My Travels With Friar Harold
Chapter 3

Copyright© 2015 by harry lime

Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 3 - James the Jester is ready to become the good Friar Harold's assistant but first he must learn more about the real world from the Duchess of Colchester.

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Fa/Fa   Mult   Consensual   Coercion   BiSexual   Heterosexual   Fiction   Historical   Spanking   Humiliation   Group Sex   Orgy   Oral Sex   Anal Sex   Masturbation   Petting   Sex Toys   Squirting   Exhibitionism   Voyeurism   Clergy   Public Sex   Violence   Royalty  

There once was a time in this great land of ours that a man such as Friar Harold would be toasted and cheered in every highway and byway for his proud determination to make all females perfect vessels of the enlightened word.

Of course, there were those naysayers that would point to his predilection to administering corporal punishment to female sinners in a way not recommended for God-fearing folks. Still, his methods seemed to work in those crowded areas where sin was a way of life and the women-folk are all too quick to call a lucky card “cheating” in that female way of undercutting the natural flow of things like lust and desire and a need to get a nice tingle when life gets too boring for words.

I have heard some of the faithful decry his reputed high volume consumption of ale as a fault too displeasing in the eyes of God for a man of the cloth, but I must defend him because he is a man of some bulk and his very size demands larger quantities than the average person, especially in these hot summer months. I also dismiss those spurious stories of him selling indulgences to the faithful in remission of sins as dastardly gossip fit only for washerwomen stirring their pots with sweaty shoulders and no allure remaining in their lumpy flanks.

We have been instructed by decree of the all wise Bishop of Hampshire to make haste to the northern climes to tend to the sinful flocks of faithful that have fallen away from the loving arms of mother church. The aging cleric pulled me aside to warn me quite vociferously about keeping Friar Harold away from the pubs with their tankards of free ale and to stay at his side when he consoled neglected housewives and widows more attached to the word than to their husband’s cocks in dutiful repose.

Most of us of a religious bent had already given up long ago to persuade the young folk to stick to the straight and narrow. It was common knowledge that the unmarried young ones were diddling each other in daily sinfulness and that they had no interest in slowing down their explorations of the wages of sin. In London town, the accusation of virginity for any female of nubile status was enough to bring a score of humping cunt-masters in avid attendance to remedy her affliction posthaste.

By comparison, Friar Harold was a Godsend with his message of love and devotion and his seal of approval was usually delivered with a prayer for proper decorum and a nice spanking to inspire heart-felt contrition regardless of age. I generally tended to the boys and the sprinkle of males with the thought that they show proper respect to the teachings of the church and of God and advising the young ones to aspire to correct interaction with the female sex in all regards. I had been accused from time to time of being more civil to males than females, but it was all sheer envy of my position as Friar Harold’s assistant. I still yearned to place my staff of creation into a juicy quim, but used a fearsome cat of nine on my back to bring me back to a state of grace and away from thoughts of joyful copulation of a sinful nature.

I completely understood Friar Harold’s weakness with regard to using his manliness to instruct the female faithful in matters of love and proper respect to a cock in need of solace.

I blame the ale for his excesses and can witness his determination to express contrition for his healthy expression of a loving nature for all members of the female flock. In all honesty, I assure all scoffers that we never received a single complaint of his ministrations. Without any pretense to false pride, I can attest that there was a contingent of attractive females from eighteen to fifty that would throw up their skirts in his path and beg him to anoint them with the seeds of enlightenment. Sometimes, I would be the beneficiary of those favors left over and unrequited. I did not feel any guilt at that endeavor, only a sense of deep gratitude to the good fortune that caused them to bare their souls and their bottoms to my pounding lessons of proper ladylike behavior in sharing their coveted favors. These women and girls all prayed incessantly and the words seemed to drive them into the most submissive of attitudes much to the satisfaction of both Friar Harold and I.

We approached a fairly large settlement on the northern road beyond the wall that was ripe with barking dogs and shouting children playing with abandon and total disregard for the attention of grown-ups or others of authority. I wondered if that picture meant a lack of religious devotion or was just a normal custom of the place.

At the first pub, we were informed that the young priest had left for a larger post and the old priest proved both hard of hearing and a bit touched in the head from the advanced years of his corporal body. The innkeeper joked that one could confess anything no matter how dire and the old man would absolve them with a simple “Hail Mary, Our Father, and a Glory be to the Father” for good measure. I heard Friar Harold’s laughter at the joke and I must confess that I did not see any humor in it at all.

The innkeeper’s daughter was a girl called Sue.

She took the both of us to a small building at the rear of the pub that was used to house travelers weary from a long journey.

Sue was one of those heavyset females that constantly chatted non-stop making you feel there was no need for you to enter into the conversation unless there was something you just had to add. She was a wealth of information about the town and all of the happenings. In fact, she pointed out people and told us what sins they had recently engaged in like some confidential informant of transgressions against the word of God.

“See that old man over there with the crooked foot. His name is Tim. I can’t pronounce his last name it is that convoluted. He diddled the baker’s wife last night right behind the pub. You could hear Mrs. Brown panting and whining that shrill voice of hers and all the customers were fit to be tied laughing at her bent over the rain barrel like one of those shanty-town tarts.”

 
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