my skirt down and sort of folded my blouse together. And Bishop McKenzie almost leapt out of his chair like he wanted to stop me.
‘I think I’ll take a chance on you, Ms. – Ellen,’ he said, smiling warmly. ‘I know how difficult it can be for a young person to get started in the labour force these days –’
‘Really?’
‘– and I think you’ll be a quick study.’
I gushed, ‘Thank you, Bishop McKenzie!’ jumping up and grabbing the man’s hand again.
He squeezed my hand with both of his. ‘You can call me Derek,’ he said, eyes sparkling and teeth shining. ‘We’re all pretty informal around here. You can start right away?’
‘E-mmediately!’
* * *
The work was pretty easy. It was a small office, just me and an older woman who was supposed to train me to take over from her when she retired in a couple of years. She answered the phone, opened the mail, typed up the correspondence and made entries in the accounting system. Most of the time I was with Derek. He always seemed to have some special job for me to do.
Like a day after I’d started, he got me to help him set things up for the Sunday service in the church attached to the office. He gave me a quick tour of the old building, guiding me along by the elbow. I gaped at the big stained-glass windows, the elaborate sculptures and woodwork.
‘Do you attend church on a regular basis, Ellen?’ he asked.
‘No, never,’ I replied.
He squeezed my elbow. ‘We’ll have to change that. It can be quite a moving, rewarding experience, you know.’
‘OK.’
He got me to polish the altar – a big old oak table with huge scrolled legs. And when I was bending across it to reach a corner spot, I felt him sort of brush up against me from the back with the crotch of his dark pants. I was wearing a short red skirt, my long legs sheathed in white nylon stockings. I guess I gave him a pretty good view of my bum bent over like that, and he seemed to appreciate it, judging by the bulge in his pants that I felt rubbing against me.
‘You’re – you’re a very … charming young woman, Ellen,’ he gulped, like his collar was choking him. He grasped my waist tighter, rubbed his crotch against my bum harder. His bulge pushed my red satin panties right into my butt crack. He looked so handsome and powerful in his black suit with the white collar, the stained-glass window lit up with the sun right behind him.
Maybe I was having a religious experience or whatever they call it, but I got real excited, too. I was wearing a sleeveless white blouse with no bra, and my nipples tightened with feeling, pressing into the silk. My pussy tingled and dampened in my panties. I sort of shifted my bum up and down, helping Derek rub his swelling erection against me. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, saint-like.
Then he rubbed even harder, really pumping me. And by the way he was gritting his teeth and shaking, it looked like he was already close to coming. I wasn’t at all sure there would be a second coming, so I had to get in on the first. I was hot and bothered myself.
I pushed away from the altar table, shoving Derek back. Then I spun around, ripped my blouse open and tore my skirt off, offering up my body to the man of God. It seemed the right thing to do.
Derek grinned ecstatically, taking up my large breasts in his soft, warm hands, staring at them with glazed eyes. He caressed my boobs, his brushing fingers and cupping palms making my cherry-red nipples explode outward with emotion. He captured my buzzing tit-tips between his slim fingers and rolled them. I flung my arms around his neck and excitedly kissed him, swirling my tongue inside his mouth.
For a minister, he really knew his way around a woman’s body. He pulled his bright pink tongue out of my mouth and brought it down to my breasts, spun it all around my jutting nipples.
‘Oooh, Father!’ I moaned, sliding my fingers into his hair and grabbing his head. ‘Reverend! I mean, Derek!’
He sucked one of my vibrating nipples into his warm, wet mouth and tugged on it with his plush lips while gripping and groping my boobs. Then he bounced his head over to my other breast at the urging of my fingernails in his scalp, and sucked on that needful nipple. I shivered with delight, chest flaming.
Derek’s hands dropped off my tits and down onto my panties. I helped him skin the dampened underwear down my legs, jumping in my red leather high heels to clear them from my feet. My boobs shuddered in his face, and he just had to suck on them some more before he dropped down to his knees at the ginger-furred altar in between my legs, and blessed my pussy with his lips.
‘Oh, Father!’ I yelped, grabbing his head again and splashing his face into my pussy.
I was so-o-o wet and juicy, super-sensitive. Derek clutched my mounded butt cheeks and dragged his tongue up and down my slit, licking my lower lips, my puffed-up clit.
It felt wonderful! I wetted his tongue even more with a hot squirt of my juices. He’d been the one about to come prematurely, but now it was me, inspired by the holy man’s unholy skill at lapping a girl’s snatch.
‘Faster, Father! Lick me harder, Father!’ I cried.
His fingernails bit into my butt cheeks, his head bobbing wildly in my hands as he lapped me with a wicked intensity, lifting me almost right up out of my heels and into heaven on the end of his tongue. I just couldn’t hold back. Not when he slapped at my buzzing button so knowingly.
‘Oh, God!’ I screamed (and it was never more appropriate). Orgasm exploded inside my pussy and crashed through my quivering body. I came and came, riding the man’s face to wicked satisfaction.
I flopped back on the altar table, exhausted and exhilarated. A not-so-virginal sacrifice to the god of lust.
* * *
Bishop McKenzie got reprimanded and transferred to a rural diocese. Because old Mrs. Land, my office mentor, had been watching us from the vestry, and reported what she’d seen to the higher-ups.
I got fired. But not before getting a nice settlement from the church. They were afraid I was going to sue them for sexual harassment or something. They were kind of sensitive about lawsuits, apparently.
* * *
I didn’t stay unemployed for long. A big high-profile, high-risk businessman hired me to work at his real estate office. He cared even less about my lack of job skills than Derek had.
Bob Brophy was into appearance, cosmetic and otherwise, with his blow-dried blond pompadour and face-lifted face, his manicured hands and immaculate tan, his fancy suits and ties. He was in his mid-fifties, I guess, and still very good-looking despite, or because of, all the plastic surgery and professional primping. He liked what he saw of me, too, what I added to his glamorous penthouse office on the ninetieth floor of his self-named building.
But he was very demanding.
‘Get my wife on the phone, Ellen!’ he barked at me my very first day on the job.
I set my nail file down on his gigantic desk, stood up and smoothed down the short, tight black leather skirt he’d bought me to go along with
