TABOO TALES(erotica)

Jennifer Elizabeth Griffiths sat awkwardly in the Church of the Blessed Sacrament and wished for the fifth time in as many minutes she was somewhere else.

It was years since Jen had entered a place of worship, and she had thought she never would again: but Tracey had begged her to be there for the christening, and she loved both her friend and the baby. And so she had come this morning, her heels clicking crisply on a stone floor as cold as her heart, and she perched on the end of a pew and waited for the service to begin.

There were about thirty other people there – Tracey’s family, mostly, and her friends. She recognised one or two of them and smiled a greeting, but there was no connection and she looked around. The church was small, without Transepts or a Chancel, and it was plainly decorated. The Sanctuary, which separated the Nave from the Altar, was only a dozen paces wide and there was a stained glass window beyond. She saw the morning sun refracted through its leaded panels had bathed the alter in crimson, like fresh blood spilled on the crisp white linen, and her stomach churned. I shouldn’t be here.

The door of the Sacristy opened and a priest appeared, his face a mask of nervous anticipation. He was very young, and Jen guessed this was his first baptism – or at least one of his first. She watched as he spoke timidly to the parents before taking his place next to the font, and she saw him turn to the congregation with a small smile of welcome.

And as Jen watched she perceived another figure enter the Nave behind him. He was wearing the robes of a Catholic Bishop: a white cassock beneath the pectoral cross, offset with amaranth trim and purple fascia, and a scarlet zucchetto perched upon his head. She saw that he was tall, his shoulders wide and straight, and his hands were held in supplication as if bestowing blessings on those gathered before him.

But it was his face that seized her attention, for she knew it. He was older now, bearing lines of age that had not been there before, and the hair that had once been dark was streaked with grey – but the eyes were the same: as black as obsidian like those of a circling shark, and they filled her with a familiar dread.

In an instant she was transported back fourteen years to the kitchen of her mother’s house, to those same eyes fixed on hers like those of a snake regarding a rodent. She had fled from the place where he lived and had moved a dozen times since. She had thought herself safe. But here he was, stood before her in senior robes of the catholic church, and she understood that nothing had changed and he had been rewarded for a life of avarice and lust.

Jen rose to flee but the movement attracted him. She saw his eyes turn upon her, those black orbs that had robbed her of sleep for so long. She perceived the flare of recognition within them and she saw his lips curl, as a wolf might smile at a newborn lamb. And in that moment she knew he would pursue her and that everything she loved was under threat, and a roaring wind filled her head. She felt her heart beating, beating, in a discordant rhythm that robbed her limbs of strength and purpose, and then a great darkness consumed her and she slumped to the cold stone floor.

*

“Jesus, Jen! What were you thinking?” David Griffiths’ voice was filled with anxiety, and he rested his hand gently on her forehead to see if she was feverish.

“I was at Annie’s baptism… I told you I was going.”

“And you’d had nothing to eat, so you fainted.” He pulled a chair closer to the bed and sat on it, his eyes upon her face. “You know what happens if you don’t eat anything in the morning.”

“But I did. I had breakfast before I left.”

“So what happened?”

Jen regarded her brother. His eyes were grey and filled with concern, unlike the empty black pools of the Bishop, and the vigour and purpose within them gave her strength.

“I saw John Tobias today.”

“Christ! Where?”

“At the church. He’s not a Priest any more – he’s a Bishop. The church has promoted him and there he was, as if nothing had changed.” Her voice was husky with emotion and he saw her shudder slightly. “He saw me… recognised me, I’m sure.”

David shook his head. “What happened was a long time ago, Jen, there’s nothing for him now. It must be – what – twenty years?”

“Fourteen,” she corrected him, “don’t you remember? It was after Mum’s funeral. You’d gone to take Edith Williams home, and I was left in the house… just him and me. That’s when -” her voice cracked, the emotion still raw. The image was so clear, even after all this time: the Priest pressed against her in that little kitchen, his voice as slick as warm oil. You are having carnal knowledge of your brother… I can help you to love another… just you and me. She felt again the slither of his fingers on her neck and the bulge of his engorged member thrust against her, and she recalled the stink of his breath.

But it wasn’t just that. It was what he did afterwards. The lies and deceit, the dripping of poison into the ears of the villagers; the lost jobs and the ostracism of even her friends, and finally the assault that nearly killed her. She recalled the metallic taste of blood in her mouth and the reek of waste as his disciples urinated on her, and she remembered her life as a fugitive. And all the time he’d been watching: taunting her with his cold black eyes and laughing mouth. The same look he’d given her in the church that morning.

Jen stared into her brother’s face. “You didn’t see the way he looked at me,” she said, “but I did. He’ll come after me again, I know.”

“But why?” David asked. “Is it because he didn’t get what he wanted?”

She shook her head. “No. He’ll come because he enjoyed it.”

*****

Six miles away the Most Reverend John S. Tobias, Auxiliary Bishop of Bunyong, lay in his bathtub contemplating his day with a deal of satisfaction.

First there had been the christening. It was unusual for a Bishop to attend such an event, but he’d been keen to meet the young priest recently posted to the Parish. It had been a fruitful visit: he had earned the Minister’s gratitude, and had assessed him to be unlikely to listen to the occasional rumour that circulated about his Bishop’s behaviour.

And then he’d seen that little whore, Jennifer Griffiths, sitting in his church as bold as brass.

He remembered when he’d first met her, at her mother’s funeral. She was young and beautiful and he’d counted on possessing her – but she had defied him. And so he’d dismantled her life, sure in the knowledge she would one day beg for forgiveness and surrender her pale, quivering body to his ministrations. But she had run like a thief in the night, and for years he had hated her for it.

And now she was found again and it would be he, John Tobias, who would be the instrument of the Lord’s work. What had Jesus said about harlots? If she profanes herself by harlotry, she profanes her father; she shall be burned with fire. Perhaps that was how he would end it, for what better way to scour her soul than by cleansing it with flame?

But first he would have her, and he felt his cock harden rapidly at the thought. When she fell to the floor in the church he had gone to her, touched her hair and face as he bent to offer his help. He had seen that the years had been kind to her, that her body under that blue dress was still lean and her breasts firm and round.

He seized his cock and stroked it rapidly, his mind spinning in a bubble of pleasure as he imagined the moment he would take her: not gently, as he had once supposed, but in a frenzy. He would ravish her until he was done, and then the Lord’s work could be finished.

The image was enough to trigger his orgasm and he spurted into the bath, the long jets of his semen stringing like silvery threads in the warm water. And in his mind he imagined it to be inside Jennifer Griffiths, and he laughed at how good it would feel.

His thoughts were interrupted by the phone, and he leaned over and picked it up, glancing at the screen to identify the caller.

“Bishop Tobias.”

“Um, it’s Father Rawlings, your Excellency, from the Church of the Blessed Sacrament.”C0ntent © 2024 (N/ô)velDrama.Org.

“Yes, Father. Did you find what I wanted?”

“Oh yes. Annie – I mean Mrs. Fielding – was very kind. She told me the name of that poor woman who fainted in the church, and where she lived. That is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

“Indeed, Father. Perhaps you could send it to me? Yes, on this number. And there’s no need to concern yourself any further – I’ll visit to make sure she’s all right.”

He listened to the Priest’s inane mumblings for a few moments longer before thanking him firmly and ringing off. Now that he had Jennifer’s address he needed to think how best to achieve what he wanted, and he didn’t need the ramblings of an idiot priest to take up his time.