While able to be read as a standalone story the forerunner to this story is 'Summer Chapter 22. The Vicars Story Part 1'. This is an unapogetically long story. Not for the fainthearted. I hope that you enjoy the story and plase send your comments, they make the writing worthwhile.
Just for the record all characters in this story were over the age of consent. Senior Guides such as Pat, Sue and Jackie and some of their friends were active in the movement well into their twenties.
Summer Chapter 23 The Vicars Story Chapter 2
The vicar didn't drive off immediately. He sat in his car outside the church hall and waited for his shaking to stop. He leaned his head forward against the cool plastic of the steering wheel and closed his eyes until his breathing came back to something like normal and his heart rate slowed. He was terrified, what he had just done was unbelievable, unimaginable; and incredibly exciting. He sat up and ran his hands through his short, thinning hair, shaking his head to try and shake loose a little reality and to bring a little sanity back into his world.
His hands were shaking, sweating and his eyes felt bright and fevered. He was ill, he felt ill, feeling sick, his stomach tied in knots, churning over. His terrors wrapped around him like a blanket, all the negative questions pounding in his brain. What had he done? What if he was discovered? What would happen to his job, his home, his marriage, his position in society; all forfeit. All he had worked for and built. Too lose them all was simply too terrible to contemplate and in a blind panic he looked around for the door handle, fumbling with it in his haste, unable to get it open.
She hadn't come out of the hall, at least he hadn't seen her, so she must still be in there, maybe he could go back and apologise, maybe make amends in some way, beg for forgiveness. And then as the pendulum swung he realised that he actually couldn't go back now even if he wanted to. In that one small encounter his life had changed dramatically, completely and forever. With a real shock he also realised that for the first time in his life he actually felt alive, actually felt himself a full man. And he liked the feeling, he liked the power that came from putting his hand up a woman's skirt; and he knew in that instant that risking it all or not he could never go back.
His mind burst into flames at the thought of Pat and the delights that were lurking up inside her wonderfully short skirt, inside those beautifully enticingly flimsy cotton knickers, delights that he only just had the briefest sample of. And he began to shake again, a man with a terminal case of newly discovered lust. He brushed the sweat from his forehead and wiped his hands on his cassock and suddenly he realised that in truth he didn't give a fig about the morality of what he had done. Fingering a parishioner was small beer in the hierarchy of clerical misdemeanours and if discovered probably wouldn't even make a line in the parish magazine; and besides, living most of his life amongst 'godly' people had somewhat blunted his sensibilities towards matters of morality. In short he simply didn't care. What preoccupied him here and now was what Pat looked like naked and how she had felt when he had his hand up her skirt.
He had come so close, he had to finish it. Like an alcoholic with a serious thirst he needed another taste of Pat's young and tender body. He needed to see her completely naked, to be able to touch her, he needed his fingers in her sex again. The devil was riding him bareback, using his spurs and whirling his hat over his head shouting 'Yeeha!" The sweet and heady smell of sex was already in his nostrils, growing him horns and putting a ring through his nose, undoing him. He was homo erectus for the first time and the feeling was intoxicating.
It had felt so good, wonderful in fact, absolutely bloody magical! He slammed the flat of his hand repeatedly against the steering wheel. 'Yes!' he screamed inside his head, 'Yes! Yes! Yes!' He wanted to get out of the car and run around the car park like a man demented, to punch holes in the tired old wooden walls of the church hall; to scream it out at the top of his lungs, that he, the vicar of this God forsaken piss hole of a parish, at his age, at his stage of life had just experienced his first real sexual conquest. My God, what a thing! Not that it was much of a conquest in the grand scheme of things he had to admit, she had cum on his finger, and very quickly, surprisingly quickly in truth, but for an unpopular small town vicar who had all but given up on life it was indeed a major, major event.
With trembling hands he started the car but still he just sat there with the engine running. And then she came out of the front door, blinking in the bright sunshine, arching her back, brushing her hair with her hands, the movement tightening her blouse across her breasts. She looked so good, so beautifully lithe and sensuous and once again he remembered exactly how she had felt, her sex under his fingers, the small shudder as she came and suddenly he was rampant and totally unrepentant again. He suddenly realised that he had to finish what he had started, he had to finish his conquest of this young woman, he had to have her naked, to cum in her. He had to make her his; his quest for sex had begun in earnest.
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The Guides and Scouts used the woods behind the church for their campfires and shorter summer camps. The main summer camps were usually better organised and took them further afield but the short, more spontaneous, weekend and midweek summer camps usually took place in the fields and woods behind the church. Being the Vicar he always knew when they were taking place, the grounds were church owned and they needed his permission to use them and so he usually wandered over to the camps least once a day when they were taking place.
The visit to this particular camp had assumed an even greater importance to the vicar as this time he knew Pat was camping there. She had taken part in previous camps but back then he had not touched her or had his fingers inside her. This time the interest had an intensely persona aspectl.
When he arrived unannounced he was disappointed to find the small camp apparently deserted and so he took the opportunity to walk slowly around the few closely grouped tents and looked inside them one by one. Wherever the guides were they had not been gone long, for despite the growing heat of the day there was a small billie can of water bubbling away, keeping hot on a small wood fire in the middle of the camp.
Despite his disappointment he carried on his inspection with relish. He got a thrill from looking through the empty tents. He became aroused by the empty intimacy of the neatly laid out beds, the rolled sleeping bags in which the young girls and women slept, the intimate articles of clothing he 'accidentally' came across in the kitbags. All these things were extremely exciting and he looked forward to the sexual pleasure he drew from them.
The tents were laid out with military precision, all spotless, bedding folded neatly and the treasure trove of the kit bag at the bottom of each camp bed. He walked the camp imagining the older women, the senior guides, who would be sleeping here tonight, trying to put names to each bed in turn. Looking inside the last tent he was suddenly surprised to find someone sitting on a camp bed reading and as he recognised her his excitement immediately peaked.
"Hello Pat," he said quietly and the woman jumped, she tried to rise but he moved further into the tent, blocking her exit, dominating the available space.
"Sorry," he said, turning to close the tent flap behind him, "I didn't mean to make you jump. I didn't think anyone was here. Quite fortuitous really."
Trying to hide her shock at the vicar's sudden appearance Pat struggled to recover her composure, her hand at her chest, her book open on the floor where it had fallen. Ignoring her obvious discomfort the vicar moved fully into the tent and sat heavily on the camp bed opposite, his bulk filling the small tent. Reaching down he picked up the paperback she had dropped, turning it over in his hand to read the title. It was a trashy romantic 'bodice ripper' and with a small smile he placed it face down on the bed alongside him.
"I don't seem to have read that one," he said generously, quietly noting that her taste in literature quite suddenly matched his own aspirations, for today at least. She smiled uncertainly glancing at the tent flap as if expecting someone else to enter.
