Summer Ch. 21

While able to be read as a standalone story the forerunner to this story is 'Summer Chapter 22. The Vicars Story Part 1'. This is an unapogetically long story. Not for the fainthearted. I hope that you enjoy the story and plase send your comments, they make the writing worthwhile.

Just for the record all characters in this story were over the age of consent. Senior Guides such as Pat, Sue and Jackie and some of their friends were active in the movement well into their twenties.

Summer Chapter 23 The Vicars Story Chapter 2

The vicar didn't drive off immediately. He sat in his car outside the church hall and waited for his shaking to stop. He leaned his head forward against the cool plastic of the steering wheel and closed his eyes until his breathing came back to something like normal and his heart rate slowed. He was terrified, what he had just done was unbelievable, unimaginable; and incredibly exciting. He sat up and ran his hands through his short, thinning hair, shaking his head to try and shake loose a little reality and to bring a little sanity back into his world.

His hands were shaking, sweating and his eyes felt bright and fevered. He was ill, he felt ill, feeling sick, his stomach tied in knots, churning over. His terrors wrapped around him like a blanket, all the negative questions pounding in his brain. What had he done? What if he was discovered? What would happen to his job, his home, his marriage, his position in society; all forfeit. All he had worked for and built. Too lose them all was simply too terrible to contemplate and in a blind panic he looked around for the door handle, fumbling with it in his haste, unable to get it open.

She hadn't come out of the hall, at least he hadn't seen her, so she must still be in there, maybe he could go back and apologise, maybe make amends in some way, beg for forgiveness. And then as the pendulum swung he realised that he actually couldn't go back now even if he wanted to. In that one small encounter his life had changed dramatically, completely and forever. With a real shock he also realised that for the first time in his life he actually felt alive, actually felt himself a full man. And he liked the feeling, he liked the power that came from putting his hand up a woman's skirt; and he knew in that instant that risking it all or not he could never go back.

His mind burst into flames at the thought of Pat and the delights that were lurking up inside her wonderfully short skirt, inside those beautifully enticingly flimsy cotton knickers, delights that he only just had the briefest sample of. And he began to shake again, a man with a terminal case of newly discovered lust. He brushed the sweat from his forehead and wiped his hands on his cassock and suddenly he realised that in truth he didn't give a fig about the morality of what he had done. Fingering a parishioner was small beer in the hierarchy of clerical misdemeanours and if discovered probably wouldn't even make a line in the parish magazine; and besides, living most of his life amongst 'godly' people had somewhat blunted his sensibilities towards matters of morality. In short he simply didn't care. What preoccupied him here and now was what Pat looked like naked and how she had felt when he had his hand up her skirt.

He had come so close, he had to finish it. Like an alcoholic with a serious thirst he needed another taste of Pat's young and tender body. He needed to see her completely naked, to be able to touch her, he needed his fingers in her sex again. The devil was riding him bareback, using his spurs and whirling his hat over his head shouting 'Yeeha!" The sweet and heady smell of sex was already in his nostrils, growing him horns and putting a ring through his nose, undoing him. He was homo erectus for the first time and the feeling was intoxicating.

It had felt so good, wonderful in fact, absolutely bloody magical! He slammed the flat of his hand repeatedly against the steering wheel. 'Yes!' he screamed inside his head, 'Yes! Yes! Yes!' He wanted to get out of the car and run around the car park like a man demented, to punch holes in the tired old wooden walls of the church hall; to scream it out at the top of his lungs, that he, the vicar of this God forsaken piss hole of a parish, at his age, at his stage of life had just experienced his first real sexual conquest. My God, what a thing! Not that it was much of a conquest in the grand scheme of things he had to admit, she had cum on his finger, and very quickly, surprisingly quickly in truth, but for an unpopular small town vicar who had all but given up on life it was indeed a major, major event.

