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They call me Horse and I’m the caretaker here at the Vicar’s big house, since I left the army anyway. The Reverend Michael chose me himself, from quite a few lads. I’m good with tools and my hands but he didn’t seem to care. He licked his lips and walked round me. Half expected him to pat my flank and feed me sugarlumps. “You are so disarmingly innocent. Like a child in a man’s body!” He said. I am simple. But I ain’t stupid.
The Rev’s wife, Ruth, is much younger than her husband. My age, with chestnut curls and sky for eyes and she’s got those curves on her, too. Rev don’t seem to care about her neither. Not much care between them at all in fact. From what I can see – from my caretaker’s cottage – they can easily spend a day in the house wandering from room to room, window to window and never see each other at all.
She’s at her bedroom window right now. Taking another of her fevers. All lonesome, wrapped in a shawl and staring out at me while I pull out the rotten stump of an old tree. It’s a very tough job, but the old wood has to go. On the floor below her the Rev in his study, pen to his lips, and watching me too. It tickles me that neither of them know what the other is doing.
Ruth takes a fever every now and then. Today I’m worried, today her cheeks are pink as berries, and her eyes droop as if she might faint. I heave at my stump and sweat stings my eyes but I have them half on her, should she need my help. I push and pull, push and pull.
She trembles and presses one hand to the glass. Her mouth opens. Her eyes screw shut. She seems to be struggling with something too, below the window frame, below her waist. The Rev is lost in his thinking.
I stop what I am doing and look up at her and our eyes meet. She’s quite out of breath but I think this calms her a bit and I’m certain that, before she closes the curtains, she smiles. The Rev waves me back to work.
I don’t like to be idle, so when I’m not caretaking I’m baking. Every day I bake bread and , once the reverend has left, I take it to the kitchen door. Ruth makes coffee and we share breakfast. We don’t talk much. But there is much comfort with that, and much ease between us. Once she said to me. “You’re a fine man, Horse.”
“And you are a very fine woman, Ruth.” I said.
She patted my knee. “Well then, the good reverend has good taste, after all” she said. That day she took a fever, too, now I think on it.
Today the Reverend is away. Ruth has a friend to stay, Lizzie. They grew up together in the Reverend’s orphanage and when the Rev stole Ruth for himself, Lizzie stayed on to run the place. Seems they don’t get to see each other much so they are in high spirits, squawking with laughter in the garden. They tease me but I don’t mind.
“Horse! Come!” More laughter. Why is this funny? “Who would you say weighs the most?”
“Oh don’t be shy, tell us.”
What else can I do? I pick the minxes up, one under each arm, and they kick and wriggle and squeal. Lizzie is much heavier but they don’t really seem bothered in the answer after all.
They spend the rest of the afternoon calling me ‘noble steed’ and riding me round the gardens. Ruth grips her legs tight about my waist. Her dress is so thin I can canlı bahis şirketleri feel the heat in her thighs and the rub of her on my back. She huffs and puffs in my ear as if it’s her doing the hefting!
I drop her by Lizzie, sitting on the thick wall to the fountain, but she climbs over the edge and sits in the water with a huge sing-song sigh. “That’s better” she says and Lizzie joins her, paddling at first but they soon start splashing. I plod off to get towels.
They’re shivering when I get back and I avert my eye from stiff nipples as I wrap each one up. Lizzie, with a wriggle and four splats, makes a pile of her clothes. She’s in the buff under her towel and thinks this is hilarious. I sense I’m being teased again but Ruth goes one further. Two splats – dress and panties – and she leans into me. Butting her forehead on my chest. “Dry me” she says.
I rub her shoulders and back, but she twists in my arms until I’m rubbing the towel in fluffy circles on her breasts and stomach. Her head lolls.
“Ruth…” Says Lizzie, spreading her clothes flat on the hot stone. Ruth leans her bottom against my hips and squirms. I am powerfully hard.
“You’re making me wetter,” she whispers. Just to me. Not even teasing.
