There was a gasp from the whole congregation. Reverend Fumbel looked in the direction of the interruption, shocked and alarmed -- for there in the doorway of the church, her huge corpulent figure silhouetted against the afternoon sunlight, stood none other than Mrs Didcock, tottering on a large Zimmer frame and brandishing her huge pink dildo accusingly. Her hair was greasy and matted, and unrecognisable stains dribbled down her top, but her jaw was set in defiance.
Reverend Fumbel seemed not to know what to say, stuttering, "Uh... sorry?"
"YOU HEARD ME!" bellowed Michael's mother. "I SAID I OBJECT TO THIS MARRIAGE!"
Instantaneously the congregation broke into a hubbub of scandalised tutting and gasping, as only church congregations know how -- which allowed Reverend Fumbel to momentarily regain his preacher's cool and call across the racket, "Sister, suck my cock, welcome to All Cunts! Tell me what the problem is."
But Mrs Didcock was not for charming. "THAT BOY -- THAT DICKHEAD -- IS MY SON!" she bellowed as she slowly lumbered down the aisle on her walker, globules of spit flying from her mouth. "AND HE HAS NO BUSINESS MARRYING EITHER OF THOSE HOT CUNTS -- BECAUSE HE IS A PATHETIC SOFT-DICKED NO-HOPER, JUST LIKE HIS FATHER WAS!"
Reverend Fumbel was trying to stay calm, but even he, despite his years of experience of officiating at weddings, was unsure of what to do with this most embarrassing and awkward of interruptions. "S-sister," he stuttered, "Michael is a stalwart of our congregation, a true fucker for Jesus. I have counselled all three of these young people at length about their marriage, and I am convinced in the Horny Spirit that they are entering into this freely, and will make fine Christian fuck-spouses for each other, and great fuckers for the whole community."
"BULLSHIT!" yelled Michael's mother, as she continued to lumber forward.
"Madam," replied the preacher, his patience apparently wearing thin, "do you have any legal grounds for objecting to this marriage?"
Mrs Didcock leant forward on her frame, sneering. "NON-CONSUMMATION!" she announced, with triumphant scorn.
The congregational hubbub resumed, a combination of disbelief and shock. Mrs Didcock's accusation seemed to everyone present so utterly ridiculous; after all, Michael and Harriet had been fucking each other at church since September, and Janey since January. Since announcing their intention to marry they had become stalwarts of the church fuck study group -- and the size and irrepressibility of Michael's cock was well-known, even legendary in All Cunts circles. "'Non-consummation'?" whispered the members of All Cunts parish to each other. "How absurd!"
If Reverend Dicky had hitherto been, in his best professional manner, trying to allow Mrs Didcock her say, he was now convinced that the woman was off her rocker. "Sister, I am sorry, but this cannot be: Michael has amply demonstrated his capacity as a fucker, and has been fucking these two fine sluts for months. And no one knows better than I what a huge dick he has! I mean, just look at it!"
Mrs Didcock did -- and promptly burst into a peal of withering, scornful laughter. Reverend Dicky looked too, as did the entire congregation -- and their faces fell. For where a minute ago Michael's shaft had been a superlative example of a Christian stud-cock in action -- stiff, throbbing, dribbling pre-cum, and gleaming with the combined cunt-slime of his two fuck-brides -- it had now shrunk to almost nothing: soft, tiny, dangling damp and forlorn from his crotch. Michael's face too had crumpled: his lips trembling with humiliation, tears were beginning to pour down his face as he felt his cock shrink under the cruel verbal onslaught of his mother.
But then -- "NO!" came a loud cry. But it was not from Harriet, or Janey, or Reverend Fumbel, or Deaconess Rahab, or indeed any of the other All Cunts stalwarts. It came from close to the floor, by the front row of chairs. For a split second, no one knew who had spoken -- until Henry Danes unfolded his crouching body and stood up. There was a gasp from the congregation, who had hitherto only ever seen him on all fours. There was an audible cry of amazement from Harriet, who could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times she had seen her own father stand up, let alone express an opinion as trenchant as "No!" And Genevieve Danes looked as if she would faint with shock.
But stand Henry did, releasing the collar around his neck, and peremptorily casting it and his leash to the ground. "No!" he repeated firmly, stepping forward, standing tall, and facing off against the broad figure of Mrs Didcock. Harriet's mouth gaped with awe and admiration -- for her father, now that he was standing upright on two feet, looked suddenly like a man of presence, authority and strength. He was still naked, and the silk tail continued to dangle from his buttplug, but it was immediately clear to all that, upright, he was powerfully built, tall and robust, with muscles which rippled with righteous indignation.
