Dinner with the Archbishop of Canterbury
By Blacksheep. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.
On Monday afternoon, a letter arrived at the vicarage that took Reverend Morris by surprise.
"I don't believe this!" He gasped, reading the letter out loud to Jenna. "It's from Bishop George. He says that Justin Welby, the Archbishop of Canterbury is planning to visit next week."
"Whoa, " Jenna spluttered.
"Yup. You and I have been invited to dine at Bishop George's place. Apparently the Archbishop is visiting several dioceses, and parish churches, and for some bizarre reason, humble little St. Michael's church has caught his eye! Bishop George states that I'll be receiving a letter from the Archbishop over the next few days, outlining the reason for his visit."
"Wow, what a tremendous honor for you, Simon!" Jenna smiled, flinging her arms around him. "Well you're the best vicar ever, so he obviously wants to give you some sort of award!"
"Hmm, maybe?" Reverend Morris re-read the letter. "This is totally unexpected, and a bit bizarre. I can't get my head round it."
"I remember seeing Justin Welby give that speech when we were watching the Queen's funeral." Jenna said. "And to think, we're going to get to meet him! This is really exciting!"
"I wish I shared your optimism my love, but I can't help but thinking that there's a catch."
A few days later, Reverend Morris' fears were confirmed when a second letter arrived.
"I don't believe this!" The vicar lamented as he read the Archbishop's letter. "It has come to the Archbishop's attention that there is a big plaque in St. Michael's church that commemorates a local man called Henry Barrington-Smythe, who died in 1695 and worshipped at the church. According to the covert research conducted by the Archbishop, Henry once owned a horse that he sold to someone whose second cousin twice removed, was involved in the slave trade."
"I can see how that could be seen as quite triggering in this day and age," Jenna said. "But I'm sure the horse wasn't bothered."
Reverend Morris slapped his forehead. "Oh this is a nightmare. The Archbishop recommends that the plaque is removed. It's not that simple though. It's actually carved into the wall, near the organ pipes. To remove it, would cause terrible damage to the wall! Our little church is so old, and we've worked so hard to fundraise to repair the roof."
Jenna narrowed her eyes, seeing how distressed her husband was. This situation needed rectifying immediately.
"Simon, try not to worry. When we dine at Bishop George's place, you will have the chance to put your point across to the Archbishop. Has he made this information about the plaque public?"
"No," Reverend Morris replied. "To be honest, I know hardly anything about this Henry Barrington-Smythe chap. I Googled him once, and information was really scarce. Nothing on Wikipedia. A few obscure paragraphs on the parish register. He was vicar here during the 1670s and left a lot of money to the church in his will."
Jenna smiled. "Oh good. So what we have here is a controlled situation."
"For now. I expect he'll tweet all about it after the meeting."
We'll see about that, Jenna thought to herself.
The day of the meeting arrived. Reverend Morris anxiously fiddled with his clerical collar and kept checking his watch. Nearly time to set off to Bishop George's house.
Presently, Jenna came breezing into the sitting room, where her husband stood, gazing out of the window at the front garden beyond. In a pale pink gown, pearl cross earrings, and her red hair swept back, she looked more suited to a red carpet event in Hollywood than a sober meal with the clergy.
"Do I look alright?" She asked, knowing full well what Reverend Morris' response would be.
"Oh my God, wow, you look absolutely beautiful as always, Jenna. Right well, we'd better get going."
"Try not to worry, Simon." She said, kissing him. "It might not be as bad as it seems."
He sighed. "St. Michael's church means so much to me. I treasure its heritage. You and I, we've both worked so hard to build up its congregation, raise money to restore the roof, the stained glass windows and to fix the dry rot in the vestry."
"And we shall continue to treasure it. Don't you worry. Things might turn out alright. I'm sure an acceptable compromise can be reached."
"I hope so."
They headed to the car. A plan was forming in Jenna's mind. Justin Welby isn't the best-looking of men, she thought. Mind you, I don't plan on looking at his face,
Bishop George was stood at the door of his home when Jenna and Reverend Morris arrived.
"Great to see you both!" He smiled. "Can't say I'm happy at what the Big Boss is proposing here."
"You and me both, George," Simon sighed. Jenna winked at the bishop.
"Right, do go in, make yourself comfortable, there are refreshments waiting. Dinner shall be served at six. Bishop Finch was supposed to be here too, you remember him? Alas, he cried off. Dishonest and he drinks. Good bishops are so hard to find these days, eh?" Bishop George ushered him in. As Jenna walked past, he winked back at her.
"I've got your red lace panties on tonight," he whispered.
