Father Doyle and the Donelly Sisters

"Good afternoon, Father. We're collecting donations for the village playgroup. Would you like to contribute?"

Father Brendan Doyle smiled at the two women on his doorstep. Their features were so alike they might have been sisters.

"Of course," he said. "Would you like to come inside? It's such a miserable day."

The two women had shared an umbrella and now it was lowered and shaken as they both stepped inside the vicarage.

"British summertime, Father," one of them said with a wry smile. "We should be used to it by now."

"Quite right," he agreed. "Please go through. The door on the right. It's unseasonal but I've lit the fire. It takes the chill off the room." He rubbed his hands together as they paused before the open fire.

"This is an unexpected pleasure, I must say. It's a lovely little village but one sees so few people during the day."

The women's long coats dripped steadily on the carpet.

"You've retired then, Father?" one of them asked.

"Not quite, yet. A few more years. The village playgroup, is it? I wonder if you might like a cup of tea?"

"You might like to take your coats off and find somewhere to sit. I shan't be a moment," he called from the kitchen.

He took a small tray from the pantry and a jug of milk from the fridge. As an after thought he added a plate of chocolate biscuits.

The wind blew the rain against the window as he carried the tray into the living room.

"I find an open fire quite cheerful on a day like today. I hope it's not too warm for you-.." He paused abruptly.

The women were removing their coats. Underneath they wore tight white blouses and very short, plaited skirts. They were both big women and their blouses gaped to reveal their cleavage. Their legs were very thick and very pale.

"I wish you could see your face, Father," one said. She laughed unkindly and put her hands on her meaty hips.

The other woman dropped her coat and walked towards him. She took the tray from his trembling hands.

"I don't think he remembers us," she said. She turned away and bent from the hips to place the tray on a small side table. Her short skirt rose to reveal white panties as she looked back at him. "But I don't suppose it's our faces you'd remember," she said. "This is how you used to like us to stand, wasn't it Father?"

Father Doyle could only stare in disbelief as she straightened.

"We're older now, of course. That's probably it," one of them said.

"Our tits are a lot bigger."

"We were more naive in those days."

"Eighteen.

"Innocent."

"Submissive."

They smiled unpleasantly and began to walk slowly towards him.

"Colleen and Moira Donnelly, Father? Surely you remember all those times you kept us after school? What was it you used to say?"

"Stand in the corner," her sister said.

"Bend over, was one of your favourites."

"Don't make a sound.."

"Take your panties down..."

Father Doyle gasped. He felt suddenly weak.

He looked in alarm from one sister to the other. The smell of their cheap perfume seemed to fill the room. Their expressions had turned cold. They took an arm each and led him around to the back of the couch. He remembered everything but he denied it.

"Please, I don't know either of you."

Their laughter was as cold as their eyes.

"We'll see if we can jog your memory, Father. I'm Colleen. You made me put my hand inside your trousers two weeks after my eighteenth birthday." They'd reached the couch and she began to unfasten his belt. "Surely you remember? I didn't want to do it but you insisted."

Father Doyle tried to pull away but they held him firmly as Collen lowered his zip and slipped her hand inside.

"It was just like this," she said. "But you were hard then. Hard as a rock. Not soft, like this."

He drew away to try to avoid her hand but she moved with him and explored him through his briefs. He felt her fingers under his balls.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"But you remember me, Father? Moira? You had me stand in the corner with my hands on my head and then you stood behind me and felt my tits." She put out her large breasts. "Do you want to have a little feel now? A cheap thrill? Bring back old times?"

Her face was fleshy and she winked at him as Colleen withdrew her hand from his trousers and deftly unfastened the button that held them closed.

Father Doyle couldn't think. He was too shocked.

"I don't, I don't remember. It was all so long ago. Please, you must leave."

"Eighteen years ago, Father, " Colleen said, and pushed his trousers down.

"I'm disappointed, Father. Fancy not remembering us," Moira said and pouted. "We've put on a little weight, but still.."

She took both his hands in hers then moved around to the front of the couch. Her grip tightened when he tried to pull free.

"Now remember, Father. No noise."

She pulled gently and he was compelled to bend over the back of the couch.

Meanwhile Colleen had taken the leather belt from his trousers and now she doubled it and took down his briefs.