With trembling hands he started the car but still he just sat there with the engine running. And then she came out of the front door, blinking in the bright sunshine, arching her back, brushing her hair with her hands, the movement tightening her blouse across her breasts. She looked so good, so beautifully lithe and sensuous and once again he remembered exactly how she had felt, her sex under his fingers, the small shudder as she came and suddenly he was rampant and totally unrepentant again. He suddenly realised that he had to finish what he had started, he had to finish his conquest of this young woman, he had to have her naked, to cum in her. He had to make her his; his quest for sex had begun in earnest.

********

The Guides and Scouts used the woods behind the church for their campfires and shorter summer camps. The main summer camps were usually better organised and took them further afield but the short, more spontaneous, weekend and midweek summer camps usually took place in the fields and woods behind the church. Being the Vicar he always knew when they were taking place, the grounds were church owned and they needed his permission to use them and so he usually wandered over to the camps least once a day when they were taking place.

The visit to this particular camp had assumed an even greater importance to the vicar as this time he knew Pat was camping there. She had taken part in previous camps but back then he had not touched her or had his fingers inside her. This time the interest had an intensely persona aspectl.

When he arrived unannounced he was disappointed to find the small camp apparently deserted and so he took the opportunity to walk slowly around the few closely grouped tents and looked inside them one by one. Wherever the guides were they had not been gone long, for despite the growing heat of the day there was a small billie can of water bubbling away, keeping hot on a small wood fire in the middle of the camp.

Despite his disappointment he carried on his inspection with relish. He got a thrill from looking through the empty tents. He became aroused by the empty intimacy of the neatly laid out beds, the rolled sleeping bags in which the young girls and women slept, the intimate articles of clothing he 'accidentally' came across in the kitbags. All these things were extremely exciting and he looked forward to the sexual pleasure he drew from them.

The tents were laid out with military precision, all spotless, bedding folded neatly and the treasure trove of the kit bag at the bottom of each camp bed. He walked the camp imagining the older women, the senior guides, who would be sleeping here tonight, trying to put names to each bed in turn. Looking inside the last tent he was suddenly surprised to find someone sitting on a camp bed reading and as he recognised her his excitement immediately peaked.

"Hello Pat," he said quietly and the woman jumped, she tried to rise but he moved further into the tent, blocking her exit, dominating the available space.

"Sorry," he said, turning to close the tent flap behind him, "I didn't mean to make you jump. I didn't think anyone was here. Quite fortuitous really."

Trying to hide her shock at the vicar's sudden appearance Pat struggled to recover her composure, her hand at her chest, her book open on the floor where it had fallen. Ignoring her obvious discomfort the vicar moved fully into the tent and sat heavily on the camp bed opposite, his bulk filling the small tent. Reaching down he picked up the paperback she had dropped, turning it over in his hand to read the title. It was a trashy romantic 'bodice ripper' and with a small smile he placed it face down on the bed alongside him.

"I don't seem to have read that one," he said generously, quietly noting that her taste in literature quite suddenly matched his own aspirations, for today at least. She smiled uncertainly glancing at the tent flap as if expecting someone else to enter.

"I'm here on my own," he said by way of unasked explanation and she turned nervously back to face him.

"Where are the others?" he asked, indicating the empty camp with a vague nod of his head.

"Gone on a hike," she answered uneasily, total unnerved by his towering, unexpected, presence in the small tent, "they left about fifteen minutes ago."

"Only just missed them then," he said smiling disarmingly, "such a shame, I like to see the girls when I can."

She glanced up at him but he simply smiled back at her, forcing her further back into the tent with his sheer presence. He looked her up and down predatorily, his very size intimidating.

"Why didn't you go with them?"

She shrugged and fidgeted nervously. "Just didn't feel like it," she said, "I wanted to be on my own for a while."

He smiled, "And I come along and spoil it,"

"Oh no," she said hurriedly, realising her social blunder, "not at all. We are always pleased to see you."

"Are you?" He asked. "That's nice to know."

In the confines of the small tent they were sitting opposite each other, so close that they were almost touching, nose to nose, knee to knee. She laughed nervously and brushed a stray lock of hair from her face as the silence began to stretch away. He looked at the woman sitting opposite him; she was obviously waiting nervously for his next move.

