The Vicar of St. Dunstan's Ep. 01byNigel Debonnaire©
The first of three episodes a new series about Fr. Alfred, Vicar of St. Dunstan's. Categorizing these episodes is tough, since there isn't a "Dramedy" category on this site. Suggestions for future episodes are welcome, if you'd like to see more of Fr. Alfred and his flock.
The Quilting Ladies
The tri-weekly run ended with a sprint across the high street to the steps of St. Dunstan's as Charlotte Church sang _Panis Angelicus_ from my iPod. I looked at my watch and was satisfied: a good time and a good workout. The day was bright and wet in the mid-morning, but it was already getting a bit steamy. "At least it's not like Kansas," I said to no one in particular, and entered the door to the church basement.
The basement hallway was cooler, but that would change soon. It reminded me of stale church basements of my youth in Western Kansas near Hays; the clamminess that competed with the summer's swelter and highlighted the winter's frigidity. England was different, and I loved it. Ten years ago I was ordained an Episcopal Priest for the Diocese of Topeka, and five years ago I had the chance to do graduate study at Oxford. Within a year, I'd attained resident status and transferred to the Church of England: an Anglophile's dream. Everything about this country was a dream, and only a couple of missing pieces kept my joy from being complete.
Now, I'm thirty five, and not in bad shape. I'm around 6'1", 185 pounds with dark brown hair and long sensitive fingers. My childhood dentist said I could have been a musician, and I followed that star for a while before taking the dog collar.
St. Dunstan's was a working class, High Church parish, ideal for me. The people weren't quite as eccentric as British sitcoms such as The Vicar of Dibley or Father Ted, but they were honest, direct and good hearted folks who tolerated most quirks in each other and in me. I had been their Vicar for four years, and we'd settled into a comfortable rhythm of life.
The Quilting Ladies were at work in their special room. It was spacious and airy, containing several large wooden forms and rolling chairs to ease the detail work. The quilts went to the elderly and infirm of the parish; the Quilting Ladies were a hoot to hang around with. I pulled a bottle of water from the basement kitchen refrigerator and took it into the Quilting Room with me, looking forward to an amusing interlude.
"Hiya, Vicar. How's it going?"
"Father Alfred, so good to see you."
"Hi, ladies, what's news?"
There were three at work on a quilt that morning: Mavis Hazelton, a plump, medium height lady whose dark hair was almost completely surrendering to grey: Sheila Button, a tall, thin, handsome woman in her mid-sixties whose blond hair was progressing to silver with dignity; Mary Sterns, a medium height, perfectly proportioned, bottle red head of sixty who looked fifteen years younger. They were dressed in average working clothes: their feet were bare as their shoes rested nearby, Mary and Sheila had on Arsenal t-shirts and jeans; Mavis wore a sleeveless dress that was cool, and exposed a significant amount of her cleavage. These three could keep me in stitches for hours. Mavis was on the far side of the quilt, while Mary and Sheila were near me as I stood beside the work. These women were always around and this was a small parish, so they took care of everything: cleaning the church, cooking for me, counting the collection, dusting the vicarage. We hit it off right away on my arrival and I was inordinately fond of them, but a fondness that could never be expressed directly, or so I thought. Mary began: "Who's in your ears today, Vicar? Rutter, Vaughn Williams, or C. Hubert H. Parry?"
There were few secrets around St. Dunstan's. "A change of pace, Charlotte Church."
"Lovely young lass," Mavis chimed in.
Sheila nodded, "And such a lovely voice. Pity about those pictures they took of her on the beach."
"Pity. And we didn't even see that much of her," Mary commented.
I smirked: "Well, if I thought too much about what she looked like, it would be difficult to run,." The three ladies laughed heartily.
"We were wondering about that earlier this morning, Vicar." Sheila queried. "You're not gay, are you?"
The directness of the question took me aback. "No, I'm not," I stammered. "I thought having Janet here the first couple of years should have answered that question."
Mary shook her head: "You never know, Vic, you never know. The Reverend Stokely, your predecessor, had a wife and two daughters here with him."
"Lovely girls, both grew up to be accountants like their mother," Mavis interjected.
"And yet the talk of the parish was how he played Timothy and Niall off against each other for years while sleeping with both of them," Mary concluded.
Sheila looked wistful. "Timmy looked so lovely as thurifer every week, simply angelic in his cassock and lace surplice. He swung the censer with such grace, and he always used the sweetest incense. Model of devotion on the altar, and supervised the altar boys so well."
