Thursday, 28 September 2017

EROTIC STORY: The Spanking Agency part 3.



3: Sister Catherine and the Cane.

"By Jove," thought Reginald Biggs to himself, "Mrs. Pew doesn't half have a backside on her and no mistake." He put on his best smile as the lady in question came up to him with her world-weary husband in tow. The poor sod. Fancy having to service an old battleaxe like that week in and week out. No wonder he looked like he'd seen better days. He was fifty going on seventy.

Reginald pressed his Bible to his chest and took her hand in his. "And how are you this fine day, Mrs. Pew?" he asked pleasantly.

Hilda Pew, the fourth daughter of six with thirty years of marriage behind her, tutted and raised her eyes to the heavens. "Oh, you know, Vicar," she sighed, taking a deep breath which made her battleship bosoms heave enticingly beneath her brown tweed overcoat, "Same old same. Aches and pains. Time of the year and all that," she grumbled as she frowned at her old man and brushed dandruff off his left shoulder, "Loved your service. Let those with sin in their heart and lust in their loins find redemption through the word of the good book is what I say. Isn't that right, Sidney?"

Her husband gave a sigh of long-suffering resignation. "Whatever you say, dearest." he replied as he reached up to adjust his flat cap, "Whatever you say."

Reginald just smiled with sympathy and tried to keep a straight face. You'd never believe these two had produced six spawn between them.There is nothing so strange as some people. That was the God honest gospel truth.

The Vicar watched as Mrs. Pew grabbed her husband by the arm and quickly marched him down the aisle as the rest of his congregation made their way home on this chilly early December Sunday morning. His gaze deliberately dropped to the rather large posterior of his well-upholstered parishoner and he felt the familiar forbidden tingle of admiration and lust in his loins. What he wouldn't give to be able to thrash seven bells of St. John out of that succulent rump with the bendiest cane he could lay his hands on. He'd have her running around her sitting room clutching her fleshy arse like it was on fire. Then he'd grab her, bend her over the back of the sofa and rip off her knickers as he dropped his trousers so he could grab all seven and three-quarters of his honorable member and shove it right up her hairy pus...

He glanced up at the cross beside him. "Sorry," he muttered as he went and collected all the hymn and prayer books left on the wooden benches.

*



Catherine Jenkins looked up as Larry the van driver came into the newsagents where she worked part-time and dumped a great big pile of bound magazines and newspapers onto the counter in front of her.

"That's the lot!" he said loudly as he pulled out the delivery notice and handed it to her. "My bloody back. I swear they'll do me an injury one of these days. Ruin my sex life it will. Hey, don't let me catch you reading those dirty magazines or you'll be in trouble," he winked at her as he left the shop laughing.

Mrs. Jenkins just waved her hand dismissively for she'd heard it all before from him. Flirt was his middle name and he was always trying it on with her and, if she wasn't married, he'd be trying to get into her knickers as quick as Jack Flash. 

Then again, her being married didn't seem to amount to much these days as she wondered what her old man was up to. The lazy good for nothing was probably where he always was; down the flipping pub with his mates. How they were still married she had no idea.

At forty-three, the dream of a nice house, a couple of kids, a dog, and a holiday twice a year in Tenerife had long passed her by. That the lack of kids was down to her husband only added to her life of frustration and the feeling everything was against her. 

Sighing, she took a pair of scissors and cut the string binding the packages together and began to sort them into different piles depending on their subjects. Magazines for men. Magazines for women. Magazines for pets. Magazines for teenagers. Comics for kids and so on.

Then there were the top shelf magazines.

Catherine unwrapped the brown packaging which hid these types of things from the general public. One by one, she placed them on the naughty pile muttering their names under her breath: PUSSY GALORE MONTHLY, AMATEUR WIVES DIGEST, FORTY PLUS TITS, BOTTOMS UP, CHUBBY LOVERS, JUICY JUGGS, LESBO LOVERS FROM LIVERPOOL and others in a similar vein. But they weren't all glossy magazines. There was one more. A monthly newspaper.

Looking up to make sure no one was about to come into the shop, Catherine picked up the latest copy of Adult Monthly News and began to flick through its pages more out of a sense of frustration than curiosity because everyone else seemed to be having a decent sex life other than her.

