For more than forty years, I whipped the sin from the vicars and drowned their sinful seed in the blessed fount that is my cunt. 

The truth was that I, Mary Marie Maguire, had saved every vicar that ever walked through the doors of my church—my church. That’s not exactly true. Reverend Michael was the vicar when I first joined soon after Father and I moved into town. It was Michael’s wife, Lily, who had saved him first, may she rest in peace. I became her inferior surrogate when she and the Lord called me. 

After him was Joseph, then Benjamin, then the others, then many years with Oscar. 

Until now. 

Each and every one of them had been cursed with weak wives and I was their godsend—their salvation. 

Until now. 

Now, dull Rue knew what needed to be done but remained timid. Her husband, The Reverend Daniel, my last vicar, was symbolically nailed, naked, to a clever device of ropes, pulleys, and planks that I called ‘Our Cross.’ His irreverent erection jerked and retched with my flogger’s every crisscross on his back and backside. 

The wretched man cursed, frustrated that his cock was the breadth of a pubic hair out of reach of his fingertips, and damned the women who demanded discipline. 

“Your turn,” I said, shaking the flogger at Rue. “Lash the sin from his soul.” That was how I had saved him and the ones who came, and came, before him, driving every private, impure thought and deed down, down, down into their throbbing privates. 

Driving them from their privates came afterward. 

“I don’t think I can.” 

“Spare not the rod!” I cried. The vicar groaned when I whipped his ass, and his wife with her skin-deep piety moaned. “Listen to your heart, dear Rue,” I said softly, “and abandon not your wickedness, for that is the way a woman redeems a man.” 

Rue’s corset fit her like a costume, but she would grow into it someday; neither of us had a choice. We were unalike in that way. I was only a fat nineteen-year-old the first time Lily squeezed me into mine, but I was transformed right away. I was forthwith a woman, powered and powerful. Until then, naked or poorly clothed, I was merely rotund, merely female. 

“You’ll do.” Lily’s voice was flat then, so very long ago, but her face said more, and it excited me. I was luscious, I could tell. My fat tits spilled over the top and my aching nipples pointed accusingly at the aroused Vicar Michael. My fat ass spread behind my furry, plump cunt. The corset’s unyielding steel bones scooped out a waist and eradicated my fat belly. 

“It hurts.” 

“And yet, you’re smiling.” 

I remember that I touched my face, my mouth, when she said that. “I like that it hurts,” I said, almost questioned. Lily nodded. I had to pay a price, and I had paid it manyfold thereafter.  

My novice had yet to pay her price. Daniel’s erection was floundering. “Rue, darling,” I said as I sealed the flogger’s handle in her trembling hand. We had made it this far the week before and this time I had no patience. “Beat the vicar.” 

“I can’t. I…” 

I interrupted her with a gratuitous, sympathetic slap across her face. I kissed her then, there, and again, lingeringly on the lips. Her lackluster boobs needed to be fluffed, so I did that and adjusted her ill-fitting corset until she was calmed. 

Once her guard was down, I slapped her again. “Beat the vicar!” I dragged her across the room and repeated myself again and again. “Beat the vicar. Beat the hell away from him!” 

Rue finally did, and gasped that she had. Daniel’s cock lurched, and he gasped, and he prayed. “Oh, God!” 

I told her that she was good. “Make him confess now.” 

She stuttered, but she tolerably got it out. “D-Daniel. You should confess your sins now.” 

As a rule, Daniel doted on his wife as a husband should. Demons had ensnared Rue’s husband right then, though, and he cruelly laughed at her. She flogged his ass again without my prompt, which made me proud, God forgive me. 

That only made him laugh again and he shook his bonds to scare her. 

“Don’t laugh at me.” Her command was meek but genuine, and her face was as red as the devil. “Confess!” He only laughed again. “Don’t laugh at me,” she emphasized with more and more stripes across his back. “I saw you. God saw you. Con-fess. Don’t laugh, don’t laugh, don’t laugh…” 

“Emma Richardson!” 

Ah, yes. That was not the first time that the vicar confessed to lusting after Grammy R. That’s the name Emma had given herself when she became a grandmother at thirty-five. At fifty-one, we were all surprised that she wasn’t a great-grammy yet—three generations of God-fearing, church-going sluts. I never judged them. There are plenty of bad women in the Good Book. 

I knew that his lecherous thoughts were not limited to Grammy that morning. God and I saw his eyes, and I saw the lump in his drawers when the three slut-strut past him in their matching, body-flaunting Sunday finest. 

“Just Grammy?” I asked. I traded Rue’s flogger for a wide belt, her husband’s, and picked up a tawse. 

“Yeah. Grammy. I admit that I fantasized about fucking her, okay? Now release me.” 

“Only Grammy?” 

“Yes, only her, I swear.” 

“Liar!” I shouted. “Rue! Belt him!”  The crack of belt leather against flesh echoed in the intimate room. His balls were already so far into his abdomen, that he barely yelped when I swung my tawse up between his legs. 

