The Vicar’s Wife

Ali was going to meet up with the Pact later that day – so I left for work knowing that there would be a juicy story later that night. Little did I know just how juicy it would actually turn out. She had an extra-long workout and a long steam. After drying off and a pot of nice tea she made up some semen for her cock. Semen is actually a mixture of Greek yogurt, condensed milk and a little salt for tanginess. The girls swear it taste just like man cum. Ali got out her funnel and filled the balls to the brim – she felt she was going to need it. After all she planned on fucking both of her best friends later that afternoon. She was going to do a little shopping first in the village and decided to wear her cock under a pair of jogging pants and my University sweatshirt. Her two friends Jess and Robin had custom made dildos made in London by an artist chap that Robin knows who works in plastic and rubber. He is gay and was more than happy to find models to make casts of their cocks. Jess and Ali’s were around 7 to 8 inches long and Robin being the Amazon that she is wanted a larger 9 to 10 inch monster. Jess and Ali’s are Caucasian in colouring and Robin’s is modelled in black colouring. I have seen them all and they are very lifelike with veining on the shafts and cock heads of varying shades of pink to purple. The balls that are attached are hollow and can be filled with their special semen mix. There is a hollow tube that runs from the balls to the piss hole in the cock head and with a little practice Ali can now make it cum heavily or just like a little precum by squeezing the balls. They have public hair and are attached to a pair of high waisted black latex big girl pants – as Ali calls them. There is a small loop in the crotch so that the semi ridged cock can be held down between the legs. This allows them to be worn in public without too much showing.

Ali grabbed her keys and was ready to drive down to the village when the doorbell rang. Damn she thought I don’t want any interruption now. She looked out the view hole in the front door and it was the Vicar’s wife – affectionately or sarcastically know as Mrs Marple. The Vicar’s wife in English county life is the doyen of everything volunteer and Marjorie was no exception. She ruled all the church ladies with an iron fist. Even the women like Ali who weren’t strictly church goers came up against her iron will through the Women’s Institute or the Adult Education Centre, of which she was chairwoman. Name a village occasion and she was there with her OBE pinned to her enormous chest. The woman had a forty inch chest with double or even triple D cup size. She was an even size from there to the ground with a set of ankles that would make any rugby player envious. Her face could stop a clock and she must have inherited her tweed twin set wardrobe from her grandmother. She had taken recently to walking with a cane in orthopaedic shoes and her thick pop socks. Staunchly conservative she was the model of virtue.

Ali opened the door for Marjorie who was delivering the monthly village magazine, which she was editor and main contributor and the parish office printed under her guidance of course.

“Hello Allison.”

“Oh – good morning Marjorie. Can I help you with anything?” What a question and as soon as she said it she regretted saying it.

“Since you ask dear – could I have a glass of water and a short sit down, my feet are killing me.