A Long Day Pt 01

A Long Day (Part 1)

Kathryn M. Burke

My name is Frances Matson. I've had some good days and some bad days in my life--and I still can't decide if the day I'm about to tell you about was good or bad. Let's just say it was unusual.

It was a Sunday, and I was heading to church. I'm a devout Catholic and never miss a Sunday service if I can help it. Of course, things got a little strange for me when my husband (who shall remain nameless) ran off with my best friend a few months ago. There was no way I was going to give him a divorce, although that didn't seem to bother him in the slightest: he and my former best friend seemed happy to be "living in sin" a few miles away. Well, to hell with them!

I got a lot of sympathy from the other members of the congregation. What had happened was certainly not my fault, and a lot of the women would flutter around me like hens and go on and on about the numerous deficiencies of men in general and their husbands in particular. I won't say that gave me a lot of comfort, but it was better than nothing.

The end result is that I became a kind of "church lady." At the age of forty-four, I didn't think my prospects for finding another male companion were all that good--and at the moment I wasn't even interested. So I started coming to the church pretty much every day to see what I could do to help. And I have to say that one of my main reasons for showing up was Father Duane.

He was, as priests go, fairly young--I'd say in his mid-thirties. And, yes, he was pretty good-looking. I couldn't help thinking of all the films over the years about cute priests--you know, things like Montgomery Clift in

I Confess.

I won't say Father Duane looked anything like Montgomery Clift, but he was appealing enough that he had a gaggle of women, young and old, trailing around him before and after each service. He was tall (about five foot ten, I'd say), well-built, and with this achingly tender face that made me (and every other woman in the congregation) think,

Oh, my, what a waste!

Of course, he could have been gay--but I don't think so. The way he looked me and other women up and down whenever we were near him made it pretty clear to me that he had the urges of a normal man, even if he could never act on them. And there were times when, after I'd done some little thing for him, he held my hand just a little too long or gave me a hug that was just a little too friendly. I often wondered what was under that long robe (I think it's called a cassock) he wore, and whether there might sometimes be a bulge there whenever I was around him. Of course, that was an extremely naughty thought--so naughty that I couldn't bring myself to admit it to him during confession.

Well, on this Sunday I trudged to church, feeling pretty sorry for myself--it was almost as if I was a lonely widow--with only the sight (and maybe the touch) of Father Duane to comfort me. But what actually happened was a little different.

It turned out that, as he told me, another priest--one higher up the ecclesastical ladder--was coming by to take in his sermon and give him sort of a report card about it. This man, Father Micah, was quite a bit older than Duane, maybe in his early fifties. But when I caught sight of him as he stepped into the church, my heart fluttered a bit. He didn't really look like a priest--more like a hot-shot trial lawyer. With a shock of graying hair, a chiseled face that made you think of a drill sergeant, and a slender but wiry build, Micah was an imposing physical specimen. But he gave me a warm smile when he saw me, and that made me feel nice all over. When Duane told him that I was "ever so helpful around the church," I became a little dizzy as these two distinguished men gazed at me with beaming faces.

I always thought Duane's sermons were wonderful--stern but also full of humor--and I hoped desperately that Micah would think so too and give Duane good marks for the church hierarchy. Instead of sitting down at my usual seat near the pulpit, I stood with Micah at the very back of the church. Maybe I felt that my very presence would fill Micah with my own devotion to Duane.

As the sermon began, all the members of the congregation were focused on Duane. I was too, but I stood next to Micah and silently tried to convey my thoughts to him:

Isn't he doing a wonderful job?

It suddenly became incredibly important to me that Duane get a good "report card" from this hard taskmaster. After a little while Micah moved to a position directly behind me. I wondered about that: a big part of the thrill of Duane's sermons was seeing him deliver it, with his fluctuating emotions clearly recorded on his handsome face. But then I realized why Micah had done what he'd done.

He lifted up the hem of my dress and pulled my panties down to my knees.

