Jenna the Vicar's Wife Ch. 04

On Monday afternoon, a letter arrived at the vicarage that took Reverend Morris by surprise.

"I don't believe this!" He gasped, reading the letter out loud to Jenna. "It's from Bishop George. He says that Justin Welby the Archbishop of Canterbury is planning to visit next week."

"Whoa..." Jenna spluttered.

"Yup. You and I have been invited to dine at Bishop George's place. Apparently the Archbishop is visiting several dioceses, and parish churches, and for some bizarre reason, humble little St. Michael's church has caught his eye! Bishop George states that I'll be receiving a letter from the Archbishop over the next few days, outlining the reason for his visit."

"Wow, what a tremendous honour for you, Simon!" Jenna smiled, flinging her arms around him. "Well you're the best vicar ever, so he obviously wants to give you some sort of award!"

"Hmm, maybe?" Reverend Morris re-read the letter. "This is totally unexpected, and a bit bizarre. I can't get my head round it."

"I remember seeing Justin Welby give that speech when we were watching the Queen's funeral." Jenna said. "And to think, we're going to get to meet him! This is really exciting!"

"I wish I shared your optimism my love, but I can't help but thinking that there's a catch."

A few days later, Reverend Morris' fears were confirmed when a second letter arrived.

"I don't believe this!" The vicar lamented as he read the Archbishop's letter. "It has come to the Archbishop's attention that there is a big plaque in St. Michael's church that commemorates a local man called Henry Barrington-Smythe, who died in 1695 and worshipped at the church. According to the covert research conducted by the Archbishop, Henry once owned a horse that he sold to someone whose second cousin twice removed, was involved in the slave trade."

"I can see how that could be seen as quite triggering in this day and age," Jenna said. "But I'm sure the horse wasn't bothered."

Reverend Morris slapped his forehead. "Oh this is a nightmare. The Archbishop recommends that the plaque is removed. It's not that simple though. It's actually carved into the wall, near the organ pipes. To remove it, would cause terrible damage to the wall! Our little church is so old, and we've worked so hard to fundraise to repair the roof."

Jenna narrowed her eyes, seeing how distressed her husband was. This situation needed rectifying immediately.

"Simon, try not to worry. When we dine at Bishop George's place, you will have the chance to put your point across to the Archbishop. Has he made this information about the plaque public?"

"No," Reverend Morris replied. "To be honest, I know hardly anything about this Henry Barrington-Smythe chap. I Googled him once, and information was really scarce. Nothing on Wikipedia. A few obscure paragraphs on the parish register. He was vicar here during the 1670s and left a lot of money to the church in his will."

Jenna smiled. "Oh good. So what we have here is a controlled situation."

"For now. I expect he'll tweet all about it after the meeting."

We'll see about that, Jenna thought to herself.

The day of the meeting arrived. Reverend Morris anxiously fiddled with his clerical collar and kept checking his watch. Nearly time to set off to Bishop George's house.

Presently, Jenna came breezing into the sitting room, where her husband stood, gazing out of the window at the front garden beyond. In a pale pink gown, pearl cross earrings, and her red hair swept back, she looked more suited to a red carpet event in Hollywood than a sober meal with the clergy.

"Do I look alright?" She asked, knowing full well what Reverend Morris' response would be.

"Oh my God...wow, you look absolutely beautiful as always, Jenna. Right well, we'd better get going."

"Try not to worry, Simon." She said, kissing him. "It might not be as bad as it seems."

He sighed. "St. Michael's church means so much to me. I treasure its heritage. You and I, we've both worked so hard to build up its congregation, raise money to restore the roof, the stained glass windows and to fix the dry rot in the vestry."

"And we shall continue to treasure it. Don't you worry. Things might turn out alright. I'm sure an acceptable compromise can be reached."

"I hope so."

They headed to the car. A plan was forming in Jenna's mind. Justin Welby isn't the best-looking of men, she thought. Mind you, I don't plan on looking at his face...

Bishop George was stood at the door of his home when Jenna and Reverend Morris arrived.

"Great to see you both!" He smiled. "Can't say I'm happy at what the Big Boss is proposing here."

"You and me both, George," Simon sighed. Jenna winked at the bishop.

"Right, do go in, make yourself comfortable - there are refreshments waiting. Dinner shall be served at six. Bishop Finch was supposed to be here too, you remember him? Alas, he cried off. Dishonest and he drinks. Good bishops are so hard to find these days, eh?" Bishop George ushered him in. As Jenna walked past, he winked back at her.

"I've got your red lace panties on tonight," he whispered.

