by Roger Quine
She wondered what would happen if she told the truth: She’d had sex with two men and a woman, none of whom she liked or wanted to have sex with, then screwed the woman with a strap-on dildo. Oh, yes, and she’d committed the sin of self-abuse half a dozen times as well, and watched while someone else did it.
‘I have committed the sin of self-abuse several times, and I have lusted... after a woman.’ She glanced pointedly across at Beverley and saw her eyes widen. Surprise, or excitement? The look on the vicar’s face was unmistakable. He devoured Susie with his eyes, and she could tell he was envisaging a situation involving her, and him, and at least one other from the female ranks of his devoted congregation. Perhaps he’d waited all his life for this moment; perhaps it was pursuit of this ideal that drove him to take such desperate risks.
Realising she’d drifted off while writing another paragraph in her story, Susie brought her mind back to reality, in which the vicar had regained control of his voice and was leading his flock towards the next, and most interesting, part of the evening.
‘We are all evil; we have all sinned. We share each other’s sin, we share each other’s pain and we share each other’s reward,’ he intoned. ‘Stephanie, your sins are the greatest and so your penance must also be the greatest. I think it best if you and I attend to that later.’ Beverley’s face clouded with very unchristian anger, and Stephanie’s proud and triumphant smile was hardly penitent. ‘But first you must assist me with these two sinners,’ he went on. ‘You know what to do.’
Stephanie rose swiftly, bustling about in the background as the vicar turned back to face Susie, with that bulge in his trousers almost touching the end of her nose. He placed his hand flat on top of her head and let it slide over her forehead and eyes.
‘Close your eyes, my dear, and think of your sins. Think of the sin that gave you the most pleasure.’ As Susie remembered the incredible sensations of thrusting into Liz while Hugh thrust into her, she felt light hands at the back of her neck. Stephanie undid the clasp of Susie’s dress, eased the zip down the back in one fluid movement, and then help it down, over her breasts, her hips, and down to a crumpled pool around her knees, leaving her kneeling before the vicar wearing only white bra and panties.
‘Now say, “I repent for my sins,”‘ commanded the vicar, slightly breathless, and as she said the words Susie felt a movement in the air behind her and a stinging slap as the flat of Stephanie’s hand landed across her bottom. She yelped, and the vicar said, ‘Repeat it again, three times, after me,’ and each time her words were accompanied by another powerful slap from Stephanie.
‘Now describe your sins,’ commanded the vicar.
Susie felt the telltale warmth in her knickers as she said, ‘I touched myself,’ and Stephanie slapped her across the bottom once more.
‘Where?’ asked the vicar predictably.
‘Here.’ She placed one hand over her mound and Stephanie slapped her again.
‘Do it now,’ said the vicar, his tones no longer firm, but still commanding, ‘and feel the pain of repentance that you might be cleansed.’
Susie let her hand drift between her legs and begin caressing the damp material. And as she stroked herself Stephanie slapped her bottom steadily, and the vicar looked down at the slim fingers pressing up into the white gusset. He unzipped his trousers and fed his erection between Susie’s slightly parted lips, stretching them wider until her nose nestled in his trousers and her cheeks hollowed, her mouth crammed full.
As Susie instinctively sucked on the pulsing column her fingers searched around the elastic of her knickers and wormed their way into her hot wetness, Stephanie slapped steadily away. Susie’s orgasm was almost silent because her mouth was so full, but there was no mistaking the way her body shuddered, and then the motions subsided and stopped.
The vicar stood away from her, pulling his glistening erection from her mouth, letting it sway heavily in front of her hooded eyes.
Beside her Beverley was staring wide-eyed, the outline of her nipples clear through her jumper, one hand knotted into a fist just above her groin, which she had clearly just stopped clutching.
The vicar moved to her and began the same routine, chanting about repentance and cleansing. Beverley repeated his words, her eyes never leaving the gnarled cock waving under her nose.
