by Ray Gordon
"Not this one. He's extremely good. Right, I'd better go."
"I miss your clitoris, Josie."
"And I miss your spunk. Bye, Will."
"Bye."
Replacing the receiver, Will rubbed his crotch as he pondered what used to be a lovely dining room. At least he now had two options. Burglars stripped the dining room or the French Polisher fucked up the job and Will had to dispose of the dresser. And the dining room table and chairs and... Fuck it. Wishing he'd not mentioned the fire, he pictured an insurance assessor examining the charcoal remains of the furniture and not only revealing the truth to Josie but taking Will to court for attempted fraud.
It was best to plod on with the original plan, he mused, deciding that the time had come to open the bar for business. Realizing that he couldn't advertise the bar, the illegal drinking session, he switched his computer on and designed a leaflet inviting the villagers to a meeting at his house that evening. Father Entercock is back in business preaching the word of the good Lord. Church meeting at the old presbytery at six pm. All are welcome. Josie would be happy if she came home to find a thriving business running in the dining room, Will was sure. With the money rolling in, he could buy her as many antiques as she wanted. Printing several copies of the leaflet, he finally left the house and walked into the village.
Telegraph poles, lamp posts, shop windows... Placing the leaflets anywhere and everywhere, he was sure that he'd get a good response. Once he'd evicted any old fuddy-duddies that turned up to the meeting, he'd open the bar and the cash would pour in. Pinning the last leaflet to a fence, he rubbed his hands together gleefully and decided to call in at the tea shop. Without Josie to look after him he wasn't eating properly. He'd need his strength if he was to maintain a massive erection and spend the next two months fucking.
"What's all this then?" PC Bridlington asked as he approached. "You have to have permission to stick leaflets around the village."
"But I have," Will smiled. "I have permission from God to spread the good word."
"That's as maybe, but you also need permission from..."
"I was on my way to see you, Constable. I thought I'd ask your permission."
"Oh, well..."
"After all, you are a highly respected member of the community and a fine and upstanding police officer."
"That's true. All right, permission granted."
"Thank you so much. You're too kind."
"Actually, I'm glad I bumped into you, Father."
"Oh?"
"I was going to come and see you. There's a little matter I wish to discuss with you. It concerns a novice nun."
"A novice nun?"
"Allegedly you went to the convent and... well... with a nun... in the laundry room... if you get my meaning..."
"I did no such thing, Constable. I'm a man of God."
"According to the Reverend Mother..."
"According to the Reverend Mother you're an ugly, lying bastard."
"I'm a..."
"That's what she's been telling people, Constable. I heard her myself only this morning. She told Father Kosher that you're an ugly lying bastard. I was shocked to the core, to say the least. And she reckons you're a bum bandit."
"She said that?"
"Indeed, she did. When I heard those dreadful words I was so shocked I passed out. My out completely passed. She's out to cause trouble, Constable. Rumour has it she's after your job."
"Is she now? I'll shall see about that. Thank you for the information, Father. I'll go to the convent now and have it out with her."
"You do that, Constable. Have it out right in front of her."
As the man walked away Will again rubbed his hands. There was nothing like lying and stirring up trouble, he reflected, heading for the tea shop. A lie here, a lie there, the odd malicious rumour... Thinking of lies, he again pondered Josie. Unless he came up with an infallible plan, there was going to be big trouble when she returned from Moscow. Suddenly coming up with an idea, he grinned. He knew where she was staying, the name of the hotel. One anonymous phone call to the KGB and she'd be arrested for spying. She'd eventually be released and Will could say that he sold the furniture and opened the bar to make enough money to pay off the KGB. There again, perhaps a damned good anal shagging would appease her, he mused as he entered the tea shop and sat at a table by the window. Or perhaps not.
"May I help you, Father?" a young waitress asked, her French maid outfit several sizes too small.
"You certainly may," Will grinned, eyeing her stockinged legs. "I'd like a cup of tea and lashings of your cream... I mean, a couple of cream cakes, please."