"A great choice!" Jenna whispered back.
Reverend Morris sipped a sherry as he nervously awaited the Archbishop's arrival. Five minutes later, there was the sound of a car door being slammed shut, and Bishop George could be heard welcoming someone.
"He's coming," Reverend Morris gulped. "Why do I feel like a little kid about to be sent to detention?"
"God is with us," Jenna replied, patting his thigh.
Bishop George entered the room. "It is a great pleasure to welcome our Archbishop of Canterbury, Justin Welby, to dine with us this evening. Jenna and her husband stood up.
"Oh good, he's come alone," Jenna smiled, fearing that his wife might have accompanied him. He was clad in a grey jacket, with black shirt, black trousers, a clerical collar and a large cross round his neck.
Everyone shook hands. "Ah, Reverend Morris," the Archbishop began. "The vicar of St. Michael's. Nice to meet you at last."
"Thank you, Your Grace. And this is Jenna, my wife."
Jenna was quick to offer her hand. "I've wanted to meet you for such a long time, Your Grace. You're sitting next to me at the table!"
The vicar's young and stunning wife had certainly caused the Archbishop to raise an eyebrow. "Am I? Well lucky old me. I am very honored!" Privately, he was astonished that the mild-mannered vicar of St. Michael's had managed to pull such a gorgeous woman. He was normally immune to such things, but found himself rather shamefully gawping at Jenna's cleavage.
"What a mercy she wasn't at the Queen's funeral," he said to himself. "If she'd been sat in the crowd, I'd have struggled to concentrate."
The pre-dinner conversation between Reverend Morris, Bishop George and the Archbishop remained cordial, if not a bit overly formal. While the three men spoke, Jenna was a constant figure at the Archbishop's side; laughing at his unfunny jokes, pretending to enjoy his boring stories of ministry in Africa, inquiring about Westminster Abbey, and generally hanging on his every word like an infatuated student with her tutor.
Bishop George suggested his guests seat themselves at the table in preparation for the first course. The Archbishop took his seat. On his right was Jenna, and Reverend Morris was opposite him.
"Bishop George is such a good cook, Reverend Morris prattled nervously. "I've dined here before and his roast dinners are something to marvel at. I, I enjoy cooking too."
Sensing her husband's discomfort, Jenna cut in. "He's a much better cook than I am. Most things I cook aren't suitable for human consumption."
The Archbishop chuckled. "Let us say a prayer before we dine."
The first course passed without incident, but Jenna was hungry for something else. The Archbishop had launched into a lengthy monologue about hurtful plaques and statues, and Jenna sensed it was time to act. Bishop George was in the kitchen and Reverend Morris excused himself as he needed to go to the bathroom. She was alone with the leader of the Church of England, the ceremonial head of the worldwide Anglican Communion. Now was the time for the vixen to catch her prey.
"You've done so many impressive things during your tenure, Your Grace. Words cannot explain how much I admire you," she continued, flattering him off the scale."
"Why thank you Jenna. "I appreciate your kind words!"
Jenna continued. "Your Grace, I ask you as a good Christian, would you not consider dropping this little investigation into this pesky old plaque in my husband's church? Your letter has caused him a great deal of worry, you have no idea how much, "
The Archbishop adjusted his glasses. "Jenna, I have no wish to cause any distress to your husband. I am simply trying to ensure that our C of E churches are inclusive to all, and devoid of harmful imagery."
He had been quietly sipping his soup. Suddenly, a strange sensation made him almost drop his spoon. Something was moving up his right leg and pushing his legs apart, the mystery thing continued to rise higher, now it was nudging his inner thigh, he realized it was Jenna's hand.
"Are you enjoying your soup?"
"Um, Jenna, what are you doing?"
"As I was saying, your letter has stressed my husband out so much, that he and I have been unable to make love all week. Can you imagine how upsetting that has been?" Jenna continued, furtively sliding her hand across his thigh and squeezing gently.
The Archbishop glanced down and then at her. "Um, well I'm very sorry to hear that."
She smiled back and began rubbing his inner thigh very gently. He cleared his throat and blushed. She said nothing, but continued gently rubbing, and moving closer to that treasure she wanted to touch most of all.
"Do you realize what you're doing? I am a married man!" He whispered.
"I do, but you pride yourself on having a liberal outlook, yes? Anyways, there is a holy place I would very much like to explore, if I may be permitted to do so, if I may be so bold as to request permission from Your Grace, "
"You are, a rather naughty vicar's wife," he whispered back, feeling his cheeks flushing.
"You haven't granted permission, Your Grace."
