The Vicar of St. Dunstan's Ep. 20

"Amen," Mary muttered, pausing to respond before sucking me deep into her mouth. The walls rang as I continued as best I could, creating a spontaneous theology of orgasmic free love while my testicles were churning and my member was salivating in appreciation for the wonders Mary was providing. On and on I went, trying to see how long I could talk before a flood of fulfillment disconnected my tongue completely.

Just before I expelled the fullness of my nectar, Mary stopped, stood up and threw herself over the altar. "You've made a convert, Reverend Father, give me that Holy Love you've been preaching about!"

It was overwhelming, to see her plastered naked over the small table, her breasts pressed down and her backside inviting. I stood there for a moment reluctantly, dripping and rock hard, at the thought of penetrating her in that place. "G'wan Vicar," she pleaded. "It's not like it's our church!"

That was all I needed, and I pushed into her damp swamp to the hilt. She gasped and began thrusting back at me, heaving on the altar cloth, moaning and twisting her hands. The candles were on stands to the side, so I had to be careful not to knock them over; shortly, I was thrusting into her rapidly, pacing myself so that we orgasmed together, her torso flat on the altar, fulling impaled and receiving a geyser of semen. We stayed there locked together, breathing deeply together and savoring the contact of our moist bodies in the musty air.

After we returned to earth and disengaged, Mary gave me a long, deep, open mouthed kiss, before breaking to say: "That was a dream come true, Reverend Father. But if we'd done this at St. Dunstan's, I would never be able to pray there again."

I shuddered. "Yes, me too, and that would be a huge problem." Mary dressed and I buttoned up, and we set about making certain that no remnant of our lovemaking was left for the congregation to discover the next morning. We took a cab to Mary's place, where we took a shower together and she fellatiated me again, drinking down my nectar, before we called Agnes to find out where the party was. A cab took us back to London, where we rejoined them at the Crow's Nest, Mary's favorite pub in the City. My father was in great spirits, relishing the young people's company, while my Mother fussed over him. During Tea, Mom gave me a quizzical look, but I played it cool, hoping to fool her for once in my life.

Sunday was an ordinary July celebration that went without a hitch. My parents were satisfied with the liturgy and the music, and the Hazeltons hosted us for luncheon afterward. Betsy and Beatrice were helping their grandmother again, dressed in tight fitting tank tops and very short shorts, much to my Father's delight and my Mother's disapproval. Mom and Dad frequently sparred in jest when attractive women were around, and they provided the entertainment for all of us, which the girls were happy to encourage by flirting with Dad outrageously.

A quiet evening in, and the next day dawned brightly. We shared a modest breakfast Agnes prepared, and I asked them what they wanted to do that day.

"Son, I think we need to take it easy today," Dad said. "Everything's been great, but I'm a little tired. What about you, Wilma?"

"I feel the same way, Fletch. I'm sure Alfred has things he needs to do, and he may need to rest as well."

I gave them both a close visual inspection, but they seemed to be in good shape despite drooping eyelids. "All right, I need to run a little bit, then we can have a nice lunch at one of my favorite places nearby," I said. "I'll ask Agnes to go with us."

"Go ahead, Alfred. I'll ask." She turned and went to Agnes' room to invite her.

I dressed for my run, and my cell phone buzzed. "Vicar," Mavis said, "It's me. Something's up with Harry. Can you come round?"

"Yes, I guess I can," I replied. "Can you tell me more?"

"It's too long a story. I'll tell you when you get here."

"All right, Mavis, don't worry, I'll be right over."

I warned my parents that I had an emergency call without naming Mavis. It would be difficult to explain later: if Mavis was in need, I didn't want them tagging along since Mom had become close friends with Mavis the previous day. I doubted that this was a set up: Harry Hazelton rarely left home except in the afternoon to take up his usual booth in the Pub. The Hazelton's lived nearby, but I took the car in case I needed it later.

When I knocked on the door, Mavis' voice answered from a distance: "Come in, it's open."

I looked around the living room and the front bedroom, where Harry slept, but they were empty. "Where are you, Mavis?"

"In the Laundry Room."

"In the Laundry Room?" Her voice sounded like it came from the kitchen. It was empty as I went through on the way to the basement stairs, so I opened that door and clomped down. The basement was a dank festival of concrete; the Laundry Room was on the opposite end, and occupied the width of the house. Going through the door gave me a sight: Mavis was standing topless and barefoot, wearing only a pair of boxers, next to the indoor clotheslines.

