TABOO TALES(erotica)

“And if it was of a criminal nature?”

The Archbishop steepled his fingers and examined David pensively for a moment. “I assume you are going to tell me something about Bishop Tobias?”

“I am, but first I wish to know how a serious complaint will be handled.”

“We would first establish beyond reasonable doubt whether it had any basis – and then, assuming it did, we would refer the matter to Rome.”

“And how long would that take?”

The churchman shrugged. “These things have to be done thoroughly.” He smiled disarmingly at his visitor. “Why don’t you tell me specifically what your complaint against Bishop Tobias is? Perhaps then I can give you a more accurate assessment of what might occur, if it is indeed a serious matter.”

“Are you familiar with him?”

“If you mean do I know him, then yes. As I said, he is one of my Auxiliary Bishops so I work with him on a regular basis.”

David opened the envelope and withdrew a sheaf of large photographs. “I’m afraid these will be distasteful, Your Eminence, but they will serve to show you the kind of man Tobias is. When you have examined them, I will tell you more about what he has done.”

The Archbishop examined the first image and David saw his mouth twist in disgust. It was razor sharp, and showed Tobias standing naked with his erect organ buried in the throat of a young woman kneeling before him. His eyes were on her face and his mouth was open, as if he was emitting a sound of pleasure.

“Look at his face, your Grace,” David said. “Is that Bishop John Tobias?”

“I think it is.” The voice was hushed.

“Then please examine the remaining photographs.” David had extracted the still images from the video, choosing different scenes to graphically demonstrate the Bishop’s appetite: his cock about to plunge into her wet vagina; her tongue lapping at the glans, and, in a particularly explicit shot, the moment he ejaculated into her gaping anal chasm. In each photograph his face was clear.

“These were taken just under two weeks ago at an apartment in Melbourne,” David said quietly.

“Who is she?”

David shook his head. “Does it matter? He believed her to be a member of his congregation.”

“But she was not.”

“As a matter of fact, she was. She’d attended a number of services at St. Patrick’s Cathedral, coincidentally on days that Tobias was officiating. He singled her out after one of them and suggested they meet.” David nodded at the images. “In effect, he preyed upon a member of his congregation, and that’s what happened three weeks later.”

The archbishop sat back in his chair and examined the crucifix on the far wall for a few moments, as if seeking guidance. “How do I know that these are genuine?” he asked at length.

David laughed in disbelief. “Are you suggesting I have doctored this evidence to falsely accuse Tobias?”

“I don’t know, Mr Griffiths. But I do know that in this digital age photographs can be manipulated to show whatever you want. We would not want to falsely accuse a senior member of our faith without considering every option.”

“I can show you the written testimony of this woman, if you don’t believe your eyes,” David said hotly. He paused for a few moments to calm himself. “But first let me tell you a little more about Bishop Tobias. Fifteen years ago he was a Parish Priest in the Dioceses of Sandhurst. While he was there he reportedly had sexual congress with a number of female parishioners, and was extorting others for money or other favours. That is a matter which the church may wish to investigate, but of more concern he attempted to blackmail another young woman into having sexual relations with him. She refused, and over the next few weeks he conducted a vendetta against her, culminating in a serious physical assault. She was lucky to escape with her life.”

“Did she press any charges against him?”

“She did not. The police wanted to intervene but she simply wished to move to a safe place – and did, for fifteen years. But recently Tobias found out where she lived, and he has resumed that vendetta. I believe he means to harm her.”

The archbishop observed his visitor shrewdly. “And this woman is a friend or relative of yours?”

“I know her.” David said carefully.

“And you have hired someone to produce these filthy images to discredit him.”

David felt the hot tide of anger consume him. “I have brought you irrefutable evidence of the moral degradation of Tobias,” he replied crisply. “It is proof of his utter disregard for the sanctity of his office, the sacred vows he has taken, or the welfare of anybody other than himself. I have also warned you that he is likely to perpetrate an act of extreme violence on another woman, and I will hold you responsible if she comes to harm.” He stared at the Archbishop angrily. “So far you have done nothing but defend this man -” he gestured at the image of the Bishop on the desk, “and you have shown no concern for what he is doing in that picture, nor for the safety of an innocent woman in danger from him.”

