Literotic asexstories – Summer Ch. 21 by TheTyke,TheTyke
While able to be read as a standalone story the forerunner to this story is ‘Summer Chapter 22. The Vicars Story Part 1’. This is an unapogetically long story. Not for the fainthearted. I hope that you enjoy the story and plase send your comments, they make the writing worthwhile.
Just for the record all characters in this story were over the age of consent. Senior Guides such as Pat, Sue and Jackie and some of their friends were active in the movement well into their twenties.
Summer Chapter 23 The Vicars Story Chapter 2
The vicar didn’t drive off immediately. He sat in his car outside the church hall and waited for his shaking to stop. He leaned his head forward against the cool plastic of the steering wheel and closed his eyes until his breathing came back to something like normal and his heart rate slowed. He was terrified, what he had just done was unbelievable, unimaginable; and incredibly exciting. He sat up and ran his hands through his short, thinning hair, shaking his head to try and shake loose a little reality and to bring a little sanity back into his world.
His hands were shaking, sweating and his eyes felt bright and fevered. He was ill, he felt ill, feeling sick, his stomach tied in knots, churning over. His terrors wrapped around him like a blanket, all the negative questions pounding in his brain. What had he done? What if he was discovered? What would happen to his job, his home, his marriage, his position in society; all forfeit. All he had worked for and built. Too lose them all was simply too terrible to contemplate and in a blind panic he looked around for the door handle, fumbling with it in his haste, unable to get it open.
She hadn’t come out of the hall, at least he hadn’t seen her, so she must still be in there, maybe he could go back and apologise, maybe make amends in some way, beg for forgiveness. And then as the pendulum swung he realised that he actually couldn’t go back now even if he wanted to. In that one small encounter his life had changed dramatically, completely and forever. With a real shock he also realised that for the first time in his life he actually felt alive, actually felt himself a full man. And he liked the feeling, he liked the power that came from putting his hand up a woman’s skirt; and he knew in that instant that risking it all or not he could never go back.
His mind burst into flames at the thought of Pat and the delights that were lurking up inside her wonderfully short skirt, inside those beautifully enticingly flimsy cotton knickers, delights that he only just had the briefest sample of. And he began to shake again, a man with a terminal case of newly discovered lust. He brushed the sweat from his forehead and wiped his hands on his cassock and suddenly he realised that in truth he didn’t give a fig about the morality of what he had done. Fingering a parishioner was small beer in the hierarchy of clerical misdemeanours and if discovered probably wouldn’t even make a line in the parish magazine; and besides, living most of his life amongst ‘godly’ people had somewhat blunted his sensibilities towards matters of morality. In short he simply didn’t care. What preoccupied him here and now was what Pat looked like naked and how she had felt when he had his hand up her skirt.
He had come so close, he had to finish it. Like an alcoholic with a serious thirst he needed another taste of Pat’s young and tender body. He needed to see her completely naked, to be able to touch her, he needed his fingers in her sex again. The devil was riding him bareback, using his spurs and whirling his hat over his head shouting ‘Yeeha!” The sweet and heady smell of sex was already in his nostrils, growing him horns and putting a ring through his nose, undoing him. He was homo erectus for the first time and the feeling was intoxicating.
It had felt so good, wonderful in fact, absolutely bloody magical! He slammed the flat of his hand repeatedly against the steering wheel. ‘Yes!’ he screamed inside his head, ‘Yes! Yes! Yes!’ He wanted to get out of the car and run around the car park like a man demented, to punch holes in the tired old wooden walls of the church hall; to scream it out at the top of his lungs, that he, the vicar of this God forsaken piss hole of a parish, at his age, at his stage of life had just experienced his first real sexual conquest. My God, what a thing! Not that it was much of a conquest in the grand scheme of things he had to admit, she had cum on his finger, and very quickly, surprisingly quickly in truth, but for an unpopular small town vicar who had all but given up on life it was indeed a major, major event.
With trembling hands he started the car but still he just sat there with the engine running. And then she came out of the front door, blinking in the bright sunshine, arching her back, brushing her hair with her hands, the movement tightening her blouse across her breasts. She looked so good, so beautifully lithe and sensuous and once again he remembered exactly how she had felt, her sex under his fingers, the small shudder as she came and suddenly he was rampant and totally unrepentant again. He suddenly realised that he had to finish what he had started, he had to finish his conquest of this young woman, he had to have her naked, to cum in her. He had to make her his; his quest for sex had begun in earnest.
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The Guides and Scouts used the woods behind the church for their campfires and shorter summer camps. The main summer camps were usually better organised and took them further afield but the short, more spontaneous, weekend and midweek summer camps usually took place in the fields and woods behind the church. Being the Vicar he always knew when they were taking place, the grounds were church owned and they needed his permission to use them and so he usually wandered over to the camps least once a day when they were taking place.
The visit to this particular camp had assumed an even greater importance to the vicar as this time he knew Pat was camping there. She had taken part in previous camps but back then he had not touched her or had his fingers inside her. This time the interest had an intensely persona aspectl.
When he arrived unannounced he was disappointed to find the small camp apparently deserted and so he took the opportunity to walk slowly around the few closely grouped tents and looked inside them one by one. Wherever the guides were they had not been gone long, for despite the growing heat of the day there was a small billie can of water bubbling away, keeping hot on a small wood fire in the middle of the camp.
Despite his disappointment he carried on his inspection with relish. He got a thrill from looking through the empty tents. He became aroused by the empty intimacy of the neatly laid out beds, the rolled sleeping bags in which the young girls and women slept, the intimate articles of clothing he ‘accidentally’ came across in the kitbags. All these things were extremely exciting and he looked forward to the sexual pleasure he drew from them.
The tents were laid out with military precision, all spotless, bedding folded neatly and the treasure trove of the kit bag at the bottom of each camp bed. He walked the camp imagining the older women, the senior guides, who would be sleeping here tonight, trying to put names to each bed in turn. Looking inside the last tent he was suddenly surprised to find someone sitting on a camp bed reading and as he recognised her his excitement immediately peaked.