"A great choice!" Jenna whispered back.

Reverend Morris sipped a sherry as he nervously awaited the Archbishop's arrival. Five minutes latter, there was the sound of a car door being slammed shut, and Bishop George could be heard welcoming someone.

"He's coming," Reverend Morris gulped. "Why do I feel like a little kid about to be sent to detention?"

"God is with us," Jenna replied, patting his thigh.

Bishop George entered the room. "It is a great pleasure to welcome our Archbishop of Canterbury, Justin Welby, to dine with us this evening. Jenna and her husband stood up.

"Oh good, he's come alone," Jenna smiled, fearing that his wife might have accompanied him. He was clad in a grey jacket, with black shirt, black trousers, a clerical collar and a large cross round his neck.

Everyone shook hands. "Ah, Reverend Morris," the Archbishop began. "The vicar of St. Michael's. Nice to meet you at last."

"Thank you, Your Grace. And this is Jenna, my wife."

Jenna was quick to offer her hand. "I've wanted to meet you for such a long time, Your Grace. You're sitting next to me at the table!"

The vicar's young and stunning wife had certainly caused the Archbishop to raise an eyebrow. "Am I? Well lucky old me. I am very honoured!" Privately, he was astonished that the mild-mannered vicar of St. Michael's had managed to pull such a gorgeous woman. He was normally immune to such things, but found himself rather shamefully gawping at Jenna's cleavage.

"What a mercy she wasn't at the Queen's funeral," he said to himself. "If she'd been sat in the crowd, I'd have struggled to concentrate."

The pre-dinner conversation between Reverend Morris, Bishop George and the Archbishop remained cordial, if not a bit overly formal. While the three men spoke, Jenna was a constant figure at the Archbishop's side; laughing at his unfunny jokes, pretending to enjoy his boring stories of ministry in Africa, inquiring about Westminster Abbey, and generally hanging on his every word like an infatuated student with her tutor.

Bishop George suggested his guests seat themselves at the table in preparation for the first course. The Archbishop took his seat. On his right was Jenna, and Reverend Morris was opposite him.

"Bishop George is such a good cook, Reverend Morris prattled nervously. "I've dined here before and his roast dinners are something to marvel at. I..I enjoy cooking too."

Sensing her husband's discomfort, Jenna cut in. "He's a much better cook than I am. Most things I cook aren't suitable for human consumption."

The Archbishop chuckled. "Let us say a prayer before we dine."

The first course passed without incident, but Jenna was hungry for something else. The Archbishop had launched into a lengthy monologue about hurtful plaques and statues, and Jenna sensed it was time to act. Bishop George was in the kitchen and Reverend Morris excused himself as he needed to go to the bathroom. She was alone with the leader of the Church of England, the ceremonial head of the worldwide Anglican Communion. Now was the time for the vixen to catch her prey.

"You've done so many impressive things during your tenure, Your Grace. Words cannot explain how much I admire you," she continued, flattering him off the scale."

"Why thank you Jenna. "I appreciate your kind words!"

Jenna continued. "Your Grace...I ask you as a good Christian, would you not consider dropping this little investigation into this pesky old plaque in my husband's church? Your letter has caused him a great deal of worry...you have no idea how much..."

The Archbishop adjusted his glasses. "Jenna, I have no wish to cause any distress to your husband. I am simply trying to ensure that our C of E churches are inclusive to all, and devoid of harmful imagery."

He had been quietly sipping his soup. Suddenly, a strange sensation made him almost drop his spoon. Something was moving up his right leg and pushing his legs apart...the mystery thing continued to rise higher...now it was nudging his inner thigh, he realised it was Jenna's hand.

"Are you enjoying your soup?"

"Um...Jenna, what are you doing?"

"As I was saying, your letter has stressed my husband out so much, that he and I have been unable to make love all week. Can you imagine how upsetting that has been?" Jenna continued, furtively sliding her hand across his thigh and squeezing gently.

The Archbishop glanced down and then at her. "Um, well I'm very sorry to hear that."

She smiled back and began rubbing his inner thigh very gently. He cleared his throat and blushed. She said nothing, but continued gently rubbing...and moving closer to that treasure she wanted to touch most of all.

"Do you realise what you're doing? I am a married man!" He whispered.

"I do, but you pride yourself on having a liberal outlook, yes? Anyways, there is a holy place I would very much like to explore...if I may be permitted to do so...if I may be so bold as to request permission from Your Grace..."

"You are...a rather naughty vicar's wife," he whispered back, feeling his cheeks flushing.

