Falling For Jennifer Ch 03

Author's note.

A few years ago I wrote the second chapter of 'Falling for Jennifer' which introduced the vile Father John Tobias into her life. Some readers were critical of my portrayal of the catholic church, but the greater majority wanted to know what happened to him, and to Jennifer Griffiths and her brother David.

And so here is Chapter 3, which takes place some years later and brings the three together again. Readers who believe in the sanctity of the church will find this story disturbing, but to them I say this: there is much good in any institution, but revelations of recent times have shown there to be great evil too. There are men like Tobias who have been nurtured and protected for too long. If you don't like that reality, don't read on!

Sex is not central to this story but, ironically, it is the driver for much of what happens. There is some violence in it too.

And finally, everyone in this story is fictitious and is over the age of 18. I hope you enjoy it.

Hot Sister, January 2020.

*

Jennifer Elizabeth Griffiths sat awkwardly in the Church of the Blessed Sacrament and wished for the fifth time in as many minutes she was somewhere else.

It was years since Jen had entered a place of worship, and she had thought she never would again: but Tracey had begged her to be there for the christening, and she loved both her friend and the baby. And so she had come this morning, her heels clicking crisply on a stone floor as cold as her heart, and she perched on the end of a pew and waited for the service to begin.

There were about thirty other people there - Tracey's family, mostly, and her friends. She recognised one or two of them and smiled a greeting, but there was no connection and she looked around. The church was small, without Transepts or a Chancel, and it was plainly decorated. The Sanctuary, which separated the Nave from the Altar, was only a dozen paces wide and there was a stained glass window beyond. She saw the morning sun refracted through its leaded panels had bathed the alter in crimson, like fresh blood spilled on the crisp white linen, and her stomach churned.

I shouldn't be here.

The door of the Sacristy opened and a priest appeared, his face a mask of nervous anticipation. He was very young, and Jen guessed this was his first baptism - or at least one of his first. She watched as he spoke timidly to the parents before taking his place next to the font, and she saw him turn to the congregation with a small smile of welcome.

And as Jen watched she perceived another figure enter the Nave behind him. He was wearing the robes of a Catholic Bishop: a white cassock beneath the pectoral cross, offset with amaranth trim and purple fascia, and a scarlet zucchetto perched upon his head. She saw that he was tall, his shoulders wide and straight, and his hands were held in supplication as if bestowing blessings on those gathered before him.

But it was his face that seized her attention, for she knew it. He was older now, bearing lines of age that had not been there before, and the hair that had once been dark was streaked with grey - but the eyes were the same: as black as obsidian like those of a circling shark, and they filled her with a familiar dread.

In an instant she was transported back fourteen years to the kitchen of her mother's house, to those same eyes fixed on hers like those of a snake regarding a rodent. She had fled from the place where he lived and had moved a dozen times since. She had thought herself safe. But here he was, stood before her in senior robes of the catholic church, and she understood that nothing had changed and he had been rewarded for a life of avarice and lust.

Jen rose to flee but the movement attracted him. She saw his eyes turn upon her, those black orbs that had robbed her of sleep for so long. She perceived the flare of recognition within them and she saw his lips curl, as a wolf might smile at a newborn lamb. And in that moment she knew he would pursue her and that everything she loved was under threat, and a roaring wind filled her head. She felt her heart beating, beating, in a discordant rhythm that robbed her limbs of strength and purpose, and then a great darkness consumed her and she slumped to the cold stone floor.

*

"Jesus, Jen! What were you thinking?" David Griffiths' voice was filled with anxiety, and he rested his hand gently on her forehead to see if she was feverish.

"I was at Annie's baptism...I told you I was going."

"And you'd had nothing to eat, so you fainted." He pulled a chair closer to the bed and sat on it, his eyes upon her face. "You know what happens if you don't eat anything in the morning."

"But I did. I had breakfast before I left."

"So what happened?"

Jen regarded her brother. His eyes were grey and filled with concern, unlike the empty black pools of the Bishop, and the vigour and purpose within them gave her strength.

"I saw John Tobias today."

"Christ! Where?"

