Mrs. Cunningham, or Mrs. C, as she is called, works as a housekeeper for the two priests up at the Parochial House, just outside the village. It is a large white stone house, basically a cube consisting of two floors and a basement. It stands a good bit back from the road, hidden behind orchard trees, barely visible during the fall and winter months. As a boy, I would stand and look at that eerie old house, imagining all kinds of evil deeds occurring in secret. Little did I know!

Our sleepy little village has never been populated by more than three hundred and fifty country bumpkins; it is the kind of place where everybody knows everything about everybody else. They just do.

And because everybody knows everything about everybody else, Mrs. C confronted me about a year ago, when a rumour had been circulating about me—and her husband!

“It’s only talk,” I had assured her, as she pushed me against the wall of the post office. “Honestly, Mrs. C, do you think I’m stupid enough to be carrying on with your husband, a policeman? And what would he, a married man, want with anyone other than you? And surely not another man! Anyway, you and I, we’ve always been such good friends, haven't we?”

Not much of that was true; the last bit was nothing more than my pathetic attempt to get on her good side.

I have to say, despite having my back to the wall, there was something about her that excited me. A middle-aged redhead with a very pretty face and fire in her eyes. I know I’m crazy, but despite her attack—or maybe because of it—she turned me on. Waiting for her to respond, I almost drooled at her amazing breasts, heaving with her anger, and the small but shapely body that held them up.

One could almost hear the cogs turning inside her head as she contemplated a response. My words must have sounded right to her: just village gossip, that’s probably it.

At last, the cogs ground to a halt, and stepping back, she said, “Alright then. I’m sorry, Kim. It’s just, you know.” Walking away, she looked back at me, squinted, and fired a parting volley: “If I find out you are lying to me, young man, you are going to get really fucked, OK?”

Phew! How on earth do these people find out stuff? Seriously, they should start a detective agency or something, the lot of them! I mean, it had only been one time with Martin, Mrs. C’s husband, who was the local copper, the law incarnate, the man in blue. And it was definitely not my fault. Here is what actually happened:

I was walking the three kilometres home from the village when he pulled up beside me in the squad car and offered me a lift. I suppose he had heard the rumours that I was an easy hit and, as we drove off, it quickly became apparent that he planned to get in on the action. He swung off the road and parked the car so that it was hidden from the road. He then lifted his hand away from his lap, revealing his hard-on, already out. “Go on then, I’ve always wondered what it would be like.”

One could not claim that Sergeant Martin Cunningham was a good-looking man. He was only forty-something but already balding and overweight. Looking down at his penis, which was even less appealing than himself, I thought it pretty much completed the man: small, purple, and bent like a boomerang. I was more than a bit afraid of him, so I leaned over and did as he had ordered. I closed my eyes and took the little bone in my mouth.

Despite my abhorrence, I soldiered on, telling myself that it’ll soon be over and that I might even be able to use it to my advantage one fine day. The law on my side! I kept that thought in the forefront of my mind as I sucked him off; he came mercifully quickly, and I pulled away and let him finish the job himself. When he was done, he reached over and opened the door on my side. “Alright, fuck off!” he said.

“Poor Mrs. C”, I thought, shuddering, as he drove away. Imagine having to look at that thing on a daily basis. I gave my mouth a final rub with a pile of Kleenex, spat on the road again, and stuck the tissues into my pocket.

That was a year ago, and it all seemed to be water under the bridge as Mrs. C and I stood chatting amiably in the grocers. Then, as if out of the blue, she seemed to hit on an idea; I should come up to the ‘House’ to watch the game on TV on Sunday and meet Father Dunne, the new trainee priest.

“It’d be great company for him,” she said, for whom she had apparently taken on the role of mother hen. “I feel sorry for the young man, here to do his training, all alone in this place, in that big old house, and no friends, even if he is only here for another few days until Father Riley returns”

“Don’t you worry, Mrs. C, I’ll be there. Anything for you.”

“Aren’t you the darling. I knew I could count on you.”

Well, well! All that nastiness outside the post office forgotten then?

“Come up around two, I’ll have Sunday lunch ready!”

“Ooh, lunch too? Hmm, it’s getting better and better.”

