Naughty Notes

The Rev Philomena sat down. She had just called the reader of the day's scripture forward. With shock she realised that her panty was wet. The man who had concluded the presentation part of the programme with a rousing solo had apparently given her more excitement than she had realised. He had sung the words of the Twenty-third Psalm to a tune she had never heard before. In her words of appreciation, she feared she had gone overboard but she could see in the faces of the gathered that that song too had profoundly affected them. She had gone so far as to suggest that he move to her parish and join the choir.

At that point Philomena had no clue that a few times before he had actually sung with that choir at the invitation of the Choir master, who was a family friend, and had been since they were children. She could not know that as she praised his song, he heard the words, but was also noticing that she was of slender build, and was impressed by the power of her voice. He idly wondered how it could come out of such a spare frame. She was a very attractive woman, who, if she did not go into ministry, could have made a glamorous TV presenter. He thought he would try to obtain her contacts from the choirmaster, but he could not immediately think of a plausible excuse why he should be after her phone number.

After the service was over the leaders withdrew to the vestry in fine Presbyterian fashion. There, among the comments made in post-mortem of the service, was the solo that had so roused her emotions. One of the elders responded to her earlier comment about the singer joining them. The singer had in fact previously sung with the choir, he said, and was a friend of his family. The Reverend's pulse quickened.

"He has to visit us on Harvest Sunday next month," she quickly put in. "Do you have his contacts so you can help us invite him?"

"I can let you have it. After all the invitation will be better coming from you, Rev." The post-mortem moved on to other matters. But Philomena was assured of getting to the singer directly herself.

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"Good morning Ian! This is Rev Philomena of Ganiso parish. You visited us at the time of the demise of Elder Fred."

"Good morning Rev! What a lovely surprise! I was very blessed to be among you. I enjoyed the church organ very much. As always your services are sober and grounded."

"Is that so? I should have invited you to the vestry so that you can say that to the elders gathered there!" She was glad they had started off on such a good note. "We were deeply blest by your singing."

"Its very kind of you to say that, Rev. Thank you very much!"

"I am inviting you to visit with us on Harvest Sunday which comes up on 13th of next month. I do hope you can come."

Ian Kinyua's heart was racing with the sheer exhilaration of actually talking to Philomena. "I should think my diary is clear on that day, and I'll be delighted."

"I want to propose to you, if it is convenient, that as we are still ironing out the programme, you could come to the parish office because I think there are areas you could help us with."

"Me? I am only a singer Rev! How could I make a difference?" Ian was mildly shocked.

Smoothly, Philomena assured him that since he came from the premier parish of the Presbyterian Church where they had done these kinds of things for many years, she was sure he would have some useful insights. A date was agreed upon.

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Ian parked in the visitors' slot and sauntered into the parish office. His heart was beating a little faster than usual, the prospect of actually being in Philomena's presence causing him a bit of anxiety. Meanwhile, as the appointed hour approached the reverend lady was finding her palms sweating, faced with the possibility that Ian would soon be sharing this office space with her.

Two hours later they drove out of the compound, Philomena leading the way. They had lunch at the hotel not far from the church. As they made their orders they began to relax from the state of suppressed excitement in the office. There, serious planning business was in hand. But here, Ian could allow himself to run his hand over Philomena's arm as they talked, and she to look into his eyes to let him see the fires smouldering under the surface. Thus the lunch helped to relax the tension each had suffered since the day of the service. As they parted at the carpark, they allowed themselves to clutch each other tightly in a bear hug. Philomena felt some dampness in her panty as she climbed back into her car.

They each found reason to call the other severally until the day of the next meeting at her office. By now they were fully relaxed in each other's presence. Had the fly on the wall of the office any intelligence, he would have noticed that they behaved more like long-term lovers than people who had been total strangers a few weeks previously. After the meeting they drove out together as before, had lunch at a nearby town, but the late afternoon found them in each other's embrace engaged in pillow talk in one of the same hotel's rooms, having enjoyed a sexual romp that left them sated.

"You have played my body like a musical instrument, my love!" the reverend said to him.

"Oh, darling I felt your magnetism in your words of praise for the song I did that day. It feels so long ago yet its.... how many weeks?"

"Never mind. I feel as if I have known you since I was in college. You make me so comfortable."

He was twirling her nipple as they spoke. Suddenly he felt her jump. She turned and kissed him hard. His cock responded in a trice. He rolled her towards him and pulling her legs about his body, gained access to her cunt. His cock slid in smoothly, oiled by the juices of their previous encounter. In two strokes he was all the way in.

"Fuck me, you naughty man! Play me like a violin, draw your bow across my strings."

He played a fast passage as commanded, causing both of them to climb the ladder of excitement in a very few minutes. They were panting like steam engines on a gradient, with a fully loaded train. As they neared their summit, he was using the full length of this bow to play the longest notes possible. At that moment the train cleared the hill, and they hurtled together downwards. She let out a scream not too unlike a train whistle, while his back stiffened like a tresle bridge. They each came for long moments before collapsing in a wet heap, seeming like they had lost consciousness.