The walk between the church and Tyson's home was not long. After all, the vicarage where Alison lived was next to the church, and Tyson's home was beside that. However, although she walked briskly, driven forward by her anger at being told to do something she didn't want to, it still gave Alison time to think.

What really ground her gears was how the parishioners still didn't really accept or respect her as the vicar's wife. She knew what they said. The elderly are not exactly noted for talking quietly. Of course, the congregation was a tight-knit group of farmers, retirees, and lifelong locals, who cherished their traditions, but they were also meant to be Christians. So whispering behind her back that she was too young, too pretty to be their vicar's wife. Not to mention the "just look at how she dresses," if she dared show any skin, was just so unfair. It wasn't like Alison hadn't tried. If only they would meet her halfway.

She had thrown herself into the baking, fundraising and social event planning that were the expected activities of the vicar's wife. She was actually quite good at it. Her wardrobe had completely changed, too. Gone was anything that might reveal a calf or a glimpse of cleavage. Alison had always been rather proud of her 36D bust, although it seemed to have little effect on the Reverend Timothy Townsend, her husband, but now she hid her curves beneath loose sweaters and long dresses. Pretty much everything she had now came from charity shops, which she did not mind, but the fact that she had to carefully select every item to conform to the parishioners' wishes really frustrated her.

Her bloody husband was no help. She did love him, but he had settled in seamlessly and was absolutely no help or support for her when she was finding it so hard. She did love him, she repeated to herself, she did, but there was this growing fear that she would come to think of him as boring, and there was an undeniable fact that their sex life was dull.

"Arrrggggghhhhhhh," she groaned to herself as her mind returned to the task ahead.

The parishioners knew where to come when they wanted a job doing that none of them wanted to do. Oh yes, she was not too young or pretty then, she growled to herself.

Tyson "the beast" Handcock had arrived in the village about a year ago. A couple of weeks after she and Timothy had. He was an American boxer and was apparently likely to be a world champion one day. Unfortunately, Tyson was also fond of having loud parties and driving his noisy sports car at high speed through the village. Something the locals hated and wanted something done about. Alison had tried to resist at first, but the villagers were relentless, and the pressure slowly mounted. To be fair, a year had passed, and the problem was just as bad, but if they were that bothered, they could go and talk to Tyson themselves, Alison complained to herself.

After communion, the villagers had Alison trapped in the corner where she was making tea and handing out biscuits. There was no escape, so finally, she had relented and agreed to talk to Tyson. The parishioners were not satisfied with that and demanded to know when. Alison heard herself say.

"Right now!"

So she had trapped herself, and that was why she was heading to Tyson's house at that very moment.

Alison sighed. Of course, that was not the real reason why she was reluctant. If she were honest, she could see the villagers had a point. She was well placed to talk to Tyson. It was, well, she had a deep secret, and if anyone ever found out, it would destroy her. It made her feel so reluctant and awkward about approaching him.

Alison was resisting because she was doing something that, if people found out, would be humiliating. The vicarage overlooked Tyson's garden, and he often worked out in his garden, alone or sometimes with a sparring partner. When Tyson was out in the garden, Alison had got into the habit of secretly watching him from behind her curtains. His body was like it had been chiselled out of granite, and she loved the sight of him all sweaty and hot. His sparring partners were pretty good-looking, too. Then he started coming into the garden without any clothes on while he pegged out his workout clothes. Although she had only ever seen him from the rear, she desperately wanted to see more. That wondrous bare ass made watching him irresistible. Then she just made it worse. Even thinking about this made her cringe, but when she spotted a pair of binoculars in a charity shop, she purchased them and was using them to get a closer look.

Talking to Tyson was going to be hard, knowing what she was doing, even if, thank god, he didn't realise.

Finally, Alison reached Tyson's front door, and then she froze.

It was open. She very cautiously stepped onto the mat just inside and listened. The sound of running water came to her ears, and she realised two things in quick succession. The house was the same design as hers. Not surprising when it was next door and built at the same time. So she knew the running water was coming from the downstairs shower room. Another realisation hit her a second later. The reason the water was so loud was that the door to the shower room was open. Just a fraction. Alison's mind raced. Tyson must be taking a shower!

There was no real conscious thought about what she then did. In fact, her mind screamed for her to stop, but step by step, she moved closer to that door. Until she was close enough to lean around and take a peek inside. The shower room was empty. Then loud enough to make her jump, a voice from behind her said.

"Where I come from, we get to shoot intruders."

