Susie Goes to the Devil, page 3
Still conscious of the damp silk as she moved, she obeyed the vicar’s invitation to enter, leading Sophie towards the back room, with the large wooden table she remembered so well. Susie was surprised the vicar had opened the front door himself, and was secretly pleased at the implication - that there had been a change of plan and no one else was on the guest list for the evening, apart from her and Sophie.
But she was wrong.
She opened the door and was confronted with a scene of debauchery that belonged in a strip joint, not in a country vicarage.
Amanda.
On a straight-backed chair in the centre of the room, with a pouting smile and heaving bosom, Amanda sat with her short skirt rucked up, her knees apart and her knickers glistening in the light, for all the world as if she was posing for Sunday’s front page.
This, Susie knew, was the woman who had first rung the paper to inform on the vicar’s activities. At the time she’d seemed quite shocked by the depravity she’d heard of, especially incensed since a man of the cloth performed it, and even more shocked when the vicar suggested she might even like to join one of his special evenings. And she knew what that meant. There had been enough gossip for even such an innocent newlywed such as she to understand that the vicar was ministering to the purely physical needs of the young and attractive women of the village.
And so she’d rung the paper and denounced him.
At their first meeting, when Susie - aka Caroline - had remained firmly incognito, she’d quite seen the vicar’s point when he’d propositioned Amanda; early twenties, long legs, bottom like two halves of a basketball, breasts ditto, waist about twenty inches max, angelic face with little cupid-bow mouth, neat white teeth, inviting smile and eyes that were at least as blue as Susie’s own. It was a body that would make a homosexual bishop try to put his hand up her skirt, never mind a randy vicar with an appetite exceeded only by the size of his dong. And top off the body with a dose of glowing and youthful innocence, all pure English rose, sweet twenty-one and never been kissed... well.
But this could hardly be the same person. She wore a dress crafted from diaphanous white silk that clung to her like a second skin, revealing more than it concealed. Like, for example, every bone in her ribcage, every tense of muscle in her flat stomach, the full firm swell of breasts that were supported only by a bra made of equally transparent sheer white, with bullet-hard nipples jutting through, dark and biteable. It clung also to the tops of her toned thighs, though it was gathered up by her parted legs, revealing a tiny pair of white knickers, as sheer and see through as the dress, allowing Susie to observe the neat, inverted triangle of black hair that ended where the furrowed entrance to her body began. The smooth pink curves of her shaven labia were as visible through her knickers as if she’d been naked under a searchlight, but the effect was a million times more stunning because it felt like peeping, catching illicit glimpses of forbidden fruit.
Susie felt herself growing hotter and wetter as she stared, wondering what had happened to Amanda in the past three months to wreak such a change, and wondering if she could believe her eyes. The gusset of her knickers was clearly wet, the parting they revealed in the soft flesh puffy and open, shining through the material - and when she rose, turning away to pick up her coat and bag, Susie saw the dark red lines across those firm young buttocks and knew at once that the vicar had only just finished ministering to Amanda’s needs in his own special way.
‘Do come in,’ she sparkled brightly, eyes shining with that just-fucked look that Susie recognised at once. ‘The vicar’s just finished my instruction.’ Her chest heaved and Susie eyed the dark tips enviously. ‘Can’t stop. Hubby’s expecting me home, and we mustn’t disappoint him.’
She tripped off into the hallway, pecked the vicar on the cheek, seemed not to notice the friendly caress of his livered hand on her round bottom, and disappeared from view, leaving Susie and Sophie just inside the room, speechlessly rooted to the spot.
‘Come in, come in,’ boomed the vicar heartily and inappropriately from behind them, but he held out his arms and swept them into the room, revealed in the light as somewhat more red in the face than normal, breathing a bit too heavily as well, as he smoothed his clothes and ran ineffective fingers through his hair, looking more like a mad scientist than ever.