Stephanie was behind Beverley now, unbuttoning the skirt, lowering the zip, letting it fall to the floor around Beverley’s knees. Her thighs were lithe and shapely. The vicar gave a sharp intake of breath and Susie realised why; she wore no knickers, but knelt there in stockings and short-sleeved polo-neck, all innocent eroticism.
Innocent? Her hand was already reaching up, grasping the vicar’s waiting erection still wet from Susie’s artful ministrations. Without prompting Beverley opened her mouth and leaned forward, swallowing the throbbing penis entirely.
‘Glugggmmm,’ she mumbled around the column of flesh as the flat of Stephanie’s palm landed across her bottom, making it quiver enticingly.
‘You have committed the sin of self-abuse,’ croaked the vicar as Beverley sucked energetically. ‘Revisit your sin now and show us your repentance is cleansed away in pain - ’
Before he could finish the sentence Beverley touched between her legs, wrist moving rapidly back and forth as she pleasured herself and the vicar in perfect harmony. At once Stephanie lashed out with her hand across both buttocks, making Beverley squeal and flinch, a movement she seemed to enjoy with her fingers inside herself. And it appeared to create some form of ecstasy for the vicar, too, judging by the look on his face.
Their rhythmic dance grew faster; each time Stephanie slapped Beverley’s bottom it made her head shunt on the vicar’s shaft and her hips jerk forward, pushing her body down onto her own fingers. Quicker and quicker they went, Beverley’s knees slowly edging further apart on the carpet. Her mouth slurped until suddenly the vicar gave a great shout and grabbed Beverley by the hair, forcing himself to the back of her throat as he came, and thick trails of viscous fluid dribbled from the corners of Beverley’s stretched lips and onto her chin.
Gradually his ardour subsided, and he withdrew and tucked his shrivelling penis back into his neat black trousers. And Beverley’s frantic hand movements slowed to a halt as she realised it was too late.
‘Ah-hem,’ said the vicar, his clothes and composure restored to normality as he watched Beverley and Susie pull their dress and skirt on respectively. ‘I think that will be all for tonight. I think it all went splendidly. But I’m afraid we neglected you this evening, did we not, Stephanie? I think perhaps you should call round tomorrow, so we can make sure your spiritual needs aren’t overlooked.’
She brightened, but not much, glared at Beverley, still wide-eyed and dreamy with unsatisfied need, and flounced out.
Susie and Beverley left almost immediately after her. Susie could have stayed and got the vicar talking, but she told herself she didn’t want to arouse his suspicions, though the truth was rather different and had more to do with the compelling eroticism of Beverley’s self-induced arousal, coupled with the knowledge that it would fade quite soon - unless someone helped her find the release she needed.
‘Coffee?’ she asked as they neared her front gate, thinking of that tight little bottom and those long slim thighs. And the neatly trimmed bush of light brown curls. And what was beneath it, pink and glistening.
‘Did you really lust after another woman?’ Beverley must have read her mind and Susie felt a little thrill of excitement as erotic possibility became a certainty.
As soon as the front door shut behind them she turned to Beverley and they pressed eagerly together, Beverley’s hands settling around Susie’s breasts as they kissed.
Susie cupped Beverley’s bottom, finding it neat and firm. She could feel Beverley’s groin rubbing against her own as her hand went behind Beverley’s back, worked the zip
and let the skirt drop, feeling warm skin, still blazing from the spanking inflicted by Stephanie. As Beverley’s tongue wormed into her mouth Susie pushed her fingers between the two halves of that luscious bottom, lower and deeper until she felt soft, yielding flesh. Beverley’s legs moved apart and Susie slipped one finger up into the wetness of her tight little pussy.
‘Ohhh,’ mumbled Beverley into her mouth as her own hand reached beneath Susie’s skirt and clamped over her mound, fingers pushing easily under the edge of her soaking knickers and inside a body that was wet and open for her. ‘I’ve been dying to get hold of your delicious body since I first saw you this evening.’