Father Doyle struggled but Moira held him firmly. Her eyes were bright as she forced him to bend over the couch. He raised his head and found himself staring at her deep cleavage.

"You can't, you can't do this. Let me go this instant!"

"Moira, how many did we say?" Colleen asked conversationally.

Father Doyle couldn't see her. His view was limited to the couch seat, Moira's red painted fingernails and the swell of her breasts.

"Ten?" her sister answered casually. Her grip tightened still more. "Fifteen? Twenty?"

They both laughed.

"Are you ready my child?" Colleen asked. "That's what you always used to say to us, wasn't it?"

He gasped as the belt struck him. The sudden flaring pain took his breath away. He struggled to no avail as it struck him a second time. The sound was loud and the bright, stinging pain was shocking. Tears filled his eyes. He raised his head with difficulty and saw Moira gloating as she watched. He couldn't get free and he felt the lash of the belt again. Moira pursed her lips and blew him a kiss as his vision blurred.

"Please.. please stop. No more!"

He gritted his teeth as he was lashed again. The pain was unbearable. Like fire. He began to sob. He writhed to free himself but Moira's grip was too strong.

It seemed as if she would never stop but he suddenly felt Colleen's fingers close around his cock.

"Now this is more as I remember it," she said. She was out of breath and there was cold satisfaction in her tone as she began to stroke his quickly stiffening cock. "Remember, Father? Rub it Colleen, you said. Faster, faster."

"No!" he pleaded. He raised his head and saw through his tears that Moira's mouth was open.

"Yes, yes," she whispered. Her eyes burned feverishly as she stared at what her sister was doing.

"Please don't," Father Doyle sobbed. He struggled weakly then gasped as Colleen brought him to climax.

His hips jerked involuntarily and he groaned repeatedly as she continued to masturbate him.

"Remember now, Father?" she panted. "Do you remember now?"

Moira abruptly released him and he reeled away from the couch but collapsed panting and shocked on the floor.

He couldn't believe what had happened. He lay half on his side with his cheek against the rough carpet as he gasped for breath. He heard the click of a cigarette lighter and smelled smoke and then Moira walked slowly around the couch. He saw for the first time the high-heeled shoes she wore. Her thick legs rose over him. He wanted to get up but he was too weak.

"And how's your ass, Father?" she asked.

He couldn't answer.

"Do you remember us now then, Father?" Colleen said. "I hope we managed to jog your memory. I wouldn't like to think you didn't understand why we had to come."

Father Doyle closed his eyes. Aware of his nakedness he cupped his hands between his legs.

"Everyone did it in those days. It wasn't just me. The cane was used to maintain discipline," he whispered. "Everyone used it. All the priests."

"But not everyone did it to us, Father," Moira said.

"Not everyone did those other things," Colleen added from nearby.

"We're Donnelly's," Moira told him. The heel of her shoe pressed into his chest as she used her foot to move him over on his back. She looked huge and formidable as he lay wide eyed beneath her. "You took advantage of us, Father."

Moira took a step closer and he instinctively drew up his knees. She stood over him with one high-heeled shoe either side of his head. Her thick legs rose into the shadows beneath her short skirt. Father Doyle had a clear view of the big, white panties she wore.

She took a long drag on her cigarette then passed it to Colleen.

"Did you ever see on TV about those pearl fishermen, Father? I'm sure I don't know how they can hold their breath that long."

Father Doyle cried out. He tried to move but it was too late.

Moira went into a squat above him and a moment later his cheeks were squeezed between her fat thighs as his face was buried between her legs. He felt her heavy weight on his chest as she placed her hands there to support herself. He tried to move but he was helpless. He flailed his arms and kicked his legs. His nose was between her big, soft ass cheeks and she began to grind her pussy in his face.

He couldn't breath or see as Moira's considerable weight settled on his face. His heart began to race. He began to panic and then she raised herself a little, just long enough for him to snatch a gasp of air before she lowered herself again.

Father Doyle began to make urgent, muffled sounds. He tried to move his head and he managed to draw a ragged breath. He was forced to breath the damp, musky smell of her pussy but the more he tried to move the more Moira relentlessly ground herself against his face. She raised herself briefly and he found himself staring at the wide, soft spread of her ass cheeks before she lowered herself again.

