Chapter 1: Monday Afternoon

The Reverend Jeremy Jones was tied securely to one of the sturdy wooden chairs in the kitchen of his substantially built stone cottage called "The Manse". The forty three year old vicar was naked and sore from the beating he had taken at the hands of the two young men he had foolishly invited into the cottage for a chat and a glass of wine. He was also frightened at what they had threatened to tell the media and what they might to do to his young wife when she returned from a meeting with the village Women's Auxiliary.

They'd slapped him about and called him a "slimy poofter" and a "filthy fucking faggot" he lamented, when his only misdemeanor had been to stroke the smooth cheek of the younger of the two young men Philip or Pip and to pat the older youth Byron on his exquisitely moulded, denim-clad, rump. He had done nothing to deserve the youths' ire, he thought. Nothing at all. Since his marriage three months ago he had put that aspect of his life behind him. He had started life afresh in this isolated rural community with its dilapidated church and minuscule congregation just before his wedding. He hadn't encouraged the young men. They had come to him looking, he thought, like two animated bronze statues of young angels. They said they were looking for odd jobs maintaining the old buildings, keeping the grass cut in the graveyard they would consider anything, they said. Anything. They had smiled suggestively. He was anxious to help.

They had chatted about this and that. The wine was quite strong, and he did drank three glasses, so he may have been a little indiscreet when he showed them the upstairs bedrooms. Jeremy explained he slept separately from his wife. That was when his "weakness" nearly got the better of him. But, he thought tearfully, he had given them no cause to man-handle him so roughly. To beat him. To make him strip. To threaten to "spit roast" him with one stiff cock up his ass and another down his throat.

Pip and Byron hadn't carried out their threat. Pip had pulled Jeremy's boxer shorts down and Byron had taken his cock out and waved it around under Jeremy's nose. It was long and not at all rigid. Then the youths had laughed because the idea of the homosexual torment had resulted in Jeremy getting a hard on. As they tied him to the chair in the kitchen with the spare washing line they said they'd do it later. Perhaps. If he asked nicely. Now they were upstairs taking an inventory of the recently renovated house that overlooked the overgrown graveyard and crumbling old church of Jeremy's parish.

The village of Skirmish a collection of a few country cottages and two farms was named for a spirited action fought among the gravestones around the church during the civil war. The population was reckoned to be about thirty and declining.

Jeremy heard his wife coming up the path from the garden gate to the front door. Her high heels made a crisp click-clack on the flagstones. The youths heard her coming too. They came quickly but quietly down the stairs. Pip stood in front of Jeremy while Byron moved to stand behind the inward opening door. Pip hissed, "Sh!" to the vicar as his wife fumbled with the lock and opened the door.

The young Mrs Jones didn't see her husband right away. Her view was blocked by a dark-skinned, curly haired, handsome, athletic youth dressed casually in jeans and tee-shirt. Indian, she thought, or possibly Eurasian. Before she could say a word the door was closed behind her. She was startled and turned to see another, equally handsome, youth standing behind her grinning broadly at her surprise.

"Who who are you?" she gasped. "What are you doing in my house?"

Pip, with a grin as big as Byron's, stepped to one side to reveal the Reverend Jones. She saw her husband made fast to a kitchen chair. He was naked apart from underpants pulled halfway down his legs. Mary frowned, unable to understand what she was seeing. She stood with her arms by her side. Tall, blonde, mid twenties. She was neatly dressed in a crisp white blouse and camel skirt. Pip spoke quietly to the dumbstruck housewife.

"We're your new lodgers, Mrs Jones. I'm Pip and the dude behind you is Byron. The vicar invited us in."

"Mary " began the tightly bound priest.

"He tried to get us drunk," said Byron. "Then started to grope me and my little cousin. We taught him a lesson."

"That's not true," protested Jeremy in a shrill voice.

"But we forgave him, eh, Byron?"

"Yeah. Decent of us, wasn't it. And we've decided to stay. Until something better comes along."

"What are you talking about?" said the flustered young woman. "What do you mean 'something better'?" The rapid exchange had confused her. She had no idea what was coming or she would have turned and fled.

"You'll understand in time," said Pip. "Now it's your turn. We're going to fuck you. Grab a-hold of the bitch, Byron, while I strip for action."

The older youth wrapped his arms around the tall young woman's arms and body. He squeezed her to him. Her heavy breasts too big she always thought for her slim figure were forced up and together. She found it hard to breath properly and was horrified to feel the swelling in the youth's groin pressed hard into the valley between her ass cheeks. She struggled and began to protest loudly. Pip took off his tee-shirt. He was wearing a singlet under it.

"Stop it! Stop it this instant," she screamed. "What you're doing is criminal. It's assault. You'll go to jail. I'll"

Pip stopped her scream with his left hand placed firmly over her mouth. A flick knife appeared as if by magic in his right hand.

"Shut up you stupid cow or I'll castrate the little queer and make you eat his bollocks!"

The vicar gave a little squeal of suppressed fear.

Mary Jones was shocked into momentary silence as much by the ferocity with which the threat was delivered as the sight of the glittering, lethal, blade. Pip stood back. He put the knife on the kitchen table. The woman swallowed and licked her lips. Jeremy shut his eyes.

The young man slowly kicked off his sneakers and unbuckled the belt of his jeans. His eyes glittered as he inspected the frightened woman. Younger by ten years or more than the vicar, he thought. Pretty too. Long blonde hair, perhaps not natural? We'll soon see, he thought. He chuckled at the thought.

"Please," said Mary in a quiet tightly-controlled voice. "Please don't do this."

Pip looked into her big brown eyes, much wider now than when she had come through the door. He saw her fear and relished it. He stepped out of his jeans and dropped his y-fronts. His growing cock flopped forward.

"Do what, Mary? Do what? That is your name, right?"

The vicar's young wife nodded. "Yes," she whispered. Her gaze dropped to his groin. Pip wrapped his left hand around his already thick but swelling penis. He started to massage it.

"Please don't," she repeated. "Oh, please don't."

"Don't what, Mary? Don't jerk off?" said Pip quietly."Or do you mean, 'please don't fuck me Pip'?"

The young woman was confused. She hesitated then she nodded.

"Say it," said Pip. "Say, please don't fuck me, Pip." He pumped his cock pulling the foreskin back to expose its plum colored shiny head, and then letting the skin slide forward again. Mary watched in sick fascination.

"P please don't f fuck me, Pip" Mary whispered.

"Okay," he grinned. "I won't this time. I promise."

Byron's strong brown arms had pushed Mary's big firm tits up under her cotton blouse. Pip reached for the knife again. The razor-sharp blade sliced through the starched cotton of the top and then separated the cups of Mary's brassiere. Two more swift cuts and Mary Jones was topless.

"Oh, god," she begged. "Please stop before you go too far."

"Nice," said Pip. "Very nice. More than a mouthful. Hey, Byron tie her arms with the rags. Let's see those tits swing free.

Byron lost no time in doing as Pip said. Mary struggled briefly but Byron was too strong for her. He soon had the young wife's arms fastened her behind her, with the remnants of her blouse and bra. He let go of her and she stumbled forward and nearly fell. Mary's large breasts bounced on her rib cage as she struggled to keep her balance. Pip put down the knife and steadied her. Then he reached for the white, slightly blue-veined, flesh.