About twenty years ago, when I was in my thirties and had moved to Florida, I started attending a very traditional Anglican-style church. I became actively involved, to the point where about ten years ago I became the head Verger. A major part of that job is coordinating and choreographing the various aspects of the Mass, particularly the Masses celebrating the major holidays.

The music program is a big deal at church, especially at Christmas. However, because the choir is largely volunteer, Ed, the organist-choirmaster, often has to supplement the choir for Midnight Mass with singers from other organizations. He also often invites a guest soloist to perform one of the major pieces to be sung. With all of these non-members involved in a major service, as the Verger I would typically attend choir rehearsals in the run-up to Christmas to make sure that everything ran smoothly. What I am about to relate occurred around our Christmas Midnight Mass service five years ago.

My usual position during the Mass is a prayer desk next to the organ. The women’s choir sits in front with their back to me, and the men sit across the aisle facing me. On the wall above the men is a mirror facing the women so that Ed can see them and they can see his direction. The way it is angled, I can see the women’s faces but they can’t really see me.

This year, a lot of the supplemental choir was recruited from the local junior college, and the three female “extras” could not have been older than eighteen or nineteen. One, in particular, was this cute little red-headed soprano named Beth who was seated front and center in the women’s section, so that from my desk I had an excellent view of her.

Beth was one of those girls with a look that is best described as wholesome, yet she always seemed to be wearing outfits that accentuated her young, firm curves. She arrived to rehearsals with her hair up, wearing no make-up, showing off a smattering of light freckles on her neck and face which I found to be highly arousing for some reason.

By the time we got to the the third rehearsal, I was so engrossed in what were mostly un-holy thoughts about her that I actually missed one of my cues to move. The most embarrassing part was that upon being caught “asleep at the switch”, it was clear what, or rather whom, the subject of my distraction was. But as I stammered apologies, I noticed that Beth was looking at me in a rather curious way. For the rest of the rehearsal, I could tell that she was trying to see me in the mirror, making surreptitious glances whenever she was not singing a part.

Fortunately, we made it thru the remaining rehearsals without incident, although I was still entranced by Beth and she was still always trying to see if I was watching her in the mirror. Being significantly older, I was afraid that she would think my interest rather off-putting, so not only did I not approach her, I kind of avoided her. But while I tried to avoid the near temptation of sin, it was obvious whenever we passed in the hall that she was trying to make eye contact with me.

Christmas Eve and Midnight Mass finally arrived; and even though it was December, a full church with hundreds of lit candles was more than the AC could cope with, which was typical. I was lucky; my vestments were made of a breathable cotton fabric. Even so, I took the liberty of wearing just an undershirt beneath my cassock, and I was still quite warm. The poor choir was dressed in special red satin robes with full ruffle collars. They were roasting. Most were sweating and fanning themselves before we even lined up to process in.

Because of the manner in which the choir stalls filled, Beth would be at the end of the choir section of the procession. I did not get a chance to see her before the procession began, so that my first glance of her that night was me standing at my desk next to the organ as she reverenced the altar and then turned to face me before entering her pew. She had her hair down now, with strawberry ringlets framing a face that could only be described as angelic. Our eyes met, and for the briefest moment her solemn visage was broken by the slightest of smiles and brightening of eyes before she turned to stand facing the men. Interestingly, she also appeared to not be suffering from the heat anywhere near what the others were.

Well, the service went off without a hitch, which was truly a Christmas miracle considering I spent the entire night looking at Beth in the mirror. Unlike rehearsals, she had scant opportunity to be looking anywhere but her music and at Ed. By the end of the service, I was resigned to the fact that I would never see her again. This thought was reinforced by the fact that after the service she joined her family and friends in the fellowship hall, leaving me to perform my post-Mass duties in solitude.

It was now about two AM, and everyone was, I thought, gone but me. It was dead quiet. I sat in the vesting sacristy in just my pants and undershirt, cooling off and deep in thought about Beth when I was startled by a sudden knock at my door. Before I could throw on a shirt, who should come through the door but Beth, still in her red robe and ruffles, looking all flustered.

“Thank God I found you,” she blurted out. “I lost track of the time talking to friends and now everyone is gone and all of my stuff is locked in the choir dressing room. Do you have a key to let me in?”

“Well, as the Verger, I have keys to almost everything. I’m pretty sure I do. Let’s go upstairs to the room and I’ll see if I can open it.” With Beth leading the way, we went down the hall and up the stairs. I let her get a few paces ahead as we climber the staircase, so that the subtle swish-swish of her bottom beneath the choir robe was in my direct line of sight.

We got to the room, and after the third key was tried, I was able to open the door. “I’ll just wait downstairs” I told her. “Come meet me back in the vesting sacristy when you’re done.”

“No, please, don’t leave me alone up here,” she replied. It’s too quiet and scary. Can you just wait outside the door? I won’t be long.”

“Sure, why not. I’ll be right out here.”

With that, she closed the door and pulled the shade to the window. I noticed that she did not latch the door, but took that as a sign of trust. But only a minute had passed before I heard her calling for me to come in, that there was something wrong. I opened the door to what was now a dimly lit room. Standing before me was Beth, her red satin robe open down the front; revealing beneath a matching set of red lace bikini panties and brassiere.

“I know you’ve been interested in me sexually, even before that time in rehearsal when you got caught. Why haven’t you said anything to me?”

“Well, with the difference in our ages, I was afraid you would think me some sort of creep or something.

And with your looks, I couldn’t imagine having a chance competing with guys your own age.”

She stepped forward, the robe billowing open further to reveal more of her femininity. As she ran her hands over my chest and arms, she looked me in the eyes and said, “I don’t find you creepy at all. As for guys my own age; well, let’s just say that their enthusiasm doesn’t compensate for their lack of knowledge, experience and control.”