“Hello Pat,” he said quietly and the woman jumped, she tried to rise but he moved further into the tent, blocking her exit, dominating the available space.
“Sorry,” he said, turning to close the tent flap behind him, “I didn’t mean to make you jump. I didn’t think anyone was here. Quite fortuitous really.”
Trying to hide her shock at the vicar’s sudden appearance Pat struggled to recover her composure, her hand at her chest, her book open on the floor where it had fallen. Ignoring her obvious discomfort the vicar moved fully into the tent and sat heavily on the camp bed opposite, his bulk filling the small tent. Reaching down he picked up the paperback she had dropped, turning it over in his hand to read the title. It was a trashy romantic ‘bodice ripper’ and with a small smile he placed it face down on the bed alongside him.
“I don’t seem to have read that one,” he said generously, quietly noting that her taste in literature quite suddenly matched his own aspirations, for today at least. She smiled uncertainly glancing at the tent flap as if expecting someone else to enter.
“I’m here on my own,” he said by way of unasked explanation and she turned nervously back to face him.
“Where are the others?” he asked, indicating the empty camp with a vague nod of his head.
“Gone on a hike,” she answered uneasily, total unnerved by his towering, unexpected, presence in the small tent, “they left about fifteen minutes ago.”
“Only just missed them then,” he said smiling disarmingly, “such a shame, I like to see the girls when I can.”
She glanced up at him but he simply smiled back at her, forcing her further back into the tent with his sheer presence. He looked her up and down predatorily, his very size intimidating.
“Why didn’t you go with them?”
She shrugged and fidgeted nervously. “Just didn’t feel like it,” she said, “I wanted to be on my own for a while.”
He smiled, “And I come along and spoil it,”
“Oh no,” she said hurriedly, realising her social blunder, “not at all. We are always pleased to see you.”
“Are you?” He asked. “That’s nice to know.”
In the confines of the small tent they were sitting opposite each other, so close that they were almost touching, nose to nose, knee to knee. She laughed nervously and brushed a stray lock of hair from her face as the silence began to stretch away. He looked at the woman sitting opposite him; she was obviously waiting nervously for his next move.
He wiped the perspiration from his lips with his hand.
“Hot in here isn’t it?” he asked at last and she nodded, glancing around, nervous and unsure, as if looking for a source of the heat.
“Try undoing your blouse a little,” he instructed, “you’ll feel better,” he said and smiled. She blinked and looked up at him as if unsure she had heard him correctly.
“Sorry?” she asked quietly, her voice small and vulnerable, his blunt instruction lying between them like a stone.
“I said undo your blouse a little if you are too hot.”
She looked at him and made to speak. “Undo your blouse,” he said finally, his voice edged with a sudden authority. She hesitated for a moment before reaching up with clumsy fingers and slowly unfastened the top button just below the neck of her heavy blue uniform blouse.
“There,” he said when she was done, smiling easily, “that is better isn’t it?” he asked and she nodded, looking confused and unsure. “You’ll be cooler now.”
He studied her face for a moment, his smile calm despite the snakes that coiled and roiled in his chest. He reached out and took hold of the button she had just undone; she flinched but did not move away. He rolled it in his fingers, pulling her blouse away from her skin as he feigned interest in it.
“Did you sew this?” he asked at last and she nodded.
“Cotton not quite the same colour as the others,” he said by way of explanation and smiled reassuringly at her. She said nothing, just looked down at the fingers that were pulling at the button, making her blouse gape, showing the beginning of the soft swell of her breasts. The hand didn’t retreat, it just continuing to roll the button between finger and thumb. Time stretched away as they sat there, joined together by the tenuous thread of the button and his fingers. Then, as if making up his mind, he finally looked up at her and smiled.
“Lie down,” he instructed and for a moment she sat stock still. She examined his face for some indication as what he was going to do to her. He smiled again, his forced friendliness at odds with his words. She knew what he was capable of. He had proved that to her in the church hall and she was nervous but she could not see any obvious way out.
“Lie down,” he repeated and she looked at him, feeling his authority, seeing his position and his power as he loomed over her and she licked her lips in resignation, slowly swinging her legs up onto the camp bed, tucking her skirt under her.
“That’s a good girl,” he said quietly, authoritatively, “now lie down properly”.
Looking around she lay down, flat on her back, rigid, hard and stiff as if on Church parade, which in a way she was. She looked up at the canvas ceiling hanging just feet above her and she had a sudden flash of childhood memories, of laying flat on her back in a children’s play tent playing ‘doctors and nurses’ with the boy from next door, watching him hovering over her, feeling his hands inside her clothing, exploring, probing, making up childish medical words and procedures as he lifted her dress and pulled down the front of her knickers, his fingers greedily moving between her legs and she closed her eyes as a stray shiver of anticipation ran through her.
She felt as tight as a coiled spring as she lay there on the bed while he leaned over her watching, enjoying her discomfort. She crossed her hands nervously in front before changing her mind and finally settling for them placed flat at her sides, on parade, flat on her back, waiting for him to make his next move, realising already that he was now in complete control of her and wondering how it had once again happened so quickly.
Slowly, like some overstuffed frog, he shuffled forward, closing the gap between them, leaning over her until he seemed to hover in the space above her, filling her horizon, blotting out the rest of the world, narrowing her perspective until the intimacy became oppressive. She looked up at him, expectant, fearful and he smiled again. His fingers still held the button on her blouse and he pulled on it experimentally. The blouse moved, opening slightly and bagging at the neck. He let go and took hold of the open neck of her blouse, folding it back until the blouse pulled, tethered suddenly by the next fastened button. Pat lay and stared at the ceiling as he casually reached down and released the offending fastening. Once released the blouse gapped a little further.
“Oh look,” he said quietly as if making a sudden discovery, his fingertip touching the soft newly exposed skin of her chest. She started at his sudden touch, at the obvious intent of his deliberate intimacy. He looked carefully at her face for a moment, expecting a reproach that never came, a remonstration a remonstration against his familiarity. Instead she stared silently at the ceiling and so, emboldened, he continued on down the front of her blouse, his finger and thumb capturing the next button, holding it for a moment before opening it and moving on to the next.
