It was a horrible day at school. Samantha Jones had been picking on me all day, saying my tits were different sizes and that boys would never want to go with me. Those boys who saw my tits would laugh and say I was a freak. She didn’t know that I had a boyfriend, and if I had my way, she never would. His name was Paul, and I had met him in the coffee bar near the precinct. I met him by spilling my Coke on him. Obviously, I didn’t do it deliberately, but someone knocked into me and nudged my elbow, and hey presto, Coke Boy.

Paul is the same age as me, 16, and goes to a boys' school on the other side of town. Mum, who likes him, says that he would have needed a scholarship to go there, as the school was costly. He would come round to mine after school some days; occasionally, he would stay for tea, and sometimes I would go to his house and have tea with him. His dad worked away a lot, so it was often just his mum at home.

Sometimes, on special days, his mum would not be home, as she would be working late, and we could be alone in his bedroom. That was nice; we could take our time, kissing, touching, caressing, loving. No hurries. When his mum returned, she would always shout upstairs to say she was back. That gave us plenty of time to make sure that we were properly dressed.

I wasn’t seeing Paul today; his dad was home, and they were going out to eat as a family. I wasn’t quite family, close but not completely. I didn’t mind; Paul was my first proper boyfriend, and I didn’t know what the future between us held, and I was sure that I didn’t want to be one of those clingy girlfriends. Not like Samantha Jones.

When she allowed a boy to be her boyfriend, he would have to spend all his time out of class with her, every break, every lunch. They would meet up before school, and he would walk her home after school. Geraldine Frampton, who was in her inner circle and also a friend of mine, said that Samantha wouldn’t allow her boyfriends to touch her or even see her boobs. I wondered if that was why she never seemed to keep a boyfriend for more than a few weeks. She was a tease.

I wasn’t a tease. I had let my boyfriends touch me and see my boobs. I had held their dicks and made them spurt. I never told; I never said, and the boys didn’t either. Perhaps I was lucky. Paul was the first boyfriend that I went all the way with. I wondered if I had a reputation; I didn’t think so. I was never nasty about any boy that I had kissed.

A big plop of water landed on my head and then another, and soon the rain was beginning to get heavy. I was right next door to St Mark and St Just, the church a few streets from home. The door looked open, and I decided I would run in there for some shelter. It was just before 5 o'clock; I doubted that there would be anyone in there.

I was inside in a moment and only slightly damp. I stood in the open doorway watching the rain come down. It was a good thing I had taken shelter, or I would have been soaked to the skin.

“Hello,” a voice said. "Come on in; no need to be afraid,” a voice said.

I turned around and looked into the interior of the church. It was dark, compared to outside, and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust. Then I saw him. A priest, I think; he was wearing one of those long black dress things that priests wear and had a big cross on a thong around his neck, and yes, he had a priest’s white collar.

“Oh, sorry,” I said. “The rain just started to come down, and I didn’t bring a coat today; I only have my school uniform.”

“That is okay, you are perfectly welcome; come and sit by me and tell me about yourself. I am Father Greene, and this is my church.”

I went and sat on a pew and shuffled along, giving him room to sit next to me. He did sit quite close, and he patted my knee, I think, in a reassuring way.

“Now then, which school do you go to?”

“I go to Beckfoot High,” I replied. "It's the one on Main Road; my name is Mica.”

He squeezed my leg again. “Hello, Mica. Yes, I know the one. I am going there for parochial visits next year. Will you still be there next year?”

“Yes,” I said, "I think so; it depends on if anything else comes my way.” There was a good chance I could go into modelling full-time. I had already done some shoots, and some people wanted me to do more.

My eyes had fully adjusted to the poor lighting, and I could see that he was looking me up and down, which I thought was an odd thing for him to do.

“And how is school? Do you have a lot of friends? I would imagine that a pretty girl like you would make friends easily.”

“Well,” I confessed, “some, and some not so much so.”

“Oh? What about the ones that are not so much ones?”

“Samantha Jones, she really doesn’t like me and tries to make fun of me all the time; she is quite nasty.”

“Oh dear, Mica, what does she do?”

“It isn’t so much what she does as what she says.”

“Mica, words can be hurtful, but they are only words; they are not hurtful the way sticks and stones are.”