"Double whipped or quick squirt from the can?"
"A double whipping, please. There's nothing I enjoy more than a double whipping."
"I know exactly what you mean," she smiled, writing down his order.
"Really?"
"I'll be back in the wink of an eye."
She was another conquest, he reflected, watching her walk to the counter on her long and spreadable legs. She was no doubt knickerless with a shaved fanny, he mused. But he only had two months to shag several hundred girls. Or perhaps a lot longer. The KGB plan was brilliant. Josie would be thrown into a freezing cold, stenching, rotten, slime-ridden Siberian jail for months on end, giving Will the opportunity to fuck every girl in the village, and the surrounding villages. Josie wouldn't mind being thrown into jail, he was sure. She'd be fed, of sorts, and comfortable, more or less. She could always huddle up to the rats to keep warm at night. And if she became really hungry she could suck off the guards to procure extra rations.
"There we are," the waitress said, placing a tray on the table, her long black hair framing her pretty face. "One tea and two of our best cream cakes. Double whipped especially for you, Father."
"Thank you so much. I'm having a little soiree at my house this evening," Will said, eyeing her deep cleavage and firm breasts and wondering whether she'd appreciate a peal necklace. "I was just wondering whether you'd like to come?"
"I'd love to come," she beamed.
"I'm sure you would." Preferably in his mouth. "It's at the old presbytery. About seven o'clock, if that's OK?"
"I'll be there, Father. What shall I wear? I mean, is it formal?"
"Wear nothing."
"Wear nothing?" she gasped, tossing her hair over her shoulder.
"No, I mean... Wear nothing formal. Your French maid outfit will be fine."
"I can't come in my working clothes."
"Wear a skirt and blouse," Will suggested, his stiffening cock tenting his cassock as he imagined shaving the girl's pussy and spunking all over her soft vulval flesh.
"I shall look forward to it," she smiled, returning to the counter.
"So will I..."
Sipping his tea, Will gazed out of the window at the passers-by. A girl pushing a pram. She'd obviously been fucked rotten. An elderly lady waiting to cross the road. She'd been sixteen once, and fucked rotten. A middle-aged woman helping a child out of her car. She'd no doubt been fucked rotten. Everyone had been fucked, he mused, wondering how many women in the world were fucking at any given time. He took a bite of cream cake and looked at the door as two elderly women walked in.
"What do you think it means?" one asked as they stood at the counter, oblivious to Will.
"It means that he's back in business," the other replied.
"But he doesn't have a church."
"We'll have to go along to the meeting and find out what he's up to."
"Yes, we'll do that. I'm sure there's more to this than meets the eye."
"We'll go to the meeting and take a look round. Hopefully there'll be an opportunity to nose around his house."
Stuffing the last cream cake into his mouth, Will slipped out of the shop unnoticed and without paying. He was going to have to be careful. He'd lock the dining room door and keep the nosey cows out of the bar. There was nothing else to incriminate him in the house. Not unless a fridge stocked with cans of
lager would be deemed enough to label him a rampant alcoholic. Closing the front door, he made his preparations for the meeting. The dining room curtains closed, the door locked, the computer turned off, Josie's vibrator hidden... Nothing could go wrong, could it?
"Come in, Mrs Highmen," he invited the woman, opening the front door. "You're the first to arrive."
"I saw the notices," she said, stepping into the hall. "And I thought I'd come along to the meeting to see what it's all about."
To stick her nose in. "I'm pleased you did," he smiled, leaving the door open and showing her into the lounge.
"And here's Mrs Gallworthy," he said as another woman wandered into the room. "Please, both be seated and I'll put the kettle on for tea."
Leaving the women to chat, Will went into the kitchen and made a pot of tea. Others were arriving by the minute, and he hoped he'd have a good few punters in the bar once the meeting was over. He'd spread the word among the men, and the teenage girls, asking them to stay behind and have some real fun after the others had gone. Having supplied his guests with tea and biscuits Will stood with his back to the mantlepiece and clapped his hands. Sadly no girls had arrived, but there was plenty of time.