She closed her eyes as he worked his way down the front of her blouse, methodically, unhurriedly, opening all the buttons down to her waist. When he at last reached the bottom he sat back a little to admire his progress, his excitement mounting as he took in the line of pale skin showing whitely between the two deep blue halves of her open blouse. He reached over and this time he touched his fingertips to the smooth skin of her flat stomach. With a sharp intake of breath she drew in her stomach and bit her lip. Seeing her response he laughed quietly to himself before running the back of his finger along the length of the gap, from the bottom to the top and back again, navel to throat, each time making a deliberate show of crossing the line where her soft white bra bisected her chest. She shivered and closed her eyes as she felt his fingers raise involuntary goose bumps on her skin.
Leaning over her he casually pulled the shirt clear of her skirt, almost idly working his way around her waist, tugging the material clear. She felt him undo the last button that had been hidden below her belt and then she knew her blouse was now open, her first line of defences breached. She wanted to grab the open front and hold it together and her hands twitched protectively but she simply lay there, passively, submissively and let him continue to slowly undress her.
As if reading her thoughts he smiled and taking hold of the open edges of her blouse he slowly and deliberately folded them back out of the way. His large hand smoothed at the loose material, pushing it back at the shoulders, unwrapping her as if she were a present, exposing her bra clad chest and smooth, flat stomach, her skin shining like ivory under the aging green canvas of the tent.
“Very nice,” he said quietly, his voice thick and hoarse. “You have a beautiful body. You should show it more often, and more of it” and she glanced up at him, recognising his words and wondering nervously if she could stop him going any further. Yet despite her fears she just lay there as he hovered over her, her blouse open, his big hand resting with a deceptively easy familiarity on her stomach, the intimacy explicit, the intent plain. And she kept her eyes closed, almost holding her breath, not sure if he expected an answer or no, not even sure if he was actually talking to her or running some internal conversation in his head in which she played no part.
“There,” he said finally, his fingers gently spreading on her stomach, possessive, territorial, his voice almost distracted, remote, practicing his excuse for undressing her if he was ever called on to give one, “that’s better isn’t it? It’s good to get some air to your skin. Healthier. You looked hot, you must be cooler now.” He inched still further forward, his knees touching her bed, his words drying up, completely distracted by the beauty of the body he was uncovering, the soft glow of her skin, the rise and fall of her breasts inside her close fitting, white, virginal bra.
His hand rubbed gently at her stomach, his fingertips tracing invisible patterns on her skin.
“Smooth,” his voice little above a whisper, “so very, very smooth.” His hand moved slowly down her stomach and for a moment he fingered the black enamelled buckle on her broad black leather guide belt, proudly embossed with the guide emblem, before he casually twisted it open. She looked up into his face but could read nothing there beyond the false painted on smile.
“Be prepared,” he said quietly running his thumb over the raised words.
“A good motto; are you prepared?” he asked and he pulled the belt loose, pushing it through the loops on her skirt before pulling it out and dropping it onto the floor beside him. Inanely she arched her back to help him, unthinkingly participating in her own unclothing.
Finding the zip and button at the side of her skirt he quickly unfastened the button and using two hands he tugged the zip down.
“I’m prepared,” he said as the skirt sagged lose. He folded the waistband back, exposing more of her smooth stomach and the first tiny, tantalising glimpse of the top of her soft white knickers. He stopped, his hand poised, the very real intimacy of the first sight of her knickers gave him pause and his hand trembled at the thought of what lay hidden within the soft white garment. He had already felt her, her softness and her moisture; but that had been a fleeting, hurried, touch in a dirty church hall vestibule. This was an altogether a much more intimate and hopefully prolonged opportunity.
Without taking his eyes off her knickers he sat back a little and licked his lips, tasting the sweat that clung once again to his upper lip. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, wiping his hand in turn on front of his black clerical shirt. Now that it was real he was suddenly frightened of what he was doing; but he also fully knew that there was no turning back now even if he had wanted to.
“Feeling better?” he asked her almost solicitously, as if he was undressing her for her own benefit; and even as he said it his shaking hand returned to smooth across her stomach once again.
“You must be much cooler now,” he said, keeping up his inane pretence, “without all those constricting clothes. You feel cooler,” he said and as if to prove his point his hand moved over her bare skin, sliding across her stomach, skimming the top of the white material of her knickers, “much better to touch.”
She swallowed nervously as he touched her, stoking her tummy, moving up her ribcage to just below her breasts; moving slowly lower to drift momentarily under the waistband of her knickers as if testing how far he dare go, waiting for a reaction. In response she watched his broad flat face hovering just above her, seemingly calm and smiling. Yet she trembled and breathed in sharply, almost a whimper whenever his fingers slipped beneath the waistband of her knickers or circled near her bra covered breasts.
She shivered as his hands explored her, the skin he had exposed. She knew it was only a matter of time before he found the courage to touch her properly, before his hand slid down inside her pants in earnest or wormed their way inside her bra to find her breast and her nipple; she remembered him in the church hall, his hand between her legs and she trembled at the thought, staring at the canvas above her as if trying to distance herself from what was happening to her, what his hands were doing, where they were going and what she knew they were eventually going to do.
He was using both hands now, one at her waist and the other higher on her chest, circling, getting bolder. She stiffened as his lower hand finally breached the line of absolute intimacy and his fingers slid slowly down her stomach and slipped under the lose waistband of her knickers. She looked at his face as his fingers, gaining courage, moved down into the warm soft darkness. His eyes were fixed, following his fingers down into the secret places reserved for lovers. The pretence was over. She breathed in as he spread his fingers in the darkness, holding her breath as her knickers gaped away from her skin as his hand moved further down her smooth, flat stomach. ‘My God,’ he breathed as his fingers finally brushed lightly against her pubic hair. She gasped and his eyes vacantly flicked to her face although his thoughts were fixed on the exhilarating sensation of the rough hair he could feel beneath his fingertips.
