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[Here’s another story in my Bohemian church series. While this can be read as a stand-alone, you will likely gain more pleasure by reading the stories that precede it first. All characters are 18 or older. This story involves bodily fluids and matter, and an elderly widow, so if either are a turn-off for you, please look for another story more to your liking.]
Wetting Mrs. Manasek’s Whistle
If you’ve been following my memoirs about my first year learning the duties of a lay server for the eccentric Bohemian congregation in the Rust Belt of Northern Ohio in the late Sixties, you may assume by now that you’ve heard it all. Given that the parish church’s members were almost entirely elderly Czech widows who were devoted followers of the traditions and old ways that the church carefully preserved and promulgated, you might expect that there would be a certain uniformity of “needs” I was expected to discover and fulfill.
However, such an expectation would be a serious mistake. Granted, the parish, under the guidance of Father Viktor and Mother Magdalene, was dedicated to the Bohemian traditions of accepting and celebrating the natural body in all its hairiness, its odors, excretions, and bodily products. But, just as no two snowflakes are identical, none of the parish members I served interpreted their traditions identically nor craved the same things. Mrs. Manasek was a case in point.
* * *
As was my usual routine, I was seated in Father Viktor’s office in the church Rectory on a weekday morning, receiving his guidance for my day’s duties. After years of being the primary meeter of his congregation’s needs, the good father was now passing that task along to me and my good friend Nick, as a younger generation of parish servers. We were delighted with the challenge, and the needy widows we served were ecstatic over the arrival of some “new blood” — or would that be “fresh spunk”?
“Ah, Brother Jack, I see that you are scheduled today to visit Mrs. Milena Manasek. Perhaps you’ve seen her around the church? She’s very active in the Aroma Guild and the Fountain Society. She usually dresses very properly and has an air of great dignity and propriety. Despite all our efforts to teach that our natural bodies and their products are wholesome and sacred, she is one of our parish ladies who seem attached to seeing them as naughty and even obscene.
“This doesn’t mean that she is a prude or unwilling to share in our rituals. Far from it. It’s just that she likes to spice things up to a level where they are sufficiently prurient to drive her to engage in things that deep down she actually craves to do. Do you get the picture?”
“I think so, Father. I’ve been closely reading von Kraft-Ebing’s Psychopathia Sexualis that you lent me, and he describes a certain kind of woman who seems quite inhibited about human bodies in all their intimate aspects, and yet who somehow provokes the most licentious behavior in those who dare to come close to her. It’s a remarkable paradox.”
“Yes, well, Milena’s something like that, but she has her own unique complexities. She’s got a real potty mouth and I mean that in more ways than one. I strongly recommend taking a spare set of clothes, just in case things get out of hand, and you should also hydrate yourself thoroughly beforehand. Just go with the flow and you should have a fine time.”
With Father Viktor’s reassurances, I packed my rucksack and set off to visit Mrs. Manasek.
* * *
Every time I approached the door of a parish member whom I’d not visited before, I felt a tingle go up my spine or perhaps a knot in my stomach as I pondered how things might go. Despite Father Viktor’s attempts to prepare me for what could occur, all he had to draw upon were his own past efforts to meet the needs of our lonely parishioners, and his experiences might have no bearing on my own interactions with the church’s Czech widows and their unpredictable quirks.
As a parish priest, Father Viktor had the institutional authority of the Bohemian church behind him, while I, as a mere lay server, had only the naïve confidence of my youthful hormones and my devotion to the Bohemian old ways and rituals. This meant that in nearly every home visit, I was forced to play it by ear and try to attune myself to the unique needs and desires of the elderly ladies who answered their doors and invited me in.
Imagine then my excitement in ringing Mrs. Manasek’s doorbell and being welcomed in by a very proper white-haired widow in her mid-seventies who was quite immaculately dressed in an ensemble featuring white cotton gloves, lace-trimmed white ankle sox, shiny black Mary Jane strap-on shoes, and a sleeveless pleated blue dress that achieved a peculiar balance between modesty and vivaciousness.