"At the church. He's not a Priest any more - he's a Bishop. The church has promoted him and there he was, as if nothing had changed." Her voice was husky with emotion and he saw her shudder slightly. "He saw me...recognised me, I'm sure."

David shook his head. "What happened was a long time ago, Jen, there's nothing for him now. It must be - what - twenty years?"

"Fourteen," she corrected him, "don't you remember? It was after Mum's funeral. You'd gone to take Edith Williams home, and I was left in the house...just him and me. That's when -" her voice cracked, the emotion still raw. The image was so clear, even after all this time: the Priest pressed against her in that little kitchen, his voice as slick as warm oil.

You are having carnal knowledge of your brother...I can help you to love another...just you and me.

She felt again the slither of his fingers on her neck and the bulge of his engorged member thrust against her, and she recalled the stink of his breath.

But it wasn't just that. It was what he did afterwards. The lies and deceit, the dripping of poison into the ears of the villagers; the lost jobs and the ostracism of even her friends, and finally the assault that nearly killed her. She recalled the metallic taste of blood in her mouth and the reek of waste as his disciples urinated on her, and she remembered her life as a fugitive. And all the time he'd been watching: taunting her with his cold black eyes and laughing mouth. The same look he'd given her in the church that morning.

Jen stared into her brother's face. "You didn't see the way he looked at me," she said, "but I did. He'll come after me again, I know."

"But why?" David asked. "Is it because he didn't get what he wanted?"

She shook her head. "No. He'll come because he enjoyed it."

*****

Six miles away the Most Reverend John S. Tobias, Auxiliary Bishop of Bunyong, lay in his bathtub contemplating his day with a deal of satisfaction.

First there had been the christening. It was unusual for a Bishop to attend such an event, but he'd been keen to meet the young priest recently posted to the Parish. It had been a fruitful visit: he had earned the Minister's gratitude, and had assessed him to be unlikely to listen to the occasional rumour that circulated about his Bishop's behaviour.

And then he'd seen that little whore, Jennifer Griffiths, sitting in his church as bold as brass.

He remembered when he'd first met her, at her mother's funeral. She was young and beautiful and he'd counted on possessing her - but she had defied him. And so he'd dismantled her life, sure in the knowledge she would one day beg for forgiveness and surrender her pale, quivering body to his ministrations. But she had run like a thief in the night, and for years he had hated her for it.

And now she was found again and it would be he, John Tobias, who would be the instrument of the Lord's work. What had Jesus said about harlots?

If she profanes herself by harlotry, she profanes her father; she shall be burned with fire.

Perhaps that was how he would end it, for what better way to scour her soul than by cleansing it with flame?

But first he would have her, and he felt his cock harden rapidly at the thought. When she fell to the floor in the church he had gone to her, touched her hair and face as he bent to offer his help. He had seen that the years had been kind to her, that her body under that blue dress was still lean and her breasts firm and round.

He seized his cock and stroked it rapidly, his mind spinning in a bubble of pleasure as he imagined the moment he would take her: not gently, as he had once supposed, but in a frenzy. He would ravish her until he was done, and then the Lord's work could be finished.

The image was enough to trigger his orgasm and he spurted into the bath, the long jets of his semen stringing like silvery threads in the warm water. And in his mind he imagined it to be inside Jennifer Griffiths, and he laughed at how good it would feel.

His thoughts were interrupted by the phone, and he leaned over and picked it up, glancing at the screen to identify the caller.

"Bishop Tobias."

"Um, it's Father Rawlings, your Excellency, from the Church of the Blessed Sacrament."

"Yes, Father. Did you find what I wanted?"

"Oh yes. Annie - I mean Mrs. Fielding - was very kind. She told me the name of that poor woman who fainted in the church, and where she lived. That is what you wanted, isn't it?"

"Indeed, Father. Perhaps you could send it to me? Yes, on this number. And there's no need to concern yourself any further - I'll visit to make sure she's all right."

He listened to the Priest's inane mumblings for a few moments longer before thanking him firmly and ringing off. Now that he had Jennifer's address he needed to think how best to achieve what he wanted, and he didn't need the ramblings of an idiot priest to take up his time.

*****

Jennifer Griffiths drew back the curtains and looked over the expanse of lawn stretching almost as far as she could see. There had been a heavy frost during the night but it was melting in the morning sun, and she saw it was going to be a beautiful day.