“I have not yet decided what to do, Mr Griffiths,” the Archbishop raised his hands in defence, “but as I said earlier, we must be reasonably certain that the allegations are valid.”

David flung a thumb drive on the desk. “Here is the full video of your boy having sex. I hope you have a strong stomach, Your Grace, because it runs for nearly an hour, and he has a voracious appetite.” He stood up. “You have 24 hours to tell me what you intend to do about him, and the threat he represents. If not, I can assure you that the photographs will find their way to the Media.”

“If you do that you would be leaving yourself open to litigation, Mr Griffiths. I don’t advise -”

“Don’t you think I would welcome that, especially so soon after our Royal Commission into sexual abuse in the church?” David leaned over the desk, his eyes like steel chips. “Perhaps you have forgotten there is a Cardinal of the Catholic Church in an Australian goal right now for abusing two choir boys twenty years ago. And he’s still on your payroll – the Church has steadfastly refused to acknowledge his crimes, even though he is a convicted paedophile. So, bring it on, Your Grace, and I will see both you and Tobias in court – I’m sure the general public will enjoy reading of how little you have learned.”

The older man rose to his feet and watched his visitor storm from the room. When he agreed to see David Griffiths it had crossed his mind the matter might be serious, and so it was – but not irrevocable. He sank back into his chair and, after a few minutes thought, picked up the phone and began to talk. He doubted if Griffiths would carry out the threat, and perhaps this matter could be solved simply by moving Tobias to another place.

*

“Jesus H. Christ!” The expletive boomed around the back garden of the comfortable home in uptown Melbourne, causing several of the neighbours to stop in dismay.

The voice was that of Bishop Tobias, who didn’t normally blaspheme, but today was an exception. He let loose with another string at only slightly less volume, but it did little to appease him. “Holy Mother of God! Fuck! Fuck!”

The cause of his consternation was the newspaper on his table, a respected publication which he liked to read early on Saturdays. He had settled down on his verandah and had a spoonful of cereal half way to his lips when his eye fell on a front page that literally stopped his heart for a moment.

The banner headline seemed to leap out of the paper in letters a foot high: ‘BISHOP OF SHAME’, and Tobias felt the shock of them like a punch to the belly. Below it was a photograph of a girl kneeling on a bed, her face pressed into the mattress and hands clutching the rumpled sheets in tight little fists of pain. Behind her was the figure of a man, both hands grasping her hips and his loins thrust against her buttocks in an unmistakable act of copulation. He was staring at the camera with an expression of dark rapture on his face, and his features were as clear as day. Below the image his name was printed in large, bold letters: Bishop John Tobias.

Having vented his first emotion, Tobias read the story with a hollow feeling in his gut: how a senior member of the church had been uncovered as a fornicator, with details of his tryst. It went on to hint at his past, too: of allegations of blackmail and theft, coercion and adultery. There was a picture of his house and the question of how his modest salary could afford it, and images too of Marie Sheldon and her sordid tale of how the Bishop of Bunyip had bullied her into sex, and the things he did to her. It was all there, laid out for the world to see.

He was interrupted by the telephone ringing and with trembling fingers he read the screen: Cranbrook, David. He was Archbishop of Sydney and was the ranking official of the catholic church in Australia. He was also known as an uncompromising man who did not tolerate fools gladly and was one of the few who frightened him.

Tobias pressed the phone to his ear. “Have you seen the news this morning?” The voice was hard. No salutation, no pleasantries.Ccontent © exclusive by Nô/vel(D)ra/ma.Org.

“I have, your Eminence. There is not a shred of -”

“That is to be determined, Bishop Tobias. In the meantime I have just been instructed by the Vatican that your case is to be investigated. You are therefore stood down from all your duties and are to make yourself available to these officials, or their agents, to get to the bottom of these vile accusations. You are not to set foot in any church or cathedral in your Diocese or any other, until this matter is concluded. Do I make myself clear?”

“But I am innocent.”