I couldn’t help but notice that she was blessed with an enormous pair of titties that were hoisted aloft beneath her dress by what appeared to be a white bullet bra, giving them a pointed thrust that immediately batıkent escort stirred my meat-stick, making it tent out my trousers’ crotch. As much as I tried not to stare at her bazooms, my eyes were riveted to her immense rack, which caused her to self-consciously readjust her bra while her delicately made-up face flushed a bright red as she observed my excited condition. This threw me well off balance. I did my best to appear calm and confident, but I was uncertain whether I had really pulled it off. She, on the other hand, seemed to recover her propriety immediately.
“Brother Jack, so nice of you to come and visit a lonely shut-in like myself. I do hope we can spend some friendly time together.”
“Yes indeed, Mrs. Manasek, I’m sure we can. I hope you don’t mind me saying that I just love your outfit. It looks so tidy and proper, as if you are about to take communion.”
“Nice of you to notice, young man. I’m a great believer in looking my best, especially for special occasions like a home visit. I find that white gloves are a must for sharing pee and poop properly. They provide a lovely contrast to your emerging turds as you defecate into my cupped hands.”
“Whoa!” I thought to myself, “this could get way kinky. As Father Viktor suggested, ‘just wind her up and let her go!'” The thought of what we might get into made my mouth suddenly go dry and I tried to swallow without much success.
“Dear me, Brother Jack. You’re looking rather parched. How would a nice big glass of iced tea sound to you? Would you like a lemon slice or a couple of sugar cubes with that? Here, come with me to the kitchen and we’ll get you all set up.”
Mrs. Manasek’s kitchen was immaculate; its linoleum-covered floor looked as if it had just been scrubbed, and in my mind’s eye I imagined my hostess down on all fours, with a bucket and a brush, scrubbing away, while her house-dress rode up, exposing an enormous arse incased in a big pair of white granny knickers whose gusset was tightly wedged up her sweaty crotch.
I felt a bit dizzy as all my blood rushed to my bulging cock, once again making the state of my excitement all too obvious. I must have given Mrs. Manasek a guilty look, as she displayed an indulgent smile and spoke in a sultry tone.
“Nothing to be ashamed of, young man. I don’t know what you’re imagining, but I think you’re heading in the right direction. Now, let’s drink down our tea and get started. I can hardly wait to have a nice Embrace of Eden with you.”
I figured that Mrs. Manasek knew what she liked and had it all planned out, white gloves and all. I was correct. Once our tea was drunk and our glasses put in the sink, she had me sit in a simple kitchen chair, facing away from the table, while she announced her intentions.
“Now Brother Jack, I have performed the Embrace of Eden in many different ways over the years, and I’ve found that sitting on a lap is the very best way, at least for me. Here, bring your legs closer together so that you have a lap I can straddle, and we can have a lovely hug.”
I sat and watched in awe, as she gathered up her dress to her waist and held it aside with one hand, while she put her other hand on my shoulder and hoisted herself up with my assistance, sitting herself down on my lap and snuggling up to my trouser crotch, firmly pushing her knicker gusset up against my rigid boner lurking within. She gave me a naughty peek at her big thighs spreading to either side of my lap, a flurry of salt and pepper pubes peeking out of her panty gusset and extending several inches down her inner thighs. Then she dropped her dress down all around her, as if hiding our intimate conjunction.
“There! Now, isn’t this nice, darlin’? Everything’s within easy reach.”
She had her arms wrapped over my shoulders and around my neck, which raised her glorious whoppers to the level of my face, and she was not shy about mashing my snout into her fragrant cleavage. With arms raised, I was quite aware of the furry tufts adorning her armpits. I longed to sniff and lick them, but I was still feeling my way and worried that I might be too forward. As if to reassure me that there was no such thing as too forward, she bent her head down and poked her damp tongue into my left ear and began to lick it in circles that soon had my head spinning.
My job, though it was quite a pleasant task, was to grip her wide buttocks for all I was worth, holding her firmly in place so that she didn’t slip off. We were still fully clothed, but in such a close embrace, that it almost felt like we were naked, except for the soft points of her bullet bra pushing back against me. As the old ways instructed, we opened our hearts to each other and lost ourselves in an enveloping glow of love, as if we were the very first couple experiencing our innocent union before our banishment from the Garden of Eden.
It felt like an eternity, though it was probably only a few minutes, just long beşevler escort enough for me to discover to my embarrassment that while I was “back in Eden” I had drooled all over Mrs. Manasek’s titties. I tried my best to slurp and lick all my drool up, which gave my hostess a fit of ticklish giggles. We both felt as high as a kite, as Mrs. Manasek rocked her knickers against my shaft and whispered conspiratorially, “and now we share pee and poop!”