Susie sighed her approval and blissfully closed her eyes, leaning back against the wall, legs apart and holding her skirt up around her waist so Beverley could kneel and poke that energetic tongue right where it was needed most.
Chapter Eight
Susie decided to follow Raoul again - or at least, she was outside the house in Richmond at the same time as before, to see if his journey was repeated. And this time she was dressed for the occasion in a black cocktail dress, so that if and when the Mercedes pulled up outside the club in the West End she’d be ready to follow him inside - assuming it wasn’t a members only club.
The Mercedes did arrive and the journey was repeated. Climbing the steps outside the club she was thankfully unchallenged by the doorman, who simply held the door for her and murmured, ‘Good evening.’
Trying to appear nonchalant, she went up the stairs to a first-floor bar; a long room, half of it sectioned off by low wooden barriers where roulette wheels rattled and playing cards clicked and the sensual undercurrent of money changing hands filled the air.
She saw him at once: Raoul sat at a roulette table, so Susie took a stool at the bar, watching as he bet heavily, the stacks of black and gold-starred chips by his elbow diminishing rapidly as the croupier raked the table time and again.
Raoul looked on impassively as the pile beside him was replaced, only to be diminished in the same way. While she sat, sipping her drink and watching, Susie was approached by several men, but she brushed them tactfully aside. Then, as Raoul accepted delivery of a third stack of gambling chips and there was no one near her at the bar, Susie ordered another drink.
‘Who’s he then?’ she asked casually, as one might if witnessing someone losing that much money.
‘Him with the ponytail?’ responded the barman, efficiently polishing a glass with a crisp white cloth. ‘He’s here every night, more or less. Plays on the same table; usually loses a packet. But then he can afford it, can’t he?’
‘Can he?’ asked Susie.
‘Have you seen how much he’s lost tonight? Five hundred pound chips. Ten grand every time he gets another stack.’
She opened her purse and selected a twenty-pound note, trying to conceal her shock. ‘What does he do?’ she asked, placing the note on the bar but keeping her hand on it.
‘There’s only two things you can do to have money like that,’ retorted the barman, deftly plucking the note from her fingers. ‘And since he obviously isn’t an Arab prince with his own oil well, he must be doing the other thing, mustn’t he?’ Susie raised a questioning eyebrow. ‘He’s a supplier.’
‘Of what?’ she asked, with a pretty good idea of the answer.
‘What do you want?’ Susie looked dumb, obliging him to explain. ‘Anything. Stuff to make you enjoy life, and people to enjoy it with.’
‘Drugs and girls, you mean?’
He shrugged, putting the sparkling glass on a shelf behind the bar and selecting another. ‘Girls. Men. Films. Anything. If you’ve got the money, he can make it happen.’
Just then Susie saw Raoul stand up from the table and move away, and she thought it was time to take a trip to the ladies’ in case he came to the bar. When she emerged Raoul was sitting in a corner, head bowed in earnest conversation with a group of four men, swarthy Middle Eastern types. She couldn’t decide if they were suppliers, which was very possible, or customers, which was very probable. Doubtless they could afford Raoul’s services, she thought, and doubtless they’d be more than interested in England’s fair-skinned females. She wondered where he kept them. Not in Richmond, so he probably owned at least another property somewhere else. Quite clearly he was more than just a simple religious freak and equally clearly he was using the Believers as a front for something very sinister. Sophie had to be rescued from his clutches at once. Frightened for her sister’s safety, Susie promised herself she would stop at nothing to free her.
She watched for a while longer but it was late, after two, and she suspected she wasn’t going to learn much more sitting there. And the longer she stayed the greater the chance he’d catch sight of her. No, it was time to leave.
The next morning she went straight to see the editor, and told him what she’d learned about Raoul. Few things excite tabloid editors more than sex scandals involving religious leaders, and this one had all the makings of a classic.