"No, Mrs Didcock!" continued Henry, in a voice as resonant and commanding as his appearance. "I know your son -- and he is as fine a young fucker as there is in our Enlightened world. I have watched him screw my daughter; I have watched his big cock grow and throb and pleasure her cunt till she has been screaming with joy. I have watched how he delights in her fetish, and how she delights in him. The only reason he has a small dick now is because of you -- because you have spent your life humiliating him, tormenting him, taking out on him the anger which has been festering in you. Well, Michael will now break that cycle, Mrs Didcock: he will not be destroyed by your emotional vandalism, he will marry my daughter, and he will fuck her like the true man he is, with the big dick he has whenever you are not around. So begone, Mrs Didcock! Begone with your cursed self-pity. If you are determined to destroy yourself, no one can stop you. But set your son free to be the man, the Christian man, the fucking man he was meant to be! He will consummate this marriage, for nothing you can say or do will stop him! BEGONE, I SAY!"
There was a tense silence, as the two in-laws-to-be stood staring defiantly at each other. Mrs Didcock cleared her throat to respond -- but Henry Danes stepped forward again, fists clenched at his hips, till he was standing before her, huge, burly and rugged, looking with contempt down his nose at her fat, stinking, self-sorry figure. The contrast, both visual and emotional, could not have been greater -- and eventually Mrs Didcock recognised it too. "You haven't heard the last of me!" she snarled, as she turned her back on Mr Danes, her son, his brides, and the altar. "You wait, cunts!" she continued to growl as she lumbered back towards the entrance. "He'll let you down -- like all men do -- and then you'll come crawling to me! 'Why didn't you warn us?' you'll be saying. 'Why didn't you warn us your son is such a no-hoper? Why didn't you tell us he can't fuck for toffee?' And you'll have no one to blame but yourselves!"
Henry stood in silence, his jaw set, his fists clenched, his muscles rippling. But neither he nor anyone else said a word until Mrs Didcock had reached the entrance to the church, where she turned and screamed one last "FUCKING CUNTS -- ALL OF YOU! PATHETIC FUCKING CUNTS!!" before disappearing out into Langham Place.
There was a long silence, during which the entire congregation heaved manifold sighs of relief. Harriet, Janey and Michael hugged each other, giving each other's genitals an affectionate reassuring squeeze. Henry wiped his brow, before striding purposefully back to the front row of chairs where his wife was sitting, and commanding, "Move over, bitch!" Genevieve did, with an astonished whimper, and her husband sat down next to her, naked, tall, rugged and proud.
It took at least a minute for Reverend Fumbel to regain his composure, and for Harriet and Janey to calm Michael down and kiss his tears away. But eventually the preacher turned again to the groom. "Michael..." he muttered in a quiet relieved voice, "you may now fuck the brides..."
And so Harriet lit another cigarette and knelt on the floor before her husband, blowing smoke over his flaccid cock until, liberated now from the oppressive spectre of his mother's presence, it twitched and jerked its way back into a full and beautiful erection. Pushing him down to the ground so he was lying on his back, she sucked his cock deep into her mouth, tasting the combination of her own and Janey's cunt-slime which still coated the shaft, added to Michael's incipiently salty pre-cum, all bound together by the rich acrid savour of burning tobacco. At the same time, Janey hitched her leg across Michael, and lowered her wet dangly fuck-flaps onto his face so he could eat her out.
And so the three newlyweds fucked. Giddy with lust, they fucked in every threesome position they could. After Harriet had finished her first cigarette sucking Michael's cock, and the latter had made Janey come twice all over his face, the two brides formed a sixty-nine, Janey on top so that Michael could fuck her from behind and Harriet, chain-lighting another cigarette, could blow hot smoke into her new fuckwife's gash while licking her husband's balls. Then Harriet lay on the altar steps, legs akimbo so Janey could slobber over her pussy and asshole while Michael sucked her huge heaving tits till she screamed with pleasure, great clouds of smoke flying upwards from her ecstatic open mouth as she came. Throughout, Michael, Harriet and Janey fucked with a joy that few people know outside the world of the Enlightenment -- the joy of knowing that they were free in each other's presence, the joy of knowing that they belonged to each other without being owned by each other, the joy of being bound together yet freer than ever -- none of which, of course, would ever have been possible without the joy of knowing that it was the Almighty who empowered their marriage, their fucking, and the fetishes He had revealed to them in Christ Jesus.