‘Such a sweet young thing, Amanda,’ he enthused. ‘Her husband is so pleased with the change in her since she started coming to see me.’ He beamed enthusiasm and salaciousness in equal quantities. ‘Used to be a miserable little thing most of the time, always a bit reluctant to enjoy all the pleasures God has made available to her. Quite spoilt their evenings together.’
His knowing smile was almost a leer, and Susie could hardly believe he was being so obvious about everything. Unless, of course, he assumed Susie had told Sophie exactly what to expect - which he did, judging by what followed.
‘So he asked if I would have a word with her. I’ve managed to open a few doors for one or two other ladies in the community, as I expect you know,’ he said to Sophie, ‘and I know you do,’ he smirked at Susie, ‘and so I said I’d try with Amanda. She didn’t want to come at first, but her husband persuaded her and now of course she comes all the time.’ He was almost like a blue comedian, Susie thought, hoping most fervently that the audio was as good as the video and was recording every dirty, smirking word. ‘Yes, I’d say she’s a completely different girl now,’ and he smirked again. ‘Yes, I do believe I’ve saved the marriage with my special instruction. Now then... Sophie, isn’t it?’ And he held out a hand, almost embracing Sophie as Susie wondered about Amanda, obviously now on her way home to satisfy her husband with the ardour stirred up - quite literally - by the vicar. And she wondered about Amanda’s husband, obviously as pleased with the arrangement as was his wife.
As the dirty old goat turned to Susie, with the same smug smile, she stared, horrified by the expression on Sophie’s face. She was gazing at the man as though she liked and respected him. What was it he had over women? Surely the stupid girl could see what a detestable old lecher he was.
Gone now was Susie’s earlier doubt about spoiling his mildly eccentric lifestyle. He wasn’t just a randy old goat, he was a nasty, selfish, manipulative and ultimately destructive pervert pretending to be something he wasn’t, and abusing the trust his position bestowed upon him. Now she’d had another encounter with him, she was in no doubt at all about what she was doing, nor the moral rectitude of the situation. If the bishop wouldn’t act, then the only way to depose him was to expose him - on the front page, to five million readers, this coming Sunday. Oh yes, she was desperate to wipe the self-satisfied smile off his leering old countenance with a nice big eighty-four point banner headline.
Blissfully unaware of her intentions, the vicar was proceeding towards his doom as fast as his randy little legs could get him there. ‘Now,’ he said to Sophie, her expression clearly not wasted on him, ‘I wonder if you don’t need my special care first?’
‘Well, vicar...’ Susie tried to interrupt, but he took no notice, fixing Sophie with his intense and overpowering stare. Susie had felt the force of it herself once before, and knew the effect it could have; she’d certainly given in to it without much resistance.
‘I know you’ve been unwell, and you don’t look as if you’re a hundred percent fit just yet,’ he continued, still gazing deeply into Sophie’s eyes. ‘So I think you need my help... and the Lord’s, of course. It’s a wondrous thing, how healing prayer can be. Shall we start with that first? I’ll lead.’
Asking apparently harmless questions, with no earthly reason to answer in anything but the affirmative, is a well established technique that gets people into the habit of saying ‘yes’, while at the same time manoeuvring them inch by inch into a situation they would not have agreed to if asked outright. Susie knew it and recognised what the vicar was doing, and tried at once to intervene.
‘I don’t think Sophie’s ready for anything hard just yet,’ she said, instantly regretting the accidental double entendre. ‘I mean, difficult,’ she amended lamely.
‘I think we’ll let her decide when she wants something hard,’ said the vicar, pouncing on the opportunity, squeezing Sophie’s hands and looking into her eyes with his own bloodshot gaze.
Susie could hardly believe he was so obvious about where the evening was heading - or at least, where he wanted it to head - especially since he’d hardly spoken to Sophie before, but once again she guessed he was basing his confidence on the assumption that Susie had explained the nature of these sessions to her sister, and Sophie’s presence at his cottage signalled at worst mere acceptance or, at best, positive eagerness to take part.