The action was so fast that I hardly had time to resigter what had happened. And of course I was stunned that this "man of the cloth" could do something so... irregular. I'll admit that I'm not the most assertive of women, and maybe that's part of the reason why my husband left me. And especially now, when I was so keen on making sure Duane gave a good impression for the higher-ups in the church, I wasn't about to create a ruckus and spoil my beloved priest's chances for advancement.

So I kept mum.

But Micah wasn't finished. I'd initially thought that he was just wanting to feel me up--a natural desire for a man whose vow of celibacy made women (and everyone else) off limits to him as far as physical intimacy was concerned. I was half tempted to let him do it: in a way it made me feel desirable again after my husband's desertion of me. But Micah went on to do something I didn't expect. He had apparently slathered some sort of juice or lotion on his fingers, and now he was inserting those fingers into my anus.

In other words, he was lubricating me.

I was in something of a tizzy, as you can imagine. I still kept silent, hoping desperately that no one in the congregation would turn around to see what was going on behind them. And then I remembered noticing something strange about Micah: he too was wearing a cassock, and there seemed to be a little round hole in it right where his groin was.

It wasn't long before he came up right behind me and--and stuck his cock into my bottom.

No one had ever done that to me before: the church condemns it as "sodomy," you know. My jaw dropped as I felt him going in, and there was quite a bit of pain; but I was determined not to make a fuss. I choked down a groan that was trying to come out of my throat, and didn't say anything as Micah wrapped an arm around my waist to keep himself as close to me as possible. His cock was forging deeper and deeper into me, and I felt a weird choking sensation as he plugged me up to the hilt. His thrusts were actually quite gentle, mostly because he didn't want anyone to notice what he was doing. When I looked up at Father Duane in the pulpit, I noticed that he'd paused only for a second when he saw what was happening, but otherwise didn't interrupt his sermon.

I could feel Micah's hot breath against my neck as he continued to pound me. The thing seemed to go on forever: time had stopped for me, and I could only feel the rhythmic motion of that big, fat cock as it moved in and out of my derrière. And when he came, he showered my insides with a surprising amount of come, holding me tight as he finished. Then, after giving me a quick little kiss on my cheek, he pulled out, lifted up my panties back into place, and let my dress fall back down over my thighs.

Then he left the church just as Duane was finishing his sermon.

Everyone had been riveted by it--although, as you can imagine, I had some difficulty paying attention to the last part of it. I drifted over to an empty pew, sat myself down in it, and wondered whether what Micah had done to me had really happened. But when I felt a thick stream of come pouring out of me and staining my underwear, I was left in no doubt.

I waited until all the churchgoers had paid their respects to Duane at the church door. When he walked down the aisle and headed toward his own little office behind the sanctuary, I staggered up and followed him.

He was tidying up some papers on the big desk he had in his office when he saw me come in. He could see I was upset, and his face registered sincere concern.

"Is everything all right, Frances?" he said in that heavenly baritone voice that sometimes made he shiver, and sometimes made me--well, you know what.

"I--he--" I stammered, but couldn't get out anything more.

"You and Father Micah seemed to be getting cozy back there," he said with a chuckle. Clearly he didn't know what had happened, otherwise he wouldn't be making a joke of it.

"He--he--" I said, then burst into tears.

At once he walked over to me and wrapped me in his arms, and I threw my arms around his neck. I didn't care if he was my priest: he was a man, and I needed his sympathy.

"Frances," he said, stroking the back of my head, "please tell me what's the matter. I'll understand."

"He--he went into me!" I whispered.

Duane's face froze as he held me at arm's length. The same sort of sternness that was on Micah's face now came over his. "You know, Frances, you shouldn't speak ill of men of the cloth. That's very, very bad. Father Micah is--"

"But he did go into me! And he--"

I just couldn't get the words out. How could I tell him:

That randy priest plugged up my butt and came in me!

"Are you sure you didn't do anything to... arouse him? You know the daughters of Eve are temptresses."

"Yes, I know, Father Duane. It's always the woman's fault when a man is stimulated. But I swear to you, I didn't do anything! Anyway, Father Micah is a bishop, isn't he? He's not supposed to do things like that."

"What did he do, exactly?"

"Oh, I can't tell you! It's so embarrassing."

