The priest's voice grew strained as his hole was filled with the full length of Paul's cock.

"Tell me what you want to do to her?"

"I want to fuck her, Paul. I want to fuck your wife, just like you're fucking me."

Paul gripped his buttocks with both hands and thrust deep into him.

"You're just talking shit. You wouldn't be able to get it up for her, because you're a fucking queer.

"I could," the priest protested. "I have. Many times."

"You mean you've already fucked her?"

"No, but I think about her when I'm wanking. Margaret is such a sexy woman. I've been tempted so many times."

"Then why haven't you done anything about it? You know I haven't fucked her for months. She must be gagging for cock. You know how that feels, don't you?"

"Oh yes," gasped the priest. "I know what it's like to want it so badly, you'd do anything for it."

Paul took a deep breath, then resumed his strokes with a vengeance. It had been a long time since he had felt sexually attracted to his wife, but the thought of the priest fucking her was a surprisingly potent turn-on.

"Do it," he told him. "The first chance you get, you fuck her."

"What if she doesn't want me to?"

"Seduce her. Use your powers of persuasion. If she fancies you already, it shouldn't be hard."

"I'll do it," Father Ross promised, reaching for his own cock. "I'll fuck your wife. Oh God, it will be such a pleasure to see her naked! I've wanted her for so long."

The priest masturbated as Paul fucked him even harder.

"Use that horny fucking bitch," he growled. "Fuck her cunt so hard, she'll be screaming with pleasure. Do every dirty fucking thing you've ever wanted to do to her. Cum inside her. Shoot your fucking load in her cunt and make her beg for more."

As he spoke, Paul climaxed. The priest groaned as he felt the hot deluge of semen flooding his bowels. His own cream spurted over his belly and right fist. At that moment, both men were thinking about the same woman.

Afterwards, Father Ross used the panties to wipe himself clean.

"Did you mean what you said about wanting me to fuck your wife?" he asked.

"Every word," Paul replied. "I have no interest in fucking her and it's not fair that you and I should be having all the fun. Am I right?"

"You are, Paul. Margaret deserves her pleasure."

"Then you'd better see to it that she gets it. I don't want to hear from you again, until you have some juicy news to report. You give my wife what she needs and I'll give you want you need."

Paul drove away, leaving the priest to finish getting dressed. Margaret's discovery of his secret life had come as a shock, but Paul was pleased by how he had managed to turn it to his advantage. If everything went to plan, he would soon be fucking the man who was fucking his wife. That opened up a whole new range of possibilities.

Father Ross' hole had been a tasty starter, but Paul was still hungry. He didn't fancy returning home to moaning Margaret and pretending that everything was normal, while he waited for her to go to bed. He pulled over and texted Jason.

Can cum for some fun, if ur free.

He did not have to wait long for a reply.

Cum as soon as u can, darling. I'll be dressed and waiting. Xxxxxxx.

Paul sent another message.

Any chance of Michelle joining us?

Unfortunately, that was not to be.

 

Next morning, Father Ross found it difficult to say Mass. It wasn't just the fact that Margaret was assisting with the Readings and handing out of Communion. The priest's hole was still aching pleasantly from the pounding it had been subjected to. He wanted more of Paul's cock and he wanted his wife. If only his congregation knew what form of degenerate he was about to become. If there was one among them who was more perverse, Father Ross had never heard of it in Confession.

After Mass, Margaret remained behind, to help him tidy up. The elderly Parish Clerk had retired two months ago and Margaret had gladly assumed his duties. Father Ross hoped he had been right all along and that her devotion to the church was not entirely selfless. If he was wrong, he was about to make a terrible fool of himself.

"Is everything alright, Margaret?" he asked, as he removed his vestments and handed them to her.

"I'm fine, Father," she replied. "Why do you ask?"

"Because I know everything is far from fine. You look like you haven't slept a wink. Does this have something to do with Paul?"

Margaret sighed wearily.

"I wish he could read me like you can, Father. I can't hide anything from you."

"You don't have to hide anything from me, Margaret. What has he done now?"

"He didn't come home until after three o'clock, this morning."

"That's very late. Was he drunk?"

"I wish to God he had been. At least that would have been normal. He was stone cold sober. He'd been with someone."

"Did you ask him what he'd been doing out until that hour?"

