The Rude Vicar

Belinda had not been to church for a long time, not since she was a teenager. St Lucy's was an imposing stone church that had been built hundreds of years ago in the centre of the town. Going there on Sunday morning brought back memories of her childhood and particularly her confirmation. Listening to the liturgy and the hymns brought back memories of why she had left the church and not been back, until now. She did enjoy listening to the priest delivering the sermon in his deep, resonant voice, even if she didn't really understand what it was he was talking about.

After the service had finished, she sat on the pew pretending to study a hymn book, waiting for the other members of the congregation to leave. She wanted to be able to speak to the priest on his own. He was stood by the door, speaking to his parishioners and warmly shaking their hands as they left. He was tall and handsome, but his robes made him look a little strange, like some gigantic bird of prey, Belinda thought. Belinda waited, wanting to pick the right moment to speak to the priest. His name was Kyle Whicker, Belinda knew this because her sister Karen had told her, and also because Kyle's name and picture were prominently displayed on the notice board outside the entrance to the church.

He was certainly a lot more attractive than most of the other vicars Belinda had ever seen. She could tell that his body was lean and muscular, even under the ridiculous robes he was wearing. His full, dark head of hair was slightly grey at the temples, giving him a distinguished look, and his bushy, jet black beard made him look very manly. But the most striking thing about the vicar's appearance, so Belinda thought, were his steely grey eyes. She found herself wondering if vicars were allowed to have girlfriends while she sat waiting in the pew. The congregation slowly left the church, and Belinda put down the hymn book and joined the back of the queue of people wanting to speak to the vicar as they left.

She had dressed smartly for her first Sunday back in church. She wore a floral-patterned summer dress that clung to the womanly curves of her body. She wore sandals on her feet and her toenails were painted red to match her lipstick. She wore her best jewellery, her crucifix necklace, her wedding ring, and her engagement ring. She still wore the rings even though she had now been a widow for longer than she had been married. She had gotten up early that morning especially to straighten her long, dark hair. She thought she had noticed some of the congregants looking at her with envy and lust, and she knew that she looked good. She wanted to make a good first impression on the vicar.

"Hello, Mister Whicker," she said as she approached him, offering her small, bejewelled hand to him to shake.

He looked at her hand but did not shake it. "It's Reverend Doctor Whicker," he said. "I didn't spend all that time studying at theology college for people to call me mister."

"Oh, I am sorry," said Belinda. "Reverend Doctor Whicker." She stood in front of him with her hand held out, and he looked her up and down. His eyes lingered on her hips and thighs and the plunging cleavage in between her big, motherly breasts.

"That's quite all right. Who are you?" he asked brusquely.

"I'm Belinda Pocock, this is my first time in church for a long time."

"Well, it's good to see you, Belinda," said the vicar, still staring at her cleavage. "That's nice," he said, pointing at her breasts.

"Oh, this?" her hand that had been waiting to be shook went to her chest, and she touched the delicate silver crucifix necklace she wore. "My father gave me this at my confirmation. He's dead now." She let the necklace go and it hung down at the top of her cleavage.

"What brings you back to church?" asked the vicar with interest.

"My sister suggested it, actually," replied Belinda. "She used to come here."

"Oh, who is that?" his head leant to one side as he looked at her carefully with his grey eyes, studying her features.

"Her name is Karen Green."

He grinned. "Yes, I remember Karen well."

Most of the rest of the congregation had now filed out of the church. Belinda and Kyle were alone as they spoke.

"Reverend Doctor, I need your help," said Belinda. "Karen said you helped her, and you might be able to help me."

"Oh, I see. Come with me into the vestry," he said. "We can speak privately there." She followed him through a doorway at the side of the church.

The vestry was a small, dimly lit room furnished with a large wardrobe, an old wooden desk with a chair, and very little else. It smelled of mothballs. The vicar took off his white surplice and hung it on a clothes hanger in the wardrobe. He wore a black cassock underneath, and Belinda admired how the tight material outlined his muscly body.

"Sit down if you like," he said gruffly, pointing to the chair. Belinda obediently sat down with her legs crossed and looked at him. "Would you like a drink?" he asked. He opened the desk's bottom drawer and took out a bottle of gin.

"Just a small one for me please, Reverend," said Belinda.