I had seen the handsome bearded priest a few times since his recent arrival in the village. He was only a couple of years older than myself, I guessed. Taller, heavier, and more muscular. Father Dunne was hot, and that beard suited him. It made him look more like an artisan than a priest. An artist perhaps, or a pottery maker.

Well, my interest was piqued, and I arrived at the Parochial House on the Sunday to watch the game. I had a hunch about the handsome Father Dunne, so, just in case, I was well prepared and ready to test my theory.

Mrs. C opened the door and welcomed me inside. I kicked off my sneakers and followed her into the sitting room. She introduced me to Father Dunne, who was wearing black slacks and a white shirt, open at the collar. I looked at the bunch of chest hair inside his shirt; a line from the old Hot Chocolate song sprang to mind: ‘I believe in miracles, where ya’ been so long? You sexy thing’.

I must admit, I was definitely, and intentionally, inappropriately dressed; just frayed blue jean shorts, a black vest and a black cotton shirt which I kept unbuttoned. I had gone all in. I reasoned that it would be best to let him know I wanted him. Anyway, he would be leaving again in a few days, so it was ‘now or never.'

Mrs C didn’t comment on my apparel, which kind of surprised me. For some strange reason I recalled an image of her husband’s fat little purple worm in the squad car. She probably had to contend with that at home every day. I shuddered again. ’I’ve always wondered what it would be like,’ he had said – well, maybe she didn’t contend with it?

Maybe that was why he drove around the countryside looking for blowjobs! It makes one wonder what really goes on behind closed doors - you never can tell.

After a hearty meal and much animated talk, we moved from the dining room to the couch in the sitting room, and he switched on the TV. Mrs. C joined us when she had cleaned up in the kitchen, and she immediately sank into the old leather chair by the fireplace.

By the end of the match, Mrs. C was dozing off, her head hanging unnaturally to one side. I guess she had a little too much of the wine. She made herself more comfortable in the big chair, curled up and turned away from us, drifting off to sleep.

The priest kept fiddling with his pants when he thought I wasn’t looking. Oh, I was looking, and I was more confident than ever that I was right about him.

He casually nudged my thigh with his hand and said, “You know what? I think I’ll ask Mrs. Cunningham if she’d like to rest for a couple of hours in the guest room.”

“Oh yeah, that’s probably a good idea! She’s out to the world.”

He half-woke her, put his arm around her shoulders, helped her to the guest room, and then returned to me on the couch. He leaned back against the cushions, his legs parted, and said, “You know, it was me that put Mrs. Cunningham up to inviting you here for lunch today?”

So, he’s telling me what?

There was much to unpack there and a lot of wiggle room for a mistake to be made. But also, a lot of wiggle room to get out of any misunderstanding. I decided to chance it.

Moving right up against him, I put my arm on the back of the couch and whispered softly, “Well, it’s been really nice. Thank you for inviting me. Why me, though?”

He looked at me and smiled shyly. “I’ve seen you around, from time to time, and I just felt we’d be a good team.”

“A good team? In what way?”

He cleared his throat and smiled again. He seemed nervous, and instead of speaking, he pushed his shoulders back against the cushions and moved his hips forward a bit on the couch. I wanted to bite right down on his thing. He was a big boy!

“I’ll bet we’ll make a great team,” I said, studying his eyes. I took his hand and pressed it against my chest. No resistance. We looked at each other; there was a moment when time stopped, a moment that I read as ‘All systems go!’

I dropped my hand onto his left thigh. He laid his head on the back of the couch and sighed. I tiptoed my fingers across his pants, inching ever so slowly towards the bump on his right thigh.

So! I had guessed right. Good thing I had come prepared.

I stroked the curls at the nape of his neck and then started working on the top button on his pants. With the button undone, I could see that he had no underwear on - he had come prepared as well!

'It was me that put Mrs Cunningham up to inviting you here,’ he had said. Had he used Mrs. C as his pimp? Naughty!

I moved away a bit from him so that my head was directly over his zip and my long hair was touching his pants. When I got the zip open and lifted back his pants, his cock flew up at me, hitting me in the face. I love when that happens. That boy was stiff as a poker.

