Summer Ch. 20

She started as she felt his hand, slowly and purposely, close around the softly rounded globe of her bottom, moulding itself to her shape. She bit her lip to stop herself from crying out as he deliberately and calculatingly squeezed her cheek. She could feel small beads of sweat starting along her hairline, his hand felt huge and hot, his breath heavy and threatening behind her. Her head swam as he groped his way over her, feeling her shape, pressing up against her. She had somehow lost control of the situation, between the Church and here and she was panicked. She stood stock still as his hand moved back to her bottom, following the contours of her cheeks. She was rooted to the spot, shock and disbelief taking their toll in equal parts.

His hand moved easily, feeling its way from cheek to cheek, confident, thorough; and she could feel herself begin to tremble as his hand slid slowly down the back of her thigh, moving lower until his fingers finally touched bare skin and with a deliberate and calculated slowness he lifted the back of her short, pleated dress; carefully tucking it up at the back, exposing her from the waist down.

His hand immediately moulded itself once again to the contours of her cheek. She whimpered slightly as he squeezed and fondled her through the thin material of her knickers, his hands growing stronger, more sure, more dominant.

"I told you I am not a man to be teased," he whispered quietly, his mouth still hot and foetid against her ear. He gripped her, kneading her cheeks with the palm of his hand, his fingers hard and insistent, dipping into the dark cleft that separated them, slowly working the material down.

"Not a man to be teased," he whispered, dark and menacing, his breath in her hair and she shook beneath his hands.

"Nice arse," he said quietly, the word sounding even more shocking from a vicar and he laughed again.

"But there again," he added after a brief pause, "I always knew it would be."

She felt his hand move over her with a growing intimacy, moving up under the top of her skirt onto the soft skin above her knickers, skin new exposed by the movement of his hands; and she knew that she had lost her chance to object to him, to express indignation at his actions, for an outraged outburst of moral anger, to save herself from further intimacy under his hands.

Taking the soft material of her knickers in both hands he pulled the elasticated waistband away from her skin. He paused for a moment and she waited, she could feel him looking down in to the back of her knickers, looking at her bared bottom like some small and naughty schoolboy. She tensely waited for what seemed like an age, her forehead resting against the ancient crusty glass of the notice board; before she felt his hand slip slowly down inside the back of her pants, flesh against unresisting flesh, sliding slowly and silently down into the darkness where her secrets were kept. The only noise the soft, excited, exhalation of held in breath at her ear. She shuddered as she felt his fingers glide down in the darkness inside her pants, intimately exploring, crudely searching.

His hand felt huge behind her, filling the back of her knickers, covering her cheeks, his fingers pushing rudely into the cleft between them and her legs began to tremble. She rolled her forehead against the glass as she silently acquiesced in her own violation.

She tried to keep still but she could feel herself shaking, dazed and shocked.

"See what happens to little girls who tease?" he said and he squeezed her flesh, his finger pressing against the small, secret, bud of her anus. He pressed a little harder and his hand shook with the adrenaline rush. He felt her tense, he had never felt so strong, so in command and without knowing really what he was doing except that it was forbidden, he pressed a little harder until the tip of his finger just began to open her and she whimpered.

He was doing things he had never dreamed possible, he had this young woman exactly where he wanted her, and was shocked at her passivity, her acceptance of his advances and her seeming complete acquiescence to what he was doing to her. There was no objection to his hands in her knickers, to his touching her, not even a token resistance, she just stood still and let him do as he pleased; and his mind raced with the sudden sexual possibilities she presented, the opportunities to touch and unclothe; and his mind reeled, a flash of light, his epiphany complete.

She did not feel his hand shake as he took the thin waistband of her knickers in his hand and slowly and deliberately pulled the back of them down below the pink, scrubbed cheeks of her bottom. When she realised what he was doing she cried out and made a move to catch hold of them and he laughed and in a voice that brooked no argument he snarled "leave them," and she stopped in mid motion.

"That's better," he said as her hands dropped subserviently to her side and he reached around her, fumbling up and under the front of her skirt to grab the waistband of her knickers and to pull the front down onto her thighs just as he had at the back. As he pulled them down the back of his fingers accidentally brushed lightly against her pubic hair and his heart missed a beat. He hesitated for a moment and his mouth dried up. The touch at her sex, the brief brush against her pubic hair made him suddenly and terrifyingly aware of the enormity of what he was doing. He was standing in the vestibule of a dark and decrepit old village hall pulling down the knickers of one of his parishioners, one of the women in his congregation, one of the woman he was supposed to succour and protect, not fondle and abuse.