"Where did the Reverend Stokely end up again?" asked Mavis.
I jumped in: "He was elevated to suffergan bishop in Northumberland, don't remember exactly which diocese. A friend put in a word; Timothy went with him."
"Ah yes, I remember that Mrs. Stokely was so thrilled at becoming a bishop's wife," Mavis said.
"She had a bigger orgasm that day than when her Steph married a Doctor, she did," Mary observed, to vast amusement of all. "You girls remember the old limerick about Anglican Priests, don't you?
There once was a lad from Devon,
who one night was laid by Seven.
They were Anglican Priests,
for, such is the Kingdom of Heaven."
I took a sip from my water bottle; the girls were in good form today. They took a couple of stitches: the pattern was simple, yet elegant, with vibrant colors. Mary took up the next general area of discussion: "You are getting along all right with Niall, aren't you, Vicar?"
"Yes, sure. He does a fantastic job playing the organ for liturgies, and the choir has never sounded better. We have a good, professional working relationship. As far as I'm concerned, I'd like to keep him as long as he wants to stay, even though we can't afford a Curate because of it."
"Good for you, Vicar," Mary said while bending over her work, "We like him, too, he's a sweet boy. We like you, too, Vicar. You're just like us: down to earth and your heart's in the right place. Lovely services and I could listen to your sermons all day." There was a few more moments of silence before a topic was resumed.
Mavis opened the subject. "It's a shame that nice little Charlotte Church wants to be such a tramp."
"Sheila, your Bert said at the Pub the other day he'd teach her a new high note or two," Mary said.
"My Bert is all talk and no action," Sheila fumed. "The last ten years he's completely lost the pep he used to have, I can tell you. Can hardly see what he'd do with Charlotte Church besides bore her to death."
"So's my Harry," Mavis put in. "He hardly moves from the couch watching football to bed and back. To lazy to go to the Pub anymore, the old fart, hasn't laid a hand on me for fifteen years. And I used to be the most popular girl in town."
"That's because you let every boy in the neighborhood put their hands down your jumper, Mavis Harris Hazelton." Mary sneered. "It was bad enough you had the biggest tits in town and all the boys fantasized about you, but you put out so much we could hardly peel any of the boys out of your queue."
Sheila interrupted. "It's not like your knickers never hit the floor, Mary Winton Sterns. You spent a lot of nights rustling under the shrubbery with your Tommy before you were married. He started giving you children before you were married, didn't he?"
Mary rolled her eyes. "It's not like you were the paragon of virtue, either, Miss Sheila.
Was it twice or three times you visited the football club in their locker room alone?"
The conversation was taking me aback. I'd never heard them talk like this before, and their body language didn't change much as they talked: they kept sewing and moving purposefully without a hint that their contest would lead to a larger confrontation.
Sheila looked into the distance. "It was go grand, they had such beautiful bodies, the footballers. Such teamwork. I couldn't walk right for a week after they were done with me, and my jaw was ever so sore, I hardly ate a bite."
"Clive Shepard was such a hunk in those days, wasn't he?" Mavis broke in. "Such lovely muscles and such a tool. I could have died with him on top of me."
"He didn't always do it on the top, either," Mary added, "I rode him three Friday nights in a row, and found out later he was taking it up the bum from the midfielder from the local club, what was his name?"
"Digger Mathews," Mavis said. "He ended up in jail one night after a raid on the park bathroom, poor lad, and was never seen in this town again." There was a pause of several seconds as the ladies savored their memories.
"I miss the old sexual intercourse. There's many a night I'd jump most about any man, just to feel like a woman again" Sheila mused.
"I miss my Tommy, gone these six years," Mary mused, "We used to spoon naked in bed and his dear prick would rise up right into my vertical smile. . ."
As they talked, my imagination wandered and I tried to picture them as younger women. They were attractive now, even Mavis in her own odd way, and I drifted in the descriptions of each other's escapades. They were part of the Sexual Revolution of the Sixties, and now I was getting a living history. Mad daydreams crossed my mind, making love to all three of them individually, just as they were. Sheila and Mary had very nice posteriors highlighted by their jeans, and Mavis' breasts were the most gargantuan I'd ever seen. My eyes got lost for a moment in the cleavage, and in my imagination.