“I know that, but she says things so that other people hear, and it makes me look foolish or a weirdo."

“What does she say, Mica?”

I felt all embarrassed; it sounded silly now that I thought about it in my head. “She said my ti… breasts were different sizes and that no boy would ever go out with me.”

He squeezed my leg again, his hand somehow a little higher, under my hem.

“Well, that is silly, Mica, absolutely silly. I bet that you have a boyfriend, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“And does he worry about your breasts?”

I was quiet for a moment. No, Paul never worries about my boobs; in fact, he rather likes to play with them. Father Greene squeezed my leg again; this time, his hand was very near my knickers.

“No, Father, he doesn't; in fact, he likes them.”

"Well, there you are then. When I was a young man, other boys used to take the mickey out of me in the showers after sports. They said I was like an elephant and that no girl would ever dare to go with me.”

I didn’t have a clue what he meant. I looked at him blankly. What did he mean by 'go with him'?

“I don’t understand,” I said; his nose didn’t look large to me.

“In the showers, they would see me naked. They would see my, er, you know, down there, my penis.”

“Oh,” I said. I didn’t understand what could be wrong with it. The ones I had seen all looked pretty much the same.

“You could have a look, if you liked,” he said, “and you could tell me if they were right.”

“Oh, okay,” I said without really thinking.

Father Greene took his hand from my leg, flipping my skirt upwards and revealing my knickers. He lifted his dress thing up, rolling it along his leg. He wasn’t wearing underpants, and I could see his dick. It was much bigger than Paul's; in fact, it was the biggest one I had ever seen, not that I had looked at that many, perhaps twenty.

“Do you see?” He asked, “Can you see a problem?”

I looked closely. It was big, yes, but it was nowhere near as big as a baby, and a baby comes out, so I couldn’t imagine why it should be a problem going in.

“No, not really, I don’t think, anyway,” I said.

“Do you want to hold it, you know, just to see what you think? Perhaps I could then feel your breasts and tell you if I agree with the girl from school. That would only be fair.”

Actually, I did want to touch it; I had been too afraid to ask. I mean, it was as big as my wrist, so it would feel strange. I reached across and touched the end; it felt like Paul’s, only bigger. I wrapped my fingers around it; they didn’t reach all the way around. I squeezed my fingers as tight as I could; Paul likes it when I do that. Father Greene made the same noise that Paul makes when I squeeze him. I wondered if he would like me to do what Paul likes me to do. I moved my hand up and down. Father Greene gasped, “Oh yes, Mica, yes.”

It seemed he did like it. So far, every boy I had been with liked me to do that. I began to move my hand faster and faster, squeezing as much as I could. Just as I was getting a good rhythm going, I heard voices from the doorway. Father Greene put his hand on mine and pulled it away, pushing his dress thing back down and covering himself up.

"Mica", Father Greene said, "perhaps you would like to stop by tomorrow after school, and we can continue our chat, and I can give you my opinion on what your friend Samantha says.”

“Yes, okay then,” I said, standing up. Father Greene stepped out of the pew and went to the front of the church. In the doorway were a couple chatting about the architecture of the church. I looked outside; it had stopped raining. I excused myself and went past them and hurried home.

Mum was laying the table as I got in. She smiled and told me to go and get changed; tea would be soon. We were having fish fingers and peas with bread and butter for tea. In my bedroom, I took my school skirt off and my school blouse, thinking I would wear one of my bras that undid at the front tomorrow, for when I met Father Greene; it would be easier for him to examine my breasts. I wouldn’t have to take my blouse off.

I looked at my knickers in the mirror, trying to see what Father Greene had seen; they were just plain white knickers. Perhaps I should wear my lacy ones tomorrow. We had no gym class tomorrow, so I wouldn’t be undressing in front of the other girls, and Samantha Jones would not be able to make fun of me over my knickers.

I went up to bed around nine; I had a little homework to do, although I had told Mum that I hadn’t. I just said I was tired and left Mum and Dad watching TV in the lounge. In the bathroom, I stripped and put my nightie on. After I had cleaned my teeth, I went back to my room, dropping my knickers and bra in the laundry basket. I would be wearing different underwear tomorrow.