Come to think of it, her sex life was practically zero. Zip. Zilch. A big fat no cock nothing. She couldn't remember the last time her old man had stuck his oar in and given her boat a jolly good paddle. The only way she got her rocks off these days was to diddle herself with whatever came to hand. Her eyes dropped to an advert showing a row of vibrators and dildos in various shapes, sizes, and colors promising the joys of heaven on earth with an orgasm to match. She sighed to herself because there was no way she could order one of those things for herself. Good God, imagine Ernie her postman knocking on her door and waving a ten-inch long parcel in front of her face as he gave her a knowing wink as she took it off him and slammed her door shut. Sex toys through the post was a non-starter for sure.

What a waste. All things considered, she thought she was still pretty fuckable for her age. A horny little ball of pent-up sexual frustration at five foot seven. Curly, shoulder length black hair going grey at the temples, an apple shaped face with green eyes, a cute button nose above wide full kissable lips. She had been blessed with a decent pair of suckable tits and wide sturdy hips that could take anything an eager pussy pounding man could dish out. 

But it was her backside that was her pride and joy. It was, to put it mildly, absolutely fucking stupendous. Firm, full, and round. It was the center of her sexual world.

Or it would have been if she hadn't fallen for the smooth talk of William Jenkins all those years ago when he charmed her out of her knickers at their local dance club. What a mistake that had been and had always been ever since.

She reached around and clutched her rear end as her daydreams drifted to the boy she should have been with. Rodney Bell. Her first proper relationship when she left school and they were both carefree and young at heart as they explored and discovered their individual sexualities. 

Their first lovemaking had been a deeply satisfying experience and meant something profound to them both. That the sex went beyond just sex into something much more intense sent a shiver down her spine and she clutched her bum cheeks harder at the memory. It was always the same specific moment in time. That first time he did it to her in his Dad's garden shed. He didn't need to ask her if he could. She already knew what he wanted to do to her. The shock was that she wanted him to do it to her just as must as he did. So she nodded and said "Okay" as he took her hand and led her over to a wooden stool where he sat down and drew her over his lap. As she lay there panting in her lust and desire,  he began to spank her wriggling bottom over her jeans and her world turned from night into bright day.

Catherine closed her eyes savoring the feeling being spanked gave her. They were the best feelings because they were a reminder of better days when her world was full of possibilities and adventures. And then he went away. WIth his parents because of their work and she found herself alone and sad. Until her future husband showed up and her life of disappointment and sexual frustration began. This life was no life for her. There had to be something more than the endless drudge of a loveless marriage and existence. She needed to end the former and change the latter.

She slowly opened her eyes and turned the page of the newspaper in front of her. She suddenly froze and gasped out loud. There on page six was an advert for something called the Spanking Agency.

*

The churchyard of St. John lay spread out as far as the eye could see as its Vicar made his way around it during his weekly rounds to make sure everything was in order. 

The green grass had been recently cut and the ground was covered in dead leaves that left the cemetery trees bare to the chill winds and frosts of Winter. Mr. Biggins nodded and spoke briefly to various members of his parish who were tending graves as he walked over to the large bins where all the rubbish was kept.

Each bin was filled with dead flowers and plastic wrappings as they were due to be emptied at the end of the week as usual. There were half a dozen containers in total and he checked each one to make sure nothing was out of the ordinary in them. He opened the lid of number four and stopped.

Amongst the usual rubbish, there were a number of old newspapers stuffed into a plastic carrier bag. The Vicar frowned and leaned further over the rim of the black plastic bin for something had caught his attention.

One of the newspapers was sticking out. He looked closer and his mouth dropped open in surprise. On the cover was a rather large breasted lady showing off her impressive assets and promising the reader much more inside on page 3. The Vicar found himself in a right old quandary. The hand of temptation was suddenly upon his shoulder and he glanced around to see if anyone was watching him. Oh, Lord. Walk away, you silly old fool. Leave the sins of the flesh alone for they will lead you to God knows where given half the chance. Let Tessa and her Tremendous titties stay forever a mystery!

"Bugger it!" he muttered as he reached in, grabbed the plastic bag, and made a hasty retreat back to his Vicarage.

*

"Gone to the pub," said the note.

Catherine looked at it for a second then scrunched it up and threw it on the fire. The pub. If the man could sleep there he would. She looked at herself in the mirror above the fireplace and saw someone looking back at her that she didn't recognize. This isn't me. Not the me inside. She had expected today would be like any other day since she had married him nearly twenty years ago now. Twenty years. Where had the time gone? But today hadn't been like any other dreary day. Today was different. Something had happened. Something quite unexpected.

