Marcia McNab, housekeeper, verger and general factotum to the newly appointed vicar of Chigwell, David Rutter, clamped her big soft aging breasts around his angry erection, and having removed her dentures, clamped her mouth over the flared head of his excited penis.
“Marcia, you’re definitely improving. That’s it, suck it baby, suck it. Where do you want it this morning. Down your throat? Pearl necklace? Laced all over those fabulous tits? On you tongue? You choose because I’m cumming real soon, baby!”
Marcia dropped her breasts and massaging his balls, jammed his cockhead as far down her throat as she could. The first spurt went straight down and she used her other hand to make the spunk spurt out with force until dribbles announced his satisfaction. Rapidly, she sucked the remaining essence then licked the peehole, enjoying his moans of erotic agony. She looked up and smiled, licking her lips like a cat finishing the last of the cream.
“Yum, yum, yummy, yum.”
“You know, old girl, you’re getting to be quite the cock hound. I think I’ll keep you awhile.” The phone rang, and tucking his half hard cock into his pants, he answered the phone. “Rutter here, good morning.” He watched as Marcia tucked her big veiny breasts back into her cardigan and struggled to her feet. “Bishop O’Leary, how nice. Yes, yes, but why? I see. OK then, I’ll be here. Bye.”
Marcia had found her teeth and had buttoned up the cardigan, sans bra, but left a respectable amount of enticing cleavage showing. She looked at him with questioning eyes.
“The bishop is sending a Reverend Jessop here to investigate some complaints. He’s apparently the bishop’s right hand man.” He pushed his fingers through his long thick black hair and frowned. “I can’t remember shagging anything under age since I’ve been here. There was that granddaughter of old Mrs Thompson, but she got me on the way out after I’d fucked the old tart.” He ruminated and smiled. “Tight little piece but no virgin. Sucked like a Hoover, fucked like a mink. Nope, couldna been her. Real mystery. I guess we’ll have to wait and see. Apparently he’s due in half and hour. Bring some tea at 9 and we’ll see what the nosy bugger wants.”
Reverend Jessop was a surprise. He was a she for a start. Dressed in a black pants suit, black top and clerical collar that failed to disguise a shelf like bosom and well rounded curves, she had a cap of snow white hair that framed a country woman’s face, virtually unlined but with pink almost ruddy cheeks. Age was indeterminate but no longer young. Grey eyes regarded him as he crossed the room to shake her hand. They widened as she took in his tall, dark Byronesque physique, his handsome face framed by his unruly black hair.
“Pleased to meet you, Reverend Jessop. I must say I wasn’t expecting a woman. Knowing that old poof O’Leary. I thought it might have been one of his ex-alter boys.”
She regarded him steadily and removed her hand from his firm grasp. “I am well aware of the bishop’s sexual proclivities, thank you.” She moved around him and sat herself in the chair opposite his desk. “However, he is also one of the more advanced men in the church who finds gender to be no impediment to professional ability. Sit down young man and I’ll tell you why I’m here.”
He sat and steepled his fingers while Marcia poured cups of tea and silently exited. “I’m all ears Rev. Do you have a first name, or will we stay formal?”
Her eyes narrowed at the ‘Rev’ bit but conceded that her name was Frances or Fran for short.
“Okey doke, Fran, what sort of problem brings the bishop’s right hand man, er – woman to sleepy little Chigwell?”
“You, actually.”
“Me!??”
“Yes, you. The bishop has received a number of complaints about you from the local parishioners, and I’m here to investigate.”
David Rutter’s eyebrows furrowed as he regarded her. “Complaints, what sort of complaints?”
“I’ll reveal that after I interviewed the complainants. Now, I’ve got to get cracking on with it if I’m to finish today. I’ll borrow that very nice Mrs. McNab to show me around. In the mean time, I suggest you work on your sermons. They haven’t been up to scratch either, I hear. Seems they have only a passing reference to the Almighty and Jesus Christ and have more to do with why the ten commandments have been misinterpreted. For instance, the commandment, “Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour’s wife” seems to have been the subject of a sermon that changed it to “Thou must covet thy neighbour’s wife and any other female in the family”. Quite, quite disgraceful.”
The vicar did not look sheepish at all. “I thought I proved it quite well, actually. There are a lot of interpretations in the Bible that when you revert to the language of the day can be taken in different ways. Have you read Barbara Thiering’s “Jesus the Man”? Fabulous book! Takes all the mumbo jumbo out of the Bible and proves that old JC was a rebel in the days when the church held ridiculous power in the Middle East. We can discuss it at length if you like.”
“This may surprise you, Rutter, but I am well read on that subject. Now, I really must get on. Good morning to you. I will expect to see you here at 4pm today to discuss the complaints.” Reverend Jessop rose and strode to the door. “Marcia, old girl, how lovely to see you again and thanks for volunteering to show me around. Let’s go.”
At 4pm, the pair were ensconced in the vicar’s study. Fran Jessop studied the roguishly handsome young man opposite her while cradling a mug of hot tea. “I gather you have no idea what the complaints are about?” Seeing his thoughtful shake of the head, she went on. “It seems that the majority of complaints are because you don’t have sexual relations with enough of the women of this parish.”
David smirked. “Well gee, Rev, I’ve only been here three months. You know the old story, so many women, so little time. Besides which, the church insists that I waste time preaching sermons instead of practicing seduction.”
In contrast to her snow white hair, the Reverend Jessop had dark eyebrows that narrowed as she regarded the vicar. “Be that as it may, you still have responsibilities to the church. Let me go over the complaints one by one. The first person we spoke to this morning was Mrs. Jones, young Jenny’s mother. She regards your behaviour as thoroughly reprehensible.”
“The bitch!” snorted the vicar of Chigwell. “That Jenny Jones was the hottest piece it has ever been my privilege to fuck. Sending her away was the act of a dried up old prune.”