“Anything?” I echo.
“Yes,” he pants, looking up at me with pure, green eyes. A curl falls over his forehead and his face is flushed.
“Then you must be honest with me.”
“Yes. Of course. Whatever you wish.”
“You must tell me the truth.”
“I promise. Anything.”
“You want me very badly don’t you, Mr. Saintsbury?”
“Y-yes.”
“You find me comely?”
“God, yes.”
“How comely?”
The man is breathing hard. Good God, what have I discovered with this vicar? The sight of him in such distress has my own breath coming fast and shallow. What Iwill do with him…Oh, it is going to be indecent and wonderful. I will play with him before I turn him to my ultimate purpose.
“Extremely.”
“Do you want me to touch you?”
He looks at me, terror in his eyes.
“Yes. But you shouldn’t. We can’t.”
I disregard this absurd prohibition. He knows nothing.
“How would you like me to touch you?”
He moans and closes his eyes.
“Would you like me to stroke your cock?”
At these words his cock literally surges forward in his trousers.
“Would you like me to use my mouth?”
His eyes fly open.
“God forgive me.”
And then the man does something quite strange. He begins to buck ever so slightly. As if he is tupping the air.
He is rutting himself againstthe fabricof his own trousers.
Dear God, why not just take himself in hand?
“Stop that at once,” I order.
He moans but obeys.
“Good boy. When did you last have a woman?”