He poured a large measure of gin into a coffee mug that was on the desk and passed it to her. He then poured an even larger measure of gin into another mug, and immediately gulped it down in one go. He sighed with satisfaction, poured himself more gin and put the bottle down.

"That's the stuff. I always need a drink after doing a service," he muttered. "Drink up." He pointed to the mug he had given her. Belinda took a small sip of the gin. It tasted very strong, and it made her wince.

The vicar lent against the desk and sipped his gin as he looked down on the woman who was sat in front of him.

"You said you needed help, what did you mean?" he asked.

"Well, to be honest, it's money," said Belinda. "I'm really struggling. I'm on benefits, my daughter lives at home and she doesn't work because of her mental health. I can hardly afford to pay my bills, let alone buy food. It's always been really hard, but this month it's even worse. I need help, Reverend. I need money. I spoke to my sister, Karen, she's the only family I've got left after my mum died. She said she's only just got enough to get by on, she does a cleaning job. But she said when she was really struggling before she came to you, and you helped her. She says the church has some money put aside to help people when they are desperate."

Kyle took another gulp of gin and stared at Belinda while she spoke. She looked at him imploringly as she finished speaking. He squinted at her, studying her carefully, then replied: "Yes, I did help Karen. But she was a member of this church. St Lucy's has a small fund to grant short term financial aid to its members. You yourself said you've not been in church for years, what makes you think I should help you?"

Belinda was a little stunned by the bluntness of the vicar's tone, and she was unable to answer for a few moments, struggling to think of the right thing to say. But eventually, she managed to stammer a single word, "Charity?" in a pleading tone.

Kyle chortled, pleased with the woman's befuddlement. "This church gives to lots of worthy charitable causes. What makes you think you would qualify to have the money rather than them?"

"I need £850 by the end of the month, or they are going to evict me. And I need money for food for me and my daughter as well. She's at home but she doesn't work. I'm desperate. I know I haven't been to church for years and I'm sorry for that. But please help me, I'm desperate."

She was almost crying as she said this, which pleased Kyle immensely.

"I don't have that kind of money here," he said haughtily. "I suppose I could help you, but I don't see why I should. Did Karen tell you what she had to do when I granted her assistance before?"

"She said you made her do things, but she didn't say what. She said she would rather not talk about it. She said it wasn't anything indecent though."

Kyle snorted. "OK. In order for me to decide if you are a worthy cause, I'm going to have to get to know you a bit better. Drink up."

Belinda obediently finished her gin, grimacing as she drank it, and put the mug on the desk.

"Now stand up, let me see you."

Belinda stood up in front of the vicar, and he looked her up and down.

"Turn around, slowly."

Belinda turned around to face away from him, and he looked her up and down some more.

"You're a lot fatter than your sister, aren't you?"

"Karen has always been very slightly built," said Belinda quietly.

"Yes, but you've not always been that fat, have you?" Kyle chuckled. He poured himself another mugful of gin and sat down on the chair, looking at the poor woman with a smile on his face. She did not answer his rude question. "That's probably why you're so poor, you waste all your money on junk food to stick in your face. How old are you?"

"Thirty-seven," said Belinda. She was looking at the floor, unable to meet his gaze.

"You look older. I thought you were in your forties. Turn around and face away from me, I want to look at that big, fat bum of yours."

Belinda turned and faced the wall. Kyle admired the roundness of her buttocks, which were clearly outlined under the clingy fabric of her dress.

"How old is your daughter?"

"Nineteen."

"Oh, so she was the result of a teenage pregnancy, then? You must have been quite a slut."

"I married young. I'm widowed now though."

"Bend over the desk so I can see your bum better."

Belinda lent over the desk, resting her hands on its surface and sticking out her rear end.

"Have you got any other children?" he asked.

"A son, Callum. He's older than his sister, he doesn't live with us though."

"So, you had him when you were even younger? Same father as your daughter?"

"No... his dad is in prison now."

Kyle laughed merrily, then said: "Pull up your dress at the back."

Belinda straightened up in front of the desk and pulled up the hem of her dress, lifting it up over her waist, and exposing her white knickers to the vicar's appreciative gaze. He cooed with interest. Belinda felt herself blushing, knowing that this strange man was now looking at her underwear.

