Jehovah's Sinner

Chapter 2

(This is inspired by a true story of a friend of mine; names and locations have been changed to protect his anonymity. This is a true account of his sexual experiences, which led him down a dark path into porn and his fleshy desires)

It was a beautiful Tuesday morning in Sydney.

Dean was six-foot-two of pure, walking trouble.

Olive skin from his Māori mother, a sharp Aussie jaw from his father, and shoulders that tested the seams of every dress shirt. Bold Māori tattoos wrapped around both forearms, thick black lines and traditional koru patterns that shifted when he moved. A small silver hoop glinted in his left ear. The moment he stepped onto the open-plan trading floor at Citibank, heads turned. Dean’s easy, dangerous smile reached his dark eyes like he already knew every filthy secret in the room. The faint trail of his Tom Ford Black Orchid cologne followed him like a predator’s scent.

Nathan noticed him the way a drowning man notices oxygen.

Ten years ago, Citibank’s dress policy would never have allowed that earring, he thought the first morning Dean walked past his desk. Funny how fast times change. The observation sat heavily in his chest, a strange mix of elder disapproval and a forbidden, shameful thrill that made his cock twitch in his suit trousers.

He tried not to stare. He failed every single day. In team meetings, he found his eyes locked on those thick, tattooed forearms, the way the ink moved over muscle when Dean gestured. When Dean rolled up his sleeves, Nathan’s throat went dry and his mind flashed to Caleb, to stolen nights and the taste of sin he had buried for twenty years. At night, after kissing Sarah goodnight and reading Grace a bedtime story about Noah’s Ark from the My Book of Bible Stories, he would lock himself in the bathroom, open incognito mode, and stroke furiously to his favourite OnlyFans stars. But now Dean’s face, Dean’s voice, and those tattooed forearms invaded every fantasy. He came harder than he had in years, whispering Dean’s name like a prayer, then immediately hated himself as he cleaned up and slipped back into bed beside his sleeping wife.

From the very first week, Dean sensed it.

“Nathan. Rewrite this report. I want it on my desk by three.”
“Yes, Dean.” Nathan answered instantly, shoulders relaxing under the command.
“Drop everything and pull the latest portfolio numbers for me.”
“Yes, Dean.” Quick. Eager. A subtle flush creeping up his neck.

Dean watched with dark satisfaction. Submissive straight man. Married. Clean cut. And fucking desperate to be told what to do. The gold wedding band on Nathan’s finger only made the game sweeter.

A few weeks later, during a small birthday celebration in the breakout area, Nathan stood at the edge of the group, polite smile fixed, refusing cake as usual.

Later in the kitchenette, Dean leaned against the counter, arms crossed so the tattoos flexed. “Not a cake guy?”

Nathan gave the well-practised answer. “I’m one of Jehovah’s Witnesses. We don’t celebrate birthdays.”

Dean’s eyebrow rose, followed by that slow, predatory smile. His eyes dropped deliberately to the wedding ring. Married. Perfect. “No holidays at all? Fascinating. I’ve always been curious about the Bible.”

Nathan’s face lit up; he felt the urge to witness stir. “I’d be happy to study with you. Free Bible studies. No pressure.”

Dean’s dark eyes gleamed. “Yeah… I’d like that. Very much.”

That conversation sealed Nathan’s fate.

The first Bible study was at Dean’s sleek apartment two weeks later. Nathan arrived straight from the gym in a fitted grey t-shirt and jeans, Bible under his arm, telling himself this was still about truth. Sarah had kissed him on the cheek before he left, reminding him that the kids had school projects due. Joshua needed help with his history project. Grace needed some art supplies.

But the moment he stepped inside, the air felt thick. Dean wore a tight black long-sleeved tee that clung to his powerful chest. He let his gaze drag slowly over Nathan’s body, lingering on the wedding ring.

“Looking good, Elder,” he said, low and teasing.

They sat on the leather couch. Dean’s thigh pressed firmly against his. Every scripture Nathan read about moral cleanness felt like a joke. Dean’s questions grew sharper.

