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[This is another story in the ongoing Mrs. Tupa series that are chronologically in alphabetical order by title. You may get more out of this story if you read the stories preceding it. This story, like all of my stories, are NOT for everyone. They are intended for a very select readership of those who enjoy stories about bodily fluids and materials, strong smells, violations of taboos, scat, golden showers, body hair, and so on. You get the idea. Many of my stories start slowly, with much buildup, so if you are looking for a quick wank, these are not for you. If, despite these warnings, you read on and are disappointed, please find other stories on this site that may better suit you. Please do not down vote this story just because it does not fit your tastes. Thank you. ]
A high school pal decides to help Jack out.
Right at the beginning of my catechumenate, Father Viktor had mentioned that the Bohemian Church parish badly needed new blood to help serve the needs of the many Czech widows who were the majority of the congregation’s members. Perhaps I might find some good prospects among my circle of high school friends who had decided to stick around town and attend the community college? I had been so caught up in my first month or two of service to the parish, that I had forgotten that suggestion, but the level of demand among the congregants was beginning to overwhelm my own capacity.
It didn’t make things any easier that when I became a catechumen, I had to temporarily withdraw from my college courses and concentrate for the first few months on learning the ins and outs of the Bohemian catechism and receive training in the duties of a lay server. I hardly saw any of my remaining circle of friends, and the few that I did run across, considered my apparent religious turn to be decidedly strange, as if I had joined some kind of cult. If only they knew!
But there was one pal, a good natured guy by the name of Nick, who seemed quite curious about my new enthusiasm for the Bohemian community. He’d always expressed a particular attraction to “natural” women and I knew for certain that he was a big fan of older ladies with big busts and big bottoms. The longer the waiting list grew for my home visits to our needy widows — it was now up to a six-week wait — the more I thought about sounding Nick out. I sensed that he’d make a perfect lay server, and from what details he had confessed to me, I thought his fetishes were a good fit for the Bohemian congregation.
I brought up Nick as a possible prospect with Father Viktor, and the good Father was decidedly intrigued. He counseled me on how to put out tentative feelers to Nick, not revealing too much of the closely held Bohemian “old ways” and traditions, but sounding Nick out on his attraction to strong smells, body hair, and voluptuous older women.
With the good Father’s encouragement, I arranged a lunch time catch-up with Nick for the weekend, during which I hoped to get a better feel for bringing him into our unique community. Things couldn’t have gone better. Nick was eager to discuss all the taboos that attracted him, and even shared some of his experiences with women who had accommodated his rather pervy obsessions. I gave a few vague hints about my times with our parish widows, and Nick was hooked.
I was thrilled with the possibility that I’d have a good friend backing me up and offering further service to the parish. I left it up to him to work out the arrangements with the community college and his parents. Father Viktor put in a few good words with the college administration, and also arranged a chat with Nick’s parents. In the end, it all went surprisingly smoothly. Nick’s family was Catholic, though in an adjacent parish, so his move into our Rectory and parish presented no problems, just a few administrative adjustments.
* * *
Father Viktor suggested that I have Nick accompany me on some of my home visits, as part of his orientation. A few of the Czech widows were particularly “needy”, which is to say insatiable, and he thought that a double team of lay servers might be especially appreciated in their cases.
“I think that Mrs. Agata Zelenkova would be a special treat for Nick’s initiation into lay service. She takes especially good care of herself and is just in her mid-forties, so she has a striking sense of fashion, compared to many of our widows. You’ll see what I’m talking about when the two of you call on her.”
And so, Nick and I set off for Mrs. Zelenkova’s home in his old VW bug, a handy asset that he’d brought along when he moved into the Rectory. Mother Magdalene, generous soul that she was, had already taught Nick the Kiss of Peace and sharing pee and poop, so he was not a total novice in Bohemian customs. As we drove along, he kept licking his lips and whistling nervously. I tried to reassure him.
“You’ll do just fine, Nick. Believe me, our parish widows are so grateful to have someone visit them and service their needs, that they go out of their way to make you feel at malatya escort home. I seriously doubt that Mrs. Zelenkova will be any different in that respect. Father Viktor said that she’s a real ‘classy lady’.”
“Yikes! What’s that supposed to mean? It sounds kind of intimidating.”
