Shula

‘I do.’

The young lady was led to the altar where she was laid on her back, arms outstretched along the crosspiece. Two clerics came forward to unbutton the wedding gown from top to bottom, until every one was free. Carefully parting it, the naked body was revealed. Its buttocks rested on the front edge of the altar. The two clerics each took a knee, drawing them apart to uncover the groin. Shula gasped in surprise as she saw that the whole region was bare. Devoid of any wisp of hair. In the shaft of light, Shula could clearly see the aroused state of the woman’s genitals. Puffed and wet with anticipation. The priest exchanged the prayer book for a silver cup. Dipping the sceptre into the cup, he sprinkled the breasts and groin several times with its contents as he spoke the blessing.

‘With this holy water, bless O Lord the seat of Thy passion in this thy son’s bride, that it may be fertile and multiply.’

Handing the cup and baton to a waiting cleric, he faced the congregation, opening his own gown. The sight of his erect penis was stunning. Glorious and omnipotent. The golden curls glowed at its base, like the rays of a rising sun.

‘May the grace of our Lord enter into His servant’s loins. Fill it with Thy spirit that it may anoint the young virgin with Thy baptismal waters.’ As he spoke, he slowly pulled back the foreskin, revealing the shining knob end.

‘Amen,’ came the response.

Turning back to the reclining bride, he approached between her legs.

‘With this holy instrument, I thee wed in the name of Christ the Lord. Take it and revere it for ever, for it is thine to have and to hold from this day forth.’

As the music played, the priest began his movement. Arms raised in supplication, his robe slipped from his shoulders. His bare back was exposed. The muscles of his buttocks rippled as he thrust his groin in and out of the woman’s thighs. The guests looked on, faces set in earnest expressions. Some of the men were licking their lips at the sight.

The clergy began to recite the Lord’s Prayer. The congregation joined in, watching the hips of the priest heaving at the reclining figure. As the prayer came to an end, all watched in anticipation. The bride was quietly wailing in anguish. ‘I love you, Lord Jesus. Fill me with thy holy seed. Deeper and deeper. Ohh!’

Suddenly, the priest cried out. ‘With the contents of this hold rod I thee endow. In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.’ The muscles in his buttocks tensed. They paused before giving an abrupt jerk. There followed several more spasmodic thrusts of his buttocks announcing the release of the holy spirit into the willing shrine of the sighing bride.

‘Alleluia!’

When it was all over, the priest stepped back. Two clerics placed his gown over his shoulders and he left quietly through the door he had come from. The bride was covered over with her wedding gown and veil before standing. Guests rushed up to congratulate the bride.

‘How was it dear?’ an anxious mother enquired.

‘Well done,’ the father muttered with a smile.

Shula left much disturbed. She could not ever bring herself to take part in such a ceremony. It was clear to her that she just could not believe in this interpretation of the bible. Her mother had been carried away by the emotion of it all. But Shula was too down-to-earth. There had been times, oh yes! many times, when she was near to believing it all. But something held her back.

That night she went over the whole ritual in her mind, gently masturbating, until her senses reached their zenith and she tumbled into a satisfying orgasm. She had a dream in which the priest appeared to her as the devil. His clerics were all demons, although smiling kindly and clothed on white robes, there were the horns. The evil glint in the eyes. In her ears echoed the words she remembered from school.

‘The devil hath the power to assume a pleasing shape. Yea, even in the hallowed church of the Lord, the devil hath taken root to tempt poor mortals to acts of folly; acts of lewdness and filth.’

Shula never went into that church again. There were many arguments with her mother who was besotted by the rituals. The experience had given her a new lease of life. But Shula returned to the conventional Anglican Church, seeking absolution from the near miss of entering into a compact with the devil.

III

Shula drove a red mini. Her reputation was that of being one of the worst drivers of all time; no-one willingly sat in the passenger seat when she was at the wheel. She was mad. She drove with the same professional aggression she used in her office, keeping up a loud stream of verbal abuse hurled indiscriminately at other road users.