“So the Bible really calls homosexuality a sin?”
“What happens if a man struggles with those kinds of urges?”

Nathan’s voice stayed steady, but his cock was painfully hard against his jeans. That night, after he got home and helped Joshua with his history project while Sarah bathed Grace, he jerked off twice in the shower, shame twisting violently inside him.

The second and third studies were worse. Dean sat closer. His hand would brush Nathan’s thigh “accidentally.” His questions became filthy.

“Tell me, Nathan… when you’re lying next to your wife at night, do you ever think about cock?”

Nathan would flush crimson and try to steer back to scripture, but his dick stayed hard the entire hour.

By the fourth study, the dam broke.

They were reading Romans chapter 1. Dean grabbed the Bible and tossed it aside.

“You keep preaching how wrong it is,” he murmured, voice rough, “but I can see how badly you want it. Now enough games.

On your knees.”

Nathan’s heart was racing so fast he thought it would burst from his chest. “Dean… we can’t—”

“On. Your. Knees. Now.”

Nathan dropped.

Dean gripped his hair firmly and pulled his face into his crotch. “You’ve sucked cock before, haven’t you, church boy?” Nathan nodded, flushed with shame. Dean unzipped, pulled out his thick, heavy cock, and fed it to him. “That’s it. Take every inch like the good little slut you are. Deeper. Fuck yes. Look at you, married Jehovah’s Witness elder choking on my dick while your wife waits at home.”

Nathan came untouched in his jeans, sobbing with guilt as Dean flooded his throat. “Swallow it all fag.

Nathan left that night with Dean’s cum still warm in his stomach. He drove home in silence, then kissed Sarah on the lips like nothing had happened. While she read Grace a story, he sat with Joshua helping with homework, the taste of Dean still on his tongue.

The fifth study escalated.

Dean had him on his knees again, but this time he made Nathan strip completely naked while he stayed dressed.

“Hands behind your back. Eyes on me.”

Nathan looked up at Dean. From now on, in private, you will address me as Sir, and you will address yourself as faggot.

“Yes, Sir.”

“And what are you?”

“A faggot, Sir.”

As soon as the words left Nathan’s lips, a switch went off in his brain. He was no longer an elder or a family man; he was Dean’s faggot.

Good, then Dean proceeded to fuck his face slowly, brutally, slapping his cheeks with his heavy cock between thrusts. “Tell me what you are.”

“I’m… I’m a faggot, Sir,” Nathan whispered, voice breaking.

“Louder.”

“I’m a dirty Jehovah’s Witness faggot slut.”

Dean laughed darkly and came down his throat again. Afterwards, he made Nathan crawl across the floor to fetch him a drink, ass up, cock leaking onto the tiles.

That night at home, Sarah asked why he was so quiet. Nathan lied and said work was stressful. He tucked Grace into bed, read her a bible story about Jonah and the whale, then went to the bathroom and jerked off, remembering how Dean had called him a faggot.

The sixth study was the first time Dean touched his hole.

Nathan was naked on all fours on the leather couch. Dean had three fingers buried deep, stretching him mercilessly.

Nathan cried the second the fingers pushed inside, hot, shameful tears rolling down his face. “It hurts… Dean, please… It’s been twenty years…”

“Twenty fucking years?” Dean growled, scissoring him open. “Your wife has no idea her husband is a desperate faggot getting his hole stretched, does she? Poor little housewife.

Nathan sobbed openly as Dean finger-fucked him, prostate milking drop after drop of precum onto the couch.

Cry for me, slut. It only makes my cock harder.”

Dean made him beg for it, made him say “I’m a married hypocrite who needs cock more than I need Jehovah” before he finally pulled his fingers out.

That night Nathan went home, kissed Sarah goodnight, and lay awake beside her for hours, ass still tingling, guilt eating him alive.

The seventh study, Dean finally fucked him.

He bent Nathan over the arm of the couch, lubed his cock, and thrust in hard. Nathan screamed into the cushion as the thick head forced its way past his virgin-tight ring.

