The Vicar of St. Dunstan's Ep. 02byNigel Debonnaire©
The second 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.
Next Year in Alice Springs
It was another drippy Wednesday in England. I puttered around the house all day, and a peek into the Quilting Room showed it empty. I'd been dear friends with Mary Sterns, Sheila Button and Mavis Hazelton, all grandmothers in their early sixties, since my arrival at St. Dunstan's four years earlier, but two short weeks ago, something happened that took our relationships another direction. Mary, Sheila and Mavis and I started sharing more with me than the excellent dinners they carried in, and I was amazed at the fresh and frank carnality each expressed in our lovemaking sessions. I was looking at Internet sites about Alice Springs, Australia, where my e-mail pal Rev. Brenda Porter lived There was great natural beauty in that part of the world, but I couldn't understand how Brenda got stuck in a place like that; I would learn more when she arrived that Friday for a special series of services to promote a sister parish relationship.
Mavis let herself in the door. "Cooee, Vicar. Here's your tea: shepherd's pie. Hope you like it." I heard her clatter in the kitchen momentarily, then she came into my study for a big kiss and hug. "How's the lad?"
"Fine, Mavis, fine. You're looking well. How soon are you going up to Scotland?"
"Oh, it's tomorrow, Vic. My Sherrel is about to pop with another lovely grandbaby, and I want to be there. Harry's staying here, of course, says pictures are good enough. I'd admit, most people would find number grandchild number twenty just another statistic, but they're all precious to me."
"I don't doubt it, you have such a big heart, Mavis." Mavis had more than a big heart: she was short and portly with the biggest pair of breasts I'd ever seen.
"How soon is our friend the Reverend Brenda coming to town?"
"She'll be here around noon on Friday."
Brenda Porter was an Anglican priest about my age, thirty five, who was visiting home from her mission to the Arrernte Aborigines based in Alice Springs. How she got there I don't know, but she was coming home for a visit with local friends, and to get people interested in a sister parish relationship with hers.
Shaking her head, she said, "Pity I'll have to miss her; I've always been proud of our little neighborhood girl who went all the way to Aussieland to preach the Gospel. You take good care of her, laddie, who knows what could happen with you two kids alone in this big Vicarage." She looked at me with piercing eyes, then gave me a wink and a pat on the backside.
"We're fellow workers in the vineyard of the Lord. Sex should be the last thing on our minds."
"Like it is for some of your gay boys. Rabbits would have a hard time keeping up with some of your lot; it's a good thing that kind of sex doesn't multiply or the priesthood would have a population boom."
"So I've heard."
"Speaking of big heart, Vicar, I'm going to be gone a long time, and I was wondering if I could share you some of that love right now, among other things?"
"Sure, Mavis. I'd love, too. I've been waiting all day."
I bent down to give her a big deep kiss, which she returned with exceptional passion. We held hands as we mounting the stairs to my rooms; she was carrying a bag for some odd reason. As we got to my bedroom, she put the plastic bag on the bed
"Ah, Vicar, you're such a lovely man. There a few small things I've been wanting to try in the bedroom, and I wondered if you'd be interested." In her bag were several ferocious looking toys, and I shied away from contemplating what some of them would do. "I loved the titfucking the other week, but I got tired holding the old girls together. There's this lovely chain with two clamps on the end that may serve, and I've got this length of rope that should be more than enough even for my big girls. Maybe we could tie them up, lubricate them and I could give my arms a rest while you fuck my tits."
I looked at her doubtfully. "Have you ever seen or done anything like this before?"
"Oh, yes, Vicar. There's tons of lovely websites out there to teach you how. I've memorized the techniques, and I know just what to do and not." Her face looked anxious.
I gave her a dubious look, for her eagerness radiated in waves. "All right, I guess Mavis, if this is what you really want."