"It really is a big, fat bum, isn't it?" Kyle mumbled to himself. Then, he said to Belinda, "Bend over the desk again, I preferred it when you were bent over."

Belinda lent across the desk, resting her chest on its surface and holding her dress up at the back to show her bum to the vicar. It was an uncomfortable position for her, but he was enjoying the view. Kyle told Belinda to pull down her knickers, and Belinda obediently did so, wanting to please him even if it was humiliating for her to follow his request. She slid the elastic waistband down over the plumpness of her buttocks, exposing her naked rump in front of the vicar's eyes. She pulled her underwear down to her thighs, then rested her hands on the desk, bottom bared. He stared with interest at her buttocks, their largeness, and their paleness. He slid his chair closer to the desk, so that he could inspect her bare bottom more closely. He carefully studied every inch of the naked flesh of Belinda's luscious behind. She felt very vulnerable in this position, bent over with her bottom on show to him.

"What a big, wobbly backside," the naughty cleric muttered to himself. Then, he tersely instructed Belinda: "Pull your arse cheeks apart, I want to see the hole in between them."

Her face was blushing like a beetroot, but that was hidden from his view. What he could see was her putting her small hands on her beautiful buttocks and carefully pulling them apart. Staring at her cleft, he said "More. Pull them further apart." Mortified, but eager to comply, she dutifully pulled her crevice open further, showing her bum hole to the vicar.

Her large brown anus was revealed to Kyle's gaze. He examined it closely, studying every wrinkle of that exposed orifice. Purple haemorrhoids bulged around the hole. Fine blonde hairs sprouted from the skin around it. He contemplated her bum hole carefully. She was blushing so much that she could feel her face starting to sweat. After scrutinising her anus for a few minutes, he shook his head with disapproval and delivered his verdict.

"It's a very ugly looking shithole you have there," said Kyle. "Tell me, do you take it up the arse?"

"What do you mean, Reverend Doctor?" asked Belinda.

"I mean, in bed do you let yourself be buggered? Has a man ever put his penis up your bum?"

"My husband used to do that to me," she said slowly, ashamed to admit it but determined to tell the whole truth to the priest. "After Saskia was born. He said he preferred it. And then after he died, I was seeing another man for a while, Clifford. He used to do that to me, too. I didn't really like it but they both enjoyed it so I would let them do it."

"I thought so. I can tell by how large and loose your hole looks. These men who you let fuck you in the arse, did they have large penises?" The vicar was still carefully inspecting the hole he was speaking about. His face was only a few inches from her anus.

"My husband's was pretty big, and Clifford's was really big."

"Did it hurt when they did it to you?"

"Sometimes it used to hurt quite a bit."

"Good. Serves you right, you dirty slag. Your sister was the same. The filthy bitch told me she once took a twelve-inch cock up her arse from a man she had only just met. Quite how she knew it was exactly twelve inches is beyond me, I can't imagine she measured it with a ruler before he fucked her. She had a big arsehole too, but her bum cheeks weren't as fat as yours."

He took a pencil from his desk and poked the blunt end of it into her anus. She gasped as she felt him wiggling it around inside of her. He was testing the tightness of her sphincter by stirring the pencil around inside of it. He pushed the pencil into her further, until only the tip protruded from her bottom. She wriggled uncomfortably as she felt the hard object poking into her bowels. He let go of it and watched as the pencil slowly slid back out of her, slipping out of her lax arsehole and then dropping to the floor. Belinda gasped again and Kyle smirked.

"It's not a surprise that they preferred to fuck you in the arse, considering how big your cunt looks," he said, glancing at her other hole that was also visible to him. "Now, here is how you can earn your money. I will give you fifty pounds right now if you fart in my face."

"Fart in your face? Oh no, I couldn't do that. My father told me that you always had to treat the clergy with respect, and that it is the height of bad manners to fart in front of someone."

"Where's your father now?"

"He died."

"So, his opinions don't really count for much anymore, do they?" sneered the vicar. "Listen, I want to see that big, fat arse fart, that would be amusing for me. And I'm willing to give you fifty pounds to see it. I don't care about your dead dad's opinions on etiquette, I know you'll do it."

"Fifty? I need much more than that," she wailed.

"It's OK, you can come back later in the week, and I might give you the same again. And I have friends, other priests, who might pay you to do favours for them as well. But right now, Belinda, that's my offer. Fart in my face and I'll give you fifty."