He wiped the perspiration from his lips with his hand.

"Hot in here isn't it?" he asked at last and she nodded, glancing around, nervous and unsure, as if looking for a source of the heat.

"Try undoing your blouse a little," he instructed, "you'll feel better," he said and smiled. She blinked and looked up at him as if unsure she had heard him correctly.

"Sorry?" she asked quietly, her voice small and vulnerable, his blunt instruction lying between them like a stone.

"I said undo your blouse a little if you are too hot."

She looked at him and made to speak. "Undo your blouse," he said finally, his voice edged with a sudden authority. She hesitated for a moment before reaching up with clumsy fingers and slowly unfastened the top button just below the neck of her heavy blue uniform blouse.

"There," he said when she was done, smiling easily, "that is better isn't it?" he asked and she nodded, looking confused and unsure. "You'll be cooler now."

He studied her face for a moment, his smile calm despite the snakes that coiled and roiled in his chest. He reached out and took hold of the button she had just undone; she flinched but did not move away. He rolled it in his fingers, pulling her blouse away from her skin as he feigned interest in it.

"Did you sew this?" he asked at last and she nodded.

"Cotton not quite the same colour as the others," he said by way of explanation and smiled reassuringly at her. She said nothing, just looked down at the fingers that were pulling at the button, making her blouse gape, showing the beginning of the soft swell of her breasts. The hand didn't retreat, it just continuing to roll the button between finger and thumb. Time stretched away as they sat there, joined together by the tenuous thread of the button and his fingers. Then, as if making up his mind, he finally looked up at her and smiled.

"Lie down," he instructed and for a moment she sat stock still. She examined his face for some indication as what he was going to do to her. He smiled again, his forced friendliness at odds with his words. She knew what he was capable of. He had proved that to her in the church hall and she was nervous but she could not see any obvious way out.

"Lie down," he repeated and she looked at him, feeling his authority, seeing his position and his power as he loomed over her and she licked her lips in resignation, slowly swinging her legs up onto the camp bed, tucking her skirt under her.

"That's a good girl," he said quietly, authoritatively, "now lie down properly".

Looking around she lay down, flat on her back, rigid, hard and stiff as if on Church parade, which in a way she was. She looked up at the canvas ceiling hanging just feet above her and she had a sudden flash of childhood memories, of laying flat on her back in a children's play tent playing 'doctors and nurses' with the boy from next door, watching him hovering over her, feeling his hands inside her clothing, exploring, probing, making up childish medical words and procedures as he lifted her dress and pulled down the front of her knickers, his fingers greedily moving between her legs and she closed her eyes as a stray shiver of anticipation ran through her.

She felt as tight as a coiled spring as she lay there on the bed while he leaned over her watching, enjoying her discomfort. She crossed her hands nervously in front before changing her mind and finally settling for them placed flat at her sides, on parade, flat on her back, waiting for him to make his next move, realising already that he was now in complete control of her and wondering how it had once again happened so quickly.

Slowly, like some overstuffed frog, he shuffled forward, closing the gap between them, leaning over her until he seemed to hover in the space above her, filling her horizon, blotting out the rest of the world, narrowing her perspective until the intimacy became oppressive. She looked up at him, expectant, fearful and he smiled again. His fingers still held the button on her blouse and he pulled on it experimentally. The blouse moved, opening slightly and bagging at the neck. He let go and took hold of the open neck of her blouse, folding it back until the blouse pulled, tethered suddenly by the next fastened button. Pat lay and stared at the ceiling as he casually reached down and released the offending fastening. Once released the blouse gapped a little further.

"Oh look," he said quietly as if making a sudden discovery, his fingertip touching the soft newly exposed skin of her chest. She started at his sudden touch, at the obvious intent of his deliberate intimacy. He looked carefully at her face for a moment, expecting a reproach that never came, a remonstration a remonstration against his familiarity. Instead she stared silently at the ceiling and so, emboldened, he continued on down the front of her blouse, his finger and thumb capturing the next button, holding it for a moment before opening it and moving on to the next.

