Chapter 26: Ploughing Patience

The effect of the pregnancies of his wife and his two daughters on Reverend Wilson was strange. There is likely a Freudian explanation but whether or not such explanation exists, the pastor's lechery increased in scope and intensity.

Reverend Wilson's Living Light Church was essentially under his complete control. Although the community, or at least his congregation, was not wealthy, the church was well financed. Wilson took care of the finances with the compliant assistance of three Deacons and a Treasurer. The Treasurer was the only woman with an official position in the church.

Not one to leave things to chance, Wilson cemented his control over the Deacons by making some of his own perquisites such as occasional trips at church expense available to them. Not least of these privileges was the opportunity to use his offices for any private business or personal matters they might need to attend to. As a student of human nature and especially the nature of males in the highly patriarchal church that he ran, Wilson was able to turn this little opportunity into a guarantee of freedom from unwanted questions about his own dealings, financial and otherwise.

The minister's technique was quite simple. It was blackmail. Of course if the Deacons had been as upright and honorable as their positions expected there would have been no opportunity for blackmail. They weren't and there was.

Wilson had acquired a small collection of videos and photos of various Deacons with various other parishioners, mainly female but sometimes male, some mature and others underage, in extremely intimate moments. The narrow corridor from which Leena had observed her lecherous father was used also by the good Reverend to make a permanent, portable record of his Deacons' transgressions and this served him well. For the female treasurers who were always comely, he usually used his tried and true technique that worked so well with baptismal and marriage candidates and sometimes with underfucked housewives.

The new Treasurer was Patience Holloway, the wife of former Deacon Gregory Holloway who had recently resigned that post because he had taken a job with a construction company that required he be away from High Dorset quite often. This meant that his childless wife had lots of time to spare and she had willingly accepted the treasurer position when offered.

Patience Holloway had been to Reverend Wilson's office late in the afternoon. He had asked her to come and discuss some problems with the church finances. The discussion of finances had been brief but she had been with the minister for more than an hour. She drank three glasses of delicious, icy lemonade and their discussion had wandered into personal matters, her personal matters. And then he asked her to return that evening.

As Patience dressed for her return visit to the minister's office she still felt softheaded and a bit groggy. Had she actually told Mr. Wilson that she didn't miss Greg except at night in couch? And that she had an empty feeling 'you know where'? My God!

She had chosen a black skirt that fit her perhaps a bit too tightly and she had on a tight-fitting white sweater that buttoned down the front. And although she didn't understand why, she had gone out without a bra. She felt a little self-conscious as she looked down at her mammoth breasts suggestively outlined by the tightly clinging the material of her sweater. She didn't know why she had done it but after their discussion this afternoon Reverend Wilson was somehow tied to thoughts of sex in her mind. And the idea that she was going to his office alone to see him after dark was making her feel sexy, and she supposed that this was what had impelled her to go braless. Not that it mattered. He was a man of God and she was sure he would have been shocked if he ever imagined her thoughts about him.

Patience heard Reverend Wilson' voice from inside calling "I'll be right there," after she knocked nervously on his office door. A moment later he opened the door. He was dressed neatly in a dark shirt with a contrasting white clerical collar and sharply creased white pants. He looked handsome and perhaps younger than his real age but still more than a decade older than she.

"Oh, hello, Mrs. Holloway," he said. "I'm so glad you could come. Thank you so much. I really must discuss something with you." He stepped to one side, taking her arm and ushering her into his office. "Would you like a drink?" He was already walking toward the desk on which, to the woman's great surprise, was a selection of bottles that were definitely alcoholic beverages.

"Thank you, Reverend Wilson..." Patience began.

"No, please," Wilson interrupted. "When we meet socially, you must call me Eb. And I hope tonight's meeting will be social. Will you do that?"

"I'll try, Reverend... I mean, Eb." Patience giggled in her nervousness. She felt unsure of herself, and Reverend Wilson's attempt to make her feel comfortable was unsettling her still more. Wilson poured some vodka into a glass and added about an equal quantity of orange juice. "Ice?" he asked. "Or would you like it undiluted, like I do?"

Patience, still unsure of what was proper, just smiled and said, "I'll take it any way you do."

Wilson carried her drink and led her to the couch in the inner office and handed it to her. Then he returned to the desk to pour himself one. Patience lifted the glass to her lips and sipped it. It was good. Tasted like straight orange juice. She took another swallow, and then another. The glass was empty. She looked at her empty glass and giggled. "Guess I was thirsty," she said.

Wilson took her empty glass from her hand. He quickly returned to the desk and refilled it. When he handed it to Patience, she just held the glass in her hand, not wanting to drink another so soon. But Wilson raised his own glass in a salute and said, "To our good health!" He drained his glass, and looked over the rim of it at Patience, the expression in his eyes telling her that he expected her to do the same.

Patience tilted her head back and drained her glass as she had just seen Reverend Wilson do. He immediately took it from her and returned to the bar to refill it.

"Oh, no," Patience called. "I think I've had enough. I'd rather not have another."