And so he continued, addressing Sophie in the flowing tones of the practiced public speaker. Despite his ravaged appearance - he looked more like a low-rent Marquis de Sade than a vicar, thought Susie, as small fragments of copy composed themselves in her mind in preparation for the story - despite his looks, he had a soothing voice and a definite presence and, confronted with it, Sophie seemed oblivious to everything else.
‘Sophie,’ she said, but the vicar shushed her with a waved hand.
‘Just relax and leave her to me, my dear,’ he soothed, but Susie knew the calm tones were for Sophie’s benefit, and the stern glare he shot over his shoulder was for hers. ‘I’ll take care of her,’ he added, in a voice redolent with authority, and against her better judgement Susie felt herself slightly overwhelmed by his presence.
‘Now Sophie,’ he droned on, talking of her pain and illness and the well-being of healing and the warm comfort of surrendering your destiny to yourself and yourself alone, and as his fingertips pressed lightly against her temples and massaged, slow circular movements, Sophie relaxed before Susie’s eyes, and the melodious tones of the vicar’s voice soothed her too.
‘Kneel,’ he said to Sophie, and she did, placing the bag on the chair by her side, quite high enough to do the job as long as it was pointing in the right direction, but without peering obviously at it Susie had no way of knowing which way it was pointing. And anyway, the vicar, still massaging Sophie’s temples with his fingertips, was speaking to her.
‘Kneel beside your sister,’ he said to Susie, and she did as she was ordered. ‘Now, repeat after me,’ he said, and began a slow incantation, his hands still circling on either side of Sophie’s head. And as he chanted Susie felt herself becoming more and more attuned to the rhythms of his speech and the cadence of his voice, listening as he intoned the words of love, healing and forgiveness which we all desire, and feeling the warm glow of contentment within her core as she relaxed.
It was having the same effect on Sophie, she could tell, only more so, as her sister’s eyes grew wide and bright and her mouth opened slightly, tongue moistening her lips as her chest began to heave and the vicar drew her further and deeper under his spell, the massaging fingertips circling lower and lower, soothing Sophie’s cheeks, and then the sides of her neck, her shoulders, thumbs coming into play, circling, pressing into the muscle, relaxing, moving on, hands creeping lower, massaging her upper arms, squeezing them in his palms as the thumbs reached outwards in large circles, sending waves of pleasure through Sophie’s body as they came tantalisingly closer to nipples whose outlines could now be seen through the black dress.
And Susie wasn’t the only one to have noticed that Sophie was almost in a dreamy trance of delight. The vicar knew too, and Susie saw with fascinated horror the huge bulge appear as his trousers tented, thrust forward by the enormous growth within. Sophie had seen it too, watching it as the cobra watches the snake charmer’s pipe; fascinated, mesmerised, hypnotised as it grew, already impossibly large but still getting larger.
‘Do you want to feel the power of God’s love?’ he asked of Sophie, who was staring at it through lowered lashes, trancelike.
‘Y-yes please,’ she whispered, instinctively licking her lips.
‘Do you want to feel the power of God’s love in you tonight?’ asked the vicar, and Sophie hardly paused before she answered.
‘Yes,’ she sighed, ‘oh, yes.’
‘Do you want to feel the power of God’s love in your body tonight?’ he asked again, and once again Sophie sighed her reply like a lovesick schoolgirl.
‘Oh, please,’ she begged.
‘Are you ready to let the power of love enter you tonight?’ asked the vicar.
‘Yes, yes, yes,’ said Sophie, apparently failing to notice that God was no longer part of the proceedings.
‘Are you ready to feel the power of love inside you tonight?’ he asked, and Sophie’s chest heaved as she nodded.
‘Are you willing to give yourself completely to love?’ asked the vicar, and Sophie’s breath quickened in her throat, her breasts swelling, and her voice was low and husky as she answered.
‘Yes, I am.’
‘Say it,’ commanded the vicar. ‘Say after me: I want to feel it.’
‘I want to feel it,’ Sophie gasped obediently, one hand clutching at the black dress where it covered her groin, knotting the material with fierce fingers.
