If you have read The Women of St Barney’s you will know about this highly irregular church I was a member of on the outskirts of Georgetown, Guyana. The women were wonderful: it was an almost unbearably tempting buffet of luscious, dark-skinned prime specimens of human femaleness.
There was Mollie, with whom I was falling in love, but she was ultra-respectable and private, so our relationship was growing slowly in the shady conditions of my car when I took her home after church, with occasional tightly-coded messages via Facebook.
There was my rival, Alannah: a rival not for Mollie but for a position of prominence in the church itself. As it was too small to support a full-time minister, we were visited once a month by a priest from another church, and in his absence, either Alannah or I would lead the service. She was a local woman, born and raised a stone’s throw from the church. She was tall and well-built and, importantly, black.
I, on the other hand, was an interloper, a white English smartass who had been there five minutes and had already been given responsibilities just because I looked experienced and respectable.
I lusted after Alannah because she was gorgeous and statuesque. She invited it, with her highly inappropriate Facebook pictures, posing and pouting with fuck me written all over her.
Alannah’s sidekick was even more beautiful and a lot less daunting. Jennifer had a range of sleek, sleeveless dresses and a shapely body to fill them.
Then there was Jean, a slim and rather shaky older woman who was past her best but still very attractive, at least to me.
But I hadn’t had any of these women. I had spent a very nice Sunday afternoon in bed with Sybil, a minor member of the supporting cast who had apparently selected me because she needed a fuck and I was sitting next to her that morning.
Now, word of this had got back to Alannah and I had been summoned to a meeting at the church on Tuesday night.
Alannah sat at the desk in the little office at the back. She was dressed like an African queen in a long, brightly colored blue and green silk dress and matching headscarf. She looked like the world’s most expensive present, wrapped and ready. But for what?
“Sybil?” she said accusingly. “You had Sybil?”
I suppressed a snigger and then a wave of fear swept through me. This was Alannah’s territory and if I had upset her, I had no idea who lurked in the rest of the building.
“You do not fuck the congregation,” she said sternly. “What if the bishop heard about this? Then your plan for domination would go right up in flames, wouldn’t it?”
“I don’t have any such plan,” I protested, but she shushed me.
“Mister Englishman,” she said sarcastically. “I know what you want. I know everything about you. I know about Mollie. I know about Jean, I know…”
“What about Jean?” I spluttered. “I have done nothing but be friendly to her.”
“And she’s in love with you,” Alannah said with a slow smile.
This was news to me. Jean had been married for thirty years to a man who used to be an active member of the church but who now never left the house. Jean’s world was shrinking and her life seemed in danger of grinding to a halt. She always seemed pleased to see me and gave me a hug whenever we met. But that was all, it seemed to me.
“We’re going to put this right,” Alannah said quietly, staring into my eyes. “Jennifer and I have devised a rite and you are going to perform it with us.”
At that moment a low, eerie chanting began in the church and Alannah led me by the hand. The altar had been screened off and in front of it, on an artist’s easel, stood a painting of a substantial, elegant black woman with a white, grey-patterned snake wrapped around her, encircling her breasts and emerging between her legs, its tongue-flicking head resting on her flank. A portrait of Alannah, the high priestess.
To one side of the easel was a pew, strewn with cushions.
“Tonight this is not a church,” Alannah said firmly. “I would never allow debauchery in a holy place. But a church is its people, not the building, and tonight this is a temple. My temple. Don’t look so sanctimonious. You worshipped at the minor shrine of Sybil’s back passage. Tonight you will worship and devote yourself to mine.”
I looked at her for a trace of a smile, but there was none.
“But first,” Alannah said grandly. “My maidservants.”
From behind the screen came Jennifer and Jean, dressed in simple but flowing white dresses. Ebony angels. Jennifer looked me in the eye but Jean gazed vacantly at the floor.
“Jennifer!” Alannah commanded. “If you please.”
Jennifer moved to the pew, turned her back to us and lifted her skirt. Then she knelt on the cushions, her naked buttocks gleaming in the candlelight.
“You will lick my maidservant Jennifer,” Alannah pronounced. “Start low down, in the hair below her lips.”
I knelt on the dark red carpet and put my head behind Jennifer’s proffered rump. She had just a little pubic fuzz which, in this position, was below her slit. I touched the hair with my tongue and she gasped. Then my tongue moved up to her clitoris and she moaned a little. She smelled clean – almost too clean, as if she had been ordered to make herself odorless for this occasion, this ceremony.
My nose was between her labia, in a place of utter privilege, and yet my understanding was that I was supposed to feel demeaned.