School was another typical day; Samantha Jones had taken to calling me ‘Odd Tits’. I wasn’t actually worried that my boobs were different sizes; I had spoken to Mum about it, and she had said that when she was my age, hers were different, but when they grew to their full size, they equalled out. I knew Samantha Jones would then have to pick something else to be nasty about. But it wouldn’t hurt to get a different opinion from Father Greene.

After we left school, I hurried along to St Mark and St Just, and as I went through the door, Father Greene was just walking down the aisle.

“Ah, Mica,” he said, “it is good to see you. Shall we go into the sacristy, and we can continue where we left off yesterday?”

“Yes, Father,” I said and followed him. We went into a room at the side of the church. Father Greene shut the door behind him. It must have been a thick door, because it was very quiet in the sacristy; all the street noises that echoed around the church were suddenly gone.

“Now, where were we?” He asked, "When those people came in and interrupted us.”

“Er, well, I was holding you, you know, your, er, dick.”

“Yes, and do you remember what you thought?”

“I don’t think I was thinking much; I was just doing what I do with my boyfriend.”

“Would you like to do that again?”

I supposed that I actually would.

“Yes, please.”

He sat on a chair and pulled his dress thing up, and his dick was just there in his lap. It didn’t look as big or hard as yesterday. I moved next to him and wrapped my fingers around his dick and squeezed. I could feel it getting harder in my hand. Paul always seemed to be hard; I hardly knew that they ever got soft.

As I began to move my hand up and down, squeezing as tightly as I could, Father Greene began making those noises again. He leant forward and, looking me in the eyes, he asked me if I wanted his opinion on what Samantha Greene had said. I nodded.

He began to unbutton my blouse, and when the buttons were undone, he pulled it apart. He could see that the bra was fixed at the front, and he undid the catch, letting my boobs fall free from the cups. His dick seemed to twitch when my boobs were free, and I squeezed tighter and moved faster.

I don’t know why, but I jumped when his hands held my boobs; perhaps they were a little cold, I don’t remember, but it actually felt nice. A little too nice to be just a confirmation of what Samantha Jones said. He squeezed my nipples, which became all hard and pointy, and then he held my boobs as if he were weighing fruit at the market.

“They feel absolutely fine to me; if there is a difference, it is hardly noticeable.” He reached down and stopped my hand, pulling it away from his dick. “I wonder,” he said, "if what the boys said was true, that I am too big?”

“What do you mean, too big?” I said, standing there with my blouse open and my bra gaping, my breasts on display.

“Well, I wonder if my penis will fit inside you or if it is simply too big. I mean, does your boyfriend’s fit inside?”

Well, yes, it does, with no difficulty whatsoever. “Yes,” I said.

“Could you show me where it goes, and perhaps I could see if it might fit?"

I undid the button, unzipped my skirt, and took it off, putting it on the desk beside him. I pulled my knickers down and faced him so that he could see my fanny.

“Well, I don’t know, Mica,” he said. “Could I touch it and see?”

I nodded, and I parted my legs a little more. He touched my hair just above my crease and then moved his finger down, sliding in between the petals. I didn’t realise, but for some reason I was very wet, and his finger slid down easily, and then he was at my entrance.

I swallowed and gulped; it felt very different from when Paul did it, but when Paul did it, we were usually lying down. Father Greene’s fingers went a little further past my entrance, and then came back, slipping inside me. It felt nice, as nice as when Paul did it. His finger came out, and he moved his hand to his mouth and licked his finger. Oh.

“You have a very nice taste, Mica,” he said. “Let us see if I can fit more inside you.”

His hand went down between my legs again, and again, his fingers slid along my valley. When he rested against my entrance, he pushed again, and I realised it wasn’t just one finger he was pushing inside. Oh, goodness, that felt good as he began to push in and out of me. I was gulping and swallowing air. I squealed when he moved his fingers in different ways inside me; it felt so much better than just a finger.

“What do you think, Father?” I asked, "Will it fit, your dick, I mean?”

“Shall we find out, Mica, shall I try and fit it inside you, you know, where my fingers are?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Stand up, Mica,” Father Greene said, “and lean across the table.”