Without any warning, my very proper hostess just let go and emptied her full bladder, soaking her panties and my crotch with hot pee. I gave out a loud involuntary groan of lewd desire.
“Oopsie!” she chirped with feigned innocence, but her mischievous grin gave her away. “I hope you don’t mind, darlin’. I just love a good surprise, and you seemed like you’d be a good sport. You’ll have your chance to get me back shortly, believe me. I plan to make the most of your visit.”
* * *
We had barely begun the ritual of sharing pee and poop, and already our clothes were soaked. I felt a little uncomfortable sitting in a puddle of piss, but Mrs. Manasek didn’t seem in any hurry to leave my lap. In fact, she snuggled close and gave me a scorching kiss, sticking her tongue into my mouth and jousting playfully with mine. That reinvigorated my erection and she allowed me to cup and fondle her bazooms encased in their soft padded bullet bra. God, I wished I could pull her titties out and kiss her hardened nipples, but she had a slightly different agenda.
She was hugging me and squirming around when she cut loose with an explosive fart. “Sorry,” she muttered, but immediately let out another stinker. Judging from the odor, I suspected that she had bratwurst and sauerkraut for dinner the night before. “Uh oh,” I muttered, “here comes another ‘surprise’.”
Mrs. Manasek clutched me tightly and issued a deep grunt of concentrated effort. She lunged against me and raised her butt which now gave a crackling sound as she started to methodically fill her knickers. “Oh my, oh my,” she forced the words out, as if she had to empty all her orifices at once. “I’m opening my heart for you, sweetheart, hold me tight.”
I know it must sound crazy, but I felt a kind of ecstatic joy as this prim and proper lady positioned herself on my lap and took an enormous dump in her soaking undies. The stench was tremendous, though not revolting, as my lay server duties had rewired my olfactory reflexes. I inhaled the strong aroma through my flaring nostrils and let out a long sigh.
“Damn! Got me again!” I chuckled and gave her a sly look. “And here I took you for a proper lady on her best behavior.”
“Young man, this is my best behavior. It’s all downhill from here. I don’t think you quite realize who you are dealing with.”
“Apparently not! Father Viktor was rather vague about describing you. I’m nearing the end of my training period as a server and he seems to be testing my skills at improvisation.”
“Well, Brother Jack, I’m happy to test them as well. We’re only half-way through sharing pee and poop. It’s your turn next.”
The ritual of sharing pee and poop was perhaps the most fundamental of the Bohemian old ways. Its aim was to banish shame over basic bodily functions, particularly peeing and pooping. Centuries prior to Freud and his theories, Bohemian culture had figured out that embracing body hair, smells, and the most basic release of body liquids and waste was the key to human happiness.
Mrs. Manasek, bless her soul, was a full-blown proponent of this philosophy, but she also didn’t want to give up the illicit pleasure of transgressing boundaries. I decided to do a little pushing of my own.
With her still seated on my lap, with me cupping her buns which were by now a soggy expanse of soiled knickers and human waste, I raised an eyebrow archly and took on a tone of disappointed judgment.
“I imagine, Mrs. Manasek, that you like to think of yourself as a ‘good girl’ who loyally follows the old ways of our church in your own unique fashion. Do you not?”
She squirmed uncomfortably on my lap, further mashing her filthy rear into my corduroy trousers.
“Yesss?” She answered with a questioning tone, as if she was unsure of how she should reply.
“Listen up, Missy! If that’s so, you’ve got another think coming. As far as I can tell, you are not a ‘good girl’ by a long stretch. You are a ‘nasty girl’, if I ever saw one. You’ve made a giant mess of your clothes and mine, and you need to be purified before we go another step further. This calls for a strong dose of Holy Water applied directly. Back off my lap please and get down on your knees.”
This was a rather quick turnabout, and she gave me a questioning look as she complied.
“Please open the compartment and pull out the aspergillum, Mrs. Manasek.”
It took a few seconds, but suddenly it dawned on my hostess what I was referring to. The aspergillum is the ecclesiastical beypazarı escort instrument that dispenses Holy Water from the large perforated ball at its end.