"I was wondering if you'd help me--rinse out a few things," she said coquettishly. The air was cooler than upstairs, and her huge nipples were extermely hard in the damp. She wore huge rings in her nipples. Her face was hopeful and her eyes were anxious.

"Where's Harry?"

"He went to the track today to play the ponies."

"I thought you didn't let him do that?"

"I don't let him do that often. Fifty pounds means that he'll be gone all day."

"I don't think I can give you all day."

"How about just the morning?"

"Done." She cupped her massive breasts and lifted them heavily to me. "The girls need your special attention."

Mavis' breasts were basketball sized, with nipples seven inches across, nubs an inch and a half thick that protruded a half inch. She was around 5' 4", plump, with large hips and a head full of long grey hair, her skin was blotchy. I drew closer to her and lightly traced the acres of sensitive white flesh, toying with the rings and pulling them lightly. Her face was lost in lust and her breathing quickened. "Oh, Vicar, that's so lovely," she cooed, "so, so, so, lovely. I'll give you a week to stop that." Her eyes closed momentarily; she gently bit her lower lip.

My eyes traveled around as I played with her aureolae. Beside her on the top of the washer was a set of padded handcuffs and a long rope. Directly above our heads was a long iron pipe that ran the length of the room; Mavis draped a metal chain with two eyelets over it in easy reach. A sack of clothespins was on the dryer, and she had purloined a multiple strand flogger from my basement cabinet. There were three red candles, lit and pooling wax, and a tub of ice at her feet. A spool of string, a bottle of baby oil, and my Western spurs, also borrowed without permission, completed the set of toys. "Is there any particular order you want me to go with these?"

She moaned softly. "I love everything to you to my tits, Vicar. I love standing helpless before you, waiting for you to use me. Do whatever you want, luv, turn my tits purple or red, twist my nipples, clamp me all over, freeze me or cook me. Make me cum again and again as you torment me." I grabbed the rings in her nipples and pulled up; she smiled broadly.

It was time to do something more energetic, so I took a scarf from the hamper and blindfolded her, then cuffed her hands behind her. Moving around behind her, I cupped her breasts from behind, palming them and groping harder and harder. I knew how she wanted me to use the items, and I spent the next hour and a half doing so. She came three times doing things we'd done many times before, taking pleasure from the pain I inflicted on her body. My erection needed relief when I finished, so I sat her on a stool, her breasts pale violet from their binding, put my John Thomas between her eager lips for her to relieve my tension.

She was beaming as she showed me to the door in her pink bunny robe. "That was wonderful, as usual." Reaching up to put her hand on my cheek, she cooed. "I won't be able to wear a bra for days. By the way, did your folks like their Tea Friday night?"

"Yes, absolutely. Thanks for putting it together for us, and thanks for getting Beatrice and Elizabeth out to help with it."

"Oh, no worries. The lasses look up to you, Vicar, they adore you. In a few months, they'll be eighteen," she said, with an odd look in her eye and a smirk on her face.

I got back to the Vicarage and changed into my running clothes. It was too humid to run far through the neighborhood, so I returned early to work out downstairs. When I descended, I heard the hottub burbling, and smiled at the thought of the nymph Agnes bathing, however when I entered the room, my parents were ensconced there, naked, with my Mother sitting on my Father's lap. I wasn't able to see anything other than their bare shoulders. My Dad called out: "Hi, son," but I darted back upstairs as quickly as possible and downed a shot of Bourbon before sitting heavily to recover from the sight.

"How did he get down there?" I asked the empty air of my study. "He can't manage stairs anymore. There's no railing on the basement stairs." Then, I remembered. The Vicarage sat on a hillside: the front door was ground level, but the slope dropped off to a ground level entry to the basement. He could have wheeled out through the Chapel, tooled around the side of the building, and gone in through the back door. I hope he was clothed for the trip.

At that moment, Mary Sterns ducked in. She came over with a big smile and gave me a kiss on the cheek, but her face took on a look of concern when she saw the look on mine. "What happened to you?"

"I came back from my run and went downstairs to work out. Mom and Dad are down their in the tub."

"Yes?"