The Archbishop took a deep breath. Why was he giving in to temptation so easily? If he refused, would she kick up a fuss? Bishop George and the vicar could return at any moment.
"Mrs. Morris, you may do as you wish. I am yours to explore, "
This was all the permission she required. Before the Archbishop could complete his sentence, Jenna reached across the startled man's lap and quickly unzipped his trousers. He could not believe the dexterity and speed at which his beautiful assailant nimbly accomplished the task. He shot an astonished wide-eyed glance at the temptress seated next to him. Guessing his thoughts, Jenna flashed a mischievous smile and said, "Your Grace. I heard that there's a name for a bishop's staff. It's called a crosier. Am I right?"
"Er, yes. That's right."
Jenna swiftly freed the Archbishop's staff from his white boxer shorts. He may not have been the most handsome of men, but he had a gorgeous cock. It wasn't a monstrous length like Father Aiden's or thick like Gordon's, but it was impressive all the same. Definitely holy!
The Archbishop's back stiffened and he caught his breath as he felt Jenna's soft, warm fingers wrap around his engorged fuck pole. The touch from this ravishing young beauty in the most sensual of spots sent chills throughout his body. He suppressed a gentle moan in the back of this throat as Jenna began to slowly run her hand up and down the shaft.
She knew to vary the speed of her up and down motion, and could sense when the Archbishop was reaching peak ecstasy. Before he could achieve sexual release, Jenna slowed her pace or altered the movement in order to delay gratification. She wanted the Most Reverend's pleasure to extend for as long as possible. Jenna explored every feature along the length of her newest conquest's fleshy sceptre. Her delicate fingers rippled over the veiny surface, massaged the soft foreskin, and gently squeezed the head. When she reached the shaft's base, the eager filly worked her slender digits along the Archbishop's inner thigh and cupped his balls, juggling them with her fingertips.
"Your Grace, I beg of you. I want to go further and worship properly. However I cannot do this unless you agree to scrap your suggestion that St. Michael's remove its plaque to Henry Barrington-Smythe. Let him and his horse rest in peace, yes? Neither of them kept slaves. I'm sure Henry sold his horse in good faith and had no idea what links the buyer had. A few years ago I gave my old smartphone to a woman at work who turned out to be a massive fan of Cliff Richard. Some might say that was a crime against humanity."
The Archbishop was desperate to come. Sweat had broken out on his forehead and his glasses were steaming up. "Okay, you have my word," he sighed. "I'll scrap the whole thing!"
"Thankyou, .dear Justin!" She said, using his Christian name for the first time. Carefully, Jenna removed one of her earrings. The Archbishop had to stifle a gasp as she slid out of her chair and under the table. "God," he murmured, almost incredulous at her conviction and boldness. Then with almost no hesitation, she dropped her head and closed her mouth around his throbbing shaft.
The Most Reverend's breathing started to become more rapid and shallow, an indication Jenna recognized as signaling her oral exertions would soon be ending. Wanting to provide the head of the church with the greatest amount of pleasure possible, Jenna's grand finale was to deep throat his cock and vigorously jerk up and down on it. This motion had the desired effect within moments, as a muffled groan escaped the Archbishop's mouth. Jenna felt the holy rod in her mouth recoil as it shot a mighty stream of pearl-colored ejaculate down her throat. This first round was quickly followed by a second and then a third as the Most Reverend's balls unloaded their thick, milky contents. Jenna swallowed and savored every drop. It is a truth not universally acknowledged, that the taste of a man, especially a man of God, is the finest taste in the world, she thought. A final spurt missed its target and splashed down her cleavage.
Only after the last discharge was launched and the Archbishop leaned back in his chair exhausted and sweaty, did Jenna finally withdraw.
The Archbishop jolted in panic as Bishop George and Reverend Morris returned to the dining room. He quickly poured himself a glass of water and swallowed it. He wondered how to warn Jenna, but she'd already sensed it was time to return to her seat.
"I'm sorry I was so long," Reverend Morris mumbled. "Call of nature and all that."
"And silly me, I forgot to turn the oven up, but worry not, the roast beef is nearly ready!" Bishop George replied.
"Understood," panted the Archbishop, wiping his glasses.
Bishop George tilted his head at his Jenna's empty chair, and the movement under the table. He raised the tablecloth.
"Oh I say, Jenna. Have you lost something?"
"Just my pearl earring," she calmly replied. "But fortunately, I have now found it."
Bishop George nodded and gave a wry smile. "So I see. And you seem to have gained a pearl necklace too!"
