The Pastor's ChairbyNigel Debonnaire©
Fr. Mike Castella went into the office where Shelley was folding bulletins on a rainy Friday morning. He was wearing his dark overcoat over his formal suit and Roman collar, holding his alb and diocesan vestments in a bag draped over his arm. "I'm off to the funeral. Don't expect to be back until 7, so don't forward any calls, in fact, you can let the answering machine take everything after noon."
"Okay, Father," Shelley said, smiling broadly. She looked up at him from her work table with her warm brown eyes; she wore a v-neck sweater, a plaid skirt, tan hose, and black shoes. Her fingers nimbly folded the bulletins and stacked them on the table before her as she talked. "Is there anything else you want me to do?"
"Oh damn, I forgot to take care of the cats, they're out of food. Would you go up and take care of it?"
"I'd love to, but some cats can be finicky."
"My cats love any attention from anyone. Don't worry. Their feed is under the bar. "
"I'll find it."
"Are you sure you can cope with everything by yourself today?"
"Oh yes, Father. Glenda showed me everything."
"Great. Thanks, Shelley." He turned away from the office and turned down the hallway to the garage, and a few moments later, Shelley heard the car start and the door grind open as he left.
After the door shut, she kept on her task, folding one bulletin after another. Fr. Mike was a frequent fantasy of hers: a tall, handsome man in his mid 50s, dark hair beginning to show grey highlights, a short friendly beard and strong hands with long fingers. At Mass, she couldn't help looking as his hands as he went through the ritual movements, so graceful and delicate. Part of her mind always wandered to image how they might touch her, trace delicate patterns on her skin, tease and stimulate her.
She finished her task and looked at the falling rain. The clock hadn't reached 12 yet, but the parking lot was scarcely occupied: it was First Friday adoration, those people weren't very likely to come to the Rectory, and the doors leading to the church were locked. The news of the Bishop's funeral was all over the local news since his death on Monday, so there were people at home watching it on TV. Around the back of the church, the food pantry took care of those in need who stopped by, so the odds of someone ringing the doorbell was remote.
"Okay, kitties, here I come." It was strange walking up the padded stairway to the living quarters. Shelley had never been in such a place before, and the prospect thrilled her. Reaching the hallway, she saw a number of doors identical to the ones downstairs. A small study was first on the left, a guest room, immaculately prepared on the right. The second left was an unused suite: until ten years ago, there was an Associate Pastor who occupied these rooms. It was a trio of connected rooms, a sitting room, bedroom and bath, clean and devoid of life.
On the left was the Pastor's suite; Shelley thought she'd walked into an elegant home. The living room was larger than the room across the way, tastefully decorated with oriental art and small statues of Mary and St. Francis of Assisi. A small bar was over by the window, and the cat food where the Pastor said it would be.
Getting out the bag, she went back into the bedroom in search of the catfood bowl. The door to the walk in closet was on her left, open revealing an ample collection of clerical garb and golf wear. A large queen sized bed dominated the room, its quilted spread clearly hand made. In the far corner, she saw the empty bowls and water dish, a jug of spring water beside them. As she bent over and poured the food out, the cats made their appearance, meowing and rubbing up against her legs affectionately. When she filled it, she reached down and stroked the lovely animals as they ate. One was pure white and the other pure black. They arched their backs seeking her hands as she stroked them, multitasking easily. "He must have forgotten you for a while, naughty boys. I'll take care of you."
Satisfied they had enough food, she went returned the bag to its place and went to his bathroom to wash her hands. It was an ordinary bathroom, arranged like her bathroom at home with a man's toiletries, with the addition of a series of clippers and combs for beard maintenance. Soaping up generously, she made sure her hands were clean, because she had a slight allergy to cats in the past.
Going back into the living room, she noticed a huge leather recliner parked in perfect relationship to the huge, High Definition Television and sound system. Running her hands over the leather, she imagined him sitting there, half asleep in front of it at odd hours, relaxing. She felt her heart jump and fell into a fantasy where he invited her up here to meet him, smiling his beatific smile as she knelt before him in adoration, cradling her head in his hands as she pleased him.
Softly, she went back and pushed the bedroom door shut. The feelings were getting too strong for her, and she had to do something about them. She sat in his chair, burrowing into its embrace. For a moment, she almost turned on the television, just to see what he would watch, but she didn't want to know his secret pleasures. The leather felt divine under her fingers, and it gave her an idea.
She giggled like a school girl, standing up and slipping off her shoes, wiggling her stockinged toes on the pastor's carpet. Grasping the sweater bottom, she pulled it over her head in a single motion, revealing her lacy, push up bra. Sitting down was heaven, feeling the soft leather against her back, and she wiggled into it. Sighing, she said aloud: "Father Mike, what would you do if you knew I was here?"
Her crotch began to get slippery. Pulling up her skirt, she saw a wet spot on her white panties, and wiggled out of them. The skin of her bottom relished the leather's touch, and soon her skirt was off as well. Then, she peeled off her hose and unhooked her bra, now naked in her Pastor's rooms.
"This is too much, too much, too much," she murmured. Reclining, she flipped on her stomach, pushing as much of her skin as she could into contact with the chair, making love to it with her mouth open, eyes shut. Her hand slipped between her legs, reaching into the damp valley past her clean shaven mound, teasing herself and making herself quiver. Feeling the balance was wrong, she stopped and turned over carefully: she could see tipping over, hurting herself badly, and explaining to EMT how it all happened. She felt secure and balanced in the chair; now she was where she wanted to be.
Her right hand reached below, her experienced fingers knowing just what made her happy; her left hand traced her breasts, playing with her nipples and making them hard as rocks. "Oh, Michael, Michael, Michael, Michael," she moaned, and soon her body began to tremble uncontrollably, thrashing wildly in the chair and her voice sang a low note of ecstasy that went from low to high, soft to loud. The orgasm lasted for hours, it seemed, and she never wanted come down from the mountaintop.
Getting up, she walked back through the bedroom to the bathroom to freshen up. The cats were sitting on the bed, watching, and she felt a thrill knowing they'd probably seen their master naked and now they would have her bare image in their eyes as well. A quick run through the shower, a luxurious sensation, still damp from his morning shower, and brisk toweling brought her slowly back to reality. The damp towel made her think a little frightened for a moment, but she'd take it downstairs to wash it with anything at the bottom of the clothes chute. Returning to the living room, she still tingled from the thrill of being naked in her pastor's private sanctuary.
Dressing and returning downstairs, she checked the answering machine to find it empty, and saw the cars in the parking lot hadn't changed since last she looked. A trip downstairs with the dirty towel led to the discovered of a basket full of dirty sheets and towels and she made her contribution, putting it into the washer.
At the end, of the day, as the door clicked shut behind her, she wondered what it would be like when he returned. Would he recognize the smell on his recliner?