"Naked. Having sex." "Good for them" The puzzled look remained. "I guess you knew they did that, didn't you?" she said after a moment's pause.

"Yes."

"We're all adults here. Been there, done that, seen that."

"Yes."

Another awkward pause. "You're still sitting there like a lump."

"Yes."

"Did you never walk in on your parents when you were a tyke?"

"No. Never. When I got scared as a kid, I crawled in with my big sister Nancy who was five years older than I. If I was getting sick, or feeling extremely scared, Nancy would go get them. John told me about the facts of life; Janet and I worked out the rest with some study and practice. That's what I got for being the youngest of six: had to stand in line for service."

"So, how does this make you go all strange? It's not like you're a monk."

"Can't explain it very well. Most of the people I know don't want to know about their parent's sex lives. Makes me feel like an intruder, like I'm privy to forbidden knowledge that I don't want to know. Kind of like walking in on someone defecating or something like that. Very awkward; doesn't feel good."

She put her hand on my shoulder. "All right, take your time and get over it. You smell like a combination between an old sweat sock and. . .Mavis?" I nodded. "I'm glad you had time for her; she has been getting very--restless lately. Go clean up. Everything will be all right." I stood up slowly and she guided me to the door and toward the stairs.

I showered and shaved after Mary left, putting on a nice shirt and slacks. Working through the stack on my desk and making several calls, I got caught up with everything that was left from my week out of town and worked ahead a little bit. Lucinda Parkhurst-Frazelton called with a dinner invitation for that evening: I was worried at first, but she was very lucid the other night and sounded like she was under control, so I accepted with the caveat that her daughter be present.

My Mom stuck her head in to tell me that lunch was ready. Agnes was off playing tennis, so it was the three of us. We caught up on my brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews, and all the cousins. They were happy to accept Lucinda's invitation, and talked about visiting the zoo the next day before packing Wednesday and leaving early Thursday morning. Not a word was spoken about seeing them in the tub earlier.

Agnes jogged into my study around 3:30, hot and sweaty, the moisture making her brief tennis outfit cling to her body. I was working on my dissertation proposal: my recent paper comparing and contrasting the teachings of the Lollards and the Hussites had given me an direction for an more extensive treatment of the subject, bringing in some original material I'd discovered in Oxford about Anne of Bohemia and her circle at the court of Richard II. She gave me a sultry look as I raised my head, then turned to lock the door before bounding across the room to land in my lap. She gave me a deep kiss and piped: "Hello, Al. Where's the parental units?"

"They're taking a nap. We're going to Lucinda Parkhurst Frazelton's house tonight, then to the Zoo tomorrow, so they need their energy. I thought you'd be worn out after your tennis this afternoon."

"Oh, I had a drink afterward with Rachel."

"Rachel?"

"Rachel Staton."

"And you came back all hot and horny right now?"

She squirmed on my lap and batted her eyes. "Yes."

"And you want to give you a good shagging?"

"If you please."

She was very appealing, and I got interested quickly. "All right, come sit on my lap and we'll talk about the first thing that comes up."

A sharp buzz of her pouting lips replied. "That line's so old. . ." But she came over, knelt before me and undid my fly. With a few deft strokes of her soft hand and tongue, my cock was ready for her, and she slid her panties down to impale herself slowly and easily. She gripped the arms of my chair to maintain her balance she glided up and down, drawing me deep inside her, as she turned her head straight up at the ceiling. I put my hands on her perky breasts and kneaded them, reveling in their soft downyness. My member was enjoying the ride in Agnes' tight channel, and soon I erupted a river of love deep inside her.

Just as she finished her orgasm mounted upon me, there were heavy footsteps and a knock at my door. "Alfred, are you in there?" asked my Mother's voice.

"Yes, Mom. Just--counseling a parishioner."

"Why is the door locked?"

"I always lock the door, never interrupted that way. Lots of people wander through here." Agnes put her head on my shoulder and bit me softly to suppress her giggling.

"All right, son. Your Dad just wanted to know if you wanted a drink at the Pub before we go over to Mrs. Parkhurst-Frazelton's house."

"Sure, Mom. Just give me fifteen more minutes for my--session, and I'll be right with you."

"We'll see you then." The heavy footsteps faded down the hallway.