A Ghost Appears at the Methodist Church
"What are your thoughts on ghosts, Jen?" Reverend Morris said as he climbed into bed.
Jenna reclined next to her husband, and ran a finger through his chest hair. "Hmm, never given them much thought. I keep an open mind. I've never seen one myself, but I'd like to! I wouldn't be scared. Just really fascinated."
"I might get to see one tomorrow. I've just had a rather desperate email from Reverend Marsha Ewing over at the Oakwood Road Methodist Church. She's at her wits end. Says her church has been haunted by a persistent ghost ever since Halloween. She's tried walking around splashing holy water on the walls, saying a prayer of deliverance, but to no avail. The church has had to remain closed all week."
"Whoa, that ghost must really like the Methodist church then!" Jenna said. "I haven't been in there since I was a little girl. My gran is a Methodist. I remember going to a few services. I remember it being light and airy inside, with the white balcony and pale yellow walls."
"Well it's not just any old ghost that's taken up residence there. Reverend Ewing is adamant says that it's the ghost of John Wesley."
"What, the John Wesley? The founder of Methodism?" Jenna blinked.
"Yes. That's the bit I find really hard to believe. Not saying that Reverend Ewing is lying of course. I just can't understand why John Wesley of all people, would choose to return to this earthly realm. I mean, he was a true servant of God, a good man, who preached to the masses and led a long, pious life. Why would his soul suddenly become restless and earthbound?"
Jenna was fascinated. "Maybe he didn't choose to return. Maybe someone or something lured him back, and he's got trapped somehow? Don't they say on All Hallow's Eve, the barrier between the dead and the living is broken and the dead can pop back for a visit? Or something?"
"Good theory!" Reverend Morris replied. "Wesley did visit the site where the Oakwood church now stands. The church wasn't built until Victorian times, but he preached out in the open in the 1770s. The very spot where he stood is marked by a bronze statue of him. Anyways, Reverend Morris has decided to ask other members of the clergy for help. She's asked me to go along to the church tomorrow. Hopefully two vicars are better than one, and we can help John to return to the other side, so to speak."
"Shouldn't Father Aiden be called along too? Like in the Exorcist?"
Reverend Morris laughed. "I once watched that movie with some mates at university. I really regret eating at the time, it put me off soup for weeks. Bit different though. That was movie about demonic possession, not a haunting."
Jenna thought for a while. "If you ask me, having John Wesley actually appear could be a fantastic tourism opportunity for the church. Think of the visitors it could attract. Maybe he just wanted to see one of his old worship spots again. I wish he could've brought his brother Charles along. You know how much I'm a fan of him. Did I ever tell you I once had an erotic dream about him?"
"No? Tell me more!"
"I was working as a tavern wench, when Charles arrived, weary after a long journey from Bristol. I led him to a bedchamber. He told me he was travelling to London, to visit his brother, John."
Jenna rolled over and kissed him. The Reverend's tongue darted into her mouth, fondling hers. Her left arm stretched across his back with her hand resting between his shoulders. With her right hand, she reached down the front of his boxer shorts, slowly tracing up and down the length of his engorged cock with her palm.
"And, I helped Charles overcome his writer's block, so he was able to write Hark the Herald Angels Sing."
She pulled down his boxers and rolled her tongue around the head of her husband's cock, trying to get every drop of precum.
"Oh, I'll never be able to think of that carol in the same way again!"
Next morning, Reverend Morris headed to Oakwood Road Methodist Church. It was a small, solidly-built structure, sandwiched between a row of terraced houses, their brickwork still smoke-blackened from the days of the Industrial Revolution.
"This part of town never seems to change," Reverend Morris said to himself, as he parked the car. "They call it the Victorian Quarter."
The vicar of Oakwood Road Methodist Church was Reverend Marsha Ewing, a jolly, middle-aged black woman. Originally from South Carolina, she'd emigrated nearly ten years ago, and put her heart and soul into running the church. Even the dismal British weather couldn't dampen her spirits. Now for the first time, she looked a little stressed.
"Thanks for coming, Simon," she said as he entered the church.
"Not at all," he replied. "Always happy to assist a fellow person of the cloth. A most unusual situation this. I've never been called upon to be a "deliverance minister" before. First time for everything I guess!"
"I've been going out of my mind with this. Ol' Mr. Wesley ain't for staying' quiet! I've tried everything to placate the guy but nothing works. I've tried prayer, singing hymns, talking to him. Went through the whole Ghostbusting routine. I asked Róisín, the vicar from the Living Earth Free Church to call round yesterday. She's only been in the role a few weeks, but very willing to help. We both prayed together, hoping John would find peace. But it didn't work and this morning, John appeared again, in the vestry. Took me by surprise. Started blowing papers around. And the church goes so darn cold when he appears. Actually saw him full-length today. I asked him directly, why is he so upset? He said he couldn't say why, but there's only one person who can help him. I pressed him further. He just said the person he needs lives in this town. Wouldn't say if they're male or female."