What a beauty! The foreskin had already retreated, leaving the knob sticky-wet. I didn’t lose a second; I licked it from the base up and then took him in between my lips. I slowly lowered my head along the length of the shaft, swallowing it all, until my nose was against his stomach. Then I rested a hand on his balls with my fingers gripping the shaft, and I began pumping my head up and down, delighting in his stifled moaning.

“Slowly,” he whispered, putting his hand on the back of my head. I slowed down.

It was not quite the monster cock one invariably reads about in the porn stories, but it was a lovely thing to look at. No ugly little purple police-worm here, I guessed about six inches long with darker skin than the rest of him. It was thick but not so thick that one couldn’t accommodate it. Veined, and it had an aesthetically pleasing tapered end. Hmm, I imagined that drilling into me. All in all, I was very happy with my Sunday lunch, especially now with my second dessert!

The curate lay back and let me please him; he kept sighing. I understood it had been a while and he was in need of release. I became aware of how noisy I was as I gobbled him, and I had just begun worrying that Mrs. C might suddenly appear in the doorway when he said, “Let’s go to my bedroom!”

“Okay,” I said, “Which room is yours? Uh huh, sure, I’m just going to borrow your bathroom. See you in a jiffy.”

When I got back to his room, lubed, locked, and loaded, he turned the key in the door behind us. He had thrown his clothes in a pile on a chair, and he took me in his arms to kiss me, his cock stabbing me in the stomach. I pushed him backward so that he fell onto the bed and I got back to slurping the lovely lollipop. I was giving him the sloppiest blowjob ever when there was a very loud knocking on the door.

Like a knee-jerk, he jumped down off of the bed and eeled in under it. I still had my shorts and shirt on, so I went to answer the door.

I turned the key as quietly as possible. “Ah, Mrs. C! I was just having a bit of a lie-down; that was some powerful grub you made for us. How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine now; it was a bit heavy, wasn't it? Where’s Father Dunne?”

“I’m not sure,” I said. “I felt tired, like you, and he said I could rest here for a while. Eh, maybe he’s gone out for a bit of fresh air?”

“Yes, that’s probably it. Anyway, I’ll potter off home now. He’ll be delighted that you came. Tell him I’ll be here at the usual time in the morning, will you?”

“I’ll make sure he gets the message, Mrs. C. Thanks again for the super lunch and for getting him to invite me!”

She was already on her way to the door. “Oh, you’re very welcome!”

We waited for the front door to slam shut, and then he popped up onto the bed like a Jack-in-the-box, smiling from ear to ear.

“Where were we?” he asked, waving his wet cock at me.

“You were about to get lucky,” I answered. I held his gaze as I inhaled his organ for the third time, and I went back to work.

Then he rolled me over and went down along my body, kissing me, until my own hard cock was in his mouth and he cupped my balls ever so gently. Oh yes! He knew exactly what to do!


Now listen! I’m guessing you all know how it goes after the foreplay, right? Well, here’s the short version.

You’re both ready. He gets you on all fours and moves behind you. Your head is flat on the bed, looking back up at him. You see him aiming between your cheeks, and then you can feel it against you. You are so horny! For me, it can seem like an age, but of course, it’s only a matter of seconds really. And then, as they say in the movies, ‘and so, it begins.’ He is nudging his way into you, and you pull on your buttocks with your hands to help him get inside and to show him that you are his to take.

You try to catch his gaze, but most often you don’t because his mind is too busy getting ready to mount his ride. He pushes some more, and you feel the stretch as he opens you. Your eyes close as he pushes once more, and pop! The first inch is inside. And then he glides into you as far as he can, filling you. You get that glorious feeling when you are split in two, in someone else’s control. Every time he hits the spot, you cry out ‘Yes!’ and you beg for more. The primeval urge to breed has taken control of him. You are his, and you moan and whimper with every thrust. His breathing is strained. He is on autopilot, and there’s no way he can stop until he finds release.

The young priest kept to the script. I watched him in a wardrobe mirror as he tirelessly bent me to his will. His hands were everywhere, slapping my ass, clenching my back, holding my hips, pulling my hair, clasped onto my nipples, clenched around my throat. Dude was like one of those Hindu gods, you know the ones, with all the hands. He continued to pummel me until he lost control; by then the sunlight had made way for the evening dusk.