“Oops,” he said suddenly remembering she was there, a real person attached to the hair and she started at his forced jovially. “What have we here? Is that your pubic hair?” he asked. “I guess I’m going a bit too far eh? Perhaps a bit too fast? She said nothing, she just looked back at him, her eyes wide with shock and his hand slowly and extremely reluctantly retreated. “Plenty of time,” he said quietly, “let you get used to idea.”
He let the elastic at the waist of her knickers snap gently and silently back into place and he sat back again for a moment, his hand resting softly on her stomach, a tight little smile on his face. He was painfully erect and he reached down and moved himself into a more comfortable position. She lay and watched him, her defences falling, her eyes warily flicking from his face to the ceiling, waiting nervously for his next move. He looked at her laying there before him. Her shirt wide open, more off than on, her skirt undone, passive and accepting, nervous but compliant; and he knew that in truth there was no stopping now, he had already crossed the line of common decency, he had put his hand inside her knickers, reached her pubic hair, mere inches from her sex; all pretence was over now, they both knew what the game was, no more ‘are you cool enough now”, they both knew that he was shortly going put his fingers inside her; he just needed to move slowly.
Changing tack he placed his hand at the top of her chest, his fingers at her throat, his thumb resting in the hollow at the base of her throat. He could feel her pulse beating beneath his fingertips, a rapid thread beat that spoke of fear, and yet perhaps concealed the possibly of excitement and he smiled.
“You’re not saying much,” he said quietly, “cat got your tongue?”
His thumb gently stroked the base of her throat and she closed her eyes, raising her chin slightly as if opening herself to him, yet she still remained silent. She had said nothing since he had begun to undress her but he wasn’t worried, her skin was warm and soft to the touch, her pulse fast and strong, he had her blouse open and her skirt undone. He was halfway there.
Still watching her closely he trailed his hand slowly down her chest onto the soft upward swell at the beginning of her breast. He felt the rise with his fingertips, following the curve upwards to the soft, lacy, edge of her bra. She shifted nervously and her hand twitched in self defence as he once again hovered on the edge of decency. He placed his other hand flat on the soft silky plane of her stomach and again he felt a satisfyingly nervous intake of breath. She knew he was going to take her, that there was nothing she could do to stop him, he was working her like a doll, conditioning her, getting her ready for when he would finally slip his hand between her legs.
He smoothed her stomach with his palm, gliding over her skin, gently kneading, reinforcing her vulnerability. She murmured quietly as his hand once again slid finally lower, his fingers almost stealthily working their way under the soft material of the waist of her knickers. He again paused, waiting for a reaction but this time he received none other than a shuddering rise and fall of her chest beneath his fingers. He slowly stretched his hand until he once again felt the first small hairs of her pubis. He ran his fingers over them, feeling their texture and the line, his hand moving freely from side to side beneath the tent of her clothing. She shivered as his hand stroked her intimately in the darkness, softly insistent, exploring. And she recognised for the first time, with a unlooked for, a sudden and strange arousal, a strange and moist desire developing between her legs.
He felt the first tremors in the body laid out beneath his hands, a first indication that she was beginning to respond, to take an active interest in her own seduction. Not that he was particularly concerned if she did or she didn’t, her satisfaction had not entered into his consideration until now but he smiled at the thought that possibly he could turn this young woman on.
He flexed his fingers, one of his hands inside her knickers, the other on the soft rising swell of her chest; and he noticed a line that seemed to connect the two points, the two ends of her sexuality and as he moved his fingers at one end he felt a corresponding movement at the other. He felt her move beneath him, almost a soft shudder of hope being abandoned, but perhaps of a nascent sexuality, the first small hint of the budding of desire; she was rising to him.
His fingers curled, rasping his nails gently across her skin, raising goose bumps, making her press her thighs together. He smiled at her innocence; he could almost smell the moisture he now hoped would be forming between her legs. He had read about how wet a woman get when she is stimulated, he had felt it briefly when he had made her cum in the church hall and he suddenly dared hope that he could make her wet again. He began to work her, stroking lazy circles on the soft upper slopes of her breasts and doing the same in the darkness inside her knickers. Touching her softly, keeping her on the edge of final intimacy, moving closer then retreating, then closer still, building her slowly, feeling the first movements of her hips, the small tell tale intakes of breath, the tremors in her thighs. As best he knew how he was keeping her aroused, making her squirm. Her back arched a little as she stretched out on the bed before him, well on her way to being half naked, her clothes in growing disarray, her skirt sliding slowly lower.
She was open and exposed and she felt it, growing moist, vulnerable, turned on, aroused and weakening. He watched her slowly shake her head as his hand drifted once again ever closer to her sex, exploring down the sides of her mound where the soft smooth skin led directly down to her sex. Her nerves were stretched taut, her sex moist, her nipples erect and almost painfully sensitive rubbing against the inside of her bra. She knew he would soon be at her breast, his fingers between her legs; and she squirmed in fear and expectation as he stroked her, getting even closer before drifting away, making her shiver, making her whimper in anticipation. She was no longer sure what she was hoping for, that he would continue or that he would stop. At this moment both seemed unreal and unnatural choices for her
She felt him slide her bra strap off her shoulder. She looked down and to the side as her bra eased its tension on her breast. She whimpered as his hand caressed her now naked shoulder, feeling the line where the strap had been. It was only a bra strap but already she felt vulnerable with it. She felt his other hand withdraw from her knickers and she bit back a cry of disappointment. Reappearing from the darkness inside her knickers it reached down and taking hold of the hemline he pull the front of her skirt up to her waist. She felt the air against her thighs, the sudden exposure and she jerked as if she had been hit. He smoothed his hands down the front of her thighs, he was preparing her for the final assault, a good tactician, removing the obstacles in his way. He pulled the front of her knickers down a little and she shivered and cried out quietly as his hand once again slid back into her pants, the elastic pulling softly against her skin as he moved lower, seeking out the shape of her mound, once again exploring, touching, stroking, drawing ever closer to her sex and she shook with nervous anticipation.
