The newly appointed vicar of Chigwell was a dangerous looking sod, reflected Marcia McNab, church warden and general factotum of the vicar's manse. He looked more like a gypsy than a man of God. Longer than normal black hair curled untidily around his head seeming to indicate that it was as unruly as him. David Rutter also had dark penetrating eyes that were mesmeric in their intensity. He was big, well over six feet in height with broad shoulders and an athletic, slim hipped build. His fingers were broad and spatulate and were now steepled beneath his chin as he contemplated the woman in front of his desk. Marcia felt like she was riven in stone and her knees began to shake.
David suppressed a grin and continued to stare at the old woman in front of him. Dressed conservatively, she looked like any other grandmother, white haired and proper. She wasn't entirely shapeless nor all that unattractive really. Stupid bitch had actually had the temerity to try to tell him the rules of the parish and of the house until he had sternly told her to be quiet. Of course, his weak kneed predecessor would have wanted a strong woman. All David wanted was a cook and housekeeper, and the occasional head job. Not that much to ask really. She had dentures and it had been a while since he'd had a nice gum job. He'd had a beaut set up in the last parish until some lesbian mother had gone to the bishop and complained that he had devirginised her under age daughter. And, fuck, had she been a nympho or what!
"Get around here and on your knees, woman," he commanded, his voice low and threatening. Marcia knew she had met her match. She had ruled the roost here for over 24 years since her husband had died. At 67 her life was wrapped in the church, the parish and the vicarage. Now a man, a real man, was ordering her to her knees. Astounded by her lack of fight, she went meekly behind the desk and got to her knees in front of him.
"Undo that cardigan and remove it. I like to see some tit when I'm being sucked off."
Inwardly shocked by his bald statement that she was about to do something she had never done before, Marcia fumbled with the buttons and eased the grey cardigan off over her shoulders, thrusting her very large breasts outward, firmly encased in the long line bra she wore.
"Never wear a bra in my presence again, Marcia. Now, remove that as well. There's something about an old woman's tits hanging like that. Very erotic. I like to see them move in blouses and sweaters."