in exchange for the letters of recommendation, the keys to my future. It was also clear that if he took me once, he could take me whenever he wanted till graduation. In the words of those websites, I would become his sex slave, his fuck toy: one of the dark girls he chose every year. I hoped that my plan…



I went in, and stood silently and nervously by the door as Rav Yosef remained engrossed in studying a page of Talmud. After what felt like a long uncomfortable time watching him stroke his long blond beard while he moved his graceful fingers slowly down the entire page, he finished the tractate with a nod and self-satisfied smile, took a deep breath then looked up as if he had just realized that I was in his office.

Bruchim habaim,” he said warmly as he smiled, left his desk and came to welcome me at the doorway. “Please, come in. Have a seat. So nice of you to come.”

While slowly walking towards the two cushioned armchairs, I heard his key turning. I pushed one armchair away from his desk, angled it towards the other then carefully set my purse down.

As he returned from the door, I saw that he had removed the key. So it wasn’t locked just to keep others out, but to keep me in.

From slow motion, the pace changed too quickly.

“Sit! Please sit.”

He strode back to his desk, but not to his chair. He sat on his desk with his slightly parted legs close to my face.

“You know why you’re here?”

I only blushed, and sat rigidly.

“A man, especially a holy man, with my enormous responsibilities, also has enormous needs.”

Blushing deeper; I barely murmured, “…and I can help?”

Smiling broadly; parting his legs a bit more he grasped my tiny trembling wrist in a strong hand, “Yes, you can help, and I’ll show you how.”

As my trembling fingers were held between his legs, his other hand unbuckled his belt and pulled his black trousers below his knees. My eyes scanned his underwear looking for the giant bulge that was always hard and ready on the men on my iPad. Something was wrong.

He quickly pulled down his undershorts, and puffed out his chest like he was showing me the most magnificent cock in Jerusalem. I shouldn’t have been able to tell the difference. I shouldn’t have even known the word cock. But what he had shown me was a toy, a newborn chick, not an avenging monster. It was a downy chick in a nest with a naked head and straining neck begging for the regurgitated bugs its mother had brought back to the nest.

I giggled.

“What’s funny?” Annoyed, his chest shrinking.

“Nothing,” I lied, “I’m just nervous, and so happy to be here with you.”

Placated, he put my hand on his downy chick, and groaned. It was so small. I put my other hand under his balls. Nestling his balls and baby cock, they disappeared between my two tiny hands. I began cuddling them gently. His breathing matching the rhythm of my gentle squeezes.

“Open your mouth,” he commanded!

One hand still nestling his balls, I brushed my face across his belly: my lips, eyes, cheeks; then across his baby cock.

Groaning deeply, “Open your mouth, please.”

Oh, I wanted to, like a mother protecting and nurturing her young: sucking them into my mouth, cuddling them with my tongue and warm breath till cum dripped from the corners of my mouth as I struggled to swallow as much as possible, but I couldn’t.

Pulling my face from him as I gently pushed him away with two small palms against his belly. “Not yet,” I gently whispered.

“Please,” now just a pained whimper.

“I want it to be special. I want you to do something for me first.”

He looked confused, then shocked as I began undressing; throwing my black and white uniform, piece by piece towards the door.

I sat back down in the armchair putting one leg over a cushioned arm. I rested one hand as if shyly covering my pussy, “Kiss me; kiss me with your lips and fingers,” as I drew away my hand tugging against one pussy lip exposing myself for him.

Stunned, his legs seemed to melt as he sank slowly, his blond beard brushing my pussy lips, tongue licking along the tiny pink slit as I sank my tiny fingers into his long blond side-locks and began wrapping them tightly around my small fists.

“Your fingers, too,” I nearly hissed.

Time slowed down now as I guided him around my holes: the pink one and the tiny brown flower with tugs on his side-locks, hints hissed or whispered and the slow raising and lowering of my hips to give his lips and fingers access to most secret needs.

I was closer now. “Put your fingers in me: two in my pussy; two in my ass!” As I felt his fingers from one hand spread and enter me, I pulled his lips harshly against my clit. “Lick it! Lick my clit!”

Holding him tightly against me, I began rocking against his face and fingers. Fucking his face, using it like a fuck toy.

“I’m so close. Use your free hand. Squeeze my titties. Twist and pinch my nipples! Harder! Yes, like that!”

My slim pale legs locked behind his neck, my slim arms pulled his side-locks, trapping his head tight against my cunt as I began rocking his face harder.

“Lick me!” A guttural rumble became a scream. “LICK ME!”

His hand covered my mouth as I screamed my orgasms into his palm.

The hot smashing waves wrenching my body slowly subsided into tiny waves lapping the shores of my pussy lips. “Don’t move!”

I lay motionless a long time just feeling the pulse in my pussy against his lips and the tiny spasms around his fingers in my holes. Then I began unwinding him from me: opening legs, fingers; stretching to get control of my limbs again. I blinked a few times then opened my eyes.

Still kneeling between my legs, he looked pleased with himself.

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  • Ayo Oppenheimer

    Wow. An intense story and a reversal of the usual victim-perpetrator dynamic, for sure.

    You wrote in your introduction:

    “Humiliation and degradation, along with extensive permanent psychological damage, are also the results of abuse of young people by clerics and teachers who use their positions for personal sexual gratification. While most clerics and teachers perform their duties quietly and honorably, news reports too often describe others who don’t.”

    But may I ask what inspired you specifically to write this story? And what inspires you to write your pieces generally? For example, is “The Rabbi’s Wife” modeled after a real person in your community?

    • BJ Juneberry

      Dear Ayo, one of your questions is “kiss and tell,” which would make make me more of a journalist. However, if I relied only on imagination, I should focus on Sci-Fi and fantasy. Good writers use people they know to create stories; the more intimate the knowledge the better the story.

      I choose topics which prick the collective social conscious on taboo subjects in order to provoke thought, stimulate dialogue and hopefully reduce someone’s suffering, including my own.

      As for “kiss and tell,” who one kisses is important, but where they’re kissed is critical. If you decide to publish my next story, you’ll see what I mean.