“Fuck… you’re so goddamn tight,” Dean groaned, only halfway in. “This hole hasn’t been fucked in twenty years and it’s still trying to choke me out. Relax, slut, or I’ll rip you open.”

Nathan was crying hard, tears and snot soaking the leather. “It hurts… Dean… I can’t… its too much… please stop…”

Dean slapped his ass hard. “Don’t you fucking complain fag, while my cock is in you.” He pushed deeper, relentless, until he bottomed out. “There we go. All the way in your married elder ass. Feel that? That’s what you’ve been missing while you preached purity on the platform.”

He fucked Nathan like he owned him, long, brutal strokes, one hand fisted in his hair, the other slapping his ass red. “You’re going to wear a plug for me. Every day at the office. I want you grinding on it during meetings, leaking while you talk about the quarter’s financials to your team.”

Nathan came untouched twice, sobbing with shame and pleasure.

Afterwards, as he lay leaking and broken on the couch, Dean handed him the plug and lube.

Nathan shook his head, still crying. “I… I can’t take that home. Sarah might find it. She does the laundry, checks the drawers…”

Dean smirked. “Fine. I’ll bring it to the office tomorrow. You’ll keep it in your locked bottom drawer. Every morning you come in, you lock your door, bend over your desk, and slide it in. You wear it all fucking day. No excuses. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir,” Nathan whispered.

The next morning at Citibank, Dean delivered the plug in a discreet paper bag. Nathan locked his office door, bent over his desk with his suit trousers around his ankles, and worked the lubed toy into his still, sore hole. He spent the entire day subtly grinding on it during meetings, face flushed, cock leaking into his underwear while he discussed quarterly targets. Every time Dean walked past his desk and gave him a knowing look, Nathan’s hole clenched around the plug.

That evening, he went home to Sarah’s smile and the kids’ laughter. He helped Joshua with maths, read Grace her favourite Bible story about David and Goliath, then fucked Sarah dutifully in the dark when she initiated, eyes closed, thinking of Dean’s cock the whole time.

The cycle repeated. Each Bible study grew more degrading.

One night Dean made him wear Sarah’s panties under his jeans to the apartment. Another night, he filmed Nathan riding a thick dildo on the floor while reading the Watchtower. He made Nathan call himself “Elder Cumdump” and “Brother Hypocrite” while bouncing on his cock.

In the office, the plug became routine. Dean would text him commands:

“Grind harder in the 10 am meeting.”
“Send me a photo of your leaking cock under your desk.”
“Meet me in the fire stairwell, I wanna breed you before lunch.”

Nathan obeyed every time.

Weeks blurred. Nathan was drunk on lust from the constant stress and arousal. Sarah noticed he seemed distant, but praised him for working so hard. Joshua asked why Daddy was always tired. Grace drew him a picture of their family at the Kingdom Hall.

And every time Nathan stood on the platform giving a talk about “keeping clean from the world,” fresh cum from Dean’s morning load would still be leaking slowly into his underwear.

Dean was breaking him beautifully.

At work, Dean remained the consummate professional, with sharp shirts, a commanding presence, and a reputation for delivering flawless financial reports. But in private, beneath the polished exterior, Dean was something altogether darker and depraved. He revelled in the power he held over Nathan, manipulating the Elder’s guilt and desire with a predator’s precision.

Every command Dean issued, every degradation he forced upon Nathan, was a reminder of the alpha role he played in their secret world. He pushed boundaries, testing just how far Nathan would go, how much he would surrender. And Nathan, despite the crushing weight of guilt and the fear of discovery, obeyed. He craved the dominance Dean wielded, the way it obliterated his control and left him raw and exposed.

Dean’s duality was intoxicating, a man who could effortlessly switch between the boardroom and the bedroom, between professional respect and private humiliation.

It was this contradiction that made Nathan feel both terrified and alive, torn between the life he’d built and the depraved alpha who had dismantled it.

To be continued…

Next chapter, Nathan confesses his darkest desires to Dean…