The Perfect Whore Ch. 03

Chapter III Suckling a Curate

It was some days before Beverley recovered from her encounter with the con man who was also a cross dressing masochist with a penchant for ladies underwear. The following week she was surprised to receive a telephone call from the curate at her local church who wanted to come round and see her. Naturally she agreed and they arranged a mutually convenient time.

When he arrived Beverley sat him down and offered him tea and biscuits. He was a serious earnest young man with a distracted nervous air. After exchanging small talk for some minutes Reverend Johnson diffidently broached the matter he had come about. He seemed rather embarrassed. He explained that last week the vicar had seen her in the town centre in a rather distressed state and he was wondering whether she had a problem or needed any counseling. Beverley's initial puzzlement was replaced by alarm when it became clear that the day in question was that of her disastrous encounter in the hotel. Had he seen her making an exhibition of herself at the reception desk of the Mansion Hotel? The curate explained further and she realised that it must have been the vicar who had spoken to her in the café where she was weeping over a cup of coffee, the man she had told to "fuck off you sick pervert"!

Had she been twenty years younger Beverley might have blushed as she recollected the incident. As it was she was able to concoct a reasonably convincing story of a distressing encounter with a 'flasher' by the Corn Exchange. When a man spoke to her subsequently in the café she assumed that he had followed her there. She asked the curate to convey her sincere apologies to the vicar and to assure him that she didn't have a problem or require any counseling. The curate seemed reassured by her explanation and the conversation returned to more mundane matters. He had noticed a photograph of her son Andrew on the side table and enquired about him. The curate seemed greatly exercised when it emerged that that Andrew was precisely the same age as he was.

Beverley was puzzled, she was having difficulty reading his subliminal thoughts; usually the eyes gave everything away. Over the years she had become accustomed to watching Graham's eyes flicking round a restaurant or airport departure lounge seeking out a suitable female to be the recipient of his reproductive fluid to pass his genes on to the next generation. The biological basis for such behaviour had become redundant several thousand years ago but the associated lecherous gene was still functioning as strongly as ever.

Beverley could read no evidence of lechery in the young curate's eyes. Was he homosexual? She thought probably not; she vaguely recalled reading of an engagement in the Parish Magazine. Suddenly he began to sob gently. Now it was Beverley's turn to supply counseling. She went over and sat beside him on the couch and put her arm round his shoulder. Between his sobs he told her that his own mother would have been about her age, if she hadn't died when he was six months old.

The curate rested his head on her shoulder from where he was able to look into her décolletage. This seemed to reassure him somewhat. He began plucking vaguely at the buttons of her blouse. One of the buttons broke off and to avoid any further damage Susan quickly unfastened the remaining buttons. The curate's face was now buried in her brassiere and after a short time he started making unsuccessful efforts to unfasten it; fittingly for a virtuous young man of the cloth he had absolutely no idea how to do so. He began to sob again in frustration. Beverley solved his problem by unclipping it herself. The curate gave a sigh of satisfaction and began to fondle and kiss her now fully exposed breasts. Actually he wasn't so much kissing her breasts but rather sucking them. Sucking them like a six month old baby! He continued in this vain for some time occasionally switching his attention from one breast to the other.

Beverley really had no objection to a man fondling or kissing her breasts but only as an element of sexual foreplay. If matters were proceeding normally she would by now expect to feel a hand sliding up her thigh. She felt rather disappointed and tried wriggling around a bit to expose her thighs and stocking tops. Most men would find such a sight a very powerful aphrodisiac indeed but not the Reverend Johnson. Beverley tried a more direct approach.

'Would you like to come up stairs with me?'

The curate paused in his fondling and sucking and seemed to become aware of Beverley for the first time. Here he was sitting on a couch with one of his parishioners and she was practically naked. For perhaps the first time in his sheltered existence he finally understood all that talk in the Bible about lust. He recoiled in horror, certain he was destined for Hell. Beverley realised she had gone too far and immediately rearranged her skirt and fastened her bra.

'I think perhaps I should go now', the curate said. 'Please excuse me.'

'There's nothing to excuse, please come again soon.'

Beverley noticed that the curate was now avoiding eye contact, a clear indication that she had stirred his lust.

'Thanks for the tea. I enjoyed our….' he tailed off aware that whatever he said could be misinterpreted.

Beverley flashed her very best winning smile.

'I'm already looking forward to your next visit; we really ought to get to know each other better.'

When the curate had gone Beverley went up stairs, stripped off and had a shower. As she soaped her breasts clean she realised that the curate had made her nipples quite sore. She dried herself she lay down naked on the bed feeling rather frustrated. She fumbled in the bedside table drawer and found the bag containing the vaginal vibrator that she bought at the sex shop some weeks ago.

'Oh fuck!' she exploded, realizing that she had no batteries for the device. In the bag containing the vibrator she noticed there was a magazine. She leafed through the pages out of curiosity. There were lots of swingers contact advertisements. Then something caught her eye.