She slipped off her coat and opened her bag. Inside was the newspaper.

*

The Vicar stood staring at the telephone.

The devil sat on one shoulder and his conscience on the other as he paced back and forth in the hallway. On the table next to the telephone lay the newspaper opened on a particular page with one specific advert circled with a pen. 

"Oh, for the love of Christ!" he moaned as he stopped in front of the table again. He glanced at the cross on the wall above him as he placed his hands either side of the telephone.

It was no use. The need to do this was too much. He had to do this or he'd go mad. Picking up the phone, he carefully dialed the number of the Agency and saw that his housemaid, Miss. Proops was making her way up his garden path to start her shift.

*

Catherine Jenkins looked at Molly Malone and considered her question.

How to reply to why? 

During her interview, she had learned that there were already nine girls on the Agencies books with her being number ten - if she was accepted. She had also been told that six of the women had already been vetted by other means with four, including her, having responded to the job advert in the newspaper.

"Do you ever think that life is passing you by?" she said softly as she glanced out of the window behind where her future Boss was sitting, "That you're not where you were meant to be?"

Molly looked at the other woman. They were of similar age and the weight of disappointment and confusion was one she recognized well. It had been the same for her at the start. That life hadn't turned out as she had hoped and the lack of opportunity had set her on a predictable path that her peers and family had expected of her. Except in her case, she had decided to change her life and live it the way she wanted to live it. Now it was her turn to give something back by creating the Spanking Agency and giving the women who worked for her a chance to control their own futures.

Molly sat forward. "I used to. All the time. Then I decided to do something about it," She spread her arms wide, "And here I am. Here we are. You and me."

Catherine nodded. "I wasn't sure I could take that first step. I can't quite believe I'm sat here right now. In front of you. In a place like this," She stopped and blushed, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean.."

Molly held up her hand. "I know. I understand. But you have taken that first step, Mrs. Jenkins. The trick now is to make the most of the opportunity. If you put your mind to it you can do anything. Every woman who works here is looking to change their lives in some way. It's up to you to find your own path. It's your life. Do what you need to do to make it better."

Catherine felt herself welling up and bit her lip. They were very much alike in a way. "But spanking?" she smiled as the absurdity of it all sank in. She knew in her heart she wanted to work for an Agency dedicated to that thing she secretly loved, desired, and wanted more than anything.

Molly laughed and got to her feet. "Come over here," she urged her, "Take a look at this." She went to a door panel on the far wall, grabbed the handle and pulled it to one side to reveal a long rack of clothes of various descriptions.

Catherine reached in and pulled out a nurses uniform that could best be described as indecently sexy and held it up in front of her as they both laughed.

"Never underestimate the male psyche. It's all about the detail. You become their fantasy in real life and the rewards both financial and sexual will follow. As I was telling Dolly earlier, women see with the heart and men see with the eyes."

"I wish I could say that about my husband," said Catherine as she reached in and pulled out another costume, "I think those days are long gone."

Molly gave her a hug. "Remember, it's not about him. It's about you now," She took the item from her and held it against her, "Here, have you ever thought about being a sexually frustrated Nun who just loves to be spanked and caned by some randy Vicar?"

As things turned out...

*

There was snow in the air. The North wind blew and the world shivered in its wake as Reginald Biggs made his way across the yard to his house as the old Grandfather clock in the hallway chimed twelve. He was greeted by his housekeeper who was dressed in her flowery apron busy dusting various ornaments as she cleaned the main sitting room on the ground floor.

"A word, Mable, if you please," he smiled as he clutched various documents and folders to his chest. He cleared his throat as the woman approached him. Miss. Proops had been in his employ for more years than he could remember and was as good a trusted companion as one could wish for. A keen sense of responsibility, duty, and confidentiality had always been her motto as she went about her business of keeping him and his home in order. Slightly severe of look with her tied back gray hair, she was tall, shapely, and attentive to his needs whatever they may be and she could also cook a mean steak and kidney pudding when called for.

"Yes, Vicar," said Mable as she brushed a speck of dust off his shoulder. She winced slightly at the ache in her shoulders due to her dusting and hoovering. At nearly fifty, the years and the passing of time were beginning to make their mark. Not that she'd ever grumble about such things.