She was openly moving under his hands now, her hips trying to follow his fingers as they moved around the edges of her sex, stroking, inflaming; softly arching her back to offer her breasts to the sky or whoever may wish to use them, the slowly mounting craving to be touched turning her nipples to rock . Her body was on autopilot, responding to her growing needs, her sex seeking his fingers, her nipples needing his touch. She was becoming lost to herself, sexually wracked, undone by unexpected desire.
She almost did not notice when his hand finally slipped inside the soft cup of her bra, sliding down to take possession of her breast. Concentrating on the hand in her knickers and the promise of relief it signalled the first she realised was when his fingers wrapped themselves around her breast, encircling it, capturing the high ground of her taut and stretched out body. She gasped in confusion and surprise as his large hand filled her bra, overwhelming her breast, his fingers squeezing, constricting her lugs. Her heart was suddenly pounding so fiercely that, she was sure he would be able to feel it beating against his palm. His fingers found her nipple and she almost screamed as he tugged at it, pulling it and the breast it was attached to free of the cup.
No one had ever held her like this before, so familiarly, so blatantly sexually, and she gasped as he rolled the highly sensitised bud between his finger and thumb, squeezing slightly, drawing it upwards stretching it out. Her hand automatically covered his, trying to stop the pleasure that her nipple was delivering. He laughed and brushed her hand away. He pulled her breast completely free of her bra, drawing it out into the daylight, alabaster skin pink tipped, soft breast and hard nipple. He pulled down the cup to expose her completely. She cried out as he took her nipple again .holding it between his finger and thumb and carefully rolled it back and forth, pulling and squeezing experimentally before cupping her entire breast in the palm of his hand.
She groaned as he squeezed, working her entire breast under the palm of his hand. She moaned as he worked her, her sex responding to the sudden handling of her breast and nipple, each twist of her nipple vibrating between her legs. She could almost feel herself getting wetter, her sex tingling with arousal and with a growing sense of desperation and horror she realised that she was desperate to be touched.
With a casualness that denied his own excitement he pushed her bra strap from her other shoulder, pulling it down her arm as far as it would reach before pulling her other breast free of the restraining confines of her bra. Freer now, he pulled the cups down below her breasts completely exposing her. Her firm breasts stood proud from her chest, her nipples hard and pointing skyward. He laughed and ran his hand from one to the other, squeezing and fondling her soft and tender flesh.
She squirmed as her touched her, squeezing her breasts and rolling her nipples, his other hand still deep inside her knickers, curling his fingers in her public hair, a short breath away from the top of her sex. He could feel her hips moving, small rolling movements that he realised indicated her need to be touched, she was rising to meet him. He could feel her heat as his fingers explored the smooth skin at the side of her sex, stroking, teasing, feeling the first hint of the wetness that awaited him. His fingers traced a line adjacent to her lips, so close she wanted to scream and she involuntarily spread her legs, opening herself up, urging him on.
He rolled her nipple, twisting it slowly one way and then the other, testing its stretch, feeling the texture and the shape. He pulled on it, slightly harder, feeling it elongate feeling her breast stretch out of shape to accommodate it. She groaned and her chest lifted to follow her nipple, easing the tension and the stretch he was creating.
She spread her legs wider, astounded by the sharp and sudden line of fire that linked her nipple and her sex and her hips rose, searching out his fingers, searching for relief. She squirmed, her juices running between her legs, soaking into her knickers, her sex beginning to boil. She whimpered her growing need, twisting beneath him, surrendering to him as her desires drove her ever higher. He was in complete control, drawing fire from her body. His eyes shone like a demon and his lips curled in a parody of a smile as she cried out and opened her legs even wider, desperately seeking relief for the fierce heat building through her breasts and between her legs.
She shook as he caressed her mound, his hand softly pressing down and she pressed back, pushing against him, involuntary movements that moved his fingers ever closer to her sex. Finally his fingers found her, sliding onto her wetness and she cried out again pushing herself blindly up against them. “Please,” she whispered, “please.” Her voice dissolving into small animal like mewling sounds as her need robbed her of articulate speech. She spread her legs as his huge hand covered her, her hips shaking in desperate anticipation of relief, she could feel her juices smearing beneath his fingers, his palm sliding over her sex, the friction delicious and electrifying. She cried out as he worked her nipple, now red and swollen from his handling, her hips were twisting and thrusting up into his hands, her desperation obvious.
He knelt in wonder beside her as she writhed on the bed, one hand wrapped around her beautiful firm young breast the other inside her knickers between her legs, pressed flat against her hot, wet sex. His fingers slid along her lips and he marvelled at the amount of moisture he found, she seemed to be soaking, her sex running with liquid fire. Her breast was hot, her skin slick, her nipples hard and fierce. He had to hold her down, press her back against the bed, hold her flat as she squirmed and roiled beneath his hands
Her legs opened wider as he felt along the length of her sex, his fingers slipping through her wetness, her juices smearing his hand. She cried out as he touched her, driving him on, his excitement as great as hers. She strained back against his fingers, pushing her sex against him, her thighs spread as wide as she could get them. He had never guessed that such abandon could exist, such wildness, such a desperation to cum; he had never dreamed that sex could be like this.
She was totally unaware of the sexual epiphany that was taking place in the man with his hand between her legs; all she knew was the desperate need for blessed relief. She writhed beneath him as he squeezed her chest and nipples, working her sex with his fingers and the flat of his hand. His fingers slipped between her lips and that was all she needed. She was so excited that she came, instantly, piercingly, arching up into his hands, her small cries turning into one long drawn out sob of release as she bucked and shuddered through her first overwhelming and uncontrollable climax. Her pressed her sex beneath his hand as she came, pressing fiercely back as she pushed up against him; his other hand gripping her breast, holding her down, pressing her back onto the bed.
The strength of her climax rocked them both. She bucked her hips against the pressure of his hand. She cried out and gripped the wrist of the hand that held her breast and squeezed until he feared for his circulation. She sobbed and cried out, shaking and squeezing his hand with her thighs until slowly the crisis passed. He stared at her wide eyed and she sank back onto the cheap canvas bed. He had never seen anything like it before. If someone had described it to him he would have said they were lying, that it could not be true. He had read about them, heard descriptions, but never seen one in real life, let alone imagined having been the cause.