"What would be the point? He'd have just made up some ridiculous story. I pretended to be asleep. But I could smell it off him."

"What could you smell?"

"The scent of lemon shower gel. There's no lemon shower gel in our house. He went out at half-eight and came home seven hours later, smelling fresher than when he left. He'd been washing something off himself. I checked his phone, but if there were messages from whoever he was meeting, he'd deleted them."

Father Ross sighed.

"God forgive me, but I feel like I should take that man out and give him a good hiding for what he's doing to you. He shouldn't be allowed to get away with it."

Margaret smiled.

"Thank you, Father. I know you want to stand up for me, but I don't want you getting into a fight with Paul."

"I don't want to get into a fight with him, either. Why don't we go back to the sacristy and discuss this over a cup of coffee?"

"I'd like that. If you're not too busy."

"I always have time for you, Margaret," the priest replied. "The back door is open. Go and put the kettle on. I'll see you there in about ten minutes."

Father Ross was about to get into his car, when his phone rang.

"Hello."

"How's it going?"

"Why are you ringing me, Paul?"

"Because I know Mass is over and she's still with you."

"She's not with me. She's gone back to the sacristy to boil the kettle. I'll be with her in a few minutes. She's very upset with you. Where were you last night?"

"I was with you, Father. Don't you remember?"

"Not until half-three in the morning, Paul. She knows you were with someone. You came home smelling of lemon shower gel."

"That was my mistake. I shouldn't have showered before I came home. She's wearing a white bra, pink panties and tights under that horrible yellow dress. I'm hoping you'll discover that for yourself very soon."

"When do you and I meet again?" the priest demanded.

"Call me when you're having coffee together in the sacristy," Paul told him. "I won't answer. Leave your phone on speaker. I want to hear everything."

 

"Why does he do it?" Margaret asked.

Father Ross placed his phone on the table and reached for his coffee cup.

"I don't know, Margaret," he replied. "It's certainly not your fault. I know it's no consolation, but a lot of married men do what Paul is doing."

"I know. I've seen them on that filthy dating site he uses. I signed up myself last night."

"You did what?"

"I became a member of the site. I made up a false name and details, of course."

"But why, Margaret? Why would you do that?"

"Because I want to know more about what my husband is doing and the kind of people he's doing it with. It's not like I can ask him."

The priest glanced at his phone.

"What name did you use?"

"I called myself Big Jack. It's not very original, but it was the first name that came into my head. Paul actually has public pictures of himself up on that site."

"Really? That seems very reckless. What if somebody were to recognise him?"

Margaret blushed.

"I'm not talking about pictures of his face, Father."

Father Ross did his best to look shocked.

"Oh, I see."

"I've been married to that man for nearly twenty years," Margaret continued. "I thought I knew everything about him. Now, I realise I'm living with a complete stranger. How many men do you think he's been with during that time? It could be hundreds. If he knew he was that way inclined, why did he marry me in the first place? I know I'm no beauty queen, but I certainly don't look like a man."

The priest leaned over, looked into her eyes and reached for her hand. He didn't want her to glance down and see the bulge in his trousers. At least, not yet.

"Margaret, you are a beautiful woman," he said sincerely. "It's just unfortunate that you're married to a man who can't appreciate you, because God has seen fit to make him different. I shouldn't be telling you this, but there's another man in this very parish who is a married homosexual. He has a young and extremely attractive wife. There's nothing lacking in the marital bed, but he still goes with other men."

"Who is he?"

"I can't tell you that, Margaret. He spoke to me in Confession."

The priest certainly couldn't tell her that the man in question had fucked him in the Confession box on several occasions. He was also very generous with his wife's underwear. The priest had nine pairs of her panties and two of her bras in his collection.

"Has he been with Paul? You can tell me that."

"I don't think so. This man has a preference for men who wear female underwear. I could be wrong, but I can't imagine your husband wearing your knickers. I'm sorry, Margaret. I know this is a distasteful subject."

"You can't imagine what these perverts get up to, Father," she replied.

"Show me," he said.

"I couldn't."

"I'm a man, Margaret. I know what an erect penis looks like. I have one."

She handed him her phone.

"You open it. The user name is Big Jack. The password is Jack69wife."