Reginald crossed his fingers behind his back. "I shan't be needing your services this afternoon, Mable," he said, feeling himself turn red at the small white lie, "So you just toddle off home instead. I'll still pay you for those hours and just come back tomorrow as usual."

"Are you sure, Vicar?" she asked surprised as he grabbed her arm and walked her over to the cloakroom to get her coat and bag.

"Absolutely. One hundred percent," he nodded enthusiastically as he helped her into her coat and handed the bag to her. His housekeeper spluttered and tried to say something but he had her out the door in a second and shooshed her down the path, "Tatty bye!!" he called after her as he stood there making sure she was gone.

As soon as she was out of sight, he turned and ran back inside slamming the door in his wake. He was positively giddy with excitement and anticipation. So consumed was he in the moment that he didn't notice the set of keys left on the hall table partially hidden by an overgrown pot plant.

Twenty minutes later the doorbell rang.

*

Sister Catherine bent her head and kissed the cross hanging around her neck. "Forgive me, Vicar, for I have sinned and I seek forgiveness."

The Vicar sat behind his desk as he listened to the woman in front of him confess to the weakness of the flesh. She was dressed in a black tunic and wimple over which laid a scapular of deep red with her face enclosed in a form-fitting coif and white under veil hidden beneath a black hood. To Reginald Biggs, she looked absolutely amazing and it took a moment for him to gather his wits as well as adjust his fast-growing erection down below.

"I see," he said finally, "And what exactly are these sins needing to be confessed, Sister Catherine?" He hoped it was a really REALLY long list. Enough to be able to sanction a really REALLY thorough thrashing of her naughty posterior.

Catherine stared at her client. He was a tall gentleman. A little older than her she mused. Boot polished black hair turning gray at the temples. Clean shaven and wearing a pair of silver-framed round spectacles that lent him the air of a Man of God in all but name. 

She had realized the moment she had entered his study having changed into her outfit that the name of the game was roleplay in its truest sense. She would never forget the look on his face when she quietly came to stand in front of his desk. That look made her feel all tingly inside as she felt her bum twitch expectantly as she glanced down at the long, thin cane on the desk in front of him. A cane he was going to use on her in a matter of minutes. 

Good grief, her pussy was positively sopping in anticipation. She always knew it was her submissive side that spoke to her deep sexuality more than anything. Sex was all well and good but it was the thought of having these other things done to her body that made her tick. Having her bottom dealt with was like nothing else in the world for her. She could hardly wait for her thrashing.

But first things first. About those sins of hers.

"Forgive me, Vicar," she began as she continued to stare down at the floor, "For there are many and each is worse than the last I fear. These past few days I have been having wicked thoughts which have led me to do wicked things."

Reginald nodded sagely. "I see. Perhaps it would be wise to unburden yourself of this wickedness and tell me all about these wicked thoughts. Leave out no details no matter how small or trivial you consider them to be. Please continue, Sister Catherine." he urged. He shifted in his seat for his delirious dick had bent itself into an unfortunate shape that was threatening to do him a serious injury. THAT particular problem he'd take care of later when alone.

Catherine could feel the electricity in the air. It crackled all around them as she licked her lips determined to grab the Vicar by his balls and give his wants and desires a damned good squeeze that would have him like putty in her hands.

"Cocks, Vicar," she whispered, "Big juicy penises. Huge dribbling dicks with balls full of thick creamy spunk. Massive ding dongs thrusting hard into my tight little pussy. It's all I can think about.  Being fucked by gigantic Willie's in either hole until they fill me with their wicked seed. I am so ashamed, Sir. Whatever am I supposed to do? Sister Myrtle thinks I should be flogged naked and have such evil thoughts beaten and whipped out of me. Help me, Vicar, you're my only hope!"

Reginald stared round-eyed and open-mouthed as her words ran around inside his head with bells ringing behind them. Oh. My. Word. She was pitch perfect and was hitting every beat within his soul. Good God Almighty. He was going to welt her poor little arse like there was no tomorrow if it was the last thing he did.

"Uhuh," he stuttered lamely, "And are these thoughts unbidden?"

"They are, Vicar," she nodded, "The sex between my legs speaks more to me than the sense between my ears. I am so ashamed of these feelings, for they are sins of the flesh and they need to be driven out before they consume my soul. I need you to take me in hand and do whatever it is that needs to be done," Her eyes fell again on the cane, "I think you have  the means to do that in your possession."