He shook his head, his world had tilted as she had moved beneath his hands and he suddenly realised that this semi naked young woman on the bed before him had opened up a whole new world to him, a world alive with sexual possibilities. Even if she had not planned for this to happen, it must certainly been a possibility for her when she had first dropped her cassock to display her body to him in the church. And the realisation shocked him; and he further recognized that despite her apparent naivety that she was probably more aware of the possible outcomes in this game of consequences that he was, and suddenly sobered he wondered exactly who was playing who.
She had slowly subsided beneath his hands, quietly sinking back onto the bed, her climax short lived and fierce. But his hands seemed glued to her body, he could not let go, his fingers still slowly moving on her sex, feeling her warmth and her unbelievable wetness. His hand massaged her breast, his palm sliding softly over the red and still engorged nipple. She lay still as he used her, as if he was not there, as if his hands were not still on her body. Her eyes were closed, her hair in disarray, her lips glistening in the soft green light, her breathing ragged. He wanted this moment to last forever, his moment of his own sexual awakening, his very own, very personal epiphany; one that he never imagined would happen, never even guessed had existed. He marvelled at the feeling of her, the beauty and the warmth. Her sex still burned beneath his hand, her breast rolled wonderfully, enticingly under his palm.
“Where have they gone?” he asked eventually, his voice sounding loud and intrusive, in the silence that had settled on them. She didn’t move, as if she had not heard, lost in the post climactic rush of hormones that had flooded her body like an after wash. He asked again. “Where have they gone,” and again she didn’t stir. He eventually shook her shoulder and she opened her eyes, confused and disoriented.
“Where have they gone,” he repeated a third time.
“Who?” She asked sleepily, slightly grumpy at being called back from the place she had found.
“The troop,” he said, “the girls. Where have they gone?” She struggled to focus. His fingers still lingered inside her knickers, between her legs, gently moving on her sex, adding to her confusion, making rational thought difficult.
“Er, Walton Crag I think,” she offered with an effort. “They’re meeting up with the Scouts for some wide games and orienteering.”
She mumbled something unintelligible and closed her eyes, part ignoring and part enjoying the hands at her sex and at her breast. He gently squeezed her breast, he wanted a response, wanted her to acknowledge that he was touching her. She sighed and casually, contentedly wiped the stray hair from her face, her eyes sill closed. He pulled gently on a nipple and noticed for the first time the pronounced contrast between her nipples, one dusky pink, the other red and apparently swollen and he smiled at the realisation that this was his doing, that he had used her until she looked sore and he itched to take her again, to make the two nipples match. He felt her sex, wet and puffy between her open legs, his fingers deep inside her knickers, still stroking gently between her soft and welcoming lips. She was in disarray, she looked used, not the composed and pristine senior guide he had discovered reading in her tent such a short time ago.
He shook her again.
“When will they be back?” he asked, his voice calmer than he felt, the question important to his plan.
“Later,” she answered distractedly, still humming to the small whirlpools of sensation his finger were creating. “I’m supposed to getting dinner ready for them, about sixish,” she offered dreamily.
“And have you,” he enquired gently and she nodded as his fingers continued to paint soft patterns behind her closed eyes.
“It’s all done,” she said, gathering her thoughts with obvious difficulty, “it’s in the billie cans by the fire.”
Without taking his hands off her he glanced over his shoulder. For the first time he noticed the line of covered cans neatly lined up beside the open fire and he smiled.
“Then we have plenty of time don’t we,” he asked and she nodded absently before the import of his words struck her and she opened her eyes with an effort.
“That is unless you are expecting anyone else?” he asked and without thinking she slowly shook her head.
“Good,” he said, his hand casually caressing her breasts, moving slowly from one to the other; his fingers playing easily in her sex, exploring the subtle, slick, sexual, shape of her.
“Very good indeed” he said with satisfaction. “This day is turning out to be such an unexpected pleasure. For both of us I hope.”
She closed her eyes again, shivering slightly in the lingering remains of her climax, his fingers gently stretching out her dreamlike pleasure as he continued to caress her, rolling her breasts beneath his palm, her sex beneath his fingers. She closed her eyes as his surprisingly delicate hands worked gently at her, feeding the sensations as they spread throughout her body, sensuous ripples that caught in her throat and made her voice break, made her open her legs and rock her sex softly against his hand again.
She felt she could have stayed like that forever, soft and warm, riding on a cushion of gently manipulated sex. She was surprised to discover that she was still aroused. She was totally aware of the feel of his hands on her, still inside her knickers, stroking between her legs, moving over the outside of her sex, moving tentatively between her lips, threatening to push deeper before retreating and she would groan, softly, between her teeth at the loss. .
He smiled smugly to himself as he caressed her. He could not believe that he, the vicar, had managed to get this far with this beautiful young woman. He had her almost half naked; he was caressing her breasts and he had her sex quite literally, in the palm of his hand. The thought made him moan quietly, bending at the waist, his erection almost painful. He looked down at the semi naked girl, her gentle breathing, he almost hated to disturb her but he needed to move this on, he really needed to finish the seduction before anyone came to disturb them.
When he gently disengaged his fingers from her sex and slowly removed his hand from inside her knickers the soft rocking of her hips stopped. She opened her eyes and looked up at him, wondering why the pleasure had suddenly ceased.
“I think we need to lose the skirt don’t you? It will get creased,” he said quietly and raising her head a little she looked down the length of her body at her skirt, bunched up around her waist, as if seeing it for the first time. He smiled to himself at his perceived need to stoop to using artifice at this stage; he had the woman half naked and had made her cum but still felt compelled to use an obvious pretence to continue the seduction, to remove her skirt.
Weather she recognised his words as a ruse or not she didn’t try to stop him as he took hold of the bunched up material around her waist and slowly worked the skirt slid down onto her hips. He licked his lips and smiled at her wide eyed stare as her knickers slid softly into view.
