Celibate No Longer

“Yes…. yes…okay. No, I can’t…..you know I can’t!…..Oh, yes please. That would be wonderful……….eleven o’clock?…..Me too………..ER…NO, SORRY, I THINK YOU MUST HAVE THE WRONG NUMBER…. THAT’S ALL RIGHT. GOODBYE.”

Linda O’Sullivan replaced the receiver quickly and glanced nervously over at her husband as he stood framed in the doorway. He was looking directly at her. But how long had he been there? And how much had he heard? Linda immediately decided that he couldn’t have heard anything suspicious; it was the most comfortable option and, besides, the alternatives were too horrible to imagine.

The Reverend Michael O’Sullivan had just finished dressing and was fixing his white clerical collar in the mirror when he had heard the telephone ring. The face that stared back at him was older and more haggard than he imagined himself; his skin was lined and creased and the eyes that had once boiled with fire and brimstone as he preached from the pulpit now looked sunken and dark; almost lifeless. Not for the first time, he wondered what on earth Linda saw in him.

It had been a whirlwind romance and one that had made Michael question his faith. He had been celibate for ten years prior to meeting the lovely young woman that had so quickly entered his life and then consumed it. Ten long years spent crushing his emotions and down-treading his manly desires. Ten years without the comfort of female companionship.

At first he had tried to resist the carnal temptations that Linda – albeit unconsciously - put in his way, and it shouldn’t have been too difficult. Their initial meetings were innocent enough; parish meetings and garden parties etc. But the day that he called at her house to discuss the editing of the parish magazine suddenly changed everything.

Linda had greeted him at the door. Clearly she had just stepped out of the shower; her mousey, blonde hair was wet and seemed to glisten in the afternoon sunlight and a large, fluffy white towel was wrapped around her body. She had invited him in, smiling. He had apologised for interrupting her and gladly accepted the offer of coffee. But as she had turned to him with the cup the towel had accidentally dropped to the floor. For several seconds the two had simply stared at each other; Linda with the cup still in her outstretched hand and Michael with a look of bewilderment on his face. Michael looked at the naked female form before him; the swell of her breasts, the flare of her hips, her slender, tapered legs and, of course, the light thatching of moist, downy hair that sat above her sex. He had tried to look away, tried to avert his eyes, but it was impossible. She seemed to draw him. The last ten years of restraint were building up and, despite himself, his body was reacting. No words were spoken. No excuses were made, the couple simply fell into each others arms.

That first time was fast and furious and, Michael guessed, quite unsatisfying for Linda. He took her there and then in the lounge of her house. They coupled on the floor like animals, Michael moaning and grunting wildly as his pent up passion, in that instant, completely overshadowed any respect for a deity. But when he was finished, his masculine fluids released and spent, he felt no remorse, no guilt. He felt alive again.

They had attempted to keep their courtship clandestine, but, inevitably, there was gossip around the parish. Tongues wagged in a small community such as theirs and eventually the couple were forced to come out of the shadows and announce their wedding plans.

But the gossip continued. Young Linda would never be a suitable wife for a parish priest, they said. Too flighty. Too young. Too impressionable, they said. A girl half his age. He should have taken a more eminent wife – so all the eligible women in the parish clearly thought. But Michael was unperturbed. He was in love and his celibacy was broken. He saw no reason why he should not continue to watch over his flock while being able to make love to a beautiful young woman.

“Another wrong number? We seem to be getting a few of those recently.”

Linda nodded quickly and breathed an almost imperceptible sigh of relief.

“Yes, wrong number.”

“Maybe we should get in touch with the telephone company. Perhaps there is something they can do.”

“Maybe.” Linda replied. “I’m making coffee, would you like some?”

Michael nodded as his wife walked passed him and into the cramped vicarage kitchen. He stared at the silent telephone and then moved dream-like towards it. He knew that he shouldn’t do it. He knew that it was wrong – a betrayal of trust. He knew that he should have faith in his wife.

Michael’s hand slowly lifted the receiver and his finger pressed the button to access the last number that had called. For a moment the line was quiet while he was being connected. The telephone was picked up before the first ring had finished.