"Yes, Vicar. Make a start with the rope." She took off her clothes: her gargantuan boobs hung down dramatically with their seven inch wide nipples. I brought her to orgasm several times just with playing her huge nipples; they were very sensitive. Mavis was a short, very plump woman with wide hips. Holding up her right breast, she said: "First make a loop in the rope. Put that around the girl, yes, pull it fairly tight. Now around a couple of more times, run it up over my neck. Bring it down around the other girl, three times is nice. A figure eight next, don't worry, Father, we'll set the target area up above the ropes. Oh, that's getting tight, lovely. Around three times around each. Now tie it off up by my left shoulder, that's it." Her massive knockers were starting to stand up, and her huge, thick nipples were poking out a bit. "Now for the lubrication: I'll lick your cock up a treat, but we need something to help us here. Do the baby oil I brought; yes, yes, O Lord that feels so interesting on my tight tits. You have such a soft, lovely touch, Vicar. All right, do the other one. Yes, yes. Now they're nice and slick. Oh, get the digital camera and take a picture, love. No, I'm not worried who will see it. Let me put my hands behind my head. "Now let's get things done up top. The nipples aren't quite hard enough yet, you'll have to help me there. Oh, yes, nice, your tongue on the nipple and your hand on my clitoris will do quite nicely. I'm short of breath already. Put the clamp on it, Owww." She panted for several moments. "That's a pinch, for sure. Oh, oh, oh, now let's work on the other one. Oh, Vicar, you could suck my tits all day if you want to. Put the other clamp on, Oooowwww." Another pause while she regained her composure. "Don't worry about me, Vic, childbirth is much worse than this, and not as much fun. Push the nipples together and adjust the chain. Ow, ow, ow, ow. That seems good, does it look good to you, Vicar? Fine, then stick him in and see how it feels."
I climbed on top of her stomach and put my cock between the tightly bound tits. It was one of the tightest fits I'd ever known. "Lovely, Mavis, it feels lovely. Is my weight too much against your stomach?"
"No love, you're grand. Let's get the locomotion started." I began pumping in the slick cleavage, and Mavis reached up underneath me to cup and tickle my balls. Her other hand was on my ass cheek, encouraging me to push harder and faster. Her face was beaming, crossed occasionally by winces, as my cock traversed the areolas of her nipples in its thrusting. It took only five minutes before I spewed all over her breasts, some of it hitting her eager, open mouth. I pulled out and she rolled over to clean up my dick with her hungry mouth.
"Do you want me to release you?" Her tits were starting to turn a faint blue.
"No, love, not yet. Repay the favor and we'll let the girls loose."
"And how do I make you happy in return?"
"Well, I'd suggest you start out with some nice licking and fingering, then after I'm good and damp, get your fist up there every so strong."
"Won't that hurt you?"
"Well, Vicar, I've put some rather large produce up my snatch from time to time, even full length zucchinis, and six lassies came down the other way. Even your lovely big cock wasn't big enough for me. I don't think you'll be too much; I'll let you know."
I started by licking and sucking her clitoris; with her encouragement I nibbled and she almost spasmed on the spot. Then, my fingers started working up her channel; all four fit easily and it seemed that I would need to use my fist to get a full penetration. "Oh, yes, love, yes, shove that fist right up me. Now I can feel it, oh my! Run your fingernails across my tits." Kneeling to get my balance, I was able with difficulty to do what she asked: she screamed at my first touch on her purpling mountains, which faded into the general groans of delight. Very quickly she seemed to approach her mountaintop; her hands came up to release the clamps right when her orgasm hit her. I was amazed :her scream must have rattled windows down the street. I untied her tits, which fell heavily, and massaged them as they returned to color; she orgasmed again as I rubbed them before she coaxed a hot, wet load down her throat.. The Reverend Brenda Porter's arrival was on time, and she was just as I pictured her. She was medium height big boned woman, neither plump nor skinny, with light brown hair, brown eyes, long, tanned legs and her black cleric shirt billowed out beautifully to display her silver cross and necklace. Laughter came easily to her, and soon we were roaring together like friends of old acquaintance.
After she recovered from jet lag, she went around the parish, talking with different people, visiting the sick, reconnecting with friends. On Saturday evening, we had a High Tea in her honor that the Quilting Ladies prepared with great aplomb. Giving heartfelt presentations that night and during Sunday services, I felt that the sister parish relationship was a sure thing. She rested after the last service, and then wanted to go to the pub she'd known all her life.