She turned to the room behind her and smiled at the discarded clothes strewn around it. They told a story - silent witnesses to the events of last night. David's shirt lay by the open door, and his pants next to the sofa. Her clothes were more widely scattered: her blouse a puddle of blue by the table and her panties hanging from a chair. She recalled the feel of her brother's cock sliding into her and experienced the same guilty jolt of pleasure that she always did when she committed incest.

It had been a particularly memorable night because there had been little lovemaking in recent times. She and David were both busy and intimacy seemed to be more of an effort than it had before. In fact, neither had really expected anything last night when the subject of Bishop Tobias had come up and, surprisingly, had led to sex.

David had been sitting at the kitchen counter with a glass of wine, regarding his sister as she tidied up after dinner.

"So what are we going to do about him?" he asked.

Jennifer shrugged. She knew immediately who he was talking about and had pondered the same question for most of the day, but without reaching an answer. "I don't know," she replied. "Maybe I was wrong. Maybe he'll just leave me alone."

"I shouldn't count on it," David observed. "I think we should be prepared to deal with him if he doesn't."

"Maybe I'll just take out a contract on him...you know people who do that sort of thing, don't you?"

"Sure," he said drily. "Marketing is full of contract killers." He took a sip from his glass. "Not a bad idea, though."

"Except they'd lock us up. I don't want to spend the rest of my life in goal because of that shithead."

David considered for a moment. "Fourteen years ago he said he had testimony from your mother about us. Did you ever actually get to see it?"

"No, and I don't think Mum would have ever written one. She was too sick, for a start."

"But she must have told him something before she died."

Jen nodded. "Only in the misguided hope he would help us - but she would never have written anything down. She just didn't work that way."

"I agree. But let's just imagine for a moment that she

did

write something...a statement or testimony of some kind that suggested we were incestuous. Would he have kept it all these years?"

"I doubt it. He must have thought us long gone. Nobody keeps a document like that for fourteen years on the off chance they might need it again."

David nodded in agreement. "So the chances are he's really got nothing on us."

"Other than he knows we are brother and sister. And it wouldn't be hard for him to find out that we are still living together."

"So what? Lots of siblings live together - that doesn't mean they share a bed. I mean, to do us any real damage he'd have to prove we were intimate." He saw his sister smiling. "What? Did I say something funny?"

"Intimate is such a weak little word, David. Why don't you just say 'fucking'."

"Well, all right then. He'd have to prove we fuck."

"And how would he do that?" she was still smiling.

"Shit, I don't know. Peer in through the window with a camera, or something." He lapsed into silence. "Do you ever wonder how we got into this situation?"

"Do you mean situation as in being blackmailed, or situation as in you and me shagging?"

"Shagging. I wonder how we got to break the taboo."

Jen laughed. "There was no wonder about it. You stuck your dick in me."

"Only because you were constantly flashing your pussy at me."

"Because you stole my knickers to sniff them."

"And, if I remember right, because you crept into my room and played with my dick without so much as asking."

"I did, didn't I? And after that, I couldn't wait to get you inside me." Jen laughed again. "We were pretty naughty, weren't we? Poor old Mum didn't have a clue - every time her back was turned we were at it. Do you remember the morning after we first did it? On the kitchen chair?" she closed her eyes, recalling how she'd lowered herself onto her brother's shaft and the feeling of fullness as it slid into her. "It was lovely."

David remembered it well: the arrow-sharp glances of lust they had shared whilst their mother flitted around the kitchen, oblivious to the sexual tension in the air - and how Jen had flown to him the moment they were alone, her legs long and brown and her eyes full of love. Even though he'd fucked her half the previous night he was still as hard as a stick, and recalled the delicious feeling of her pussy enveloping him again. He felt his cock rear up at the memory and he regarded his sister to see if she'd had a similar reaction.

Jen's cheeks bore a flush of colour and there was a familiar brightness in her eyes. "It never changes, does it David," she said softly, "and I don't care if you are my brother...I love what we do." She set down the dish she had been drying and walked around to his side of the counter. "In fact, I feel like doing it again - right now." She touched his face gently, as a blind person might do to read its planes and angles, and leaned forward and kissed him. Her lips were as soft as a shadow and her breath warm upon his cheek.