"The cane?" he asked as he pointed it at her menacingly, "Are you willing to take a severe whipping across your bare arse?" He felt himself start slightly at his choice vocabulary. No matter. They were both in the moment and the stage was theirs.

"I am."

Reginald got to his feet and tapped the front of his desk, "Then let us begin, Sister Catherine. Prostrate yourself before God and raise your tunic for the caning you so obviously deserve.

*
Her caning by the Vicar was as intense as she had expected.

By the seventh stroke, they had both found her unspoken limits in the amount of pain that she could handle and the strength of each stroke she could take. Both were amazed at the resilience of her rump and the way it always came back for more.

The first strokes of the rattan had been carefully administered. Reginald was always attentive to the length of swing and how deep the bite as he delivered each stroke. Number One was a sighter; a way to measure the arc and where it would land across her backside. Once he understood the lay of the land, he could now judge and test the strength of her tolerance in tune with her desires. The caning was as exhilarating as he'd hoped for. More than anything, he hoped she was feeling exactly the same.

THERWICK!

Catherine hunched forward on the desk as the wood wrapped itself around her shanks and bit deeply into her flesh before rebounding away like a rejected spitting serpent. Almost immediately, she could feel the crimson welt swell up in its wake as the pain rose in her rear. He was laying each one on harder than the last and she yelled out loud stamping her feet as the pain washed all over her.

"OOoof, Vicar!" she gasped as her sore arse did a wiggle and a dance, "Jeepers, that one REALLY stings a LOT!!"

"Are you alright to keep going?" asked Reginald, "Remember your safe word if you've had enough now. I may be a Vicar but I'm not a sadist."

She shook her head. "No, I'm fine. How many was that?"

"We're up to nine."

Catherine reached up and pulled away a stray strand of hair that had escaped her cowl. Nine? Was that all? Her bum felt huge. Immense. Like she had sat in a bucket full of ants as she winced at the throbbing sting pulsing in and around her crotch. Good God. Her sex was aching like mad in the most delightful way with her pussy dripping like a hot tap on heat.

"Twenty-four," she gasped as she turned her head to her left to look at him standing there with the cane wobbling in his grip, "Two dozen. Since this is both our first times, let's make it one to remember. Just as hard as the last one. Cane my fat arse for me, Vicar."

Her punisher nodded. What an amazing lady! What an absolute trooper to let him do this to her even though he suspected it was more for her benefit than his. But who was he to deny such a willing companion? He raised the cane again. "Now then, Sister Catherine," he said firmly, "About those huge cocks you keep dreaming about.."

SWOOSH!!

"YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEOWCHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!"

*

"Are you alright, Catherine?" asked Reginald as he opened the cupboard behind his desk and put the well-used cane away in its safe place, "I may have been a little over-enthusiastic when applying the rod to your rear."

She gave her head a shake. "No, no, I'm fine," she grimaced with a smile, "I always knew my arse was as tough as an old boot. She can take a good hiding and still come back for more without much fuss. I just have to be sensible about it that's all. I've got a big pot of cold cream at home that'll ease the sting," She ran her fingers up and down each growing welt, "Heck, those feel amazing. For someone who says they haven't done it before you've done a pretty good job. Slapping my cheeks first helped a lot I think. Sort of got the motor running and warmed up. I'll say one thing, Vicar, I'll always remember this first time as an Agency girl."

She glanced over at her first customer as she stood there grasping the front of her tunic above her waist to leave her hairy wet pussy on display for all to see. She smiled knowingly to herself as she saw him taking furtive glances at her dark thatch as he sat fiddling with himself behind his desk. Catherine knew he hadn't chosen any "special extras" but the devil on her right shoulder whispered in her ear and naughty thoughts began to swirl in the ether.

"Do you want me to take care of that for you, Vicar?" she asked him.

Reginald jumped like he'd been caught with his hand in the pickle jar as he tried not to stare at the woman's oh so inviting sex. What? What did she just ask him? Take care of what? His thing? Uh. No. Well, maybe. He frowned to himself. Don't be stupid. You're a Vicar. A man of the cloth. An upright pillar of the community. 

He felt his cock throbbing in his pants. Then again, who would know? Who would find out? Who would say anything? No one, that's who. He swallowed hard. Do it. Ask her to do it. For him. For them both. What's a little fuck between friends?