"Right," he said as silence fell, a dozen or more pairs of eyes gazing at him. "The Lord has spoketh unto me."
"Spoketh?" Mrs Highmen echoed. "You can't say, spoketh."
"Of course I can. He has spoketh in no uncertain terms. He saideth unto me, 'Will...' He calls me Will as we've known each other for a long time. 'Will,' He said, 'I chargeth you to spreadeth the wordeth.'"
"I wish you'd speak English," a woman with tits hanging down over the area of her fanny slit complained.
"Sorry," Will smiled. "I got carried away. I have called this meeting to inform the villagers of Cumsdale that there's an imposter in our midst. Father Kosher is a man of dubious reputation, a man who tempts girls to his church to commit vulgar sins of the flesh. He is a despicable..."
"How do you know this?" a man asked.
"He told me," Will replied.
"I find it difficult to believe that he..."
"Mr Backenside, I'm sure the people of Cumsdale would find it difficult to believe that your barber shop is a front for..."
"Er... Point taken," the man interrupted Will.
"As I was saying, Father Kosher is a man who lies, cheats, drinks, smokes, fornicates..."
"Sounds rather like you, Entercock," another man chipped in.
"Ah, Mr Snort. I'm pleased that you came along to out meeting."
"Why's that?"
"Because I now have the ideal opportunity to ask you about your village pharmacy."
"What about it?"
"It's a lovely shop," Mrs Highmen chipped in. "I get my heart pills there."
"No one's interested in your heart, Mrs Highmen," Will snapped. "Mr Snort, shall we tell the villagers about your drugs cabinet?" Will grinned.
"Er..."
"Or perhaps we should enlighten them as to your visitors who call at the back door when your shop is closed. And they're not after heart pills."
"No, no. Er... There's no need to..."
"Thank you, Mr Snort. Father Kosher is in league with the Reverend Mother. Between them they are hatching plans to corrupt this fine village of ours."
"That's not true," a woman protested.
"Mrs Bareham-Puttocks, please allow me to inform you that the Reverend Mother has a criminal record. I'm sure that I don't have to remind you that she was arrested six months ago."
"But, she was innocent."
"That, Mrs Bareham-Puttocks, is exactly my point."
"Is it?" she frowned.
"But, of course. The Reverend Mother is innocent in her guilt. She..."
"I don't know what you mean."
"Suffice to say that the Reverend Mother and Father Kosher fornicate in the woods."
"My God," a woman gasped. "That's a blatant lie. It's slander, it's..."
"Mrs Harper, in comparison with the things you have told me in the confession box, the Reverend Mother is as pure and virginal as the driven snow."
"The things said in the confessional are supposed to be private," another woman called out. "Besides, look at the way you drink and smoke and..."
"Mrs Baxter, would you like me to inform everyone of your relationship with..."
"No, please..." she gasped, holding her hand to her mouth.
"Is there anyone else without sin who'd like to cast a stone?" Will asked. "No? In that case, I shall continue. You are all sitting in my lounge. But this is no ordinary lounge. It is a church. This, ladies and gentlemen, is my church. I will be holding Sunday service at eleven am and I'll expect each and every one of you to be here. Anyone caught attending Father Kosher's church will be deemed to be in league with the Devil."
"Goodness me, you can't say that," Mrs Bareham-Puttocks gasped.
"I can and I have said it. We will send Father Kosher and the Reverend Mother to Coventry."
"My niece lives there," Mr Backenside said.
"How old is your niece?" Will asked.
"Eighteen, why?"
"Does she visit you very often?"
"Yes, she'll be down at the weekend."
"Good, good. I'll expect to see her here on Sunday."
"What's your interest in eighteen year old girls?" a man asked.
"Certainly nothing akin to your interest in the girl guide movement," Will returned.
"But, I'm a scout leader."
"Exactly."