It was a raucous Sunday afternoon in the pub on another rainy day. I sat at the bar with Bert Button and Harry Hazelton wearing my dog collar, working my way through my second pint. They were absorbed in the football game on the big screen, Arsenal against Manchester United. Arsenal was doing well, and they cheered every little advantage. The Quilting Ladies were sitting at a table across the bar with. Brenda. By the hilarity crossing the room, I could tell they were having a wonderful time, although Brenda occasionally shot me a quizzical look. Her suntanned face and light brown hair made an interesting contrast to her dog collar.
At the interval, Arsenal was up two-nil, and the men bought me another pint. I started to protest that I reached my limit, but Harry slapped me on the back. "Nonsense, mate. Bert and I owe you big time, and we want to show our appreciation, Vic."
Bert raised his pint in a toast. "Here's to the Vicar, who keeps our wives so busy, that they never have time to spend a home bothering us."
"Here, here," Harry said, and both downed their pints at once.
My knees began to shake because I knew part of what was taking them away from home. The men continued their good spirits and ordered another pint, and I took a big gulp from mine. "Vic, you've done a lot to bring God's peace to my home," Harry said. "When Mavis is around the house a lot, she drives me batty; I never get a chance to rest and watch the telly in peace. I've worked hard all my life, given her six fine daughters, and I deserve to be left alone. The past few weeks have been a godsend, and it's thanks to you keeping her busy with the Lord's work that I'm a happy man."
"Sheila's been nagging me to try the Viagra, or Propecia or Levitra, I can't keep those drugs straight, so we can be like teenagers again. I don't want to be a teenager again, I says, can't you make your own self happy, wink, wink. . ."
"Oh, Mavis got me to take the Viagra once: a nightmare it was. Like trying to ride a bicycle through Chunnel, so big she is down there now. And my cock wouldn't go down after four hours, and we had to go to hospital and let the air out of it."
Bert said. "Aye, tis a sad story, when a wife can't leave her husband in peace, and demand he do such radial things like take the Viagra to satisfy her unnatural lusts. My Sheila has been too much to handle since she retired and the kids moved away. Randy little vixen, couldn't keep her off me. But then she started the quilting and thanks to you, Vicar, she's out of the house all day doing God's work and so tired when she comes home that she passes out before I can wish her a good night." He took a sip of his pint. "So, whatever you've got Sheila, Mavis and their friend Mary doing to keep them happy and out of our hair, Vicar, you keep doing it with our blessing." He and Harry gave me a broad wink and laughed.
"And I hope they don't wear you out," Harry added, and they laughed uproariously again while slapping me in the back. Suddenly, I wanted a neat whisky.
The Thursday before, Sheila brought over poached salmon and pommes frites for dinner. Her cooking was always the best in the parish. Afterward, we made love rather conventionally, starting with fondling and necking, having sex in changing positions, coming to rafter shaking orgasms. As we lay together, Sheila looked at me rather sadly. "It's a shame you don't have a young woman your own age to screw."
"Well, I rather committed myself to a different life when I took the dog collar."
"Yes, but it's sad that you have to fuck wrinkled old hags like me rather than someone young and beautiful."
"Nonsense, Sheila. You're all a man could hope for in a bed partner. The wrinkles and the silver hair just add voltage; you've kept your body up well and you're as nimble and lithe as a woman a third of your age. The experience and passion you bring couldn't be replicated in a younger woman. I wouldn't trade a woman like you for a teenager any day."
She smiled, and a tear ran down her cheek. "You're sweet, Vicar, and you make me feel like a woman. The Quilting Ladies are blessed to have you with us, and the parish is, too."
Back in the present, some older Choir boys invited me to a game of darts around the corner, and I gladly excused myself to join them The game lasted through the second half of the match, which I followed easily without having to see the telly. At the final whistle, my flock paired off and slipped through the door; Brenda wandered over to catch the last dart game. Mary's grandson Derrick beat me handily, and I turned to my sister in the vineyard: "Ready for the Vicarage, Bren?"
She nodded. "It's been a wonderful afternoon, Alfred, but I'd like to go off the clock."
We walked back to the vicarage through the rain. I offered Brenda my umbrella, but she refused it. "Alice Springs get so little rain, and I miss it. If I could get away with it, I'd strip myself naked and roll in the mud, I miss it so much."
"Well, at least don't do it in broad daylight. Maybe after dark in the park where there aren't any streetlights."