Agnes had remained on my pelvis, listening with her eyes wide open in disbelief and her hand over her mouth. When my Mother finally departed, she moved her head to my chest and started laughing uncontrollably, muffling her amusement in my front. I smacked her on the buttock: "Ride's over, Perky. Let me off so I can clean up a little before I have to go out with my parents."

"This is as bad as being a student again for you, isn't it?" she jibed as she got off and pulled her panties back up. "Maybe next time we'll have to go parking out by the old factory."

"Is that the local parking spot right now?"

She smirked, skipped to the door, unlocked it, and disappeared toward her rooms. There was a half bath adjacent to my study, so I used it to clean up a little before going out.

Harry Hazelton was holding court at the Pub, jovially beckoning us to join him at the table. "Great day, Vicar, great day. Took a flutter at the gee-gees, and they paid off, my lads, they paid off every one! Made a full Monkey! Drinks are on me! Guv'nor, if you'd do the honors."

Johnny Wickham nodded and asked my parents what they wanted, nodding and smiling as they asked for Budweiser, a request that would have gotten one of the locals an evening's worth of abuse. I asked for Bushmills followed by a Harp lager and a glass of ice water. We settled in next to Harry with our drinks, who was beaming relentlessly, with Stan Dover and Percy Whitson nearby. As I sat next to Percy, he clapped me on the shoulder, his face alight with several pints, and shouted in my ear: "My Peg's got anudder bun in th' oven, Vic. All thanks ta yahu, lad." With that he laid a big, long, sloppy kiss on my left cheek.

I looked unsteadily at my parents, and replied to him: "Congratulations, Percy. At last, you're building your stairsteps as you wanted."

"Dohn't'I know it, Vic, dohn't'I know it. She's been a right goer ever since you giv' us tat advice about. . ." At this, I knocked the glass of water into Percy's lap, which sent his arm flailing to knock over his and Stan's pints as he rocked back and forth in surprise.

"Hey, waddya doin'" Stan complained, pushing Percy back in my direction.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Percy, here let me help you. I'll buy you another round of drinks, boys." Percy settled down in a moment or two, and looked around unsteadily.

"M'trousers'r wet," he said in amazement. My mother took over in an instant. "Ah, Mr. Whitson, I think I'd get home right away and change into something dry if I were you. It won't do you any good to sit around in your damp pants."

"Why don't you help Percy get home, Stan?" I said quickly. "I'm sure that his Peg wouldn't want anything else to happen to him tonight after their good news."

Stan was looking glum and rebellious for a moment. Johnny brought over another set of pints for the men, and Stan drained his with one swallow. "All right, Vicar, 'nly 'cause it's you that's askin'" He weaved upright and pulled his friend's arm over his shoulder, bringing Percy to a relatively upright position. "I'll buh back after I' seen him safe." They lurched across the Pub, and finding the outside door on the second try, went out into the street.

Harry continued beaming at us in spite of the accident, a little in his cups but not far out of control. My mother leaned over and said: "What was Mr. Whitson talking about dear, about how you helped him start his family?"

I took a breath. "Percy and his wife Peggy were having some marital problems, communication and such, and I worked with them a bit. Once they could talk again, their interest in starting a family resurfaced and they had their first little girl last winter."

"A lov'ly wee lass, with a full head of hair right out of the oven," Harry mused.

"And they were telling me that they wanted several children, so this is some news they were eager to hear."

"Don't know about that," my Father said, "several children that close in age can be an awful burden. They take up all your time."

My Mother gave him a smack on the arm. "They took up all your time? I thought I was the designated child wrangler on the ranch?"

"Yes, yes, Wilma, you were, but I had a hand with those children as well."

"A hand, Fletcher, a hand?"

Harry thankfully broke in before the conversation embarrassed me too much: "I know what ya' mean, Fletcher, me lad. Our six lasses came one after the other and keeping meself sane in the midst of that hen party was a trick, for certain. Had to rouse up before daybreak to get time in the lavvy every morning. My Mavis took care of them, all I had to do was bust up a couple of young lads who didn't know what respect for a lady meant."

"I kept the shotgun in the front room," my Dad said proudly, "kept my girls safe from any cocky young bucks that trespassed on our spread."

Mom hit Dad on the arm again: "Flet-CHER!" Turning to me, Harry inquired with a devilish grin: "Did'ya get over to see Mavis this mornin'? She was right anxious that you come by and abuse the girls for her."