Jenny Jones, the filthiest, randiest woman David Rutter, vicar of Chigwell had ever experienced had drained him dry until he was shooting dust. So much so, he had been forced to sleep in and forego his morning blow job from Mrs. McNab, his housekeeper and general factotum. In fact it was two days later before his cock lost sufficient soreness to be handled. Marcia McNab had lovingly rubbed some sort of cream into it twice a day and miraculously it had swiftly returned to normal.
Jenny Jones had returned home somewhere in the wee hours and her mother saw instantly that she had been shagged senseless and had packed her off to distant relatives, and that, David reflected, was a sad waste of female. Her carnality matched his and she had vowed to come back to him as soon as she was able. And he would welcome her with open arms, even if hers had a baby in them.
David was munching toast in the big country style kitchen and contemplating the large arse of Mrs. McNab when the phone rang.
She answered it. "Vicarage, Marcia here." She listened and then looked over at the vicar, her eyes narrowing. "I'll ask." She held the flat of her hand against the receiver and said, "Are you available to visit Quimby Stud. It's Mrs. Shalders. She has a problem she wishes to discuss with you."
Rutter peered at her. "You don't seem too enthusiastic, Marcia. Say yes and we'll discuss it."
"He'll be there about 10. Is that alright?"
Marcia hung the phone up and came and sat opposite the vicar, picking up her tea cup and contemplating him over the rim.
"Well, tell me."
"Sonia Shalders is extremely rich."
"So?"
"Well, she has buried three husbands and that's how she got so rich, according to folks around here. All three were much older than her and even though the deaths were ruled legitimate, there is still a lot of suspicion about."
"Maybe she shagged them to death?"
Marcia McNab, former prude, did not even blink. "Possibly. They all died of heart attacks." She took a sip of the tea and looked pensively into the distance. "The last one, Bill McMahon was a big hefty sort of fellow and he passed away a year ago and left her and her daughter by her first marriage the finest horse stud in the country. The daughter runs it and has been very successful. The only thing that Sonia does well is get through a lot of gin bottles."
"So why does she want to see me?"
"She contributes heavily to the parish and she may be contemplating not doing so from now on. I really don't know. Perhaps she wants to confess her sins, mmmh??" Her eyes twinkled at the thought and David wished he had seen her in her prime. She was bloody attractive for an old tart of sixty or so.
Marcia recognised the gleam in the vicar's eye and regretfully told him to be on his way if he was to make the appointed time.
"I'm going to fuck you, Marcia, and soon. You deserve it. You're a girl in a million and I don't know what I'd do without you. Blush all you like, it's the truth. No promises but I'm going to climb between those stout thighs of yours real soon."
The deepened colour of her cheeks signalled her acquiescence more directly than words. Nodding to himself, David strode out and left her with a distinctly aroused vagina. Thrusting a hand up under her skirt, she rapidly flicked her aching clitoris and achieved an orgasm in record time. "Promises, promises, the bastard," she sighed getting up to go and change her panties.
Driving through the gates of an obviously successful stud, the vicar of Chigwell approached the palatial Edwardian mansion along the gravelled tree lined drive. Shown into a sitting room overlooking an Olympic sized pool, he noticed a blonde and quite voluptuous woman of about fifty or more, dressed to the nines wearing a very expensive apricot coloured silk blouse teamed with a beige knee high skirt. Sheer stockings and a pair of expensive shoes completed the picture. She was sipping a glass of clear liquid that gave off the aroma of sloe berries – definitely gin. She took one look at the tall, handsome vicar and her nipples suddenly bulged to points beneath her blouse. That was not missed by the vicar whose eyes narrowed as he saw her physical reaction to him.
"Please be seated. I am Sonia Shalders and my friend Sheila Simmons was not lying when she described you, vicar." He sat and waved away the offer of a drink. "I'll come straight to the point. My daughter by my first marriage, Soraya, is a problem to me. She is now 32 and unwed. She shows no interest in men but I am convinced she is not a lesbian – no little female friends, if you know what I mean. I want you to find out what her problem is. A little of the counselling you gave Sheila might do the trick. In return, I will continue to support the parish and donate a hefty sum for the private use of the vicar. What do you say?"
"Mmmmh, if she looks like you that might not be such a hardship."
Sonia stared at him. The impertinence of the man! "We have been mistaken for sisters but action rather than flattery will find me very grateful indeed. That is, if you can get her to change her ways."
"The flattery was intended, Mrs. Shalders. Tell me what Soraya's interests are then."
"Ever since she was given control of the stud, she has spent every waking moment fully involved from selecting the mares to overseeing the mating with the stallions. I'm not complaining about the results, mind you. Last year, one of our yearlings topped the four million mark and has gone on to double that in prize money. It's just that it has become an obsession with her. She is my only child and I want grandchildren, and soon, as I'm getting older by the minute."
"Okay, I'll give it a shot. However, there is one thing that I want if I am successful."
"Oh?"
"Yes. I want a piece of your prime arse."
"How dare you, young man!"
"Oh, I dare. Is it a deal? It might take your mind off boozing for a while." Ignoring the shocked look on her face, he went on. "In fact, lay off it now because I'll want to fuck you as soon as I finish with her, and I can't stand the smell of gin."