Each year, the Sales Division had a conference which ended with a dinner dance and booze-up. It was usually held in at a good hotel in the different sales centres each year. It was timed to take place near Christmas with the senior executives and top marketing managers invited to join in the annual fun and games. There would be about fifty people altogether. Shula had the responsibility for making the arrangements the organising the conference. It had become the custom for the staff of each sales office to take part in a cabaret with some of the pieces - monologues, sketches or songs - specially written for the event. A friendly rivalry had sprung up between the offices for providing the best entertainment. This took place after the dinner when early drinks in the bar and wines during the meal had loosened up the atmosphere. By that time, the guests could be relied on to laugh at anything silly. And they did. They were then expected to decide which office had provided the best entertainment by gauging the volume of cheers for each office effort at the end of the entertainment. Only fifteen minutes were allowed each for office to perform. Johnnie was usually drafted in by the Sales Director to prepare the material for the Yorkshire office and to organise rehearsals. That means that he was always invited to the annual do's and was given Shula's help to type out the scripts and copy them.

The last conference was hosted by the Midlands office. A comfortable four-star hotel in spacious grounds had been chosen for the occasion. Johnnie had produced some good material that year. Certainly, James was delighted with it and was looking forward to the evening. Johnnie travelled alone to the hotel so that he could get back in his own time rather than have to rely on someone else. It was a cold day and getting through Wakefield proved a bit tiresome. When he reached the hotel it was already dark but there was time for him to settle into room number 9 (with private facilities), order a cup of tea from room service, run a hot bath and switch on the radio to hear the latest news.

At half past six he went into the wood panelled bar and said hello to a few colleagues who had already got their faces behind pints mugs of bitter ale. There was noise and laughter as they swapped the latest dirty jokes and company gossip. Or argued about who was behind the shooting of Kennedy or the merits of the Beetles latest hit. The room was festooned with lots of cheerful Christmas decorations and a large log fire was burning in the old fashioned grate. There was cigar smoke hanging in the air. That smell always reminded Johnnie of Christmas. It was all very cosy and welcoming. He felt at ease and relaxed.

Ian and Bill were standing to one side of the fireplace. He pushed through the others to join them, exchanging hellos and nodding greetings to others in the room. Ian was the Sales Manager of the Midlands office and Bill his senior technician.

"Hi Ian; Bill. How's things?"

"Wey-hey! It's ol' blue eyes himself. How's it going?" Ian teased.

"Fine!" Johnnie said, shaking his hand.

"What y're having Johnnie?" was bellowed from the bar counter "I'm just getting them in." He called for a pint of bitter.

"Well?" asked Ian "Good journey?"

"Bloody awful! It gets worse!"

"Wait 'til the new by-pass opens. Be OK then."

"Have you got some good sketches for us this year?" asked Bill.

"Wait an' see!" Johnnie grinned. "And are you both in good voice?"

"Wait an' see" laughed Bill.

Arthur squeezed through holding a tray of four foaming pints. They were taken thankfully and immediately lifted to the lips.

"Hey! I say! Ravishing June's looking extraordinarily bloody ravishing tonight," Arthur said "I'm going to chat her up and see if owt's goin' - who's that she's with over there?"Johnnie looked across to where Ravishing June was laughing with her mate Sexy Sheila with a middle-aged chap.

"That's Ferguson from the Marketing Research Centre. Have you not met him before?" Ian said.

"Can't say I 'ave," said Arthur. I'll go an' introduce myself to 'im," he said with a wink. "Can't have these bloody outsiders muscling in with our birds. See you lot later."

"What on earth does he see in Ravishing June?" asked Ian shaking his head.

"A pair of bloody big knockers!" said Bill. ‘and that’s all he has eyes for, particularly when she’s flouting them, like tonight.’

Johnnie laughed. He was right. She had!

"Hell fire! I'll bet she bruises her bloody kneecaps every time she unfastens her bra!" They laughed immoderately.

A gong sounded and, as everyone turned to see what was happening, a voice belonging to a chap in dinner jacket called out.

"Ladies and Gentlemen! Dinner is served!"

There was a cheer from one corner of the room and a general movement towards the dining room. We three lingered by the fire with our pint glasses for a minute or two longer.

"What's on the menu tonight Ian? Usual Christmas fare?" Johnnie asked.

"There'll be a choice I expect" he said.

"Right! I'll join you later, lads. I see I'm sat with James. He’s beckoning."

"You're welcome!" said Ian.