He sensed an urgent, deliberate rhythm to her movements and she began to move faster and more violently.

There was nothing he could do. Moira shuddered. Her hips jerked and a moment later she raised herself enough to let him breath.

Father Doyle gasped and breathed lungfuls or close, pussy smelling air.

He felt the vice like grip on his head relax a little but Moira's pussy was still only inches from his face.

"Forgive me, Father," she panted above him. "But I seriously need to pee."

Nothing happened for a moment and then he saw a shadow appear on her panties, a dark stain that quickly spread. Her piss began to trickle in rivulets down her fat thighs. It was hot against his face where it touched him. Moira's smell was everywhere and then she lowered herself again and ground her sopping wet panties against his face.

When she got off him he lay spluttering helpless on the floor. His face was wet with her piss. It took him a second or two to realise that Colleen was vigorously masturbating him again.

"Come on, Father, you can do it." Her voice was cold and emotionless.

He tried to raise his head but he couldn't, he didn't have the energy. A moment later his cock spasmed weakly as he ejaculated a second time. A groan escaped his lips and he covered his face with his hands as Colleen expertly milked him of every last drop of semen.

"No more. Please, no more," he whispered hoarsely.

He gathered his strength and managed to lift his head. Colleen stood looking down at him and smoking a cigarette. His cock lay limp against his thigh. There was fresh semen in his pubic hair.

Father Doyle lowered his head to the floor and closed his eyes. He didn't open them when he felt Colleen briskly removing his trousers and briefs from where they'd fallen around his ankles. His narrow chest rose and fell.

"You both liked it," he whispered, still fighting to catch his breath. "Back then. Sluts, the pair of you. I saw it in your eyes every time you were sent to me. Eighteen years old, but not innocent. Not as naive as you claim. Sluts. Both of you.."

He opened his eyes and saw Moira close the curtains. She came around the couch with a cigarette in her mouth. She'd taken off her skirt and panties but she still wore her white blouse. Her stomach swelled beneath it. The wide arrowhead shape of her dark pubic hair pointed the way to her pussy.

Her fat thighs shook as she came closer and Father Doyle made an effort to scramble away as he saw her snatch his belt from the floor.

"You can't deny it!" he shouted. He found he didn't have the strength to get away.

"You do say such terrible things, Father. Colleen and I were always perfectly well behaved young ladies."

Ash dropped from her cigarette as she spoke. She narrowed her eyes as she looked down at him and slipped the end of the belt through the buckle to make a noose.

"Now here's a different sort of dog collar for you to wear."

Father Doyle crawled on his hands and knees as Moira led him around the couch.

"I want you to pray for me, Father," Colleen's voice carried down to him. "I want you to pray real good."

Colleen was naked. Her pale, heavy breasts sagged as she reclined on the couch with one foot on the floor and the other on the cushions. Her legs were spread obscenely wide and her fat pussy glistened with her own dribbled juices.

Her whole body shook as she moved herself closer to the edge of the couch.

"I had a shave just for you, Father," she said. She passed a hand over her pussy. "Come and give Colleen a nice, big kiss."

Father Doyle shook his head but Moira used the belt to drag him closer to the couch.

"We should make him say grace," Moira said. She reached down and fastened her fingers in his silver hair. "For what you are about to receive..."

Colleen smiled unpleasantly. She reached for the tray where the tea cups still stood and took a biscuit.

"Plenty of tongue now, Father," she told him.

"Close your eyes and think of Britney," Moira said.

Colleen's pussy gaped before him as she forced him closer. He could smell her hot aroma and see the glistening folds of pink skin between her swollen lips.

He tried to turn aside but Moira gripped his hair and forced his head between Colleen's thighs. She moved his head, forcing him to turn his face from side to side, and smearing her copious juices all over his skin.

"Tongue, Father, or I'll sit on your face again," she warned him.

Colleen was eating the biscuit and she reached down with her other hand and spread herself open for him. She began to move her hips, pumping them lasciviously, as Father Doyle tentatively used his tongue. His face was now slick with her juices. He placed a supporting hand on each fat thigh as Moira continued to hold his face between Colleen's legs. Her taste flooded his mouth as he began to thrust his tongue deeper between her lips.