She smiled and punched me in the arm. "Kidding, Alfie, kidding. You're too serious, always have been." We wobbled down the sidewalk together, arm in arm for balance, thanks to the effects of England's finest bitter. Moderately damp, we arrived at the porch, and I fumbled with the key to open the door, getting in eventually. We made our way to my sitting room on the second floor, leaving our soaked coats at the front door. A stew was bubbling in the oven, and rolls in the warmer on top.
Going to the liquor cabinet, I opened it and brought out a bottle. "I know that we've been drinking most of the afternoon, but would you care for some fine Scotch?"
"Oh yes, please," she nodded. "I haven't gotten really good and pissed for a long time now." I poured and gave her a glass, then poured one for myself.
"That's part of the burden of the old vocation, isn't it? You've always got to be in control around the parishioners, don't you?"
Brenda gave me a funny look. "Yes, of course. You do have to stay in control around your parishioners. Most of them, at least."
I put on some Vaughn Williams that I knew she liked. For three years already, Brenda and I had been pen pals: Janet had just left me here alone, and Brenda had just arrived in Alice Springs to work with the Aborigines. We wrote a lot about being strangers in a strange land, and having to serve the People of God as lone wolves. Her parents had passed away in the past three years since, and a few parishioners, like the Quilting Ladies, remembered her well. When the Mission Society asked about partnering with a parish abroad last month, we needed to look no farther than Alice Springs and Brenda. The Mission appeal had gone well so far, and it seemed like the parishioners were ready for a sister relationship with her parish.
The crack about being in control around most of my parishioners got me; surely the ladies hadn't been talking about the special pastoral care they gave me on a regular basis, but I resolved not to let her draw me out. I still had to wonder if this was some kind of set up: Bren had stayed with me all week without any hint of impropriety, and I'd been the perfect gentleman. Of course, this was the first respite we had for a week.
We chatted about church politics while the G Minor Mass for Double Choir wafted from the speakers, and the tribulations of life in ministry. I couldn't help noticing that when she loosened her collar, she unbuttoned a couple more buttons that necessary, revealing an expanse of tanned skin beneath her cross. After a refill of her glass, she broached a topic on her mind: "You know, this has been a wonderful visit home, and you've been the perfect host. Is there anything I can do to say thanks?"
"Not necessary. I'm sure that when I come to Alice Springs next year, you'll repay the hospitality. I'm anxious to see what the Todd River Regatta is all about." "Oh, that's a big lark, that is. You've made me feel so comfortable here, I feel as though I can trust you with anything." I raised my glass and toasted her in reply. "I'm glad my old friends have you as their Vicar: you've done well by them and you have my gratitude."
"You've done an excellent week's preaching here, Bren. The parish was proud of you before, and they're light years more proud after hearing about your work with the Aborigines. Personally, I'm glad we could take our friendship beyond e-mail pals."
"I feel the same way." She took a sip of her Scotch. "Can we talk about an issue that's been bothering me for a long time?"
"Sure, Bren. This is just about the right level of drunk to talk about theology. What's on your mind?"
She shifted on her seat, allowing the curve of her breast to show. "Alfie, what do you think about the Lot story?"
"What part of the story are you interested in?"
"The part in the city of Sodom, where he was trying to dissuade the crowd who wanted to rape the angels who were staying with him. What was the crime for which they were blinded?"
I fought my haze to remember the story. "Let's see, Lot had welcomed three angels, unaware, into the city of Sodom, and a mod had come to the doors demanding he bring them out for their pleasure. They would not accept Lot's virgin daughters in their place, and in response the angels blinded them and decreed the cities destruction the next day. The tradition of hospitality ran deep in that culture. A host protected his guest against all harm, even at the sacrifice of his property, and the crowd asked for too much. Letting them deflower his daughters would render them useless for an arranged marriage, so this was a sign of Lot's commitment to his guests. The Sodomites were punished for trying to violate the hospitality obligations."
"That's how I've usually looked at it. What about Leviticus' condemnation of men sleeping with men?"
"Israel was to go forth and multiply; anything that sidetracked them from that was forbidden. The were forbidden every kind of sex except vagina penetration, so they could increase the tribe. Onan's sin was not making a son with his brother's wife as the Law ordained, not the act of coitus interruptus or spilling his seed on the ground."