She closed her eyes as he worked his way down the front of her blouse, methodically, unhurriedly, opening all the buttons down to her waist. When he at last reached the bottom he sat back a little to admire his progress, his excitement mounting as he took in the line of pale skin showing whitely between the two deep blue halves of her open blouse. He reached over and this time he touched his fingertips to the smooth skin of her flat stomach. With a sharp intake of breath she drew in her stomach and bit her lip. Seeing her response he laughed quietly to himself before running the back of his finger along the length of the gap, from the bottom to the top and back again, navel to throat, each time making a deliberate show of crossing the line where her soft white bra bisected her chest. She shivered and closed her eyes as she felt his fingers raise involuntary goose bumps on her skin.

Leaning over her he casually pulled the shirt clear of her skirt, almost idly working his way around her waist, tugging the material clear. She felt him undo the last button that had been hidden below her belt and then she knew her blouse was now open, her first line of defences breached. She wanted to grab the open front and hold it together and her hands twitched protectively but she simply lay there, passively, submissively and let him continue to slowly undress her.

As if reading her thoughts he smiled and taking hold of the open edges of her blouse he slowly and deliberately folded them back out of the way. His large hand smoothed at the loose material, pushing it back at the shoulders, unwrapping her as if she were a present, exposing her bra clad chest and smooth, flat stomach, her skin shining like ivory under the aging green canvas of the tent.

"Very nice," he said quietly, his voice thick and hoarse. "You have a beautiful body. You should show it more often, and more of it" and she glanced up at him, recognising his words and wondering nervously if she could stop him going any further. Yet despite her fears she just lay there as he hovered over her, her blouse open, his big hand resting with a deceptively easy familiarity on her stomach, the intimacy explicit, the intent plain. And she kept her eyes closed, almost holding her breath, not sure if he expected an answer or no, not even sure if he was actually talking to her or running some internal conversation in his head in which she played no part.

"There," he said finally, his fingers gently spreading on her stomach, possessive, territorial, his voice almost distracted, remote, practicing his excuse for undressing her if he was ever called on to give one, "that's better isn't it? It's good to get some air to your skin. Healthier. You looked hot, you must be cooler now." He inched still further forward, his knees touching her bed, his words drying up, completely distracted by the beauty of the body he was uncovering, the soft glow of her skin, the rise and fall of her breasts inside her close fitting, white, virginal bra.

His hand rubbed gently at her stomach, his fingertips tracing invisible patterns on her skin.

"Smooth," his voice little above a whisper, "so very, very smooth." His hand moved slowly down her stomach and for a moment he fingered the black enamelled buckle on her broad black leather guide belt, proudly embossed with the guide emblem, before he casually twisted it open. She looked up into his face but could read nothing there beyond the false painted on smile.

"Be prepared," he said quietly running his thumb over the raised words.

"A good motto; are you prepared?" he asked and he pulled the belt loose, pushing it through the loops on her skirt before pulling it out and dropping it onto the floor beside him. Inanely she arched her back to help him, unthinkingly participating in her own unclothing.

Finding the zip and button at the side of her skirt he quickly unfastened the button and using two hands he tugged the zip down.

"I'm prepared," he said as the skirt sagged lose. He folded the waistband back, exposing more of her smooth stomach and the first tiny, tantalising glimpse of the top of her soft white knickers. He stopped, his hand poised, the very real intimacy of the first sight of her knickers gave him pause and his hand trembled at the thought of what lay hidden within the soft white garment. He had already felt her, her softness and her moisture; but that had been a fleeting, hurried, touch in a dirty church hall vestibule. This was an altogether a much more intimate and hopefully prolonged opportunity.

Without taking his eyes off her knickers he sat back a little and licked his lips, tasting the sweat that clung once again to his upper lip. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, wiping his hand in turn on front of his black clerical shirt. Now that it was real he was suddenly frightened of what he was doing; but he also fully knew that there was no turning back now even if he had wanted to.