“I think he meant just the opposite. That she’s the kind of lady who puts her visitors at ease. We’re almost there, so we’ll find out soon, in any case. Here, why don’t you park in this spot, so your car’s not right in front of her place. I do try to be a little discrete with my visits.”
I gave Nick a slap on his back as we walked up the sidewalk past two or three houses until we reached Mrs. Zelenkova’s number. We climbed the few steps up to her shaded porch and I rang her doorbell. Our hostess swiftly answered the bell and opened her door, cordially inviting us in.
“Oh my, just look at you two. I’ve been expecting you and here you are, right on time! This is so kind of you. Please just call me Agata, and you are…?”
“I’m Jack and this is Nick. This is his very first time as a lay server for the parish. We’re very pleased to meet you.”
While she was giving us the once over, we tried to smile back politely and not be too blatant in ogling Agata. I immediately saw what Father Viktor had meant about her striking sense of fashion. This was a woman who liked to look her very best.
Her hair was fashioned into a blonde beehive, while her form-fitting red cotton dress came down just past her knees, its fabric decorated with a sprinkling of white geometric shapes. She wore glossy white pumps, while her shapely legs were adorned with seamed sheer black nylon stockings, through which I could see a generous growth of fine light brown hairs. Her dress was sleeveless and scooped down in front, showing plenty of cleavage, into which a pearl necklace plunged. Smiling sweetly, she raised her arms to make sure her beehive was all neatly in place and gave us a proud view of the large tufts of brown hair gracing her armpits.
If Agata meant to tease us with her charms, she was doing an excellent job. Both Nick and I had sprung boners that tented our pants out in a prominent manner that was not lost on our hostess.
“Well, boys, can I offer you an apéritif? Perhaps a wee glass of Cointreau? I can see that you are both ready to jump right in, but I like to take things leisurely. I find that half the pleasure of a nice romp is in the anticipation. Don’t you agree?”
We nodded at her dumbly, momentarily struck speechless, but ready to agree to whatever she wanted. Usually when I made my rounds of the parish’s elderly Bohemian widows, they were ready to strip immediately and get right down to sharing pee and poop. Agata seemed to operate at a different pace altogether. She had us sit on her sofa, while she walked slowly to her kitchen, her large rump shifting back and forth underneath her tight red dress. Once she was out of sight, Nick leaned over and whispered in my ear.
“This is heaven! What an Amazing Woman!”
“Well, you now know what Father Viktor meant when he called her a ‘classy lady’.”
Just then, Agata walked back in with a small serving tray with three small crystal stem glasses filled with the clear liqueur. She leaned over and set the tray down on the coffee table, giving us a good view of her mammoth teats and the deep cleavage between them. We each took a glass which, at her direction, we raised in a toast “to our open hearts and minds.” I felt the urge to add “and brassieres” to the toast, but thought better of it. Good things come to those who wait, as the proverb goes. Just how long Agata was going to make us wait, was the question, though it turned out that the answer was “not all that long”.
Once we had finished our Cointreau, and set our glasses down. Agata rose from her chair and beckoned us over.
“Who wants a hug?” was her way of announcing the Embrace of Eden, and our mutual answer was a quickly exclaimed “I do!”
“And do we want it clothed or naked?” “Naked!” we both agreed.
“Well then, I will certainly need your assistance. You don’t expect a poor girl to undress all by herself, do you?”
We shook our heads tentatively, not sure where this was going. Agata took us in hand and walked us up to her bedroom, where she suggested we undress ASAP and then turn our attention to her. We did so at warp speed, tossing our clothes and shoes in a small pile in the corner. We turned back to face her, both sporting rigid pricks pointing at her as if they were homing devices.
“Oh my! I do like your attitude, boys. You sure know how to compliment an old lady.”
“You don’t look like an old lady to me,” Nick blurted out. “Not that there’s anything wrong with old ladies. But you look like a movie star!”
“In a Russ Meyer movie, perhaps,” Agata said mostly to herself. “But I do appreciate the thought. Now, how about you lads help me remove my dress. The zipper’s in the back.”