Colleen leaned back as Moira passed her the belt. She brushed biscuit crumbs from her breasts as she gathered the belt around her fist and pulled Father Doyle closer. She opened her legs still wider and began to moan and thrust her hips with increasing urgency.

Father Doyle's nose was pressed against Colleen's fleshy, shaven mound. His tongue was beginning to ache and he gasped for breath. He used the tip of his tongue inexpertly and began to lap deep between her fleshy lips. Colleen frequently jerked the belt and urged him on.

"Come on, Father." She sounded frustrated. She thrust her hips. He felt her hand seize his hair and then she pushed him away impatiently.

She sat up and plunged a finger between her legs and began to rub frantically. She used her other hand to hold her lips apart. Her finger made wet, obscene noises. Her breasts swayed over her swollen stomach. She closed her eyes and bared her teeth and began to make deep, animal groans in her throat.

Father Doyle was still on his hands and knees when Colleen threw back her head. Her cries grew louder and she squirted in his face. She gasped again and continued to finger herself and a second later she squirted again. It was longer this time, more powerful, a jet that became a spray.

Now he felt Moira's hand in his hair again. He cried out in pain as she forced him to look up at her.

She'd taken off her blouse and her white lace bra barely contained her huge, heavy breasts.

"Come here, Father."

She knelt down before him and used her blouse to wipe his face before she pushed him down on his back. She reached behind and unsnapped her bra and her breasts dropped and swayed as she discarded it.

"They're bigger now, see?" She moved her shoulders and her breasts swung ponderously from side to side.

She smiled coldly as she leaned over him and dragged them over his face then used her hands to hold them together and smother him between them.

Father Doyle couldn't breath or move. All he could feel was the soft, engulfing flesh of her breasts. He groaned suddenly as he felt a hand on his cock. Moira raised herself and he saw Colleen trying to work his slowly stiffening cock to an erection. It flopped limply as she manipulated it.

"No more. I can't," he gasped. "I can't."

Moira dragged her breasts across his face once more and then she moved away. She leaned over his cock and lowered her head and he felt himself taken into her mouth. She began to bob her head vigorously and worked her lips eagerly around his painfully swelling head. Her big ass swayed beside him. He could see her pussy, the wet hair stuck to her lips.

"I knew you could do it, Father," Colleen said. She was still holding the base of his cock and now Moira raised her head.

Colleen let a white stream of saliva from her lips. It dribbled over his aching head and then she went down on him. She took him all the way inside her mouth. He felt her lips around the base of his cock.

Moira was caressing his balls and Colleen was making deep, hungry noises in her throat. He felt Moira raise his right leg. There was nothing he could do when Colleen slowly came off his now hard and sore cock and seized his right leg. His chest rose and fell weakly as both women raised his legs and opened them to expose his asshole.

They both began to spank him and he moved his head helplessly from side to side.

Father Doyle cried out as he felt a finger tip probe his asshole. They stopped spanking him. He couldn't move. His cock throbbed painfully. Colleen and Moira gloated at his discomfort.

"Sluts," he whispered. "Both of you. You wanted, you wanted it.."

He drew a deep shuddering breath and held it as one of them slipped their finger deeply and smoothly into his asshole. His cock spasmed feebly but he had nothing left to ejaculate. He closed his eyes and a tear trickled over his cheek as the stiff finger slipped smoothly in and out of his asshole.

One of them was stroking his cock again, slowly masturbating him. It ached. There was nothing left. He was drained.

Colleen and Moira stood up and lit cigarettes.

"So, do you remember us now then, Father?" Colleen asked.

She looked down at him and Moira came to stand beside her. They looked huge and pale in the gloomy room. The fire had died down to embers.

"And you know why we had to come?" Moira said.

It was all he could do to wearily nod his head.

The sisters sat side by side on the couch. They were still naked. They used Father Doyle as a foot rest. Moira absently used her foot to play with his shrunken cock. Both of them smoked one cigarette after another and flicked the ash on the floor.

"It's not a bad place you have here, Father," Moira said. She stroked his cock with her foot and scratched her left breast. "It's better than our place, that's for sure."

Colleen yawned. "We should stay the night. We could dress the Father as a schoolgirl."

They smiled at each other.

"What do you say to that, Father?" she asked him.