“Lift your hips,” he instructed and she did, dutifully, obediently, arching her bottom off the bed to allow him to slide her skirt slid down her hips and onto her thighs. She grabbed hold of the waist of her knickers to stop them sliding down with her skirt and he smiled at her misplaced show of coyness. ‘Too late my dear’ he thought, ‘much, much too late.’
“That’s better,” he said, trying to keep his voice cool and calm. Inexperienced as he was he knew instinctively that it would probably be very easy to spook a young woman while removing the remainder of her clothes for the first time.
Moving as quickly as he dare he worked her skirt down her legs, pulling until it reached her feet. Tamely she raised each foot in turn so he could slip it off and shaking it out he folded it and placed it neatly on the bed beside him.
“Good girl,” he said, turning back to face her, shocked at the sudden expanse of naked leg, the clearly defined shape of her sex deliciously outlined in the damp crutch of her enticing white knickers, a promise of delights to come. .
“Beautiful,” he murmured as her long legs stretched out before him, her skin glowing with youth and health, her muscles taut and well defined. His hands suddenly shook and his throat dried as he looked at the woman spread out in front of him. He had to take a strong grip on himself, he had never been this close to an attractive woman in her underwear before and the sight of her growing nakedness suddenly quite unnerved him.
He licked his lips and wiped his sweating palms on his pants almost overawed with what he was about to do.
“Something wrong?” she asked and he realised that he had been staring for some time.
“You are almost too beautiful,” he said and she looked at him quizzically, blushing at his words. He ran his hands up and over her thighs, revelling in their smoothness and their warmth, regaining his confidence from the renewed contact with her skin. She sighed and relaxed as his hands stroked over her legs, calming, comforting, sexy. As he felt the tension leave her his hands slowly dipped between her legs, pushing her knees gently apart. His hands followed his eyes the narrowing v of her thighs to the point where her legs joined. He placed one hand on the inside of either thigh and slowly he pushed her legs even further apart, stretching the material of her knickers tightly across her sex. She did not complain or try to stop him, seeming unable or unwilling to deny him any intimacy, allowing him to run his fingers up against her, smoothing the wet material of her knickers up against her sex.
“Only your knickers left really,” he said quietly almost to himself and as he did so he saw her eyes suddenly focus on the canvas sagging softly above her head, like a child looks away when something important or a little frightening is about to happen, as if by ignoring it it isn’t real.
There was a small intake of breath as his fingers brushed up against the clearly defined outline of her sex. She moved as he touched her, a slight resistance, a brief shudder of nerves as his fingers spread, pressing gently against the lips nestling moistly beneath the cover of the soft, damp, material. He covered her sex with his hand, his fingers curling over her, taking up her shape. She murmured slightly as he squeezed, rubbing gently, helping her to forget her lack of a skirt; and slowly she relaxed, gently yielding, slowly sinking back under the pleasure. She felt his fingers slowly trace the line along the length of her sex, following the shape of her lips, pushing the damp material between them, moulding it to her shape, and she sighed and her legs fell open and her eyelids fluttered closed. Any worry about the loss of her skirt, now laying discarded and neglected on the bed beside him, completely forgotten as his fingers gently caressed her sex.
He smiled as he felt her slowly succumb to the simple pressure of his fingers. She was growing accustomed to the feel of his hands on her body, his hand between her legs and she relaxed as he fondled her, her breathing slowly deepening, her body sinking back into the bed as his fingers worked a sexual magic between her open legs. The words of the old saying , ‘softly, softly catchee monkey,’ ran through his head as stalked her sex with his fingers; watching her relax, following the line of her lips, working her knickers gently into the crease of her sex.
“And now the knickers I think,” he said quietly and he felt Pat start, a short tremor of unease at the import of his words. On a nervous reflex Pat half-heartedly tried to close her legs but he gently held them open and without pausing he continued to gently stroke her, working her sex. And once again she relaxed, her legs open, slowly acclimatising to the idea of him removing her underwear.
“I can see your sex,” he said finally and she jumped again at his words.
“It’s quite clearly defined,” he said softly, “here,” and he stroked up between her lips and she shivered at his touch.
“It feels beautiful,” he said, talking softly. “I’ll bet it looks beautiful if I could only see it properly; without your knickers.” He said and she swallowed nervously but did not protest he noted with hope. “It would be a shame not to let me see it now don’t you think? To see it properly you understand, not just through your knickers.”
He ran his finger under the leg of her knickers, moving down until the back of his finger brushed lightly against the lips of her sex, skin on skin and she shivered again and closed her eyes.
“I’ve already touched it anyway haven’t I, already made you cum. We have already removed your skirt, what earthly difference does it make if you are wearing knickers or not?”
She didn’t answer him, just lay there looking nervously at the ceiling. “I’ll take that as a yes then shall I?” he said taking the waist of her kickers in his hands. She seemed to hold her breath as he gently pulled them down a little, easing the soft white material down onto her hips
He stopped for a moment and sat back a little to give her space to come to terms with what he was doing. Her nerve failed her and as soon as he let go she quickly pulled them back up, holding onto them with one hand.
Fighting back his disappointment he smiled at her. “Now why did you do that,” he asked, talking gently as if dealing fondly with a naughty child. “You want me to see your sex don’t you?” he asked. “That’s the whole point behind taking your skirt off wasn’t it? To allow us to take your knickers off next.” He stroked his finger down the length of her sex and she closed her eyes, her hand still gripping the waistband. He once again pushed his hand up under the elasticated leg and slid his hand onto her sex and she stiffened a little as his fingers found her.