He glanced at the Cross on the wall as she walked around his desk to stand in front of him still holding her skirt above her waist.

"I suck a mean cock, Reginald, " she smiled as he sat there staring at her heated crotch, "And I have a wet pussy needing to be filled. Take your pick."

The Vicar couldn't speak but licked his lips as he reached forward and held her hips before laying this wonderful lady down on her back across his desk. He slowly began to remove his trousers and underpants to leave his rigid prick weeping in his hand as he moved between her spread thighs and aimed his penis at her liquid hole.

Forgive me, Father, for I am about to fuck.

*
Epilogue.

There was a knock on his study door.

The Vicar looked up to see his housekeeper peek her head around and smile nervously at him. What was this? He raised a hand and urged her to come in. "Mable, my dear, what can I do for you this fine FINE day!" he smiled brightly.  The Winter sun was shining in through the latticed window and he was full of the joys of Spring which made him smile wider.

His housekeeper came and stood before him with a most peculiar look on her pleasant face. Reginald looked up at her wondering why she seemed so hesitant. "Are you alright?" he asked, feeling suddenly concerned.

Mable nodded and gulped. "Why didn't you tell me?" she said quietly.

He frowned. "I beg your pardon?" he replied looking non-plussed. What on earth was wrong with Mrs. Proops? Had something happened? The Vicar stared as his housekeeper leaned over his desk and picked up the set of house keys in front of him. "Is there something wrong?"

Mable didn't say anything but walked around behind his chair to the main cupboard and inserted a key into the lock. With a click, she slowly opened it and reached in.

Reginald froze in his seat. What was she doing? Only he had access to that cupboard and knew what was kept inside as she well knew. He just sat there and watched as she came back around his desk to stand in front of him. In her hands, she was holding the cane.

"Er, I ah," he mumbled turning a deeper shade of pink, "I can explain. I think." he blustered as he tried to think of a good reason to have a cane in his study.

His housekeeper shook her head and placed a finger to her lips. "Shhhhhhh," she whispered, "I know." 

To his utter shock and amazement, Mable turned around and raised her skirts to reveal a fine pair of black-stockinged legs with matching suspenders framing a large pear-shaped bottom minus a pair of knickers. He felt his mouth drop open in sheer befuddlement and sudden appreciation. He was lost for words.

Mable peeked at him over her shoulder and smiled to herself at the look on the Vicars face. She did know. She now knew all about his little secrets and urges. The games he liked to play and how she very much wanted to be a part of them. She bent forward slightly sticking her firm arse out for his attention.

"I think I've been a bad girl, Vicar," she teased, giving her bum a little wiggle, "Do you know anyone who might like to take it in hand and give it a good thrashing with this bendy cane?" She stepped back and plonked her rear end on the desk in front of him, "And not just the cane. I quite like being spanked and strapped with all sorts of lovely things too."

The Vicar gave himself a shake. WHAT? He sat staring at his housekeepers squished posterior as it twitched in front of him. SERIOUSLY? Good. God. Almighty. Christmas had come early. God bless you, Mrs. Proops!

"I can think of nothing I'd rather do, Mable," he replied passionately as he looked up at her, "What an absolutely splendid woman you are. It will be my absolute pleasure, my dear. And most assuredly yours too."

He came around the desk and they both fell into each other's arms and hugged tightly before he kissed her lightly on her lips.

Mable stood on tippy-toe and whispered in his ear. "I suck a mean cock given half the chance, Vicar," she sexily promised him, "Do you want me to do that for you and the other nasty and naughty things as well?" She stepped back and laughed at the look on his face. It was a face of shock, surprise, bewilderment, and dawning delight. Her Vicar looked like he was going to burst with happiness.

She glanced over his shoulder at the Cross on the wall and thanked God she had forgotten her keys. She had realized she had left them on the hall table and had gone back to get them only to discover the Vicar was entertaining a rather unusual guest as she peeked through the study door keyhole to watch the drama unfold before her rapt attention. Some lady from some sort of Agency or other the lady had said. Maybe she should make inquiries in the future.

No matter. This was now. After all these years it was just her and her Vicar.

Life was perfect.

**

The end of part 3.
Coming soon: The Spanking Agency part 4: Girl Talk.


1 comment:

  1. G'day Ian,

    Another great one ............ keep 'em comin' Mate!!

    Cheers

    Guvnor

    ReplyDelete

Comments welcomed and appreciated. Thank you.