I stood up, my blouse flapping and my open bra hanging, and I rested my hands on the table in the sacristy. I parted my legs and leaned forward. I knew what he was going to do, but I had never done it this way. I had stood holding a mirror behind me, looking in the bathroom mirror, and I had seen my fanny was visible, but I hadn’t had the nerve to ask Paul to try and do it that way.

Geraldine Frampton told me that her cousin did it that way to her, and that is why I looked in the mirrors, but I had not managed to bring myself to try it that way, and now Father Greene was going to try. I wondered if he would fit; I wondered if it would actually work that way.

I felt him behind me, his dick nudging between my buttocks, pressing at my crinkle. 'Oh, gosh, that is the wrong hole,’ I thought. I didn’t have to worry; he must have been holding his dick, because it moved down past my crinkle, and then it was at my entrance. I tensed and then forced myself to relax. I felt him begin to push; my petals parted, my fanny opened, and his dick, a dick as big as my arm, began to go inside me.

Oh, I felt full, I felt so very full, and still he was going inside. It did not hurt; I had thought that it would, but it didn’t, and it did feel very strange. I was being opened in a way I had never been stretched before. Father Greene was going slowly, but it seemed to take forever for him to fit inside me, and then I felt pressure at my depth. He was inside me.

“It fits,” I said.

“Yes, Mica, it does. Shall we see if it works?”

“Yes,” I said. I did wonder; I wanted to know if doing it this backwards way was good.

Father Greene began to ease his dick backwards, and I realised I could actually feel his foreskin as it moved along his dick. The pressure in my groin began to lessen, and then he was back at my entrance. He pushed back in; the foreskin on his dick seemed to get caught, and his dick unravelled inside me.

This time I could feel the rim at the end of his dick as it scraped along my fanny, the pressure getting deeper and deeper inside me, and then he was at my depth again. This time, he didn’t stop moving; he simply began easing out again. When he was nearly out, he pushed in again, and this time he was moving faster, and I could hardly feel the changes to his dick, just the pressure inside as he moved in.

As he reached my depth, I gasped, and my hands tried to squeeze the top of his desk; all I managed to do was to screw up some paper. He pulled back, and then he pushed in so fiercely that as his body hit my bum, it made a slapping sound, the sound my mum and dad make in their bedroom when they think I am asleep.

I couldn’t speak; I had never felt like this when Paul and I did it. Perhaps it was because of the position, perhaps it was because Father Greene’s dick was bigger; I did not know. I would have to try this with Paul to get a comparison. Slap, slap, slap, and with each slap, I was grunting.

The pressure between my legs was immense; the pleasure I was feeling was almost overwhelming. My mouth was making sounds, words with no meaning, and still Father Greene was pounding at me. I wondered if my bum was turning red; it was as if I were being smacked at the same time I was being shagged.

I was trying to concentrate on how it felt, but my brain was losing control; my body was being overwhelmed by sensations so much more intense than I knew. The movement became a blur, and I think my eyes rolled; I could not seem to see anything, and then I felt it, oh, so powerful, more powerful than I had ever had.

My orgasm erupted inside me, exploding through my body, pleasure rushing through my body, edged with pain. My toes and fingers tingled, my nipples tried to drill through his desk, and I let out a shriek, my fanny clamping hard, squeezing his dick. He spurted deep inside me; his dick spurted, and Father Green grunted and gasped, and he filled my fanny so much that he spurted out, and it ran down my legs.

Father Greene pulled back, and his dick fell out of my fanny, followed by what seemed like a gallon of his stuff, falling out and making a puddle on the floor between my legs. I suddenly felt empty, so very empty. I had thought that I had felt empty when Paul’s dick left, but this was more, so much more.

“Perhaps you ought to get dressed now, Mica,” Father Greene said.

I felt funny as I walked home; it felt as if my thighs were further apart. I wondered if anyone would notice. When I got home, Mum was ironing in the kitchen. I said I needed the loo and would come down after I had changed. When I got to the bathroom, my knickers were soaking.

I did not dare put my knickers in the laundry covered in Father Greene’s stuff. I washed them in the wash basin and wrung them as dry as I could. I felt my fanny; it was loose. It wasn’t gaping open, but it wasn’t as tight as usual. I wondered if I were ruined; he was so much bigger than anyone else I had been with, but I kind of knew I wouldn’t be.