"Hey, Vicar. Seems like we've rather had an effect on you, haven't we?"Mavis observed.
My dream dispelled, the voices faded and I found the three ladies staring at my jogging shorts with interest. In the course of my daydream, my leviathan had stirred from its lair and was bulging my drawers dramatically. Mavis licked her lips, Sheila beamed and Mary smirked conspiratorially. "I think we can conclude you're not gay," Sheila said deliberately.
"The dear Vicar must have been in a terrible way since his Janet left him," Mary commiserated. "It's not like he can run down to the boozer on Saturday night and pick up a bird, can he? Even without his dog-collar." Her eyes were fixed rather fondly on my discomfort; she reached out and started stroking the fabric of my shorts, making my distress more acute. " I haven't had any action since my Tommy died, and some nights the old vibrator isn't enough."
Mavis smiled broadly. "You look like those shorts are getting rather tight, Vic. Maybe you'd like to make yourself a little more comfortable, give the old John Thomas a breath of fresh air?"
My face turned and I blushed in shame: my mind raced to figure out a way to get out of the situation, although Mary's hand on my dick would make that difficult.. The girls sighed and Sheila rolled her chair over. "I think that's a lovely idea," Sheila cooed as she started pulling at my waistband. "That looks like a nice package in that package, and I want to unwrap it."
I turned to look at the half open door, and Mary leapt across to close and lock it. "Your secret is safe with us, Father Alfred. We like you and we'll take care of you. It'll be our little secret," she whispered. Giggles confirmed the arrangement
Sheila got my shorts down and pulled my jock down as well. My cock sprang to attention and almost hit her on the forehead upon its liberation. "Oooo, that's a big one." she said, "However could your Janet ever run away from this?"
"She hated England, and didn't care to be a Vicar's wife. She never really wanted to marry the Church from the start." I said in a wavering voice.
Mary came close, and ran her fingertip up and down the shaft a time or two, gazing raptly at the massive meat. She charmed my testicles with her fingernail and my snake danced twice for her, up and down. "I can imagine it must be horrid to be a Vicar's wife," she said. "All those functions to go to, organizing the ladies' guild, taking care of the children, putting up with a husband whose first concern is his parish, all those expectations of being a model wife and mother." The snake did another dance and she gasped with delight. "Yes, I can see where you'd have a difficult time finding companionship, particularly since you're not gay." Mary's free hand roamed up my t-shirt, stroking my taunt stomach and chest, flicking my nipples, and Sheila's did the same.
"How long is it?" Mavis asked.
"Nine and a half inches." Oohs and aahs came in reply.
"How much is that in metric?" she continued.
Mary looked at her in shock. "Are you daft, woman? Who cares? It's a big, beautiful prick and it's being friendly with us. What more do you want to know than that?"
"Your Janet was a fool to run away from this." Sheila said. "You could keep me in a closet in Kathmandu 23 hours a day if you'd give me a Willie like this from time to time. May I touch it, too?" I nodded my head, and her hand touched my pole, tentatively at first, then warmly, stroking it up and down while Mary continued her magic with my balls.
My eyes had gotten locked on Mavis' cleavage, and she noticed. "Would you like to see my tits, Vicar?" she asked. "Thirty years ago they made page three of the Sun." She stood up and unbuttoned her dress from the top down, stepping out of it to reveal a huge bra, a plump naked belly and wide bubble hips contained in a blue acres of panties. "I have to have my bras custom made. There are times I'd like to have reduction surgery, they're so heavy, and Harry never touches them any more. National Health hasn't seen the need, and we've got no money for it" She undid the front clasp, and her melons fell free. My snake danced again, and Sheila stroked harder. The breasts would have been proportionate on a nine foot tall woman; Mavis was a little over five feet.
She cradled her gargantuan tits, and I was astounded by the size of her nipples. "My God, those are the biggest nipples I've ever seen," I blurted out. " They must be seven inches across." They covered most of the front of her breasts and the points stuck out an inch and a half, and a half inch thick. "I'd play with those all day, Mavis, any day. Your Harry is a fool."
"Sometimes, when I get real lonely, I can do this." She pulled her left nipple up to her face and started licking it, tonguing the easer head and sucking it deep into her mouth.
Sheila and Mary were both stroking me ardently, but it was growing uncomfortable. "Ladies, thanks for the attention, but things are a bit too dry. You're going to pull him off that way."