"Blimey," Reverend Morris said, rubbing his chin. "That's a bit vague. It could be anyone. The population of this town is around 100,000 people! How are we ever going to find out who the right person is?"
"One of the wardens suggested I post something on the church's Facebook page, but I'd rather keep it all as quiet as possible. We've already had folks making hoax phone calls and posting memes and stuff on Twitter. It ain't funny. Most of my congregation are seniors. They don't want any fuss. Some of them think I'm making the whole thing up, as a sort of viral marketing campaign to increase attendance. Some of the comments online have been nasty."
Reverend Morris sighed. "I'm sorry to hear that. Well, let's pray together and see if we can help John. Not sure if I'm the one he seeks, but there's only one way to find out!"
"Mm, hmm." Reverend Ewing nodded. "John Wesley is very dear to all of us here. He stood in the very spot where that statue is." She pointed to the bronze statue in the corner. "I don't want folks thinking I'm mocking his memory or anything. Must say I haven't experienced anything like this since the Orangeburg Incident of 1999."
"The what?"
"Oh it was when I was back in the States. So, on the night of New Year's Eve 1999, Abraham Lincoln suddenly appeared in a branch of Walgreens. Many blamed it on drug-induced paranoia brought about by the hype of the coming Millennium."
"Fascinating stuff," Reverend Morris replied. He walked over to the Wesley statue. On a table next to it, were three large, newly-lit candles.
"Tell me, does he look exactly like his portrait?"
"Oh yes. Long white hair. Dressed all in black and with preaching bands. He's a short stack too. Around five foot four? Slightly built. He looks so miserable though, like he needs a hug or something."
"The state of the world right now, I think we all need a hug," Reverend Morris said. "Okay, well I'll try my best. If I fail, I'll have to give Father Aiden from St. Gregory's a call. Let's start by saying the Lord's Prayer."
The flames on the candles, which had been steady, flared and writhed, drawn upward by a draft that the two of them couldn't feel. Salamanders of yellow light wriggled across the previously dark side of Reverend Ewing's face. When she looked at the candles, her eyes were as yellow as moons low on the horizon.
"He's coming."
Quickly the candle flames subsided. The church chandeliers dimmed and brightened, dimmed and brightened, like the flickering lights in the classic old movie Gaslight. Reverend Morris felt a growing sense of fear. The temperature in the church had plummeted.
He tried talking to the spirit directly. "The Lord be with you. Lift up your heart, John. I welcome to you to this place of worship. My name is Reverend Simon Morris and I, "
From behind him came not a hand and not, as he might have expected, a blast of heat, but a hissing cold that first prickled the nape of his neck and then seemed to drill into the summit of his spine, through the base of his skull.
Throughout all this, Reverend Ewing remained calm. "Simon," she whispered. "He's behind you."
He didn't want to turn round, afraid of coming face to face with some eldritch abomination, but he summoned his courage. There, stood right behind him, as plain as day, was John Wesley himself. At first glance, he resembled any other living person, save for a faint aura of silver light surrounding him.
"Um, greetings to you, Mr. Wesley." The vicar stammered. He wondered why he was so afraid. Of all the dead persons one could meet, John Wesley was surely one of the nicest, most inoffensive ones.
John's face relaxed into a smile. He put his hands together and bowed. "I thank you most sincerely. Soon, I shall experience salvation, for you are known to this person whom I seek. I hope you can bring her to me soon. I bid you a good day, "
He bowed and vanished. Suddenly, in the space of thirty seconds, it was light and bright in the church. The lights stopped flickering and the gloom lifted. Outside, the clouds had rolled back from the sun. The building was suddenly and unexplainably warm too, as if the temperature had risen by about five degrees.
Reverend Morris dared to exhale. "Oh! Well, that, wasn't too nerve-racking! He's a very polite ghost isn't he?"
"Simon, did you hear what he said? He said her. A female relative or friend of yours is the person he's seeking!"
"Wonder who it could be? Not my mum, surely. Could be Aunt Susan? I'm not seeing the connection here."
"What about your wife?" Reverend Ewing suggested.
He blinked. "Jenna? Oh of course! it must be her! Her grandma is a Methodist! That must be why John wants to see her!"
To be continued.
By Blacksheep, for Literotica.