IV

The meal was a jolly, often raucous affair. The wine flowed freely and after the cheese, the port and cigars were passed round the men with mints and cigarettes offered to the ladies. Then there was brandy or liqueurs with the coffee by which time everyone was feeling in a benevolent mood. Cheeks were red, foreheads streaked with perspiration and voices louder than usual.

The cabaret was announced by the voice in the maroon jacket which got the lads from the Midlands to their feet to entertain. They got plenty of encouragement and interjections and, finally, wild applause. Johnnie opened the entertainment for Bradford but, of course, everyone was waiting for the boss, James, to do his turn - a patter number they had written about the humiliation of having your name de-hyphenated, which was met with howls of approval. Some five of the senior managers had hyphens in their names, so the number went well. To finish off, Johnnie gave a patter number to an accompanying guitar about a popular member of the technical staff who was about to leave the firm. George was never able to find his slide rule when he wanted one for his complex calculations. He was in the habit borrowing one - usually from Johnnie. So he wrote a little song about it. ‘Oh dear! the naughty things he did, when George discovered how the slide of his little slide rule slid.’ After the first couple of verses, most people had got the hang of it and joined in the chorus. The last verse was about how the girls in the office will miss the strategy of his calculating games, with George taking out his sliding rule, offering to show them how! It was met with gales of dirty laughter. The chorus, ‘Oh dear! The naughty things he did,’ etc., was sung with gusto by all and ended with stamping of feet, hands drumming on the table, spoons clattering in saucers and whistles.

After the Yorkshire office was declared the winners of the cabaret, to a loud and noisy acclamation, a bottle of champagne was produced by the voice in the maroon jacket and presented to James by the Managing Director. It was promptly opened for the performers from Yorkshire, mixed with brandy into a lethal cocktail. Johnnie managed to avoid the celebration by slipping away to the toilet, accompanied by loud suggestive comments from other tables. Then the dance band struck up, the tables cleared, with jugs of foaming ale appearing on them.

And the night wore away to the strains of the quick step, slow fox trot and the waltz. The air was blue with cigar smoke.

Eventually, some tottered off to their beds, the worse for the drink, having decided they'd had enough for one day. Others were dancing - if that's what the shuffling around could be called - smooching together through an alcoholic haze. The lights had been turned down low to hide their roving hands and indiscretions. The others were either propping up the bar in the next room or sat around in corners swapping stories. By the time midnight came, it was hot in the room. Most had discarded their jackets. Everybody was well gone with the drink, the heat, the smoke and the noise of the band.

Johnnie had joined Ian and Bill at a table at the side of the band, exchanging friendly banter about their entertainment. They were having a good laugh, telling each other how good they all were, their words slightly slurred. A break came in the dancing and Johnnie noticed Shula come into the room from the bar, clutching a glass. She stood silhouetted in the doorway, swaying for a moment, trying to pierce the gloom as she peered round the room. He thought she was looking for James but he hadn't been seen around for some time; not since finishing off the champagne and brandy. Shula spotted the three of them, waved, and came sloping across the room with a purposeful swing of the free arm.

"Look out!" Ian said. "It’s Angel-tits Shula. I don't fancy that determined look on her face. "She's after one of us! And I don't fancy her - not the boss's secretary, thank you. I'm off to the bar."

"Me, too!" said Bill, moving away with Ian as a pretext for leaving me alone.

"Hi! Shula! what are you drinking?" Johnnie asked as she approached the table.

"This is Vodka" she said, and added "with lots of bloody tonic. So I suppose I'm half pissed. But I want a dance. Come on, John."

The band had struck up. She put her glass on the table and pulled Johnnie to his feet. She was a bit unsteady and he grabbed her round the waist to steady her. Although Shula was a fairly hardened drinker, it seemed that she'd probably had more than enough for one night.

"You know I can't dance!" Johnnie protested, putting his glass on the table.

"Neither can any of them on the floor," she snorted gesturing to the dance floor "so, bloody come on."

The dance floor was filling up with other couples.

"Where's James?" Johnnie asked. Shula had been looking after him like a mother hen all day not letting any of the other women get too close.

"Gone to bed!" she snapped.

Hello, Johnnie thought, she's in a belligerent mood.

"He's bloody gone to bed. Too much of that champagne and brandy I expect! Silly sod! Come on!"