‘Religious loonies being used as drug dealers, prostitutes and rent-boys,’ he boomed heartily, almost rubbing his hands with glee. As soon as Susie had told him her discoveries he’d summoned a full editorial conference, and now he was briefing his troops. ‘By the sound of it he’s using his New Believers bollocks as a front and as a way of recruiting for the porno business, and he’s into prostitution and drugs.’
It was the scenario Susie had arrived at herself, though she’d tried not to think about it too much. Having it spelt out like this was deeply disturbing, but having everyone working on it was comforting as the paper poured resources into what was planned as a major front-page splash, with police alerted and involved on Saturday, so they could include the arrest in the story.
Susie’s old friend the handbag video camera was loaded with batteries and tape, ready for her return appointment in Richmond. There would be a car outside with a photographer and another journalist to get the pictures of her entering and leaving the building, and in case she needed help, though there was no way of summoning assistance except by breaking a window and shouting ‘Help!’ very loudly.
Soon after eight they dropped her on the corner of the road after making sure the camera was running. ‘There’s two hours of tape, so that should be more than enough,’ said Paul the photographer, as he patted her on the shoulder. ‘Good luck.’
Suddenly she was alone, every footstep taking her closer to Raoul. ‘Don’t say or do anything that might give him the idea that you know anything about the other stuff,’ the editor had cautioned. ‘Seems he’s a nasty piece of work under his smooth exterior, and there’s an awful lot of money at stake, so don’t give yourself away. Just let him think you believe he’s genuine with all the religious mumbo-jumbo. Or let him think you aren’t convinced but just want to find your sister. But don’t let on about the rest of it. No matter what else you do. Okay?’
Now she was walking up the crunchy drive to the imposing front door, feeling sick with not just the usual investigative journalistic fears of being caught, but the knowledge that this mission was also to find - and save - her sister. She was afraid, too, because the real Raoul was an unknown and possibly dangerous quantity. And because she was there especially to take some kind of test. The consequences of failure were unthinkable, but as long as Raoul thought all she wanted was her sister then the test was unlikely to be too daunting.
The same elderly man opened the door and gestured for her to step inside and follow him. He ushered her into the same large sparsely furnished room as before.
She wore a virginal white dress, quite short, and knew that her firm breasts filled it with rounded promise, her nipples outlined in the smooth surface. Under it she wore only the tiniest white knickers, cut high over her hips, with a G-string back. She stood in front of Raoul, acutely conscious of his gaze as he looked into her eyes, and then blatantly at her breasts.
Susie already knew that despite his religious pretensions he was as lecherous as any man, and she had a good idea of the impact her innocently sexy appearance would have on him. After a while he nodded, as if something he long suspected had just been confirmed.
‘I have learned what your test will be.’ He spoke with his usual ease, his slightly accented tones as soothing as ever.
‘May I ask what?’ she said.
‘I will tell you at the right time.’ She hadn’t expected much else. ‘Meanwhile, you have some time, perhaps two hours, in which to prepare yourself, to cleanse your mind and attain a state of purity, so you may come to us humbled.’
Susie was sick of hearing this pseudo-religious waffle when what people really wanted was to whip or spank and screw her. But, unfortunately, there was definitely something about Raoul. Even though she had every reason to believe him to be a thoroughly unpleasant person; a criminal who exploited and profited from human frailty - as he’d done with Sophie, she had to keep reminding herself - the man had charisma. It started with an inner serenity, a certainty about himself that induced an almost hypnotic effect when he spoke.
Like now. As he took her gently by the arm and led her through a side door into another, smaller room, she felt the electricity of his touch and the magnetism of his proximity. The man had presence, that was for sure, tempting her to dismiss what she had learned of his activities as mere hearsay, and accept him at face value, as a sincere and compassionate religious person with slightly unusual convictions. She struggled to gather her professional composure, telling herself she should not let him influence her in any way, but just concentrate on securing the other kind of conviction, and setting Sophie free.
There were cushions scattered around the floor but no other furniture. ‘Please be comfortable,’ he said, ‘and prepare yourself in whatever way is right for you.’ He released her arm and withdrew, closing the door after him.