Uninhibited Well Endowed Girls

Wanted for Adult Film Industry

There was a contact telephone number and a web site address. Slipping on her dressing gown Beverley went downstairs to the study and switched on the computer. It didn't take her long for to navigate onto the web site. The images on the web site could leave know-one in any doubt about what was on offer; graphic pornographic photographs of fucking, oral sex and buggery. Beverley scanned through the images and wondered if Graham had visited the site. She clicked into the folder where he stored his pornography and flicked through his obscene portfolio. There were lots of photographs which had obviously been downloaded from the internet as well as many photographs that Graham had taken of her. There were also a few not very successful time delayed photographs of Graham fucking her. Beverley wondered where he had stored the photographs taken on the night of John's visit. After a few more clicks she found them. She stared at the images with a feeling of total detachment finding it hard to believe that it was her with such an incredibly beautiful handsome sexy man. Her fingers strayed to her vagina and she began to masturbate while flicking through the images of John fucking her.

The photographs reignited her strong physical attraction for John. She knew from her conversations with Graham that lust for the opposite sex was an almost permanent condition for a man but it was a completely new experience for her. Yes, she had had her schoolgirl fantasies about Clark Gable and Richard Burton but this was altogether different. Quite simply she wanted John to fuck her again; she would probably even agree to have his enormous cock in her mouth so strong was her desire for him. How could this desirable conclusion be brought about? What would induce Graham to sanction this? She shied away from the idea of a secret affair; she would have to appeal to Graham's very strong voyeuristic streak. An idea was stirring in her mind. First she would investigate the pornographic film industry and then she would induce Graham to make an extended film of her with John; she was pretty sure he would jump at the idea. But how to get John to agree; he would no doubt be delighted to fuck her but recording it might be a step too far even for John; and there was also his wife to consider. Making a pornographic film would take several days. Yes the whole thing would have to be carefully thought out.

The first time that Graham had persuaded her to watch a pornographic DVD with him she had expected to be shocked and disgusted but in fact, she had found the film very erotic and, rather surprisingly, very relaxing. Quite why she found the film relaxing she found hard to explain but it was perhaps due to the fact that what was being illustrated was what she and Graham and no doubt thousands of other couples routinely did in the privacy of their homes. In other words, it assuaged her deep down puritan guilt at taking pleasure in sexual activity when actually it was perfectly normal.

Eventually Beverley returned to the site advertising for porn film actors. There was an option of sending an e-mail and she thought this would be better than talking to someone, initially at least. After much thought and some economy with the truth, she sent the following message:

I am a well endowed experienced woman 38 years old and very keen to get into porn films. I attach some still photographs taken by my partner who is quite happy with what I am doing. The man in the photographs is not my partner just a very good friend! My partner likes to watch other men fucking me and would love to see me in a porn film.

Brenda

Beverley clicked the 'send' button then switched off the computer and went back upstairs. It was extremely hot in the bedroom. She opened the windows wide before lying down naked on the bed again.

Some time later Beverley woke with a start from a light sleep. There was a man staring in the window. It was the window cleaner.

'Oh you're awake are you', he said cheerfully. 'I didn't want to disturb you; you look so nice lying there naked. You ought to be a model; you've got such a lovely figure.'

'Why don't you come in and have a closer look at my figure?'

'Thank you madam, that's very kind of you.'

The window cleaner climbed in through the bedroom window and approached the bed.

Beverley smiled at him.

'Well, what do you think?'

'Those tits of yours ought to be on page three of The Sun!'

Beverley opened her legs.

'What about my cunt, do you like that too?'

'Oh yes, you can't beat a bit of cunt, madam.'

'Look I haven't got any money handy to pay you. How much is it?'

'Ten pounds, madam.'

'Well would you like to fuck me instead?'

'That sounds like a very generous offer, too good to refuse madam. A prostitute would charge a lot more than that.'

He began to undress.

'My assistant is cleaning your downstairs windows; can he come up and fuck you too?'

'Yes of course.'

He leaned out of the window and called to his partner.

'George, would you like to come up.'

The window cleaner climbed on the bed. Beverley opened her legs so that he could mount her. As he fucked her Beverley noticed George climb in through the window and start to undress. The window cleaner was a very quick fucker.

'Thank you madam, that was very nice. Your turn now George and mind you treat the lady with respect.'

George, being a young man, was an even quicker fucker.

'Say thank you to the lady George, where's your manners.'

'What about next month?' Beverley enquired. 'I might be out; shall I pay you in advance?'

'That's very kind of you madam. Another fuck is it?'

'Yes please and don't forget George. I shall want a written receipt of course'

There was a sudden loud noise of a ladder being put up by the window. Beverley woke with a start. Realising it was the window cleaner; she quickly ran over and closed the curtains. She noticed her reflection in the dressing table mirror and was surprised to see that her vagina was swollen and engorged as though she had recently been having sex. Recollections of a very odd dream were already rapidly fading away, lost beyond recall.