Vice in the Vicarage

"Oh Kyle! Oh Kyle!" she kept repeating, panting for breath.

"Do it again!" he urged her.

"Oh Kyle... do what?"

"Fart for me! Fart, you dirty whore," he growled, bringing his face closer to her battered bum hole.

She groaned, and then forced out an enormous, gooey fart. The wetness and wideness of her hole amplified the horrendous sound she made. And it was not only gases leaving her asshole that produced the sound, for a considerable amount of fluid squelched out along with the putrid air. Rectal mucus, clear slime like snot, and melted butter mixed with brown liquid shit sputtered out of her hole along with a long, loud, gurgling fart.

Kyle let out a roar of disgust. "Oh, the humanity! That is without doubt the most revolting thing I have ever seen! Oh, my eyes! The horror! The horror!"

Belinda farted again, another long, wet expulsion of wind and runny filth. Kyle was crouched on the floor behind her, his hands holding her arse cheeks apart and his face close by her crevice. He watched with disgust and delight as her slack hole erupted before his eyes. A good deal of air had been sucked into her bowels when her arsehole had been gaping open, and now she forced this air back out onto Kyle's face. Her arsehole spluttered out droplets of moisture, and Kyle could feel these splattering against his face. The joy he felt at watching her ravaged arsehole as it farted was intense. The feeling of the warm, humid air from her bowels blowing against his face was bliss to this perverted man. He leaned closer to her, sniffing her bottom, and then he pushed his nose into her sore arsehole, so she could fart directly on it.

When she had finished farting for him, she went to the bathroom and cleaned herself up, wiping her bum and the backs of her thighs with toilet paper and then washing her hands.

She came back out of the bathroom and found Kyle sat in the same armchair in the living room. He was still naked and had poured himself another glass of wine. She noticed a small pile of paper money on the coffee table.

"There is a hundred pounds there," he said gruffly to her. "Take it, but don't tell anyone you have been here or that I gave it to you."

"Kyle, thank you, I appreciate it I really do. But I need more than this. I need £850 by the end of the month to pay my rent or they are going to evict me. Please help me." She started putting her clothes back on as she spoke to him.

"I'm afraid I couldn't spare another penny at the moment," he said flatly, then sipped his wine. "Perhaps next Sunday I might be able to give you a bit more. Not the full amount, but a contribution."

"Yes please, anything would help. I'm desperate," Belinda pleaded, her eyes becoming moist with tears.

"Perhaps I could come to your house for lunch after the service on Sunday? You could introduce me to your daughter."

"Yes of course, that would be lovely. Thank you, Kyle."

"What did you say her name was?"

"Saskia," said Belinda.

"OK. Bring her to church on Sunday, and then the three of us will go to your house for lunch afterwards. And I will see how much charity I can give you. If Saskia is willing to comply with my requests I'm a lot more likely to be generous."

"I'll speak to her about it," said Belinda. "I think she will be OK with that."

"Good. In that case I will see you both on Sunday. I'd like to give you more before then but I'm afraid there is nothing to spare."

She finished dressing, thanked him again, and left. He sat in his chair, sipping his wine and contemplating what had just taken place.