She beamed a brilliant smile at me and eagerly leaned over and unbuttoned my trousers’ fly, tugged down my undershorts, and hauled out my tumescent member with her white gloved hands.
“Now, open wide and receive your purification. I don’t want you to waste a single drop, so I hope your gag reflexes are under control. Prepare to be cleansed.”
Mrs. Manasek gave me an adoring look, as if she was a bad girl who was expecting a thrashing and had been given a lollypop instead. She leaned in and engulfed the dark pink crown of my prick between her crimson painted lips and waited.
It took a moment for me to relax my urethral muscles and then I began to pump my urine into her eager maw. Her eyes bugged out at the deluge and she started swallowing frantically, trying to keep up with my flow and to not let any leak out.
“There you go, Missy, you’re taking it like a champ. Once we’ve got you all filled up and purified, we can proceed.”
As my flow slowed down and tapered off, we continued to stare into each other’s eyes, a palpable glow of love enveloping us. Mrs. Manasek’s bosom was heaving from the intensity of her passion, and as she gave a final suck to my prong, she seemed to surrender to an ecstatic orgasm that made her cry out and expel my spent member, while her body jerked in muscular spasms. She crumbled to the kitchen floor and lay there in a twitching pile, mumbling “oh my God” over and over.
* * *
Mrs. Manasek may have been “purified” by my “Holy Water”, but she was still a stinking mess and I figured we should immediately move ourselves to her bathroom before we proceeded with any further mischief. She actually seemed to rather like moving around with a full load in her knickers, as she had a pleased and alert look to her, but I knew it was only a matter of time before the sodden mess was going to escape her panties and end up all over the floor.
“Alright, Missy,” I addressed her as I helped lift her to her feet in the kitchen. “Lead the way to your bathroom. We need to get out of these soiled clothes and do a little cleaning up. Eh?”
She gave me a prim nod of agreement and set off down the hall to our right, with me following close behind her. She had a bit of a waddle to her step, but she was back to trying to maintain her poise despite having befouled herself big time.
I felt as if I was playing psychological ping-pong with a moving target. One moment she was the soul of propriety, the next she was mischievously pissing her panties. Beneath it all, I got the feeling that she just wanted me to take charge and drag her through one obscene indignity after another, as if the Bohemian old ways were devised by perverts of the first order. I suspected that sharing pee and poop, as a wholesome neighborly social ritual, was quite boring to her frame of mind. It was much more exciting to turn it into a capricious series of accidents and gross-outs.
“Not a problem,” I thought to myself, but what order should things take? I took a quick glance around the bathroom to see what I had to work with. There was a walk-in shower with a railing and a plastic sit-down stool inside, a standard white porcelain commode, an orange rubber hot water bottle hanging from a hook on the wall, a towel rack, a bathrobe on another wall hook — in short, all the usual stuff.
I reminded myself that Mrs. Manasek’s filled knickers and soiled dress needed immediate attention and should be carefully removed from her body. Her bullet bra was unsoiled aside from any residue of my drool remaining from when we hugged each other tight. Yep! Keep those big girls in their hammocks while we dispose of the manure down below.
Mrs. Manasek stood in the middle of the room, passively allowing me to unzip her dress until it was loose enough that it could just drop to the tile floor at her feet. She stepped out of it daintily and again waited for my next move.
“Alright, Missy. Bend over and let me tug your shitty panties down and walk them over to the crapper. From the look of things, you must have emptied your entire colon into these knickers.”
I gripped her elastic waist band and carefully lowered her obscene undies down her thick thighs and legs, trying to prevent any feces from tumbling out of her knickers’ leg-holes. When it reached the floor, she daintily stepped out, letting me swoop up the bundle of turds and quickly empty it in the toilet bowl, giving it a good shake to release any logs still stuck to the brown-stained cotton.
“Good Golly, Miss Molly, you sure know how to crap,” I teased her. “Now let me return the favor and share my poop with you. Then we can jump in the shower and wash each other off, nice and clean.”
I unbuckled my belt and lowered my soiled corduroys, quickly removing the rest of my clothes. I stuck my butt out in her direction and pulled my cheeks apart.
“Get over here, Missy, so that I can shit in your lovely white gloves. That is your preference, is it not?”
She nodded enthusiastically, whispered a quiet “Oh yes!” and came over and cupped her white-gloved hands beneath my exposed hairy anus.
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