‘Say you want to feel it inside you.’
‘I want to feel it inside me,’ she breathed, as the vicar’s hands settled firmly over her breasts and the bullet-nipples pressed into his palms as he squeezed and kneaded.
‘And are you ready to surrender yourself to the power of love?’ he asked, his eyes closed in concentration as his fingers sought the two erect centres of Sophie’s breasts and pinched them, prompting little gasps and sighs.
‘Oh yes, I’m ready,’ said Sophie, pressing her flattened hand against her groin, hips beginning to sway and rock.
‘Say you’re ready to surrender to love,’ ordered the vicar, letting one of her breasts free as his hand rose to his waist and the fingers began to pluck at the fastening of the leather belt.
‘Oh, I want to surrender to love,’ sobbed Sophie, as her hand squeezed and her fingers curled, searching urgently between her legs.
‘Are you ready to give yourself to love?’ asked the vicar harshly, his own breath ragged and fierce as he undid his trousers, allowing a thick black pole to spring into view as his massive erection thrust his underpants out, making Sophie’s eyes widen in shock and greed.
‘I’m ready to give myself to love,’ she whispered as her free hand reached up and hesitantly grasped the black shaft, then confidently squeezed and began to rub, sliding the black material up and down in short and jerky movements. ‘I’m ready,’ she said again, both hands still busy, one for her and one for the vicar.
Looking at the expression on Sophie’s face, like a child in a sweetshop who’s just been told it’s all free and all for her, Susie knew she was telling the truth, and she knew the vicar would know as well. Sophie was about as ready as a girl could be.
‘Before you can feel love you must feel remorse,’ said the vicar, in a voice hoarse with emotion. He grasped Sophie’s wrist and raised her to her feet, turning her towards the table, guiding her, leaning her over the polished wooden edge.
Susie knew what was happening, knew she should intervene, but remained immobile, silent, watching. It wasn’t just that she wanted the story, wasn’t just that she didn’t want to give the game away. That was part of it, but the bigger, most compelling thing was the power in the room, the crackling charge of sexual energy that zapped and sparked and leapt from person to person. Susie was spellbound by the drama between Sophie and the vicar, enthralled by tension as they moved inexorably closer to the moment of fulfilment, and entranced by her own mounting desire, juices flowing hotly between her thighs as she waited impatiently to observe that moment, to watch as Sophie’s tender young body was spread open and revealed to the vicar’s gaze before he penetrated her with his immense maleness and ravished her succulence.
Which was almost visible now, as the vicar lifted the hem of Sophie’s dress, pulling it up over her taut rump, exposing the supercharged eroticism of stocking-tops and suspenders, the narrow V of black that bisected the two halves of her bottom and became a thin black line that disappeared between the two rounded swellings as it cut her glistening peach in half, leaving its inner pinkness and the gathering moisture to sparkle in the light. It was an intoxicating sight, and the vicar was unable to prevent himself from leaning heavily against it as he tucked Sophie’s dress up around her waist, the thick shaft that jutted from his open waistband slotting neatly between the curves of her bottom.
‘Are you ready to feel the power of the Lord?’ he asked, rather unnecessarily, Susie thought, since she was fairly certain Sophie could feel it already.
‘Yes, I’m ready,’ replied Sophie, her voice muffled because one side of her face was pressed against the wooden table.
‘Are you really ready?’ asked the vicar, as he reached for Sophie’s hand and pulled it back, pressing it down between them, standing away from her so he could see what he was doing, guiding her hand until it was pressed over her own pink opening. ‘Make yourself ready,’ he said harshly, but Sophie, who really was really ready, needed no telling, and was already stroking herself luxuriously, raising up on tiptoe as her fingers separated the wet flesh, spread it wide, caressed it and teased it, before sliding slowly into it until she stood there with her bottom lifted, her wrist bent and her fingers spread out wide like the wings of a butterfly, except for the middle finger which bent and disappeared into her body.