“Linda? Is that you? I guess you were not able to speak. Don’t worry, I’ll see you at eleven o’clock.”

There was a click as the line went dead.

Michael replaced the receiver slowly. His heart seemed to be racing and his face was flushed. Despite the shock of his findings there was something deep down inside him that told him that he shouldn’t be surprised. He knew he was no great catch for a beautiful young woman. Wasn’t it inevitable that she would find more excitement in the arms of another, younger man? But what should he do? A confrontation seemed a particularly unattractive prospect and, besides, what proof of Linda’s infidelity did he really have? A phone call? No, that wasn’t going to be enough for a meticulous man such as he. But he had information, didn’t he? Times and places. And didn’t they say that information was power? There was only one type of proof that would convince him.

“Actually, my dear, don’t worry about coffee for me.” Michael called into the kitchen, forcing himself to sound relaxed. “I have to go out; to the church. I should be back later this afternoon, okay?”

He heard his wife call her goodbye’s as he walked out of the house. He closed the front door and began the short walk to the church – his refuge.

As she heard the door close, Linda O’Sullivan breathed another deep sigh of relief. It had been a close call that morning. She had no real desire to hurt her husband but, frankly, she was completely fed up with being a vicar’s wife. It wouldn’t have been so bad if the community had accepted her as such but the gossip and the whispers had continued long after the wedding.

And then there was the sex. She had accepted Michael’s prematurity that first time they were together – she was well aware of his long period of celibacy – but in the two years that they had been together since, nothing much had changed. She had longed for more experimentation, more variety, but the Reverend O’Sullivan seemed only interested in straight-forward, missionary position sex. Foreplay was non-existent and, although she had achieved orgasm whenever she had had sex with previous partners, she rarely even came close with her husband. She had quickly realised that she was becoming a frustrated housewife and when the first offer of adultery presented itself she had grabbed it like a drowning man clutching a lifebelt.

Rinsing out her empty coffee cup, she glanced at the kitchen clock. She shivered involuntarily as she realised that Mark would be with her in less than an hour. She felt her body react as she thought of his young, smooth body, his heavily muscled limbs and his solid manhood. A tingle ran through her body. Beneath the bathrobe her nipples hardened to excited points and she could feel the familiar wetness between her legs. She was more than ready for her lover. The question was, could she wait until eleven o’clock!

The Reverend Michael O’Sullivan knelt in prayer before the great altar; his head bowed and his mind compliant. He had asked God for guidance, for direction. His body craved leadership. But there had been little in the way of response. No sign, no omen, no portent. Clearly this was something that he was going to have to deal with alone. Something mortal.

Michael’s hand gripped the alter rail for assistance as he stood. His joints seemed to creak and complain more these days – possibly due a lifetime spent kneeling in conformity. He bowed his head once more in the direction of the crucifix adorning the wall above the altar and turned on his heel. He glanced once at his watch and was surprised to see that he had been praying for just under an hour – it was now just after eleven-fifteen. His mind was made up. A decision had been produced. It was an unpleasant task, he knew – furtive and underhanded – but, without concrete proof, he was disinclined to form the conclusion that, deep down, he knew to be true. His fingers traced a pattern around the clerical collar that encircled his neck. On an impulse he pulled hard and felt the fastening break. Dropping the collar to the floor he strode purposefully from the church and back in the direction of the vicarage – today he would not be a priest.

As he padded silently up the stairs towards the vicarage’s single bedroom, Michael’s heart was beating faster than he had ever thought possible and beads of perspiration freckled his forehead. Halfway he stopped suddenly, wondering what he was doing. His theological training had taught him to question everything and now he was enquiring of himself. What did he expect to achieve by this action? What good would it do? Why was he here at all and not still safely ensconced in the sanctity of his beloved church? He had no answers, he realised. He simply knew that he must discover the truth.

The sound of voices from above broke his reverie. Not ethereal voices these but mortal, human voices. A man and a woman laughing quietly. Enjoying each other’s company? His legs felt as though they belonged to someone else, but Michael forced himself to press on and up the remaining steps to the bedroom.