Later, in the dark, I wandered down the lane by the orchard, homeward bound, on fairly shaky legs. As I turned into the country road, replaying the love session in my head, a Volkswagen Beetle kicked into life, the headlights lighting up the world. A head popped out through the window. “I expect you could do with a lift home after that? Hop in!”

I did as told and got in on the passenger side. The car rolled away, and after a minute Mrs. C turned to face me and said, “He’s a bit of a goer that one?”

I didn’t understand.

“Tommy, my nephew.”

I looked at her. I was drawing a blank. I still didn’t get it.

“Tommy. Father Dunne! He’s my nephew,” she said, resting her hand on my bare knee.

It took a while before the penny dropped. That’s what she had said to me, that time when she confronted me about her husband: ‘You are going to get really fucked!’ How was I to know that she had meant it literally? I thought she was going to put the police on me.

Her hand slid up along my thigh, way too high to be a mistake.

She obviously saw that I had finally made the connection. “I did warn you!”

Instead of driving me home, she swerved off the road, back into the orchard, and parked behind the huge wall. She switched the ignition off, and the world was in darkness again.

“Right! Back seat. Everything off. Now.”

I did as told. I found it generally turned out to be the best approach.

Mrs. C didn’t waste a second. She was totally naked under her overcoat, and she’d left that in the driver’s seat.

“Okay. Now here’s the score, and here’s what’s going to happen. My husband made you suck his dick; don’t even try to lie, Kim. He told me when I finally confronted him. He seemed happy to tell me; his way of punishing me because I won’t have sex with him, I suppose. You did me a favour, really. That little blowjob kept him from trying me for a while. And then there’s Tommy. He’s a lovely boy, isn’t he? I know that he likes the fellas and, well, he can’t be getting much of that these days, can he? So, since I felt you owed me something and he needed something, I decided to kill two birds with one stone. Tommy and you.”

“You set that up?”

“Yep.”

“And you weren’t tired after lunch at all?”

“Nope.”

“You crafty…!”

“That’s alright, my present to you, sweetie. By the way, where was he when I came to his room?”

“Under the bloody bed,” I said, and we both laughed heartily.

Then she said, “But then I thought, I should be getting something too, for all my hard work? A woman has needs too, yeah? Sound fair to you?”

She had straddled my lap and parked her pussy just above my rising cock.

Don’t think badly of me; what would you do? Well, whatever you think, right there and then, I wanted her more than anything in the world.

I leaned forward and kissed her. She pushed me away; no kissing allowed, apparently. Her breathing was getting heavy.

Okay, lady, you decide how you want it!

Mrs. C was in a hurry. She gripped ahold of my dick, stroked it a couple of times, and then, satisfied, in one sudden forward movement of her hips, she took me inside her.

I just love that. The heat as it envelops your cock, just wet enough but only just. We pushed against each other, squeezing out our juices.

Mrs. C was a woman on a mission, a desperate mission.

I put the priest out of my mind; my full attention was on the damsel in distress. She leaned over me, offering me a breast. I took the nipple in my mouth, and I recalled when this angry Amazon woman had turned me on that day outside the post office.

I caught sight of the little lever on the side of the front seat and pulled on it. The passenger seat flew forward, and I had her pinned down against it. She put her hands on the roof of the Beetle, her feet on the edge of the back seat, and using both as leverage, she banged her hips up at me like a woman possessed.

The policeman’s wife was like a ticking bomb, and it wasn’t long before time was up. She screamed out her explosion, years of it, and it was lucky we were inside that little car. If that scream had not been muffled, there is no end to the rumours that might have started up: ‘the wild goings-on up at the Parochial House’. Oh, they could be extremely inventive, those bumpkins!

Spent and shivering in her orgasm, she put her feet on my chest and kicked me back off of her. “Right, let’s get you home,” she said.

I suppose it was better than the ‘Fuck off’ that I had received from her husband.

She stopped the car a few hundred meters from my house. “Have you been planning this for a whole year?” I asked her.

“No. It was when I heard that Tommy was coming. So to speak,” she said, smiling.

She reached across and rubbed my cheek with the back of her hand. “Listen, I’m going to need you again soon, Kim. Don’t leave town.”