Everyone involved in this story is over the age of 18. It's a fantasy, and in real life such behaviour would be highly illegal and lead to long prison sentences. If you're offended by descriptions of rape and forced sex; read no further.
I won't trouble you now with the tale of how a 42-year-old Foreign Legionnaire ended up thoroughly at home as a corrupt and sexually immoral Roman Catholic priest. Another time perhaps. I guess I fool most of the people, most of the time. Still, my Bishop was no fool, and no stranger to dishonesty himself: his solution was to send me to do the dirty jobs none of his other priests could do. That's how I had ended up trying to make a silk purse out of the financial sow's ear of a flagship community centre. And, I was failing.
More to my disappointment, I'd been forced to leave the married woman I'd been fucking for the past few months behind in my previous parish. Not that I minded too much, since I'd become rather bored with her lately, but I hadn't yet found any sexual relief in my new post. Bluntly: I was desperate for some tail and I didn't mind taking a risk to get it. But that was not on the forefront of my mind when the Bishop called me with an ultimatum on a Tuesday morning.
"Father James! How goes the task?" It was Bishop Patrick, cheerful and dangerous as fuck, and I guessed his next words: "And what news in financing the community centre?"
He knew the answer as well as I did: I'd been sent here to rescue the flagship scheme and I'd failed: I was £2,000 a month short. He didn't even pause: "I know I know, but fear not, your Bishop is here to help you!" Sanctimonious old bugger, that was like being offered help by a rattlesnake.
"Now, some friends are taking over the old manor as a small training centre. Pop over and see them! Today! Now: can't stop, I have the unpleasant task of disciplining a priest who let me down." He didn't seem that upset at the prospect (which was also clearly a threat directed at me), and he rang off before I could ask more. After lunch I dutifully walked over to the old manor. A new sign at the gatehouse pronounced it the home of "Six Sierra Exponential Training". I'd never heard of it, and the sign had not been there the previous week.
The solid front gate was closed and bolted, but from beyond it I heard what sounded like some young women or girls' voices encouraging each other: "Come on, we can do this!"
When I rang the bell the voices broke off; I heard one say: "That will be the Father!"; and then the gate swung open.
I walked in to my first - and delightful - view of three of the first four "6-sex" students, all of whom I would eventually enjoy, singly and in groups, in my bed. At that point all I knew was that all three were young women - just turned 18 I found out later - around 5'6" tall, slim and dressed in tennis skirts and loose t-shirts; which did nothing to disguise the fact that they were all small breasted, fit, and stunningly beautiful.
The first introduced herself to me as Mandy; the girl who'd been somewhat incompetently leading their exercise session and had opened the gate to me. Brunette hair tied in a loose ponytail framed a thin intelligent face. Her lithe body sported a pair of size B tits, the nipples showing as little buttons in the fabric as she unselfconsciously smoothed the shirt where it had been tucked up as they ran. I couldn't place her accent: something east European.
It was a long time since I'd had a woman, and I was instantly hard as she looked trustingly and naively into my eyes. I was so taken aback that I dropped the brochures I'd been holding: Mandy dropped to her knees to pick them up, and as she leaned forward and down, the wide neck of her t-shirt gaped open, giving me a tantalising glimpse of neat breasts, unrestrained by underwear, topped with pink nipples. I looked away guiltily as she scrambled to her feet, but I saw that she'd not missed my checking her out. Her tongue tantalisingly and ever so briefly licked her top lip. she covered the slight awkwardness by introducing her friends: "And this is Abby and Nusrah".
Abby, a freckle faced redhead with a thick, plaited ponytail, looking girlish in that getup (in fact she had a pretty pair of AA breasts, with small nipples so sensitive she could be brought to orgasm just by sucking them), looked down shyly, saying "Hello Father". Nusrah, a black Ugandan girl with short hair turned her large brown eyes on me. A man could drown in those eyes, I thought. She smiled, but didn't speak.
"Look out girls", said Mandy "here's Georgy-Porgy, we'd better split! See you later Father!" "I hope so!" I murmured to myself.
The man they'd called Georgy-Porgy - combination handyman, driver and enforcer I learned later - was a thug. I recognised the type from my military days: we would never have had him in the Legion, but we met his type of militia grunt: gone to seed; overweight; pockmarked; with threatening eyes and hunched shoulders: my military instincts kicked in and I felt for the weapon I'd not carried for six years. what in all the heavens was a man like that doing here? But he greeted me as if expecting me:"Priest?" I was in a dog collar, so no marks for intelligence. "Come." No great conversationalist our George.
He led me up to the house and in to a large ante-room where there were two men who were such a contrast to him that I almost laughed out loud: dressed in velvet jackets and so camp they were caricatures:
"At last, Father James; the scrumptious Father James!" said the taller one: 6', white haired and perhaps early 50s. "Hello darling, I'm Rupert, and this" - turning to the shorter, younger, blonde man next to him, "this is my colleague, friend and dare-I-say-this-to-a-priest, my lover Jeremy. Now, what can we get you? Coffee? Tea? Something stronger?"
I asked for a black coffee, and Rupert called out "Duty!", at which another young woman appeared from a side door. "Beth flower, black coffee for father J". I had a momentary impression of a girl about 5'8", black hair, surprisingly blue eyes given mystery with a trace of makeup, sheer white blouse over pert boobs covered in an (I suspected unnecessary) lacy bra, short black skirt and stay-up stockings (the skirt was short enough to make that clear) over black shoes.