Belinda was confused, baffled by the priest's bizarre request. But she was also desperate, and not sure what else she could do. She needed the money and there was no other way for her to get it but to beg. And this extraordinary man was offering to pay her to fart in his face. So, she did not know what else to do. She tried to fart. She tensed the muscles in her guts and tried to force out some wind for the strange man of the cloth, whose face was hovering inches away from her hole, a hole that regularly produced large quantities of gas, but at this moment was quite unable to produce any. She kept straining for a few minutes, and he watched her twitching anus with interest. But she was not able to fart.

"I can't do it," she eventually cried.

"How disappointing," said the vicar, still staring at her bum. "I'm afraid I can't help you in that case. Come back the day after tomorrow and maybe if you can be more forthcoming, I will help you then. You can stand back up now; I'm bored of looking at your ugly arse."

"I need money now, though," said Belinda, standing upright and pulling her knickers back up. "For food and the electric meter. Please. Could I have the fifty anyway?"

"I would like to help you, but as you've failed to do what I have asked you, I will have to find something else for you to do." He finished his mug of gin and gazed at her thoughtfully. She had a pleading look, her desperation obvious. "I know. Instead of you farting for me, I will fart for you. I'll give you forty pounds if you let me fart in your face. How does that sound?"

Horrified, but desperate Belinda reluctantly agreed. "OK, Reverend Doctor. I'll do it."

Kyle was very pleased, he grinned at her like a wolf. He stood up and kicked off his shoes then unbuttoned his cassock, took it off and hung it over the chair. He stood before her, wearing only his shirt, boxer shorts and socks. She looked with wonder at his sinewy legs.

"Kneel down," he told her, and she knelt on the carpet in front of him. The carpet in the vestry was thin, and the floor felt hard against her bare knees. He looked down at her, grinning. Then, he held the mug by his bottom, screwed up his face, and farted. He quickly took the mug and thrust it to Belinda's face, clamping it over her nose and mouth. "Breathe in!" he snarled at her, and she did, breathing in the foul, sulphurous smell of his fart from the mug. He held the mug to her face for a few moments more, making sure that she had plenty of time to savour the stench it contained. The pungent air she inhaled from the mug reminded her of the smell of burning tyres.

She shuddered, repulsed by what had just happened. He was grinning even wider, enjoying her distress.

"How was that?" he guffawed. "Did it smell bad?"

"Yes," said Belinda shakily. "It smelt really bad."

"Good. We're not finished yet, though." He put the mug down on the desk and turned his back to her and lowered his boxer shorts in front of her face. She looked with surprise and excitement at his muscular bum. "I had a few pints of real ale last night, and it's given me dodgy guts."

He bent over in front of her and pulled his bum cheeks apart, displaying his pink anus and the smooth scrotum that dangled below it. "Put your mouth on my arsehole," he ordered her. "Kiss it, and keep your lips right over it. Whatever happens, don't move your mouth from my hole, and keep it open."

Belinda pressed her lips to the vicar's bottom. Thankfully, his hole was clean, but she was still horrified to be kissing him in this way, this was something even her most unpleasantly kinky boyfriends had never asked her to do. And she was dreading what she knew would come next. She could hear the vicar straining and feel his body tensing up. She could hear a rumbling inside of his guts. His hand grasped the back of her head, and pushed her face firmly into his bum crack, so she was unable to move her mouth away from his arsehole. He groaned, then let out a series of six or seven enormous farts that exploded into Belinda's mouth. The poor woman was stunned by the suddenness and violence of these windy outbursts. The noise shocked her, but what was far worse was the taste. She could taste his farts on her tongue. She had never known that farts had a taste before. She knew that they smelled of course, but no-one had ever farted in her mouth up until now, so she had not known it was possible to taste them too. And the taste was repulsive. The most disgusting flavour she had ever had in her mouth. A sickly, acrid sourness that seemed to stick to her tongue. And it kept coming, she felt his bum hole burst open again and again, as he farted over and over, long, parping, voluminous farts. Farts that he had had to hold in during the Sunday morning service, now freely passing from his innards and into her mouth. He held her head tightly against his arse, making sure she could not move away while he farted on her. He felt her struggling but he held her firmly in place by the back of her head with his strong hand.