Saturday morning and Father O'Rourke was at his breakfast table in the kitchen of the parish house of the Church of All Saints. He was a fairly young man in his late twenties and had been in his present incumbency for just over a year. Saturday was when the priest did the parish accounts for the week and he sighed as he finished his cup of tea and slid the ledgers in front of him for his attention. Doing the accounts was not one of his favourite tasks and later he would have to put some thoughts together for his sermon the next day.
Mrs Robertson the housekeeper had been at her tasks for some time now. She had let herself in as usual early in the morning to get the priest's breakfast ready and perform her cleaning duties. As the priest finished his breakfast, Mrs Robertson cleared away the table and busied herself tidying up in the kitchen. She was a fairly well built woman of 44 and dressed as you would expect to see a housekeeper — a dark russet dress over which her apron was fastened and with flat sensible shoes on. Her dark hair was tied up out of the way with a white ribbon. She had come to work as housekeeper a few months before and performed her work well. She rented a flat in the town and only came in to clean and prepare meals.
At last everything was tidied away in the kitchen to her satisfaction and she looked around as she folded up the tea towel and placed it on the rack. She took off her apron and hung it at the back of the kitchen door.
"Ah, well, Father, that's me finished for now. I'll be off soon". The priest remained engrossed in the parish accounts and did not lift his head. But there was one further duty Mrs Robertson had taken upon herself to perform before leaving for home.
The housekeeper got down on her hands and knees and crawled under the table to where the priest was sitting. She reached where his legs were positioned covered by his cassock. Very gently she took the hem of his cassock and lifted it above his knees. Underneath, the priest was naked. Mrs Robertson pushed the cassock up over his thighs and without a word, Father O'Rourke opened his legs to give the housekeeper access to his thick heavy penis. Mrs Robertson took the member in her hand and reverently kissed it, then brushed it against her cheek. She could feel the holy tool surge with power in her hand and steadily and inexorably it rose up to full erection. Lovingly she began to stroke it, drawing the foreskin back and forward over the tip. Again she kissed it and licked the drop of moisture that had gathered there. Father O'Rourke made no sound as his housekeeper ministered to him.
At last Mrs Robertson gently let the bulbous end of the penis slip into her mouth, ran her tongue round it and then took it in almost to the back of her throat. She developed a rhythm running her mouth over the length of the shaft. Now the priest's breath could be heard coming thick and fast. The housekeeper could tell from the pulsing in the member when the holy juice was about to spout. "Nyuh ... nyuh" uttered the priest as his hips raised, thrusting his penis into the housekeeper's mouth and his sperm shot out. Mrs Robertson was never prepared for the shear volume of it and although she gulped most of it down, some of it escaped and fell to the floor. Finally all was calm again and the priest settled back on his chair. The housekeeper took a cloth from the pocket of her dress and wiped his penis, after which she wiped her mouth and the spots of sperm on the floor. She pulled Father O'Rourke's cassock down over his legs again and quietly crawled out from under the table.
As she stood up, the priest continued to bend over his accounts. Mrs Robertson smiled affectionately at him, glad of the service she had been able to perform.
"I'm on my way now, Father. Bye"
"Eh? Oh, yes, bye, Mrs Robertson."
Ten minutes later Marie Robertson reached the door of her flat and let herself in. She lived alone now since her son had got married a year before. Life had not been easy, she constantly told herself, since the time her husband died and left her with her teenage son Chris to bring up. She went to the window and looked out over the main street of the small town, then sighed as she turned and entered her bedroom. She took off her dress and folded it on the chair. Her shoes and stockings followed. She reached back and unhooked her bra and shrugged it off as her large breasts tumbled out. Then she hooked her thumbs in the waist band of her knickers and pulled them off. They were soaked at the crotch because she always got wet when ministering to the priest's needs.
The housekeeper sat on the edge of the bed, opened her legs and moved her hand down to assuage the demands of her swollen cunt. Her middle finger traced the line of her slit then rubbed her prominent clit. But her need was greater, down deep inside her and she let her hand slip through the moist lips and down to the entrance of her sex hole. First one finger, then two, then three delved deep into her tunnel, working furiously. Then she emitted the sound of the female in the throes of sexual pleasure mmm mmmm mmmmm.
When her excitement subsided, she lay back on the bed, gazing at the ceiling, her hand resting on her hairy mound. It hadn't been so bad when her husband was alive to see to her needs, though even then she had had the odd fling. But after David's death, she had to constantly seek out her sources of satisfaction and she had a number of encounters from online dating sites. She wanted the sex more than just companionship and often propositioned her men on the first date. Some took her up on it but a surprising number took fright and fled, alarmed at her predatory approach. But she still needed more. And then there was Chris her son.
Chris had taken his dad's death hard but he was young and soon got over it and was soon enjoying the company of his friends again, particularly Kirsty his girl friend. But Marie knew that her son had fantasised sexually about herself since puberty. She would often discover knickers belonging to her that Chris had taken from the laundry basket and masturbated into. She sometimes found them under his bed, stiff with dried semen and on these occasions she grew hot between her legs.
It was one clammy night about a year after David's death and Marie could not sleep. It was partly the heat but more her need which she knew could not be stilled by her fingers or dildo. She craved a man's body and a man's cock. She rose from her bed and naked as she was walked into her son's room. It was dark but the moonlight coming in the window illuminated the sleeping form on the bed. She approached the bed and gently lifted the counterpane from her sleeping son. He was lying on his back, his hands at his sides and Marie's eyes were drawn to his cock which was large but flaccid and flopped over on to his left thigh. She stood there motionless, gazing at him.
.... There is more of this story ...