After the meeting Will had a quiet word with several of the men. What with the waitress turning up, the bar open for business and Josie a few thousand miles away, the evening promised to hold more than enough milk and cunny. The two old biddies from the tea shop had tried to sneak around the house, but Will had intervened, suggesting that they were burglars searching for loot. Once they'd done a runner the other women followed suit, leaving Will to open his bar.
"This way, gentlemen," he beamed proudly, unlocking the dining room door and ushering his punters into the bar. "Welcome to the Devil's Den."
"I say, Entercock," Major Hardmoore said. "What a fine job you've done here."
"Why, thank you, Major. I take it that you'll become one of my valued regulars?"
"Indeed, I will. Er... Just one thing, old man. Are you planning on...? You know, like the old days."
"Are you talking about girls, Major?"
"Indeed I am. Fresh, firm, hot, wet, tight..."
"Have faith, Major. There will be girls in abundance once the bar is in full swing."
"Good, good. Well, I'd better have a large scotch to celebrate the opening night of the Devil's Den."
"But of course," Will smiled, moving behind the bar and pressing a glass up to an optic.
"What gave you the idea for the name of your bar?" the Major asked.
"From my mother's side of the family. She was a great Lucifernarian, you know."
"Ah, right. Sounds like a woman after my own heart."
"She'd have been after your... She is, Major. I mean, she was."
Serving drinks, taking money, Will felt at home behind the bar. The stench of beer filling his nostrils, tobacco smoke hanging in blue ribbons below Josie's recently-painted white ceiling... This was the life, Will mused happily. There weren't many punters, but this was only the first night and word hadn't yet got round the village. Girls, he mused, wondering where the waitress had got to. The Major was going to become a nice little earner. What with his liking for the female form and his willingness to hand over vast amounts of cash in return for sex, the money was going to be rolling in before long.
"A pint of bitter, please," a man in a suit said, leaning on the bar.
"Certainly," Will smiled, wondering who he was. "I didn't see you at the meeting."
"No, I couldn't make it. You have a nice bar, very nice."
"Thank you. There we are. One pint of my very best bitter."
"Been trading long?"
Trading?
Alarm bells started ringing. "Um, no," he replied. "This is the first night."
"Your prices are very good. I'm surprised you can sell beer at such a low price, what with income tax, VAT, duty and..."
"Non-profit making," Will said, wondering whether to punch the man's lights out.
"Non-profit making?" he returned mockingly, loosening his tie. "Then, why bother?"
"It's a service for my parishioners. My family have lived in the village of Cumsdale for three thousand years."
"Three thousand years?"
"Oh yes. We go back to pre-orgasmus times when lions and tigers roamed Cumsdale woods."
"You've traced your family tree back three thousand years?"
"And the rest. Do you know, my great grandfather to the power of six, used to hire out boats to Jesus. He had a boathouse on the shores of..."
"If this is true, then your family tree must be worth a fortune. There are no family records dating back that far."
"I was offered three million for it only the other day by a man who reckoned he was the sister of Jesus."
"Jesus's sister?"
"That's what he said. So, are you new to the village or just passing through?"
"I'm... just passing through. Actually, you might be able to help me. I'm looking for a woman, if you get my meaning."
"A woman?" Will echoed, feigning surprise. Who was this bloke?
"I hear you're a bit of a lad, might be able to recommend a girl."
"Good grief. I'm a man of the cloth, a man of God."
"Yes, but I've heard you have one or two little sidelines."
"The only sideline I have is bringing peace and happiness to others."
"I was in the pub earlier. I overheard talk of your... your work with girls. Your escapades, if you get my drift."
"Oh, that," Will whispered, looking about him. "Yes, I do a lot of things with girls," he said, leaning forward.
"I thought as much. Tell me about it."
"I very often take two or three to the woods."
"And I'll bet you have some fun."
"Indeed I do."
"What happens, exactly?"
"We play games."
"I don't suppose you'd allow me to come along?"
"But, of course." He was a spy. "I'm hoping to take a couple into the woods tomorrow morning. If you're still here, come and join us."