Part Two

Alison spun around, and standing there smiling at her was Tyson. He was naked except for a towel around his midriff. He casually closed the front door, turned the key, and then held onto it. The front door was also the same as Alison's, and she knew that she was now locked in. He walked past her as though she was not there and went into the shower room, turned off the water, and then headed into the lounge. Alison was trying to speak, but her mind was whirling, struggling with the realisation she had been caught spying on Tyson in the shower. What was the matter with her? She was a married woman and a vicar's wife to boot. For a moment, she saw in her mind the look of disappointment that would be on Timothy's face if he knew what she had done.

However, the immediate problem was that she was locked in Tyson's house, so Alison had no choice but to go and find him in the lounge. He was standing with the towel still around his midriff, looking at some papers as though he had forgotten her already.

"I can explain," Alison said quietly, adding quickly. "I'm from the church. I thought I'd welcome you to the village." Her hands went to her hips in a vain attempt to show confidence.

"After a year?" he said, looking up. "Anyway, I know who you are, and you know who I am." He paused. "Did you get bored of watching me from your bedroom window and thought you'd get a closer look?"

He watched the look of horror cross Alison's face.

"Binoculars too," he said. "I hope you enjoy the washing going out. I thought you might enjoy a bit of naked butt."

Alison reeled from the knowledge that Tyson knew everything.

"That's--! I mean--! I wasn't--!" The words wouldn't come, and her cheeks turned red. She was so mortified.

Tyson shrugged.

"Would you like a drink?" he said.

Alison shook her head and decided to deal with the reason she was here.

"I'm here because of the--! Because of your car! And the parties!" Her throat was dry as kindling. "You drive too fast. People are worried. And the noise. It disturbs the whole village."

Tyson raised his eyes.

"Fair enough," he said, holding up his hands. "Maybe my neighbours have a point. I'll behave on one condition." He paused. "You tell me why you like spying on me so much." He grinned at her.

"Oh my god, that's not!" She stopped before she said "true" because, obviously, it was, but no more words came. She looked away, desperate for an idea of what to say.

Tyson grinned.

"Relax!" he said. "I am kidding. I don't mind."

Alison hated that she was still blushing.

"It's not like that," Alison said, though it was very much like that. "I was just!" She stopped herself again, not able to bring herself to lie.

"Look, I am sorry. I shouldn't have," her voice trailed off as she sensed Tyson was about to do or say something.

"Do you want to see more?" he said. It was so blunt that it made her gasp.

Her whole body, warm with embarrassment, turned cold with the possibility that he might be about to drop the towel and confirm her thoughts about what he had under there.

She tried to match his tone, tried to act like this was just a big, awkward joke between adults, and not a crisis of her own shame, marriage and position in the village.

"Honestly, I'd rather you just put some clothes on," she said. "So we can discuss the way you disturb the peace of the village."

"Sure you would!" He said. "Tut, tut, Mrs vicar's wife." And he dropped the towel.

His cock was huge, even in its current half-erect state. It was beyond anything she had imagined.

Alison tried so hard not to stare, but as hard as she tried to keep her eyes on his face, her head kept dropping. God, it was beautiful. His cock was so thick, heavy and long as it dangled there.

He stood there, arms folded, waiting. His casualness only made it worse. She wished she had some quip or withering remark, but she couldn't think of anything. The only thing she could do was stare.

"Give me your hand!" He commanded, and he held out his.

She knew what he was going to do, so she pulled her arm tight against her side and even took a step back, but he just stepped forward.

"Your hand," he repeated.

She pressed her hand into her side as an attempt to control her arm.

Nonetheless, she still felt her hand rising, as though it had a will of its own. Alison slowly opened her palm.

"That's right," he said, smiling, and he took her hand and gently but firmly wrapped her fingers around his cock.

Alison immediately pulled her hand back.

"Give me your hand," he said firmly. Alison did not attempt to stop him as he put her fingers back around his dick.

The heat shocked her. She felt his pulse, the velvet texture of his skin, the weight. He guided her hand, moving her fingers up and down his shaft, showing her what to do. Did he realise? Was it obvious she really didn't know what to do? There had only been Timothy, and she had never touched him like this. It was always lights off, over so fast with nothing to see, nothing to say.

"This is a bad idea," Alison whispered, but all she did as he released her arm was tremble a little. She continued to stroke up and down his shaft. His dick grew harder and bigger between her fingers.

He leaned in closer, and she was aware of his breath, his mouth just above her ear.

"This is what you really came for!" he said, daring her to disagree.

"It's not," she started, but he interrupted once more.

"Both hands, please," he said simply.