She dragged him onto the dance floor, put her arms round his waist and rested her cheek against his shoulder and started swaying her hips. The band was playing a slow fox trot. As they shuffled round the dance floor Johnnie gradually realised that he could feel her nipples stiffening against his shirt. She was wearing a thin nylon sleeveless long dress with narrow shoulder straps and not much else. Johnnie tried to look down her dress but it was too dark to see anything resembling a nipple, stiff or otherwise.

Johnnie pulled her in close and sang softly in her ear, to the tune being played. "I'm looking for an Angel, but Angels have no tits, So until the day that one comes along, I'll make do with your deficits..."

She giggled and nudged him with her elbows and rocked her body from side to side with the music. ‘Don’t be rude!’

Johnnie felt her nipples rubbing against him. To his surprise, the friend in his groin did the same stiffening act. And she pushed her hips into him, rubbing gently. Hello! Johnnie thought, what's she after?

"The entertainment was very good, tonight. And I liked your song about George and his sliding rule," she giggled "it was rude!"

"Supposed to be." he told her. "Made them laugh, anyway."

"Made me feel a bit on the fruity side!" she said quietly. "Do you know, I can feel your sliding rule right now. Getting longer and stiffer by the second." She giggled again.

"You're nothing but a prick teaser, Shula." he whispered to her, telling her off. "Just trying to get me worked up and then you'll leave me high and dry, you bugger."

She giggled. "Go on! You like it though, don't you?" she said.

Johnnie was rubbing his hand up and down her back, trying to arouse her passion and to get his own back on her. Realising that he could feel no bra strap nor any knicker-top under the dress, he leaned his shoulders back and looked at her in mock surprise

"Hey! I say! Haven't you got anything on under this dress?"

"Not a stitch," she admitted with a so-there smile, "It's too hot and, besides, it feels sexy and rude. And you're getting as hard as a rock. And I'm getting very wet and squelchy you-know-where, and very, very fruity."

"You dirty sod!" Johnnie mocked. "Anyway, we can't do it here. Not here on the dance floor."

"It'd certainly cause a sensation if we did." She laughed in her girlish way.

"Perhaps we ought to go somewhere quieter where I can wipe you dry." Johnnie said half jokingly bringing his right hand between their two bodies to rub the palm over her nipple to tease her some more.

She gave a faint shudder and looked at him thoughtfully with her head on one side for a moment as they continued to shuffle round the dance floor. Her pale blue eyes meditated for a couple of seconds.

"Do you know, I'd like that. Honestly!" She was serious. Then added "But I'm too scared."

It was Johnnie’s turn to look surprised. "There!" she said, "That surprises you, I bet."

"Scared? What're you scared of? Why scared? That's a funny word. You've done it before often enough, I'm sure."

She looked over each shoulder to make sure no-one was watching her, before putting her hand furtively between them, pressing against the hardness in his trousers. She looked at him with a suppressed smirk.

"No I haven't! I've never done it at all. Not at all! I came pretty close to it once or twice, but I'm afraid I'm still a virgin - more or less."

"More or less? What's that mean. Either you're a virgin or you’re not a virgin, you daft bugger!"

"Never you mind! What I mean is that I'm twenty-nine and never been fucked. Oops," she giggled, then turned suddenly serious. "Hey! don't go telling all the others, will you John? They'll all want to break me in!"

"Well! Bugger me! You surprise me sure enough," He couldn't really see many of the lads queuing up to fuck Shula.

"Of course I won't say anything! Anyway, nobody'd believe me." Had Johnnie been sober he might have been embarrassed by her sudden forwardness.

"But right now, I really would like to feel that inside me," she breathed in his ear and rubbed her open palm up and down. "You're probably the only chap I know I'd let break me in, but I daren't. And I'm only saying this 'cause I'm pissed and feeling fruity. Tomorrow, I'll not dare look you in the face."

Johnnie looked round in a bit of a panic, but nobody was taking any notice. They were all concentrating on their own partners. Arthur had his hand inside Ravishing June's dress and was caressing her breast quite openly and nibbling her ear lobe. June caught me looking at them and gave a broad wink. She was clearly enjoying herself as well. Bill was drooling over Sexy Sheila in the corner, having given up any pretence of dancing. Her eyes were hooded and unfocussed with the alcohol.

"Look!" Johnnie whispered, "If you go on doing that, I'll end up doing something embarrassing in my trousers pretty soon.”