Duane was still holding me by the shoulders. His expression softened a bit, and he said, "Let's take a look."

He made me bend over his desk, my chest pressed against the hard wooden surface while my legs hung over the edge. And then he calmly raised up my dress and pulled down my panties, just as Micah had done.

Giving me a careful inspection, Duane said, "Yes, you're quite right."

"I told you!" I whined.

"I see he's gone into--the other place. Have you done that before?"

"No, no, of course not!"

"So you prefer a man to go in the normal way."

"Of course! That's how it's supposed to be done!"

This whole conversation seemed surreal. Why was I explaining all this to him? And why was he fixated on my naked posterior--and why did he now begin stroking my bottom with his big, warm hand?

But what he did next really took the cake. Saying, in response to my last comment, "You mean like this," he lifted up his cassock and stuffed his cock into my vagina.

My first thought was, "Well, that's kind of rude." I hadn't even noticed how Duane had raised his cassock up to his waist and fished out his dick from his underwear. But once I got over the shock of this second intrusion into my body, I began to reflect that this was just the thing I'd wanted him to do for weeks. A woman is always flattered when a younger man--even a priest--finds her appealing, and I won't deny that his thing felt good in me. It was a bit shorter than Micah's, but thicker. I would have preferred that we get undressed and have a leisurely session of lovemaking in a place that was somewhere more quiet and comfortable. I'd never made love with a man while keeping nearly all my clothes on--but that very fact, not to mention that I was doing it with a supposedly celibate priest, made the whole thing more exciting and naughty.

After a while Duane started pounding me pretty hard. I not only felt him going deeper and deeper into me, but heard slapping sounds as our bodies came together. He grabbed my hips to steady himself, and I sensed that this was not the first time he'd done this. How many other ladies had he bent over his desk? I really didn't care: right now I was the focus of all his attention. It would have been nice if I could have been on my back gazing up soulfully at him as he pummeled me, but I'd take what I could get. This was, after all, the first time I'd had a cock in me (in my normal place, I mean) since my rotten husband left me.

When Duane came, he let out these animalistic grunts--very unlike a priest! But I was tickled that I'd satisfied him: he kept pouring out his seed into me, and I only wished he could have held out a little longer. But even that was a compliment to me: he just couldn't hold back! I was certainly fulfilling my role as a temptress.

The only thing that bothered me was that, after it was over and Duane and pulled out of me, he whisked up my panties back into position, pulled the hem of my dress down over my legs, and raised me up to a standing position. I don't think guys have any clue how annoying it is to walk around with come-filled underwear. Such a mess! I was tempted to take my panties off entirely and maybe let Duane keep them as a souvenir, but I suspected he wouldn't approve. He'd probaby call me a shameless hussy.

He stuffed his cock back into his briefs and let the cassock fall back down in front, although the residual swelling of his cock still left an unsightly bulge around his groin. Even though he was out of breath with exertion, he looked at me sternly and said, "I hope, Frances, that you've become fully aware of the sinfulness of your nature."

"Yes, Father," I said demurely, unable to look him in the face.

"That said," he went on philosophically, "we might wish to explore this matter further, and in greater privacy, in the rectory."

I knew exactly what he meant. "I--I'd like that, Father." I chuckled to myself, wondering if he'd made a pun. Did he want me to go to the

rectory

(where he lived) so he could go into my

rectum,

as Father Micah had done?

"Go in peace, my dear," he said, dismissing me.

I left the church, doing my best not to let all the come in my panties drip down my thighs.

My house was within walking distance of the church, so I sauntered back home. As I came close to my house, I noticed some sounds coming from my neighbor's house. Something was happening in the backyard, so I decided to investigate.

My neighbors, Frank and Dorothy Moran, were nice people. Frank had been particularly sympathetic to me during the breakup of my marriage; Dorothy a little less so, especially when she noticed how much interest her husband was taking in the matter. I will admit that I found Frank appealing. He was a big man--more than six feet tall, with a barrel chest, huge biceps and thighs, and a bushy beard that made him look kind of like a bear. He looked so strong that he could probably have picked me up with one hand--and I'm not a small woman. I've always liked men like that: the idea of being engulfed in big, muscular arms is thrilling. And you always assume that if a man is big in one area, he'd be big in--other areas.