“See,” he said, “we don’t even really need to remove them do we? I can do whatever I need with them still in place.” With his wrist he pushed aside the material covering her sex and exposed her. She cried out a little but didn’t move to stop him. “Ah, so that’s what she looks like,” he said although his eyes were on her face and not between her legs. “See,” he said again, “we don’t really need to remove them do we, I can do whatever I need to do while you are still wearing them, it doesn’t stop me doing anything but it makes life so much easier if we take them off don’t you think,” he asked and to make his point he inserted the tip of his finger slowly inside her. She sank back with a small exhaled hiss of breath. “Now I want to see my finger inside you making you cum and I want to see you laying there with your legs open for me to do it, laying there with your legs open without your knickers. You do want me to carry doing this don’t you,” he asked and she lay there looking not at him but at the ceiling above her. He pushed his finger a little deeper inside her, “don’t you?” he repeated and was answered with a small, almost imperceptible nod of her head.
“Good,” he said letting her knickers fall back to cover her modesty. Reaching up he gently uncurled her fingers from the waistband and moved her hand away. This time he pulled them down onto her hips without resistance, tugging at each side in turn until they were sitting low on her hips. His eyes glinted as the first stray curls of pubic hair poked out above the waistband. He could see her hand twitch with the ingrained urge to pull them back up again but she bit her lip and this time she left her hands where they were.
“Lift your bottom for me again,” he said, “you need to help me a bit”; and still looking at him she hesitated for a moment before she raised her hips, holding them off the bed so that he could slide her knickers down and with a sudden surge of elation he slid them under her bottom.
His hands shook as he worked them over her hips, sliding them over her mound and onto her thighs. He paused, almost unable to control himself, as he felt the resistance as the damp material slowly peeled away from her sex. With a supreme effort of will he made his shaking fingers work them down to her knees where they seemed to stick for a moment before he managed to get them down to her ankles. He had to stop there for a moment, he was so excited he didn’t think he could manoeuvre them over her shoes and so he left them there, wrapped around her ankles. He looked up. Her body stretched away from him up the bed. She was lying with her eyes closed, very still, hardly breathing. She had her legs bent and he was holding her knees together so that he couldn’t see the part of her that he had waited all morning to see; but it didn’t matter anymore, he had taken her knickers off, they were coiled around her ankles, it was now only a matter of time.
He moved back up her legs until his hands were resting on her knees. “Open them,” he said quietly and she flinched. He waited a moment although his chest was about to burst with excitement. “Open them” he repeated quietly, “I want to see.” She silently stared at the ceiling for a moment, her arms flat by her side, her knickers looped carelessly around her ankles; he never knew what passed through her mind in those few seconds but finally, colouring brightly under his frank and open gaze, she slowly let her legs fall open.
The clouds suddenly cleared and the vicar finally gazed down from his mountaintop onto the land of milk and honey. His days in the wilderness were over. He would later swear that the light was shining out of her sex rather than falling on it. His hungry eyes simply absorbed the view and burnt it forever into his memory. Even many years later as an old man he could have closed his eyes and recalled in every detail that first magical view of her naked sex. The perfect pleasure machine perfectly formed. The shape of her mound tapering beautifully down to her glistening sex, her soft brown hair glinting lightly in the sunshine, a gentle riot of short curls. The lips of her sex literally shone with moisture, reflecting the promise that lay within; ripe, rolling open, begging to be touched, inviting him down to partake of the soft and secret pleasures that lay within. He sighed with anticipation. He watched in awe as her lips flushed full of blood under his gaze, slowly engorging, rolling open in anticipation of his touch; and he saw the same flush, this time of embarrassment, spread up her neck and light the cheeks of her face as, with her legs open, she could fell her body readying itself for pleasure.
She was almost trembling as he gazed down on her, her sex opening like a flower between her legs, already beginning to flow with excitement, with nectar. Looking at her he could sense the tight constriction of air in her chest as she held her breath, blooming under his gaze, longing to be touched. As he watched he could see her dark pink nipples growing hard in anticipation, becoming firm and erect; could almost feel her clitoris between her legs shedding its protective sheath as she put herself on display for him; she was preparing herself for sex, opening herself, offering herself for his pleasure; and hopefully hers.
She closed her eyes, fully aware of the enormity of what she was doing, laying back almost naked, taking her knickers off for the vicar, letting him see her, look between her legs, letting him touch her. She shook with a potent mix of anticipation and fear, an adrenaline high that made her nipples tingles and her sex run wet. She knew she was shamefully exposing herself and yet at the same time the act made her excited and totally aroused and she shook at thought of even further and more lewd exposure as he took her. She realised with a shock that she actually wanted to be looked at, that she wanted him to open her legs and carefully examine her, the thought of him holding her open and exploring her proffered sex was unbelievably erotic; even now she could feel the air against her sex and was shocked to discover that the thrill of losing her knickers and exposing herself was totally and absolutely intoxicating.
The vicar also realised the enormity of what they were doing. As he looked down on Pat as she lay before him he now knew that without a shadow of a doubt he was going to get to fuck her. He watched her turning herself on, amazed that just staring at her sex could elicit this response. Instinctively he recognised the voyeurism inherent in both of them, she desperately wanted to be looked at and equally desperately he wanted to look, a match truly made in heaven. She not only wanted to be looked at; she was almost squirming with the need to be touched. She had turned her head away in shame at the unexpected force of her feelings; the pure sexual intensity of lying with her legs open on a camp bed for the vicar was almost more than she could bear. She could feel herself running with moisture, wetting the bed beneath her, shame piling deliciously upon shame. She flushed bright scarlet and shook. She almost didn’t need him, the very act of exposing herself was almost doing enough to tip her over the edge in to a climax.
The vicar himself was breathing hard and shaking with excitement. He knew he had her, she was semi naked and she was obviously extremely excited. She had let him bring here this far, it had not taken him long to get inside her knickers and then to remove them. It would not take him long now to get her naked and take her the rest of the way. Lifting her feet he finally untangled her knickers from around her ankles and pulled them down and off her feet. Smiling inanely he gripped the small damp garment in his hand like a trophy, moist with her juices and warm from her body they were redolent of this highly sexed young woman and on an instinct he held them up to his nose and inhaled. His mind reeled with a sudden intoxication as the potent smell of her filled his head. The feeling was so powerful that he lurched a little and grabbed at the edge of the bed for support. His senses reeling for a moment he opened his eyes to find her staring up at him, startled by his actions.
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