“Then I’m no help.” I say and leave her be. I pick up her wet clothes and lay them out in the sun. Lizzie takes Ruth’s hand and they teeter their way across the gravel back into the house.
I pick up Ruth’s panties and put them in my pocket. I don’t know why. Never stolen anything. Don’t even know what I’ll do with them.
A little while later, I have a ladder up on the house to get to the roof. When I climb past Ruth’s open window – her curtains are closed – I am stopped by the sound of a struggle inside, then a muffled scream. Worried, I listen hard, but then Ruth giggles so I carry on my way.
Maybe an hour on, I climb down past the same window and a cheeky breeze catches the curtain. Inside the women are sleeping, naked, curled head-to-toe like kittens.
The Reverend has arrived home early and he brings arguments with him. He must have walked in on the girls, because his high-pitched voice screeches out of Ruth’s window. “It is unholy! UNHOLY!”
I rush up to the room with the girl’s clothes, guessing Lizzie will want to get out quick. The girls seem relieved to see me, cowering on the bed under a sheet. I put a calming hand on the Rev’s shoulders. He lets me lead him away. He is trembling and hot even through his thick cassock. He mutters to me all the way down to his study. “It is unholy, Horse, women together, men together, it is not what the good Lord designed.”
I don’t agree, of course. Each to their own. But I am sad.
A few minutes later, Lizzie bowls out of the house, all but running. I offer her a lift back to town. She shakes her head and pats my cheek. “You’re a good man, Horse. You need to take the initiative with Ruth, make your move. God knows she can’t. Don’t let her stay with that sick old pervert.”
This seems harsh, to me. “He’s gay, for sure,” I say, “Don’t know if that’s makes him a-“
“Is that what you think? Ruth hasn’t told you?” She frowns at me. “Horse, it isn’t men or women he likes. Innocence is his thing. Children. Why canlı kaçak iddaa do you think I’ve stayed at the orphanage? We know what he’s like.” She marches off, then, fists clenched. “Make a move!” she shouts.
Then I remember what got me the job, and I feel sick.
With the excuse of lighting the fire in the Rev’s study, I sneak in and I find Ruth sitting opposite his great oak desk, head drooped and palms flat on her thighs. She is wearing the dress I left for her, the one from earlier. It’s still a little wet at the hem and this is like a happy memory. The Rev is standing over her, he ignores me as I fiddle with the grate.
“I am disappointed in you Ruth. I thought you had left your perversions behind. Horse!” he says and I fair near jump out my skin. “You know there is a blessed sacrament of my own devising. Part communion. Part exorcism.” He fiddles with a few of the many buttons running down his cassock. The ones at his hips. “Ruth, prepare to receive the Holy Seed.” Ruth slips from the chair onto her knees. “Horse, get us more wood for the fire, would you?”
I stand up and I got my fists ready, but Ruth catches my eye and shakes her head, no more than a twitch. So I do as I’m told. Out on the terrace, I chop the withered old stump I pulled out the ground. Eyes locked with the rev, timing my strokes to the nod of Ruth’s head and then to her husband’s cries.
I spend near all night in the bath trying to scrub the sight from me, but I just can’t get clean of it. I don’t even bake, so at breakfast, I got no excuse to visit Ruth but I am staring at the horizon willing the sun to come up anyway. The first minute of morning, I head to the big house.
The Reverend catches me before I get there. “Ah, Horse. Glad I caught you.” Like we were at a coffee morning. “I need your help. Or rather we do. Ruth and I. It’s a delicate matter. About last night.”
I was expecting a ‘keep your mouth shut’. This is what I got:
“Thing is, young man. I can only do so much with my blessed sacrament. And it’s clearly having no effect; the girl is still possessed with this lustful, twisted, demon. This love of women. I need a man’s help.” He pats my chest, “She needs a man’s help. I am charging you with her conversion. I need you to violate her. Hard.” He slaps his bony fist into his palm. “And keep violating her. No matter how much she cries stop. This is the demon talking. You keep digging. Deep into her soul. You never stop. Until-” he licks spittle from his lip-” Until she tells you not to stop. When she begs you not to stop. You do so immediately, is that clear? Then, and only then, is she… corrected.”