"You haven't granted permission, Your Grace."

The Archbishop took a deep breath. Why was he giving in to temptation so easily? If he refused, would she kick up a fuss? Bishop George and the vicar could return at any moment.

"Mrs Morris, you may do as you wish. I am yours to explore..."

This was all the permission she required. Before the Archbishop could complete his sentence, Jenna reached across the startled man's lap and quickly unzipped his trousers. He could not believe the dexterity and speed at which his beautiful assailant nimbly accomplished the task. He shot an astonished wide-eyed glance at the temptress seated next to him. Guessing his thoughts, Jenna flashed a mischievous smile and said, "Your Grace. I heard that there's a name for a bishop's staff. It's called a crosier. Am I right?"

"Er, yes. That's right."

Jenna swiftly freed the Archbishop's staff from his white boxer shorts. He may not have been the most handsome of men, but he had a gorgeous cock. It wasn't a monstrous length like Father Aiden's or thick like Gordon's, but it was impressive all the same. Definitely holy!

The Archbishop's back stiffened and he caught his breath as he felt Jenna's soft, warm fingers wrap around his engorged fuck pole. The touch from this ravishing young beauty in the most sensual of spots sent chills throughout his body. He suppressed a gentle moan in the back of this throat as Jenna began to slowly run her hand up and down the shaft.

She knew to vary the speed of her up and down motion, and could sense when the Archbishop was reaching peak ecstasy. Before he could achieve sexual release, Jenna slowed her pace or altered the movement in order to delay gratification. She wanted the Most Reverend's pleasure to extend for as long as possible. Jenna explored every feature along the length of her newest conquest's fleshy sceptre. Her delicate fingers rippled over the veiny surface, massaged the soft foreskin, and gently squeezed the head. When she reached the shaft's base, the eager filly worked her slender digits along the Archbishop's inner thigh and cupped his balls, juggling them with her fingertips.

"Your Grace, I beg of you. I want to go further and worship properly. However I cannot do this unless you agree to scrap your suggestion that St. Michael's remove its plaque to Henry Barrington-Smythe. Let him and his horse rest in peace, yes? Neither of them kept slaves. I'm sure Henry sold his horse in good faith and had no idea what links the buyer had. A few years ago I gave my old smartphone to a woman at work who turned out to be a massive fan of Cliff Richard. Some might say that was a crime against humanity."

The Archbishop was desperate to come. Sweat had broken out on his forehead and his glasses were steaming up. "Okay...you have my word," he sighed. "I'll scrap the whole thing!"

"Thankyou....dear Justin!" She said, using his Christian name for the first time. Carefully, Jenna removed one of her earrings. The Archbishop had to stifle a gasp as she slid out of her chair and under the table. "God," he murmured, almost incredulous at her conviction and boldness. Then with almost no hesitation, she dropped her head and closed her mouth around his throbbing shaft.

The Most Reverend's breathing started to become more rapid and shallow, an indication Jenna recognised as signalling her oral exertions would soon be ending. Wanting to provide the head of the church with the greatest amount of pleasure possible, Jenna's grand finale was to deep throat his cock and vigorously jerk up and down on it. This motion had the desired effect within moments, as a muffled groan escaped the Archbishop's mouth. Jenna felt the holy rod in her mouth recoil as it shot a mighty stream of pearl-coloured ejaculate down her throat. This first round was quickly followed by a second and then a third as the Most Reverend's balls unloaded their thick, milky contents. Jenna swallowed and savoured every drop. It is a truth not universally acknowledged - that the taste of a man...especially a man of God, is the finest taste in the world, she thought. A final spurt missed its target and splashed down her cleavage.

Only after the last discharge was launched and the Archbishop leaned back in his chair exhausted and sweaty, did Jenna finally withdraw.

The Archbishop jolted in panic as Bishop George and Reverend Morris returned to the dining room. He quickly poured himself a glass of water and swallowed it. He wondered how to warn Jenna, but she'd already sensed it was time to return to her seat.

"I'm sorry I was so long," Reverend Morris mumbled. "Call of nature and all that."

"And silly me, I forgot to turn the oven up, but worry not, the roast beef is nearly ready!" Bishop George replied.

"Understood," panted the Archbishop, wiping his glasses.

Bishop George tilted his head at his Jenna's empty chair...and the movement under the table. He raised the tablecloth.

"Oh I say, Jenna. Have you lost something?"

"Just my pearl earring," she calmly replied. "But fortunately, I have now found it."

Bishop George nodded and gave a wry smile. "So I see. And you seem to have gained a pearl necklace too!"