We both rushed over and Nick escort malatya pulled the zipper down to Agata’s waist. Her dress was sufficiently form-fitting that it gathered in at her modest waist, looking like there was no way it was going to make it down past her lovely wide hips and tush. Agata shrugged the dress straps off her shoulders, once again displaying her hairy pits for our admiration, and indicated we should just pull the dress up and over her head. We did so, careful to avoid mussing her hair-do. She had us drape the dress over the back of a nearby chair and suggested that we unhook her brassiere next.
I had now removed enough bras in the course of my home visits, that I stepped in and deftly did the job, while Nick watched closely. Agata kept the large bra cups in place with her palms, and then suddenly let the sheer black brassiere drop away, letting her bazooms tumble down to just above her navel.
Nick and I were transfixed. Agata’s titties were each more than a handful, with sizable light red areolas the size of silver dollars and dark red nipples that seemed to scream “lick us”. The nipples were decorated with sparse rings of light brown hairs, about an inch long. Agata teased us by hefting her teats in her palms and hiding their red ornaments from our hungry view.
“Not quite yet, boys. There’s a little more to remove. Somehow my panties have gotten very wet. Since this is your first time as a server, Nick, would you like to keep them as a souvenir? Come and get them!”
Agata certainly had Nick’s number. He was over in a flash, kneeling eagerly at Agata’s feet and reaching over to her knickers’ elastic band and sliding the sheer black undies down over her big cheeks and hips, and then down her black nylon-clad thighs, until they pooled around her white pumps and the beautiful woman stepped up and out of the soaked panties. Nick seized them and immediately brought them to his face, inhaling deeply.
“Oh, God! So nice, so nice,” he groaned, staring up at Agata gratefully.
“I’m glad you think so, big boy, but wait ’til you stick your nose into the source of that juice. I hope you’ll know what to do.”
Nick seemed to suddenly realize that in his eagerness to smell Agata’s panties, he was still on his knees and getting a bit side-tracked. He blushed and quickly got up and took the fragrant undies over to our pile of clothes, gave them another quick sniff, and dropped them on top. Then he returned to my side.
Agata was standing before us in just her pumps and sheer black thigh-highs, fluffing her matted pubic forest with her fingers and letting us gaze upon the full extent of her unshaven glory. Her belly and crotch looked as if they had never been touched by a razor; in fact, from what we could see, that was probably true of her whole voluptuous body, with the possible exception of her lovely face, which looked like it benefitted from regular waxing and facials, and probably the daily application of moisturizers.
“Okay, lads, just one more step, and then it’s hugging time with Aunty Agata. I love how my stockings and heels make my legs look so long and shapely, but to perform our Embrace of Eden properly, they need to come off. Do you think you can remove them without making them run? Come over and give them a nice feel first and then let’s get them off. This is all taking a wee bit longer than I estimated.”
We both knelt down before her and ran our hands up and down her nylon-clad calves and thighs, savoring the smooth feel of her stockings contrasting with the tickle of the light hairs covering her legs underneath. We leaned in to inhale the musky aroma of her twat, and then began to slide our fingers beneath her stockings’ lacy elastic tops, trying to move them down smoothly. We got them down to her ankles and then removed her pumps as she lifted her feet one at a time, finally gently sliding the stockings off her pedicured feet.
* * *
Now completely naked, Agata had us stand up for our hug. Rather than doing two Embraces of Eden, one with each of us, she was more taken with the opportunity to have all three of us embrace together, with her sandwiched between our strong young bodies. I hugged her from the front, delighted to feel her pendulous titties pressed against me. My impetuous erection was stiff against her pubic forest, sliming it with my precum which was dripping from my cock’s pee-hole. Even better, my hands were cupping her large buttocks, which were coated with a fine down of light brown hair, which made them quite smooth to my touch.
Nick hugged Agata from behind, parking his boner against her bum crack, sneaking his hands in to squeeze her titties, and snuggling up against her supple back and sniffing the subtle sweaty odor of her wispy neck hair just below her beehive. We just tried to melt into each other, letting our hearts open into a shared feeling of love, each of us letting out quiet gasps and sighs and yearning sounds. As was the ritual’s goal, we found ourselves, with eyes malatya escort bayan closed, transported back to the innocence and lack of shame of Adam and Eve before their ejection from the Garden of Eden. It really was magical.