“I swear!” 

Rue put another wide stripe on his lying ass without being told, then looked for my approval.  

“All three, then!” he spat. 

“All three what?” I teased his cock with the tawse before cracking it across his haunches. 

“I lusted after the three of them: mother, daughter, and daughter! And I fantasized about burying a child into the girl!” 

“You bastard!” Rue shouted and viciously swung again. It had been said and repeated that Grammy’s daughter was another vicar’s bastard daughter, and that her granddaughter sprung from the vicar who came after. God and I know the truth, of course, but it’s not my place to say. 

His confession of lust hit Rue hard, but it wasn’t the worst that I ever heard from a vicar’s lips. 

“Release me!” 

I hauled Rue onto her hands and knees where the bound vicar could mount her, but she crawled away. “I can’t!” 

“Like a beast! You can! Make him fuck you like an animal and pray while he does.” 

She sobbed in the corner with her knees drawn up. She said she couldn’t, but her exposed, gaping, weeping cunt said otherwise. I was disappointed but not surprised. With no time to waste, I shrugged off my corset, loosened his bonds just enough, and maneuvered my opulent hindquarters before Daniel’s cock, heavy with sin, and let his flesh thrust into mine. 

“Come pray with me,” I told Rue. She looked toward her lost husband, who, with his arms wrapped around my big belly, mindlessly humped me like a dog. “Here, girl. Come here,” I tenderly commanded between each heavenly hell-thrust. God would enrapture me all too soon and I needed to share with her when He did. 

“Closer,” I huffed at her between the vicar’s jams and jabs. My body was betraying me (and God) as it always did, making me wallow in the filth of ecstasy. “Closer. Fall and raise your eyes and arms to Him.” 

I hooked an elbow around Rue’s knee the second she was within reach and wrenched her wet snatch to my dry mouth. The act is and was distasteful, I know, but necessary. An unholy trinity, I used my tongue inside the vicar’s wife the way the vicar used his gross cock in me. 

“Daniel!” she screamed to the heavens, heaving her hips to the Lord. The Reverend Daniel released his infernal ejaculate into my holy place, and it was quenched, and his cock was quelled. Still girdled in the halo of my own blessed orgasm, I manipulated Our Cross to raise Daniel up, his arms up and out, with his feet dangling mere inches from the ground. 

While Rue cradled in the sanctuary of my ample bosoms, the pale, redeemed vicar rested. Every Sunday, after the service, was something like that. “You will bear the burden next week,” I declared. She nodded against my tear-stained chest, and, with the vicar cleansed, we rose to clean. 

~~~ 

“Why do you call Daniel ‘vicar?’” Rue asked, sipping her coffee. Her voice still had the relaxed, dreamy quality of a woman after a sound night’s lovemaking. 

We hadn’t talked much about my life in the church, before. “'Vicar’ is what Lily used to call Reverend Michael. I didn’t know where Lily was from. She tried to hide her accent the way she hid her past, but I found her to be exotic. I called all the pastors ‘vicar’ after that, I suppose out of respect or tribute to her, and to him, of course.” 

I know now that she was from England and have long since forgiven my young self for thinking of a blue-eyed Brit as exotic. 

We looked knowingly at one another as we listened to the vicar mumble in his study next to the kitchen, full of energetic ideas for his next sermon. On Monday mornings, he was replete with optimism, seeing only the best in humanity and his congregation. Much more than half would be written and rehearsed by the evening. 

“Tell me about Lily.” Rue acted nonchalantly. 

I knew what her real question was and responded with a non-answer. “Tell me about flogging your husband.” 

“I didn’t! Not my husband, I would never.” She thought that the cup at her lips hid her smile. In any event, she had told me her truth, that her husband and the vicar were not one and the same—not yet. 

“Tell me about flogging the vicar, then.” 

“The man. The demon.” 

“Of course.” 

“It was necessary.” 

“And…” 

“It was necessary that I be the one.” 

“And…” I silently prayed that I could remain composed. 

“And.” The courage in her soul swelled through her neck as she raised her eyes to my face. “And I liked it.” 

I didn’t have to ask for more. 

“And you will no longer be needed to take and tame his demon seed. That too will be my duty from now on,” she added. 

“Am I needed at all?” That was a taunt—a necessary taunt lest her pride drag her down. 

“Please.” Her reply came swiftly and firmly. 

“Lily was an inspirational woman,” I began. Rue had earned my story, and so I set out to tell it for the first time to anyone. “She loved her husband, and the church and its vicar. I believe that she believed that the three were one and the same.” 

“Were they?” 

“That’s for you to say. I am not anyone’s wife.” 

The vicar interrupted my narrative before I could continue. “Will one of you women fetch some ink for this printer?”  Dutiful Rue arose to help, which gave me a chance to collate my thoughts and memories. 

~~~ 

Vicar Michael was a potent, vigorous man behind the pulpit despite his age. His congregation was large, considering the number of churches in the small town. He made me feel as if he was preaching directly to me. 