He had completely crossed the line, his behaviour was so outrageous that if discovered his life in this community, in any decent community, was over. He would be a pariah, an outcast, defrocked and cast out. His life was already in tatters, everything he had worked for and become had been risked in this one brief moment of sexual madness, crystallised into the accidental brush against this young woman's pubic hair. He hesitated, his logical mind trying to stop the folly but uncontrollably the sexual urge proved stronger and his hand continued to work her knickers down from under her skirt.

"Just do as you're told and you'll find I can be very nice," he said, his hands shaking as he worked the loose material down her thighs.

"You see I like a girl who does what she's told."

She whimpered slightly as his hands, in their haste and excitement harshly handled her.

"No use snivelling now," he said as with one hand he pushed her knickers further down her legs before pushing her legs hurriedly apart with his foot. He straightened up, running his hand back up between her thighs and back onto her bottom.

"You brought this on yourself you know," he snarled. "Flashing your body at me, making fun of me, thinking I would be a safe target, that I wouldn't do anything. I'll bet you told all your friends what you'd done, had a good laugh at me didn't you?"

Pat shook her head, shocked and dazed, she could feel his fingers tremble with excitement as he caressed her, her arse and her hips, his desire in plain sight, his own darkness finally exposed.

"Open your legs," he instructed and she hesitated for a moment but he squeezed her naked cheek hard and she winced.

"Open them," he repeated threateningly and so she opened her legs further for him, shuffling slightly in her fear, conditioned by his authority to obey.

"That's better," he said, his hands stroking her flanks and cheeks, "no more teasing now is there?" She shook her head.

He could not breathe when he looked at her, almost naked from the waist down, her skirt high and out of the way, her knickers around her knees. He prayed silently to himself, his lips mouthing the words, his mind on the edge of hysteria, a whirl of fear and lust, his erection hard and painful in his trousers. With shaking hands he grasped her bottom with both hands, exploring, kneading, excitedly absorbing every curve, every texture. He worked his hand slowly up and down the crack of her bottom, feeling the dark warmth of her secret brown skin, probing rudely, intimately and she whimpered. No one had ever touched her like this, so familiarly, not even her doctor; but like her doctor the man behind her now knew exactly what he was doing when he touched her. He knew how to unclothe her, how to search her forbidden places and how to expose her for his needs. But unlike the doctor the vicar's hands shook.

She placed her own hands on the wall to brace herself as his fingers worked their way slowly down between her cheeks, following the line down between her legs.

"Further," he said quietly, authoritatively, "open them further." And she obediently shuffled her legs further apart to allow his hand access to her. Watching her stand there with her legs apart, waiting for him to touch her, he paused for a moment as he struggled with an overwhelming desire to cum. He moaned quietly and shook as he fought for control of his ejaculation. Yet all she could feel was his hand as it slid slowly down into the darkness between her legs.

For him there was a moments fumbling in unfamiliar territory and then his fingers closed on her, as he always knew they would; warm and moist, soft and trembling, the object of his deepest desires. Desires he had often prayed to overcome and desires he had quite obviously failed to erase.

She gasped as his fingers found her, reaching for her from behind, between her legs, sliding inexpertly along the length of her, along the soft, wet, line of her sex. Yet his large fingers were strangely inept, strangely tender, almost childishly gentle in their assault up on her most intimate of places. His trembling fingers, as they followed along the line of her lips, separating and stroking, were surprisingly tormenting, unexpectedly erotic.

"Yes," he said quietly against her ear, his incredulous fingers softly caressing her sex as if it were some warm, small bird, "that's what I've been looking for. Thank you," although if asked he would have been hard pressed to say what he was thanking her for.

His fingers pushed between her lips, opening her up, feeling her wetness transfer itself onto his hand.

"It feels like you have a beautiful fanny," he said at last as his fingers travelled wetly along her. He laughed harshly.

"Has anyone ever told you that?" he asked and she shook her head.

"No?" he asked pleased with her answer and his finger slipped inside her, seeming to suddenly fill her, causing her to lean heavily against the wall as though her legs would no longer support her.