Linda O’Sullivan and Mark Haywood lay together on top of the recently made double bed. It mattered little to either of them that Linda and her husband had vacated the sheets only a few hours previously; they were more concerned about exploring each other’s bodies.

Linda had prepared herself – as she always did – for Marks arrival. Her hair had been freshly washed and she had changed into a short skirt and a thin halter-neck top. Her feet and legs were bare and she had added nail polish to her toes that precisely matched her fingers. As usual, she thought, Mark had not made such an effort. His jeans were the same as he had worn for their last meeting and his black shirt was a simple button-down affair. But Linda wasn’t too concerned – it wasn’t his clothes that she was after!

Michael closed his eyes in regret as he peered through the gap in the door and

saw his young wife and her lover together for the first time. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled like sunburn as he watched them and he swallowed hard as he prepared himself for the inevitable confrontation. But as his damp, clammy palm closed around the door handle, there was something that halted him. He was suddenly unsure of his ground; the man currently caressing Linda’s body was considerably younger than he was – and clearly much fitter and stronger. But Michael was no coward and, again, steeled himself to burst in through the door. Again, though his body refused to obey his brain’s command and remained frozen on the handle.

Michael couldn’t understand what was happening. Why couldn’t he do what

was required of him? Why couldn’t he burst in through the door and confront the adulterous couple? Perhaps it was God that was stopping him or, perhaps, he thought as a slow realisation crept into his mind, he subconsciously WANTED to see what would happen.

Linda was breathing hard as her hands urgently caressed her lover’s chest. His

shirt was open and she had also successfully negotiated the buckle of his belt. She could feel the heat building up in her lower regions and knew that she wanted him now. Leaning back on the bed and smiling wickedly at him she quickly pulled off her skirt and remover the halter-neck blouse. Again, her underwear had been carefully selected – a dark bra and g-string panties – and she pulled the bra up and over her heaving chest exposing the soft slopes of her breasts and nipples that were still swollen and hard.

“Let me have a taste of that juicy little pussy of yours!” mark Haywood

growled as he crawled across the white sheets towards the half-naked Linda.

Linda smiled. God, how she wanted this man. She wanted all of him, but most

of all she wanted to feel his lips on her vagina. Oral sex had never been a part of her life with Michael but, she reasoned, what he didn’t know, wouldn’t hurt him.

As she kneeled on the bed and parted her thighs, Mark slithered under her. As

his hands caressed the twin globes of her buttocks, Linda assisted his oral exploration by pulling the gusset of her panties to one side. She gasped as she felt the first touch of his wet tongue on her sex. Her back arched deeply and her toes curled as the immediate orgasm washed over her body.

“That was quick – even for you!” Mark mumbled into her soft folds.

There was no answer that Linda could or wanted to give. Her mind was singularly engaged on her own lust and pleasure. She could feel the delicious sensations as Mark’s tongue danced a private ballet on her throbbing clitoris – a part of her body that she was convinced Michael didn’t even know existed – and knew that it would only be a short time before another crashing climax would engulf her completely.

Michael knew that his act of voyeurism was wrong and quite inappropriate behaviour for anyone – let alone a parish priest, but there was something almost compelling about it, almost macabre. His eyes were drawn to the scene of oral lust as the young man continued to use his tongue to bring Linda to climax after climax. Michael’s emotions were mixed; heavily confused. Feelings of jealousy jostled for position with wonderment and something else that he couldn’t quite get. And then, in a flash of light, it came to him. What he was feeling most of all, and what wouldn’t allow him to drag his eyes away from the scene was excitement. Pure, unadulterated adrenaline fuelled excitement.

As Linda contorted into yet another orally induced climax, her whole body fell forward. Mark’s hands were still squeezing her buttocks delightfully and his tongue seemed glued to her vagina. Her eyes opened slowly as the waves of orgasm began to ebb away and she found herself staring straight at her lovers’ very hard manhood. Not to waste this happy opportunity, she opened her mouth as wide as she could and noisily sucked the first few inches of inflamed meat into her mouth.

Michael heard the young man gasp as his penis disappeared into Linda’s mouth and had to bite his own lip to stop himself doing the same and therefore alerting the couple to his furtive behaviour. Although never having indulged in the practice of oral sex, he knew of course that it existed. But being aware that it happened and watching your own wife with a mouthful of turgid male flesh were two completely different things.