"Sorry, Vicar." Sheila said, and inhaled the head of my cock into her mouth, running her tongue around the bottom half of the corona. Her saliva surged from around the corners of her mouth, and she rubbed it into my monster. I started trembling and Mary put her arm behind me to steady me.
"Father, there's an old cot in the corner." Mary said, "Why don't you have a lie down while we take care of you?" I nodded and moved that direction; Sheila maneuvered her chair to keep my cock in her mouth and Mavis came around to stand beside the head of the bed. Mavis pulled off my t-shirt and Mary my shoes and socks, so I ended up laying naked in front of them like a buffet spread.
Mary started licking my right instep, making me shudder, as Sheila continued to slobber and stroke my penis. Mavis held her left nipple above my head. "Would you like a go at my nipple, Vicar?" she said hopefully. "It's been ages since she's gotten treated right." I nodded and she put the big brown bud on my mouth; I licked it and swirled my tongue as far as I could. Mary worked up my leg, and was teasing my testicles with her tongue; Sheila savored my cockhead, taking it out to lick down the shaft while stroking it from time to time. I sucked more of Mavis' nipple in my mouth and touched it ever so slightly with my teeth. "Yes, Father, you can do that all you like. Chew on her a bit more, would you please?" She gasped as I masticated her sensitive bud and trembled herself. I reached over to stroke her other breast, giving that hard nub an occasional tweak..
Soon Sheila tapped Mary on the shoulder, and Mary inhaled my cock in her lovely warm mouth. Mavis moved between my legs, where she alternated on my balls with the teasing tip of her tongue and broad, wide-spread licks that slathered the entire sac at once. I found Sheila's naked right tit next to my mouth, and since her body was long and lean, I reached down with my left hand to rub her clitoris and cunt lips. "Ah Father, we loved you before, but we had no idea you had anything like this in you." Sheila purred. "You're spreading the Lord's love a long way today. How could your Janet run away from you in her right mind?"
The long absent churning pressure started building in my nuts, and Mary noticed it immediately. "Get ready, he's going to blow his spunk, he's going to blow his spunk," Mary said gleefully, and accelerated her stroking of my dick with her saliva slick hand, looking on expectantly. Mavis cupped and rubbed my balls; Sheila lightly stroked my stomach, lost in her own sensations. My red tower stood proudly toward the ceiling, and the first blast almost reached it. A flood of semen covered my stomach up to my chest and Mary's face, my dick pulsating strongly, blast after blast. Mavis quickly sucked in my dick as the others licked up the sperm from my body. Sheila went crazy in the midst of this, as my hand and tongue brought her to an orgasm.
I panted as I recovered, and so did the ladies. Mavis came close enough to whisper in my ear: "Call me anytime you like, Vic. I'll fuck you, I'll suck you, you can do anything to my body you want, a-ny-thing. Titfucking: your big dick, my big tits. It'd be grand."
Mary patted my thigh, a broad smile smoothing her age lines. "And you don't even have to kiss us goodnight, cuddle with us, or buy us breakfast, Vicar," Mary said, then she gave my still stiff wand a gentle suck. Even though I was thirty five years old, due to my two year abstinence I stayed hard and wouldn't go down. She licked it leisurely for a couple of minutes and said to the others: "Poor Father, it's been such a long dry spell. His poor John Thomas is still ready for action; it won't go down.. How could we stand by and not help the poor man? Would you like to have the first go, Mavis?"
Mavis eagerly came back and took me in her mouth, sucking vigorously. Mary came up to put her nipple in my mouth and her slit within reach of my hand; soon, she was luxuriating at my touch on her genitals and my tongue on her mouth sized breast. Sheila started sucking my toes, driving me wild, then the inner part of my knee. It took a while, but the pressure returned on Mary's watch, and I shot my wad down her throat as I watched the red head work on my rod.
I could hardly believe it. These women were grandmothers several times over, respected women of the community. Mary was such an elegant lady even dressed down, her face slightly weathered, her hair perfect, and now she was topless savoring my semen like prime caviar, her stately lips worshiping my cock. Sheila was a handsome woman as well, in hoop earrings and several ringed fingers, with her bare breasts pressed against my thighs and her artistic hands drawing soft circles on my testicles. Mavis' basketball sized jugs and plate sized nipples were a miracle; this solid British grandmother was sucking her right tit into her mouth in ecstasy as she watched the scene, moaning as she bit the rubbery end.