"Oh, that's all right," Wilson said. "I'll make this one mostly orange juice." But he poured even more vodka into the glass than he had the first two times. He was sure that she had already drunk enough of the drugged lemonade in the afternoon to have the desired effect, but there was no harm in making sure. When he handed the glass to Patience she took it from him and set it down on the arm of the couch. But Eb Wilson, wanting to be sure that she drank it, sat down on the arm of the couch, putting his arm on the back, so that it just brushed lightly at her shoulders. When Patience saw that the drink was in danger of being knocked to the floor, she picked it

up. As soon as the glass was in her hand, Wilson raised his own.

"To finance!" he said. He held his glass out for Patience to clink hers against it. She did so, still trying to do the right thing, and then put it to her lips. She guzzled the drink quickly, and set the empty glass down on the floor next to the couch.

Patience seldom drank alcoholic beverages and was feeling slightly dizzy. Of course even if she'd been a hard drinker the amount she had would have had an effect. Anyway she leaned her head back and felt it rest on Wilson's arm and thought perhaps that she should lift her head again. But Wilson didn't seem to mind, so she just leaned back, allowing him to cradle her head in the inside of his elbow. It felt comfortable and secure.

The vodka was having a strange effect on her. Her head felt light and seemed to be spinning. And there was something else. An unfamiliar kind of warmth seemed to suffuse her entire body. It felt something like what she had been feeling before she stepped into the shower earlier that evening. She felt as though she were bathed in perspiration, but when she put her hand to her forehead, it felt dry. But the room seemed extremely warm.

Without thinking about what she was doing, Patience opened the top button of her sweater to let some air in, but she still felt warm. She moved her hand downward slightly, and undid the second button. Maybe that would be a little better. She felt weak and dizzy. She leaned against Wilson for support.

When Wilson saw her opening the buttons of her sweater he knew that the mix of elixir and alcohol was beginning to take effect. When she had first come into the office he had noticed that she was braless. Her tits looked even bigger than he had thought as their unhaltered fullness bobbled and swayed under the tight-fitting sweater

He put his arm around her and drew her to him tightly. She was soft and pliant in his arm. She was breathing heavily, perhaps from the drink, and the rhythmic rise and fall of her boobs as she breathed was bringing his hand closer to the soft curves. He readjusted his position on the arm of the couch so that his fingers dangled even closer to her big tits. He wanted to warm her up a little more before he made more direct advances and he had to be careful not to scare her away.

Patience was trying hard to regain her presence of mind. She didn't want Reverend Wilson to think that she was a complete fool, but the room was still spinning, and she still felt possessed by this unearthly warmth.

"Tell me, Rev... Eb," she began, her voice slightly slurred by the vodka, "what it was you wanted to discuss with me."

As she spoke she tried to sit up again. The movement brought her big, soft tit into contact with Wilson's fingertips. She was vaguely aware of his fingers touching her tits through the light material of her sweater, but in her semi-somnolent state she did nothing to stop it.

Patience felt her nipples swelling and hardening against the sweater material, and she wondered whether Reverend Wilson was aware of the contact and the unwilled effect it was having on her. She could feel her panties getting damp and she remembered what her husband did for her when she felt like this

Suddenly, Wilson's hand was cupping her entire boob, squeezing it gently, and rolling it around in his fingers. Then, almost before she realized what was happening, he moved his hand away again, letting only his fingertips brush lightly at her stiff nipple. She sighed involuntarily as he let go of her massive globe. Then, quickly and lightly, his hand moved to her other boob and cupped it as he had done the first. It felt good, and the way he was stroking and petting her boobs made it somehow seem right. She was sure that he was touching her as her minister, a spiritual touching, and not out of sexual desire, but she couldn't control the flood of desire, which was inundating her body.

It seemed to begin in a wave, which started at the pointy tips of her hardened nipples and spread from there to the rest of her body. She felt warm, oily moisture oozing from the softly swelling slit of her pussy. She was afraid that Reverend Wilson would lose respect for her if she didn't regain control, but she simply couldn't remember how to act. Then, in desperation, she blurted, "Tell me, Sir; what was it you wanted to discuss with me?"

"This isn't going to be pleasant, my dear," Wilson said, his voice becoming somber. He pulled his arm from around Patience's shoulders and sat straight up. "In fact, I think it might be a good idea if you had another drink."

Without waiting for her to respond, he rose and picked her glass up from the floor. He refilled it and handed it to her again. Patience took the drink from him and dumbly put it to her lips. She drained it in one swig.

"I think I can take it," she said, trying to put a joking tone into her voice. "Tell me."

"Well," Wilson began, "I think it might be easier if I showed you. He went to the TV across from them and turned it on. Then he turned on the VCR.

"Now you'll have to be strong, Patience" he said. "I'm afraid this may come as a bit of a shock. But the main thing is to try to keep a clear head and come to a sensible decision. The TV came on and a picture from the video began to appear. "Now it may seem cruel, at first, for me to show you this without any warning or preparation, but I think you'll agree in the long run that what I'm doing is best all around."