"Tell me what you'd like me to do," he whispered.

"You figure it out."

"But I'm your brother. Siblings don't do that."

"We do - a lot more than we should."

David laughed. She'd recently calculated they'd fucked over five hundred times, give or take. She'd even worked out the volume of sperm he'd pumped into her...what had it been? Over a quart? They'd imagined him delivering it in a single, mind-blowing orgasm: pints of jizz squirting into her pussy, filling it like a balloon before spraying from around his shaft to soak her thighs and pool around her buttocks. It was an arresting image, but impossible, of course. But even the thought of impregnating his sister with that much fluid over the years was an intriguing one.

Who would have thought? A brother and sister, rutting like that over such a long time.

"We do, don't we," he agreed. Her perfume filled his senses, heady and seductive, and he felt himself falling into a familiar pit of lust. "So how would you like to be done?"

"Any way you like."

"Really?" he grasped the twin globes of her buttocks and his fingers curled between them to probe gently.

"Except that way."

"Right." David had known, of course. Jen was game for anything except anal, which was a pity as he thought she had the finest ass he'd ever seen. Still, it had been worth a try. He moved his hands forward, his thumbs brushing lightly over the fabric at her crotch. "How about here, then?"

"Mmmm."

"Or here?" his fingertip touching her mouth.

"Yep."

"And what about here?" Even though her bra and blouse he could feel her nipples as stiff as gooseberries.

"Uh huh."

"Take off your clothes, then."

Jen stood back and began to undress: the kitchen apron first, then the blouse tossed aside. She unzipped her skirt and stepped out of it, kicking it away, and her hands reached for the clasp on her bra.

"No," David whispered. "Leave your undies. Take off your shoes." He watched her do it. "Now bend over the back of the sofa."

His sister complied, her arms stretched along the back of the settee and her legs apart. The angle of her body emphasised the tautness of her buttocks and the long spread of her thighs, and he saw how the rich burgundy of her underwear accentuated the pale gold of her skin.

"Open your legs more," he commanded. "Wider. Now push your ass back a little...more...a bit more. Yes, yes, that's nice."

Jen rested her cheek on the soft leather and closed her eyes. She thought her posture made her vulnerable, somehow, as if she were exposing herself to a stranger. She let the fantasy develop in her mind: a candlelit dinner with a first date; a little too much to drink; the fumbled kisses and now his expectation of sex. She imagined she was too far gone to refuse and was apprehensive, just as she had been the first time all those years ago. On that occasion they had fucked in her bedroom, not far from where her mother slept in blissful ignorance, and she remembered the breathless excitement of the forbidden relationship juxtaposed on the terror of discovery.

And now, fifteen years later, that excitement was still tangible: a shortness of breath; a beating heart hammering in her chest. A consciousness of moisture oozing from within her body to smear the thin gusset of her panties. It was not warm in the room and she felt her skin cooling in contrast to the little furnace between her legs. David was somewhere behind her but there was no sound and she wondered what he was doing. She was tempted to turn and look, but anticipation was part of the game.

David was observing. He had known this woman for thirty three years and he still couldn't believe his luck. The body spread-eagled before him was as trim as when he had first taken it all those years ago. The hips were a little fuller, perhaps, and the breasts squished against the cushion a tad lower, but there was no spare flesh on her frame. He regarded the gleam of her skin in the soft light, and the pinch of her waist that curved outwards towards the creamy globes of her ass. He saw the glorious curtain of her hair in wild disarray over the back of the sofa and he marvelled at the shape of her legs, stretching long and lean from the slim ankles to the wonder of her little round buttocks. They were encased in the thin fabric of her panties, and they were irresistible.

He quickly unbuckled his belt and shucked off his pants before stepping forward to engage himself between his sister's buns. She hunkered down, thrusting back a little, and her fingers deftly pulled aside the gusset of her pants. David felt the head of his cock briefly touch her rosebud and for an instant he imagined penetrating that tight little tube; but then it slid towards to the soft fruit of her sex, and he seized her hips to control the initial penetration.