Alison didn't move. Use both hands? For a moment, the words did not make sense in her brain. Tyson waited. Alison realised they both knew she would obey.

Her left hand joined the right, and now both her palms moved up and down. His dick felt so good, hot and impossibly hard,

She looked up at his face, wondering. Did he approve? Was she doing it right? But he only watched her, calm and serene.

He peeled the cardigan off her shoulders. Then, commanding her to keep stroking him, he continued to undress her. He undid the buttons which went down the front of her dress to her waist, and then he peeled the top of her dress off her shoulders.

"Jesus," he said, clearly surprised at the 36D breasts hiding under all that clothing, even if she wore a plain bra that revealed little of her large tits. There was no disguising them now.

Alison let out a little yelp as, with a sudden tug, Tyson split her bra apart and gently cupped her breasts as they spilt out.

She tried to cross her arms over her chest.

"Keep stroking me," he said as Tyson's hands gently returned hers to his cock, and then his went back to cupping her breasts.

"That's right," he said breathlessly, and he ran a hand through her hair and kissed her.

"On your knees," he said.

"Oh, I don't--" she went to say, but he seemed to anticipate what she would say.

"With me, there is no don't, can't or won't," he said. "Kneel," he repeated with a strong emphasis on the last word.

Alison dropped to the floor before her brain fully processed the order.

Suddenly, she was nervous. This was all new and happening so fast. She held her breath as Tyson kept her head steady, his hands gentle but firm. The head of his cock brushed her lips, and she tried not to flinch. He guided her, thumb on her cheek, the other hand holding his cock steady.

"Open that pretty mouth of yours," he said softly.

She did, her lips parted, and his dick slid inside. It was that easy.

His shaft slipped in and out under the gentle guidance of his hand on her head. She tasted salt and something metallic. Once more, she thought about how huge his dick was. Tyson groaned quietly. Alison was delighted by what she saw as a sign of approval. He experimented with holding her still with as much of his cock as she could take and then letting her pull right back so he popped out. Then he would feed her his dick again. He did this over and over, smiling at the way she closed her mouth for a little respite, but then opened it again as his cock approached.

"Look at me," he commanded.

She raised her eyes to look up, seeing his muscular chest and his eyes fixed on her

She had never sucked a man's cock before, not even her husband's, and this thought filled her with guilt, but she tried to push it away. Alison focused on doing the best job she could, swirling her tongue, holding him with both hands, letting him move her head as he wished. He ran his thumb along her jaw, gently, guiding her how to do it properly.

"Good girl," he said.

Then his hand took a much tighter grip on her head, and he made her move faster.

"Fuck, that's good," he muttered. "You're going to make me cum, baby."

She sputtered, but he didn't let her withdraw. She grunted. She could picture what she must look like, her dress around her waist, tits hanging out and drool on her chin, Tyson's cock filling her mouth. She tried to do it right, inhale through her nose, keep her lips tight, swirl the tongue. There was a strange pride in it, as if she was proving something to herself, or to Tyson, or maybe to those old women at church who would drop dead on the spot if they could see her now. But then her mind filled with a picture of her husband.

At that moment, though, Tyson shuddered, and a tremble ran up his body. She could feel him thicken, the pulse inside her jaw increased, and then a hot rush of bitter salt. She wanted to gag, wanted to spit him out, but he kept her right there, his hand spread on the back of her head, so she swallowed by reflex. He let out a low hiss, almost a growl, and then he was softening on her tongue.

He let her go and sat back on her haunches, wiping her mouth with her hand.

Tyson moved away and picked up some keys from the side.

"Use the shower room to clean up and these to let yourself out." He said. When he was halfway to the door, he stopped and turned back.

"Keep the keys, I think you are going to need them." Then he was gone, and a moment later Alison could faintly hear the upstairs shower go on.

Alison looked at the keys he'd left in her palm. She should have been ashamed, and she was, but her body was still humming, her scalp prickled. She went into the shower room.

Her arms shook. Her knees had gone spongy. She rinsed her mouth and wiped at her face, but there was nothing that would wash away the memory of what she'd just done. The shame began to harden inside her, and it stayed there as she slipped out the front door.

She walked back to the vicarage in a blur. The world felt odd. Too bright, every sound sharp. It felt like everyone was watching, laughing at what she had done. Alison giggled. No, nothing had changed.

She let herself into the vicarage. Timothy was in his study. He always worked with the door open. Alison paused outside the study, Tyson's keys still in her palm. She thrust them into her dress pocket and went upstairs. She needed to find another bra and a place to hide those keys.

To be continued