When we came back to the present, Agata expressed her wish to next give each other the Kiss of Peace before we finished our greeting rituals by sharing our pee and poop. This had been the same order that Dame Taborova had preferred during my first visit with her, and I wondered to myself whether it might be for similar reasons. Since the Bohemian customs and old ways allowed for considerable variation according to mood and situation, the order of such rituals was neither dogmatic nor static.
It seemed obvious, even from our short time together, that Mrs. Agata Zelenkova knew what she wanted and how it might best be fulfilled, so we simply bowed to her experience and expertise. I could feel the quiet presence of my guardian angel concurring with this approach. Things were proceeding as they should, and all was well.
* * *
What more can I say about the sacred joy that the Bohemian community found so compelling about their favorite ritual, the Kiss of Peace, that I haven’t said before? For obscure historical and traditional reasons — some dating back to pre-Christian pagan times in Bohemia — the anus was considered the aperture of love, through which the holy presence of the open heart was both expressed and felt. During the sharing of pee and poop, the emergence of sacred waste through the anus was a sacramental act. Similarly, during the Kiss of Peace, the insertion or reception of one’s tongue into the anal aperture of love was an expression of intimate love shared with one’s fellow church members. That which the world at large, or even the run of the mill believers within the Catholic Church, were taught to consider disgusting and perverse, was from a spiritually elevated perspective a sacred act of love.
The ritual of the Kiss of Peace was so beloved within the Bohemian congregation because its lived experience was so heartfelt. No matter what outsiders or opponents of Bohemian traditions might harshly judge or condemn, if your actual experience of an intimate act was one of love, then who was anyone else to invalidate that?
Deep thoughts, no doubt, most of which didn’t even occur to me until years later. In the heat of the moment, we were all just jazzed that we were about to lick and kiss each other’s most intimate erogenous zones. Who would be first?
Again, Agata was inclined to have Nick be her first recipient, assuring that the first-time server would have a happy memory of today that would last a lifetime.
“Alright, Nick, my dear, up on the bed with you. Rest your face on a pillow and kneel on your knees and elbows, with your delicious looking butt high in the air, and get ready for my kiss. Jack, sweetheart, you can kiss me from behind, at the same time, as well. Ohhhh, I can’t wait! It’s been ages since I enjoyed a two-fer!”
Agata was clearly thrilled to have the fresh young arse of an inexperienced 18-year old just inches from her face. She spent a minute just licking and sniffing Nick’s butt, sticking her nose into the musky hair where his thighs met his crotch, and kissing and licking his furry balls. Then grabbing the flesh of his cheeks, she pried him open and sniffed again and shuddered. She kissed his hair-ringed anus and began to lick and probe his love aperture with her long pointed tongue. She was not shy about making rude smacking sounds as she feasted on his ass.
However, as exciting as it was to watch Agata’s hungry assault on Nick’s sphincter, it was even hotter to realize that she wanted me to do the same with her beautiful bottom which was on offer before me. It was so soft and smooth to my touch that I wondered if she sprinkled baby powder upon it during her daily toilette. Whatever she did, it smelled wonderful: powdery and perfumed, with a sweaty under-odor of musky love juice and anal vapors. If a perfumery could duplicate her natural aromatic concoction, they’d stand to make a fortune.
Just as no two snowflakes are identical, no two sphincters are alike. It didn’t take me long, in the course of my house-call duties, to have this truism driven home. Many of the elderly parish widows with whom I shared the Kiss of Peace had rather gnarly anuses, though I loved them just the same. Stretched and swollen by constant use, often discolored and showing signs of bloom-like hemorrhoids, it was no small part of my duties to treat them delicately and with respect. They often responded well to the ministrations of my tongue, which they found soothing, even healing. It was very gratifying to lovingly kiss the rude bumps ringing an ancient asshole, and to have a lonely woman in her seventies or eighties reduced to sobs of gratitude for how good I was making her feel.
Agata Zelenkova was decades younger than most of her fellow widows, and in excellent condition, not yet entering that “time of life” when a rose begins to fade. The many creases converging in her anal “star” were a delicate pink that provided a visual contrast to the light brown hairs ringing her anus. It might seem a bit odd to describe someone’s asshole as “pretty”, but Agata’s truly deserved that term.
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