I licked Jennifer’s vagina but before I could really get stuck in, Alannah’s voice rang out.
“Up, up, up. Between her buttocks.”
I rose a few inches as instructed and began to lick Jennifer’s arse.
Again, before I could really get going, Alannah’s voice rang like a warning bell.
“Enough! Get up.”
I stood, stepped back and watched as Jennifer sat cross-legged on the floor, her skirt raised to the waist and her open pussy winking at me.
Alannah walked to the pew, turned her back to me and removed her headpiece, shaking free her long, ironed hair. Then she slipped the dress off her shoulders and it cascaded to the floor. Jean stepped forward, picked it up and put it on a chair.
Alannah took up the kneeling position on the pew.
“Take your clothes off and kneel behind me,” she commanded, turning her head to observe my hasty stripping.
“Good,” she said. “An erection.”
I was actually quietly surprised, because the situation was a strange mixture of erotic and creepy. But I was proud that my little friend, who had been with me through so many adventures, was willing and able, standing to attention, ready for whatever was in store for us.
“You will lick my bottom,” Alannah said more quietly. “You will not touch my vagina. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“You will address me as Your Highness,” she boomed.
“Yes, Your Highness,” I answered dutifully.
“What part of me will you lick?”
“Your bottom, Your Highness.”
“And only my bottom,” she said in conclusion. “And you will give me an orgasm.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Proceed,” she said.
I knelt behind her and put my hands on her hips to steady myself, then pulled her buttocks apart and entered her inner sanctum.
Unlike Jennifer, she had not deodorized herself meticulously. She smelled like a woman smells if you catch her unawares. From her vagina, that forbidden zone, I caught wafts of salt and vinegar. Not unpleasant to a man of my proclivities but enough to put some men off.
Her bottom, too, was in a natural state, clean enough to spare both of us any embarrassment but with a definite aroma of her natural oils. The sort of smell that leaves you in no doubt that you are licking a woman’s arse, that noble calling which only a few answer.
And all the more for us, I say.
I licked Alannah’s arse eagerly, sensuously and thoroughly. I licked the sides, the insides of her buttocks. I lapped at her little hole and poked my tongue into it as much as was possible. And I licked her with love.
Normally when visiting this region there is no time – or indeed reason – for sightseeing, but I was aware that we were being watched.
In the corner of my eye I saw Jennifer, still cross-legged but now playing with herself, her head tilted back and eyes rolling. Next to her, Jean stood demurely, but with her right hand pressed into her dress at pubis height, stimulating herself discreetly.
Alannah began to come to the boil like a kettle, with a low rumbling that turned into a growl and kept rising as my tongue beseeched her to climax. I could feel the energy growing inside her as I licked her wonderful arsehole. And then she was an octave higher, crooning in anticipation.
And eventually, just as the steam causes the kettle to whistle, she was singing with ecstasy.
“Aaah!” she trilled. “I’m coming. Don’t stop. Aaah, aaah, oh God. Aaaaah!”
Her body went slack as the orgasm subsided and she leaned on the back of the pew, panting and trying to speak coherently.
“Wait there,” she said, patting my arm in a more friendly, less bossy way. “Jean, come here,” she called, and the little older woman stepped forward.
“On your knees,” Alannah said. “Your time has come.”
Jean knelt beside the pew. Alannah slapped me on the arm.
“Stand up and cum in her mouth,” she said.
I got up, a little self-consciously, and stood in front of Jean. She looked up at me, nervous but the light of love in her eyes, and I knew she knew her part in all this and was happy about it.
Jennifer had stopped masturbating but her finger hovered over her clitoris, ready to restart when the final act began.
“Wank in Jean’s mouth,” Alannah said again, now sitting on the pew, her own right hand between her legs. “Not on her face, in her mouth.
I stepped forward a little and got into position in front of Jean’s face. Her mouth was slightly open. I was electrified with lust as I rubbed my lamp and called the genie of my own orgasm.
It took just seconds before my knees started to buckle as my semen rushed up. I edged even closer to Jean and she opened her mouth, then clamped it around my cock as I pumped my spunk into her. I stroked her head and enjoyed the slight but distinct feeling as she rubbed her breasts against my legs.
Jennifer cried out as her orgasm gripped her and Alannah gave a low groan of deep satisfaction as she came for the second time in little more than a minute.
A few moments later Alannah dismissed me.
“You may go. You have done well.”
As I left through the back door she called to me.
“You’re reading the lesson on Sunday. I’ll message you.”