In a way, he was. 

Father thought it was important for me to go to church despite his doubts, and so we tested the pews in every church as we settled into the town. I had my preferences but knew that I would be shushed if I said anything. 

Lily approached Father and me after our third visit. Reverand Michael had firmly held my hands as we left the service, and we chatted at length. I felt special and prayed that Father would bring me back and make this church ours. 

“I can tell that you’re shopping for a church,” the Reverand’s wife said to Father. “The vicar and I have been here for almost thirty years and would love it if you chose ours.” 

I loved her accent and that she called him ‘vicar.’ I suppose I felt I’d ruin that feeling if I ever asked her why. 

“The girl needs guidance,” Father said. “Just look at her.” He was talking about my weight, naturally, and he was talking about my persistent lack of friends. He wasn’t talking about my soul even though I spent a lot of time around our old church. 

“We all need guidance. The young woman needs a place to call her own.” Somehow, Lily knew and squeezed my hand while fixing her eyes on Father. “We would very much welcome both of you.” 

Father went on about how Reverend Michael’s sermons lacked fire. “You’re full of snowflakes,” he said. I hadn’t seen it that way at all. Sure, Reverand Michael mostly preached the joyous benefits of living by His teachings, but he always became properly dark when denouncing sin before he would brighten again, celebrating repentance and forgiveness. 

“Wait here,” Lily said to me. “You need to come with me,” she said to Father. She never checked to see whether he was following. 

I meandered about until they returned several minutes later. Father was flushed and relaxed, just like when he came home from dates or after his dates left our house—just like after I masturbated some guy, or fellated them, or fornicated with them. They never called themselves ‘dates,’ though, and I know Father’s weren’t either. 

Lily embraced me and whispered, “Judge not,” before loudly and jubilantly welcoming Father to the church. I was confused but excited about the welcome, so I chose to believe that what happened hadn’t. 

Father attended services with me the next week, dropped me off the next, and told me to leave early after that because it wasn’t “a short walk for a fat girl like you.” Neither Lily nor Reverend Michael asked about Father. Lily very soon behaved as if he had never existed and treated me like I had always been the only one who made my own life decisions. 

The vicar (I deferentially started to call him that, too) paid a lot of attention to me. He was like a father and a preacher and a man all rolled into one. He would ask me about school and pretended not to believe me when I said I never had any boyfriends. 

Lily was always nearby and often shooed him away. “If you’re going to hang around here so much, I’m going to put you to work,” she said, and I was grateful that she did. I didn’t get paid like a job, but she gave me money when there was a little extra. They let me use one of the Sunday School rooms for studying and my grades got better than they ever had. 

I moved out of Father’s house halfway through my first semester at the community college—his new fiancée wanted me to pay rent. Lily and the vicar took me in until I could find a room of my own. Between the church, school, and my jobs, I kept too busy to care about dating, real or not. It helped that I was ashamed of the way I used to behave with boys. I should have been ashamed of what I did to myself instead, but as hard as I tried, I wasn’t. 

Once I was on my own, I didn’t have to make sure I wasn’t caught, or even be quiet when I touched myself. I could laugh, or cry, or cry out, every time I squeezed my pudgy hands between my tubby thighs. Sometimes I savagely tugged on my cunt lips or wrathfully pulled on my cunt hairs. Mostly, I let my fingers love me. 

Living alone, I didn’t have to make an excuse for the tall stack of clean towels I kept ready by my bed. 

What real shame I had, had come from not noticing how the vicar and Lily were changing. Her characteristic energy was waning, and he was becoming irascible. Father would have liked what the vicar’s sermons had turned into. 

After the congregation had dispersed one Sunday, and after I had straightened things up as I always had, I found Lily resting with her head on her work desk. Normally, she and her husband prayed together after services. Reversing our roles, I approached and comforted her. 

“I’m just a little tired,” she said. She was more than a little tired. I offered to get the vicar, but she stopped me with a sharp, brusque, “No!” Apologies tumbled from my trembling lips, but she quieted me. 

“The vicar.” She had my attention and gathered her thoughts. “Your faith. We need your strength. Despite your youth, there is no one else.” 

I would have done anything for them, and I said so. 

“We’ll see.” She took me to a storeroom that I had been told held nothing that concerned me and retrieved an old skeleton key. “Remember. We all have demons.” 

The unexpectedly big room was dimly lit by a bare overhead bulb and candles next to a well-used Bible. Ropes and pulleys with wooden boards hung far from the door. That’s where the vicar sat with his hands clasped and his head bowed. His shirt, shoes, and socks were neatly arranged off to the side. 

“What’s she doing here?” His angry tone startled me. At first, I attributed his malevolent appearance to the candlelight, but then I wasn’t sure. “Where have you been?” 

Once my eyes adjusted, the mostly empty room was a lot to take in. A long table was filled with things of leather, and bright and burnished metals. Lily locked the...