Taking her in my arms, I leaned down to her face and gently kissed her lips. Wrapping her arms around my neck, she kissed me back, harder. Soon our mouths were devouring each other with an urgency that I had not felt in some time; our tongues engaged in an act of mutual exploration that had my member beginning to rise in expectation.

She pulled back and dropped the robe. Even in the dim light, I could see that she had many more of the freckles that I found so desirable. She sensed that I was looking at them, and asked if I thought she looked funny that way. In reply, I reached for her, unclasped the front closure of her bra, removed it from her shoulders and began to kiss my way from her neck to her breasts.

I traced her upper contours with the tip of my tongue, flicking it across her hardened nipples before sucking each one in turn into my mouth. Beth pulled me to her, moaning as I ministered to her firm, proud globes. Pushing away, I removed my shirt and pants, so that we were both standing in our shoes, socks, and underpants. She giggled and said we looked like we were in an old fashioned porn flick. But soon the shoes and socks were gone, and then the underwear and the giggles.

Lifting her in my arms, I placed her gently down on the couch in the sitting area of the dressing room and resumed attending to her breasts. But, with gentle pressure, she slowly re-directed my efforts south until I was at her mound, the fine hairs covering it a perfect match for her tresses. I nuzzled the upper parts, then began to kiss my way around the junction of leg to pelvis; coming teasingly close but backing away each time before actually making critical contact.

The playing took its toll; Beth suddenly spread her legs more fully and brought me face to face with her center. I took the hint, and began to consume the meal offered me in earnest. My tongue went anywhere and everywhere, my lips close behind as I lapped at both her holes in combination with my probing fingers. Soon, my lips were locked on her clit, my oral digit strumming it as I fingered her pussy in search of her G-spot. A sudden convulsion told me I found it, and my finger remained buried inside her as she rode out her orgasm, groaning.

Coming down from her peak, she brought me back up for a hug and a kiss. “I need you to be inside of me, now,” she breathed, as she grasped my hardened eight-inch manhood for emphasis. We disentangled, and realized at the same time that the shape of the couch would present a logistical problem for the missionary position. She smiled, and led me by the hand to the arm of the couch where she bent over so that her hips rested on it while her forearms rested on the cushion.

“I like a rear entry better,” she said, looking back over her shoulder. “It makes the short cocks of the boys my age feel like they are going in deeper, although you clearly don’t need any help there.” With that, she parted her legs, offering herself to me.

Stepping forward, I slid the head of my prick between her slickened lips, feeling the moisture and heat in her. I placed just the helmet into her opening, far enough that it would remain in place as I took her cute little ass in my hands. Gripping her flesh, I slowly pushed forward into her hot, silky depths. If I was surprised by the tightness, she was equally surprised by the fullness of the penetration; gasping as I bottomed out, in full contact with her cervix.

Still clutching her firm, white buttocks, I withdrew until I was once again just at the door, then once again slowly sunk into her. “Please,” she moaned after several repetitions, “please don’t keep teasing me!”

“What do you want me to do?” I asked. “Tell me what you want.”

“Fuck me!” she groaned in a lust-tinged voice. “Fuck me hard!”

Holding onto her ass for dear life, I thrust as hard and fast and deep as I could, my balls slapping at her clit at impact. I held firm for a two-count, withdrew, and slammed home again. Over and over I pummeled her pussy, angled so that the base of my cock and sack put pressure on her button with each insertion until she cried out in a second orgasm.

Still impaled on my penis, she asked if I had come yet. “No,” I said, “with me it’s always lady’s first.”

“Well, I’ve come twice now, so I guess it’s your turn. What’s your pleasure?”

Looking down at her ass, I noticed that my grip had left hand prints on her creamy smooth skin. I slapped one cheek, then the other. A nice pink color began to rise. “I want to spank your ass, then come on it,” I replied, adding a couple of quick slaps to reinforce the idea.

“Oh God, yes! Spank my ass! Come on my ass!”

Now that it was my turn, I began to concentrate on my needs. She may have needed hard and fast, but I like slow and sensuous. I began a more deliberate stroke, relishing the feeling of my cock-head as it re-penetrated her at the beginning of each thrust and ran into her limit at the end. I could feel the firm yet velvet grip that her vaginal walls had on my sliding shaft as I stirred her inner sex; moving in and out in a steady sawing motion. Coupled with the tactile stimulation was the visual and aural. Each slap of her bum was rewarded with a rippling of flesh, a deep pink hand-print, and a mewl of pleasure from my partner in lust.

While I have always been able to delay my own orgasm for as long as I wanted, I still have my limits. Plus, I wanted to see that cute little behind bathed in spunk. I took hold of Beth’s hips, made a few quick, fast final jabs, and then pulled out just in time to send copious amounts of man-juice across her punished cheeks. Still hard, I re-entered her tunnel, squirting out one more rope and pushing Beth over the edge again.

I sunk to my knees, gasping for breath. Beth rolled off the end of the couch and came to me. Pushing me onto my back, she caressed my softening member with her tongue as she tasted herself mingled with the dregs of my ejaculate. We kissed as I held her in my arms in a spooning position, her sticky buns pushing against me. I gently nibbled her nape and shoulders, not wanting our bodies to reach equilibrium quite yet. But, surrendering to the inevitable, we both slowly got up and dressed.

“Walk me out?” she asked.

“Of course,” I said.

Locking the door to the now-empty church, we stood in the parking lot; alone, yet together.

“Merry Christmas,” she said, kissing me deeply.

“Merry Christmas,” I said, holding her tight.