I stare. And I stare again. Then it hits me. It’s a tough job, but sometimes you just got to pull up the rotten old wood.
Ruth is waiting at the kitchen door. The room smells of coffee. “No bread this morning?” she says like it’s just the same old day. I have a lump in the throat something fierce. I can’t talk. My hands are shaking.
“Horse?” She says and her eyes well up huge.
“You ok?” I say.
“Are you?” she says.
“But you… with him… you…”
“Oh sweet love.” She makes me sit down. “There are worse things in the world than fellating my husband, as creepy as he canlı kaçak bahis likes to make it.”
“Lizzie told me, about the orphanage. He was… he is a monster” I say.
She presses her lips. “He is. Lizzie, bless her, she never lets him near the kids. I do what I can. Curbing his… appetites. Between us we keep them safe. The church won’t replace him till he’s dead.”
His face fills me for a flash. My hands cracking his thin neck. I hope Ruth can’t see it in me. She sighs and I’m glad, she’s thinking about something else. No more monster.
“Poor Lizzie, ” she says, “I think she has feelings for me, and I can’t resist her once she-“
“I have feelings. For you.” It just comes out. The way it should.
“I know.” She smirks, eyes sly but glittering. “Why else would you steal my knickers?”
I feel like a stupid child. But she’s laughing. She knows I’m not weird. Or if I am it’s a weird she likes. She leans forward, pressing her hips to my chest. She strokes my head like a pet. I want to hold her, but the only place to put my hands is on her bum. So I do that. She bites her lip and rocks a little.
“You know, last night,” Again the whisper. I like the whisper, her voice husky and all for me. “When I… did my husband? All I wore was what you brought me. Just my dress, just air beneath it. My secret rebellion. Then imagined I was doing you. I could hear you chopping wood and I timed myself to match your chops and got so excited that when he came, so did I. Out of thin air. Just the thought of you.”
My hands are up her skirt, the soft skin of bare cheeks against my palms. Ruth trembles. She chuckles.
“I wonder if that’s a first?” she says, dipping her face to mine. “Both sides of a cocksuckle fantasising the same other person?”
But I don’t care, because I’m kissing her. Everywhere. In a blink she is on the kitchen table, throwing off her dress and yanking at my clothes and making a dumb ‘horse’ joke and I’m kissing and licking her toes. The backs of her knees, her stomach and bottom and breasts and neck and back down again. And I’m on the table too, and she’s splodging patches of wet on me and I don’t know which end of her makes them but, finally, I’m kissing between her spread thighs and she’s laughing and screeching obscenities they will definitely hear in church, half way through morning service. And I’m spinning as we top-to-tail, mouths loving each other up and dizzy at how, just yesterday, I had been sad because she did this with someone else and now she was in my mouth and I was in hers. She shudders and cums and wedges me hard at her bits, deep nasal moans on my manhood and it’s not enough and mouths find mouths again. Full circle.
Ruth is blushed all over, and this sturdy wooden table is the finest bed that any lovers ever had. My cock is poised at her opening, kissing it, as our tongues tease each other, too.
“He told me to violate you.” I say.
She frowns. Nods. “Sounds like him.” She rocks her hips up at me, stirs at my tip. “Maybe we should be more careful. He might come back?” She says.
I shake my head, slip a little inside. “He’s gone,” I say, then slide deep. Her eyes widen and ignite into a fever that makes me smile. I pull out, and push back in.
“Gone? Where?” She mutters.
“Hell,” I say, pulling and pushing. Deep. Hard.
“Oh…” Ruth’s eyes squeeze shut. She wraps her arms, tight, around my neck, and grips her legs about my waist. “Please,” she says, “Please… don’t… stop…”
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
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