Looking down she could not see his hand between her thighs; she could only feel his finger inside her, filling her, making her tremble and she groaned as he pressed himself home.

"No?" He asked again as he continued quietly to explore her sex, "I find that hard to believe. It feels beautiful to me," and she hung her head, biting her lip and fighting back the tears and the sudden unexpected need to cum.

Once again he ran his finger along the length of her, from the front to the back of her sex, she was already very wet and his finger moved easily between her lips and he rejoiced in the feeling, he could not ever remember feeling anything so beautiful, so rare, as this young woman's soft wet sex. Her knees sagged again and she remained upright only by resting her head against the wall in front of her. His finger made the return journey, moving between her lips with the hubris born of his growing confidence, his growing intimacy with and knowledge of her body.

He finally realised that he now had complete control of her and providing he used her wisely, at least at first, he could do with her what he pleased. He could not believe how easily she had fallen. She was not going to report him now, her chance had passed, he was safe.

He reached the top of her sex, searching for and finding the small nub of her clitoris and she stiffened and cried out as he touched it, her forehead pressed against the wall.

"Ah yes," he said gleefully, his finger circling the hard little point, "that is what I believe they call 'the clitoris', the 'pleasure centre', the 'g-spot', the centre of your universe. It's what all the current excitement is about in your generation; or so I've read. It seems that you have just invented it. We'll have to check it out properly at some point won't we?"

She hung her head and tried not to cry out as his finger centred on the spot. "Sensitive isn't it," he said, his finger making dazzling, lazy circles, that lit up in fireworks behind her eyes and made her groan.

"Do you like it? Do you like me doing this? You do don't you? He said and she slid slowly forward, leaning more heavily against the wall. "You don't have to answer now," he said, "we'll have plenty of time to discuss it later," and his finger moved back along her sex and she almost collapsed with despair and relief.

His finger slipped inside her, sliding into her, filling her and this time she could not control herself and she cried out.

"Ah, so you do like it," he said, "I thought you would," he said and pressed his finger deeper inside her. She cried out again, feeling her self control slipping away from her, his fingers and his words stripping her of her ability to think straight or even to stand up. He pressed again and with a small shudder she came on his finger, sagging hard against the wall.

He laughed, his breath harsh against her cheek.

"Well," he said triumphantly, "that was easy wasn't it? Very quick. I hardly touched you. Just you wait until I really get my fingers inside you," she shuddered, her face pressed up against the wall, her legs apart. His fingers withdrew and she moaned softly.

"I think I'm going to enjoy getting to grips with you; and I know that you're going to enjoy it as well, a joint voyage of discovery." He patted her affectionately on her naked rear and stepped back. "You have a really beautiful bottom," he said his hand lingering on the soft globe. "And a very beautiful fanny," he said his hand slipping down between her legs as if reluctant to let go of his wet prize, "I'm really going to enjoy you."

With a discernible effort he pushed himself away from the young woman, leaving her hard against the wall. He paused for a moment.

"Oh, and Pat," he said, but she didn't look up, just sagged against the wall with her head down.

He heard a muffled 'What?', she was still standing with her skirt tucked up around her waist, her legs apart with her knickers half way down her thighs, her naked bottom on display. His wet finger marks glinted in the sunlight on her skin. He touched her and she flinched.

"I was just going to say 'don't forget to pull your pants up'. We don't want anyone to get the wrong idea about you do we? Some people wouldn't understand you going out half naked; they might think you were easy."

He laughed to himself and made to turn away, "Oh and yes," he said turning back and standing close behind her again, "while I'm thinking about it." He fondled her bottom again and she shuddered. "While I have really enjoyed our little 'conversation' here today, I don't want you to run away with the idea that I'm finished with you. Do you understand?"

She remained quiet, her head resting on her arms which were braced against the wall. With his hand still on her bottom he reached under her arm with his free hand and grasped her breast, squeezing it. "Do you understand?" he repeated and she gasped at the semi painful pressure. "Do you understand?"

"Yes," she said quietly, "Yes, I understand."

"Good," he said smiling, "I'll see you later then," and without a backward glance at the exposed and spread eagled young woman, as if in a sudden hurry to flee the scene of the crime, he turned and walked out of the front door into the sunshine.