I went silently back into my bedroom and raised the brush. Then I brought it down with all the force I could muster, onto the invader's backside. I really packed some force, as the loud "CRACK" when brush met flesh told me. I hoped he, in his shock and agony, would clamp his teeth shut on her treacherous cunt, but no such luck. Instead he opened his mouth to scream, and in doing so sucked on even more of her cunt. Picture the scene, then. The invader was screaming in agony, but still lapping at MY girlfriend's cunt. Girlfriend, eyes now wide open and staring at me, was cumming as hard as she could. And me - I was transfixed with horror yet again, for it now became obvious that the invader was no man!!! It was the young girl who lives next door. I lashed out with the brush at both of them, hitting them wherever I could reach. And even as I beat whatever part of her body I could get at, sparing only her face, she grinned at me in her pleasure, and I could see she was cumming - with a look of pleasure on her face such as I had never seen when we made love.

"Get out!" I spat at her, and turned and left the room. And so I found myself here in the country, my heart full of hatred for all woman-kind. At the bottom of the little lane I was walking down I could see a church, surrounded by a wall, with a single gate allowing access to the graveyard around the building. I opened the gate and went in, and for a moment enjoyed the peace, the flowers, the bird-song. Then I entered the church.

Inside, it was dim and quiet, There was a slight smell of incense and candles, and the sun streamed through the stained glass, casting coloured shadows on the stone floor. A few wooden bench-pews were set out in front of the pulpit and lectern, and behind, right under the east window, was the altar - long, wide, and low, draped with a dark green cloth, cross in the centre, vases of flowers at each end. In front of it, a figure knelt in prayer. I walked quietly down the aisle, and sat in the very front pew, absorbing the silence, the smell, the sense of peace. To be honest, I have never gone for all this religious stuff - when we're dead, we're dead and gone, it seems to me. So I enjoy life now, while I can. Soon I began to study the kneeling figure before me. I could only see his back, of course, since he was kneeling in prayer facing the altar. He wore a black cassock and white surplice, with no other adornment. His hair was blond and curly, and very long, seeming very effeminate. His prayers had all been silent, but now he stood, crossing himself, and spoke:-

"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, now and forever, Amen."

It was a very light voice, not like a man's voice, at all. And then I realised - a woman priest! She turned to face me, and I saw a pretty face, two dazzling blue eyes, and two bumps pushing out the cassock and surplice in a very interesting way around her chest. She became aware of me, and smiled.

"Welcome to our church," she said, coming towards me. "You look troubled - angry? Do you want to talk?" She sat on the pew beside me, and I caught a whisp of fragrance - Chanel, I think - over the smell of flowers and candles, and incense.

Now, what do you call a priest when he's a she? Not father. Mother, perhaps?

"Well, er, Reverend," I replied. "I do have a few problems. Do you have time?"

"Please," she said, with an expressive little wave of the hand which indicated she was ready to listen. Beneath her robes, I could just discern a female shape, tantalising, tempting. I checked myself. I could not think like that - not there, not about her.

"Well, Reverend, I am a sinner," I began. She interrupted me.

"My name is Mary - please don't call me Reverend. And this is not a Roman Catholic church, and I'm not a Catholic priest. You don't have to confess to me - only to God."

"I know that, Mary," I continued. "But I want to confess. I need to confess." Even as I spoke my brain was racing to come up with some sins, real or imagined, to keep her there, talking to me. I began to talk, telling her how I had found my girlfriend with another woman.

"And what did you do?" she asked, eyes wide.

I described the beating, and she shifted in the pew, not I thought, from discomfort, but from a little vicarious thrill.

"What did you do next?" She laid her hand on mine, and a thrill like an electric shock went through me. Now my brain went into overdrive......(cont)