Father Ross thought this was an interesting choice of password. He logged onto the website. Should Margaret chance upon his profile, she would not recognise him from his pictures. There were a couple of selfies of his stiff cock and one of his bare arse. There were two more frontal close-ups of him wearing panties. There were no pictures of "Big Jack".

"You have two new messages," he said.

Margaret grabbed the phone.

"My God, these people are such perverts," she muttered, as she read the messages. "One of them wants to see more pictures of me. The other just says hi and asks me what I'm into. What should I do?"

"Ignore them," said the priest. "It's not like you could actually send them any pictures, even if you wanted to. What's the point of continuing with this, Margaret?"

"Look at this," she said, ignoring his question.

Father Ross took the phone and found himself looking at Paul's profile. He was already familiar with the half a dozen images of the big man proudly displaying his stiff cock. In his main profile picture, he was gripping his hard-on in his right fist and ejaculating over his own hairy belly. The priest longed to feel that big cock inside him again.

"These pictures are certainly explicit," he said. "Your husband is very well endowed, if you don't mind my saying so."

"And obviously very proud of the fact," added Margaret. "It says he has six other images he shares only with friends. They must be even worse. It wasn't that long ago, he'd have been arrested for exposing himself in public like that. I'm sorry, Father. I shouldn't have made you look at such filth."

"That's quite alright, Margaret," he assured her. "It's a good thing I'm not gay. If I was, I might take a fancy to him."

Margaret laughed. "That would never do. I'm glad you're not gay, though."

"Why?"

She blushed slightly.

"Well, you might be tempted. And it would be my fault."

"I won't be tempted by anything I might see on this site," he said. "Not unless you choose to put up a few pictures of your own."

"I can hardly do that, Father. Would you really be tempted by pictures of me?"

The priest sighed heavily.

"I shouldn't be saying this, Margaret. The last thing I want to do is offend you, but when I look at you, I envy that husband of yours. If you were my wife...."

"Go on, Father. If I was your wife?"

Father Ross glanced at his phone and paused before answering.

"Let's just say - if you were my wife, you wouldn't have to worry about me straying. You would be more than enough for me."

"I wish I was your wife," she declared. "I know you wouldn't neglect my needs. Not like that selfish fucking queer I'm married to. Sorry, I didn't mean to swear."

"You have every right to swear, Margaret. Your husband is a selfish fucking queer. He's satisfying his own desires and forgetting about yours. I doubt if his behaviour will change."

"So what can I do, Father? I can't go on like this."

The priest took her right hand in both of his and placed it on his crotch.

"You can give in to temptation, Margaret. We both can. Pretend you're my wife."

She squeezed the bulge of his cock and then her fingers fumbled with the zipper of his trousers.

"No, Father, I won't pretend to be your wife. I won't pretend to be anything other than what I am."

"And what's that?"

"The dirty, horny wife of a queer." She freed his stiff cock from his underwear. "I hope it wasn't looking at my husband's prick that got you that hard."

"I told you, Margaret, I'm not gay. I'm hard because of you. I want you."

His hands cupped the swell of her large breasts and squeezed them through the fabric of her dress. Her right hand stroked and squeezed his cock.

"I want you too, Father," she purred. "I wanted you even before I found out what my husband was doing. Let's go upstairs."

"No! I can't wait that long. Turn around, Margaret. I want to fuck you right now."

The plump, red haired woman did as he commanded. The priest pulled his trousers and underwear down to his ankles, then pushed her down onto the table. He hiked her dress up over her hips and yanked her tights and panties down to her knees. The phone was only a couple of feet away, but Margaret's eyes were already shut. She knew this was a sin, but she didn't care. It had been so long since she had had a man and Father Ross was the man she wanted.

She cried out as he penetrated her from behind. Her cunt was hot, wet and hairy. The priest would have preferred her rear orifice, but he didn't think she was yet ready for that.

"Oh sweet mother of Jesus, that feels good!" Margaret gasped.

'As good as your husband's cock felt in my hole,' thought Father Ross.

Sitting his armchair and watching SKY NEWS on mute, Paul fisted his stiff cock as he listened to the sounds of the priest fucking his wife. Margaret was obviously enjoying it. Paul wasn't jealous, but he would have enjoyed participating in the action. He could fuck the priest while he was fucking Margaret, or maybe piss and wank over the pair of them.