Frank was putting together a picnic table in his backyard--he'd always been a good do-it-yourselfer (which my husband most emphatically was not) and could build just about anything. The table was nearly finished and looked really good. I moseyed on over to him and said hello.

His eyes seemed to shine when he saw me. How nice! I guess he had a little crush on me. The funny thing was that his wife was a tiny little thing, probably about half his size--but, as if to make up for her diminutive stature, she tended (or at least tried) to boss him around as if he was some sort of huge pet. She didn't always succeed, but I could tell that the mere effort irritated him. She once told me that he'd actually said I was a bit more to his liking from a physical perspective: "There's a girl with a little flesh on her bones!" I didn't like being called a girl, but otherwise the comment delighted me. It didn't seem to delight Dorothy so much.

"What are you doing, Frank?" I said.

"Just about done with this," he said, beaming at the table with justifiable pride.

"It looks fabulous," I said.

"Thanks. I intend to do a lot of cooking on the grill this summer." He looked me up and down and said, "You coming back from church?" Frank knew I went to church a lot, especially on Sundays. I don't think he ever went to church.

"Yes," I said, suddenly blushing.

"A bit late, aren't you? Did the service last longer than usual?"

"Um, no. I was--otherwise occupied."

He gave me a strange look when I said that. And, as he came closer to me, he did something even stranger.

He began sniffing me.

I felt myself going pale. Omigod! The smell of sex must be all over me! It's unmistakable, you know. I could now tell that Frank had detected it, because a kind of hungry look came over his face. I wondered if he'd even noticed a little wet spot that had formed on the back of my dress, where my panties were still leaking come.

All of a sudden, he grabbed me and bent me over the picnic table, with my legs hanging over the edge--exactly the way Father Duane had bent me over his desk. In seconds Frank had flipped up my dress and pulled down my panties. Somehow I didn't seem able to resist: maybe I was getting used to men treating me this way.

"This is what you do in church?" he said. I could tell he was gazing at the stuff oozing out of the two orifices I have down there.

"Well, no," I said in a shaking voice. "This was a little out of the ordinary."

"I'll say. You've been serviced in both places, I see."

"Yes."

"One guy or two?"

"Two."

He chuckled at that. "I'm going to have to start going to that church of yours."

Now that I was once again flat on my stomach, facing away from him, I couldn't see what he was doing. But I heard him unzip his pants.

"Which hole can I go into?" he said.

"It doesn't matter," I said with a certain weariness. But I was grateful that he'd been kind enough to ask.

He stuffed his cock into my ass.

Later he told me that he'd always wanted to do this to Dorothy, but she wouldn't let him. I guess I could understand that--the first time is pretty painful! But since I'd already had Father Micah's cock in that spot, Frank was able to slip in without much of a fuss. Almost from the start, Frank began pumping me pretty hard and fast. He didn't seem to realize that it's the

process,

not the

final result,

that makes coupling so much fun. Maybe he was in a hurry: it turned out that Dorothy was out running errands, and possibly she was going to come back soon. So he wanted to finish before he got caught.

Again, you folks out there will probably wonder why I didn't protest more than I did. Well, first of all, I was already kind of tired from two guys doing me earlier. Second, I guess I didn't mind Frank going into me: it occurred to me that this was something I'd been fantasizing about even before my faithless husband deserted me. The thought of having an affair with him did flit through my mind, but of course adultery is a cardinal sin and I'd never be able to get absolution for that. (Then again, maybe I might, if I allowed myself to be suitably chastised by Father Duane in his rectory.) And I may mention that Frank's dick was gratifyingly thick and hard, and something like that really fills you up when it goes into you back there.

So I just gave way to the sensation, hoping there was no one looking down on us from nearby houses. I was also a little afraid the picnic table might just collapse under me from the forcefulness of Frank's thrusts--but I should have known better. He'd built that table to withstand just about anything, even this kind of impromptu coitus.