Michael stared in awe. He was completely transfixed. Absolutely fascinated. He would have been lying to himself if he had said that he had never wondered what it would have felt like to have a woman’s mouth on him, or to know the taste of a woman between her legs, but if truth be told, he had been embarrassed to broach the subject. He had assumed – quite wrongly, it now seemed – that Linda had been happy with his standard (and now, he realised, quite boring) method of lovemaking.

Linda could feel Mark’s cock as it bumped against the entrance to her throat. He was swelling as each second passed and she knew what that meant. Her sucking lips slowed dramatically, her teasing fingers under Mark’s heavy testicles ceased and with a gasp of air she disengaged herself and rolled away.

“Oh baby!” Mark complained playfully. “You always seem to know exactly when I’m about to cum!”

“I don’t want you shooting off just yet, honey! I can get enough of that from my husband.”

Behind the door, Michael’s hackles rose at the mention of his name and the disclosure of his obviously poor sexual techniques. He was angry and confused but, despite himself, his body belied his emotions. He could feel his own hardness beneath his black pants.

“I want you, Mark.” Linda continued, unaware of her husbands hurt feelings or even his presence. “I want you now. Fuck me, Mark. Fuck me.”

Michael’s eyes narrowed to cold, hard slits as he continued to peer through the door. Linda had rolled over onto her side now and stripped off the remainder of her clothes; the bra and panties now lay discarded in a crumpled heap on the floor. Marks jeans and shirt were also gone and the priest looked on as the naked, younger man spooned himself up behind Linda’s expectant and willing body.

The couple’s voices were mumbled and stilted now as they manoeuvred themselves into position.

“Lift your leg a little, Lin……Yes, that’s better…..a little higher…..mmmmm……you do have pretty little feet don’t you?”

“You like my feet, baby? I know you like my pussy…my cunt!…..put it in me baby….now…I want to feel your big, hard cock in my tight little cunt!”

Suddenly Michael heard a combined groan and trained his eyes directly at the point of penetration. He could see his wife’s vagina – she had called it a cunt, he thought with a shudder - spread like a flower as Mark’s large penis drove deep inside her.

But hearing the sort of language that emanated from Linda’s usually so sweet mouth and watching her vagina as it swallowed Mark’s manhood, only served to increase Michael’s arousal. His own erection was now fully developed and was pressing, in urgent need of release, against the front of his pants.

Michael tried to put his own discomfort as far from his mind as possible as he watched his wife being so expertly serviced by a younger man. Mark was lunging, almost ramming, his penis so hard into her body that Michael thought that it would do her permanent damage. But Linda’s face told a much different story, he realised. The contortion of her features was clearly not that of pained agony but of untainted lust. Her mouth hung open, little droplets of spittle mixed with what Michael thought was probably Mark’s liquid arousal trickled from her painted lips.

“Ohhhhhh…this is it, baby!” mark suddenly cried. “I’m almost cumming!”

“Let me taste it, baby! I want to taste your cum!”

Michael’s shock returned with a vengeance. Had he heard correctly? Had his young, sweet wife begged for another man to release his sexual fluids into her mouth? As he watched the unfaithful couple quickly move their position, Michael was in no doubt that Linda had indeed spoken the words.

Mark kneeled beside Linda and allowed her fingers to encircle his swollen and twitching member. Half the enjoyment was knowing that she was the wife of the local priest but, he had to admit, the other half of the fun was watching her jerk his cock until he exploded into her open mouth. He could feel himself pass the point of no return. His eyes half closed and he felt Linda’s fingers stroke under his balls lightly as the sperm convulsed from the tip of his weapon and spattered against her skin.

Michael should have felt disgusted – he knew that. But he still couldn’t look away – turn the other cheek. He watched fascinated as the young man sprayed his emission into Linda’s willing mouth. Her tongue was coated white but there was still more that oozed in great globules from Mark and streaked her lips. He watched as she continued to suck and lick the wilting manhood; stroking the length almost lovingly in her palm and clearly ensuring that she had drained every last drop of male seed that was on offer.