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The Pastor's Wife Parts 1 - 3


Nov 5, 2013
A place in Wales that you can't pronounce
Everyone on the committee was surprised when Abigail Worthington was not there for the start of the meeting. After all, punctuality was her middle name. The Pastor's wife had lots of middle names, depending on the virtue being espoused at the time.

By the end of the meeting, when she had still not arrived, everyone was puzzled.

One of the members was so concerned that she rang the Pastor, to find that he was also concerned. She had not contacted him since breakfast. Which was unusual, because regular was Abigail's middle name. Another of them.

That was 16.45.

By 18.00, with no supper on the table, the Pastor rang the police and reported that she had disappeared.

Normally, the police required someone to be missing for 24 hours before they would allow a report to be filed. For Abigail it was different. After all, wasn't dependable her middle name. Yet another of them.

Messages were sent on the parish's WhatsApp, asking for any information and, of course, everyone's prayers.

At 19.47 police received a report that Abigail had been spotted at 09.46 – CCTV confirmed the precise time – being helped into a car. That was what the information said – helped. The CCTV images showed that quite a lot of help had been involved, from three people, one of whom sustained a sharp heel in the vicinity of his genitalia.

More messages spread through the parish. Abigail had been kidnapped.
The next day dawned with no news. During the morning, prayers and messages of support and good wishes were posted on the parish WhatsApp, with the occasional message of appreciation from the Pastor, who had no news to report.

Until, at 16.23, he sent a short message announcing that his wife had been found, that she was alive, and he was sure it was the prayers of the parishioners that had led to her discovery. Police records would later reveal that her discovery was more to do with an anonymous phone call received at 16.09 that led police and paramedics to rush to an abandoned flat in a rundown block.

Abigail's interrogation was short and to the point. What did she remember of being kidnapped? Nothing except a confusion of movements, a pain in her right elbow as she was hustled into the vehicle – she had a bruise on the site – and a prick in her arm – a small mark confirmed the site of the injection. What did she recall of her ordeal? Nothing. She had been unconscious until shortly before the police kicked the door of the apartment down –tests confirmed the remnants of a powerful sedative in her blood stream. Could she think of anyone who would want to this to her? No, she was firm on that. She was respected by all in the parish. She went as far as to say that 'respected' was her middle name. Well, one of them.

Finally, police asked when she had last had intercourse. Another clear answer: last Sunday at 19.35, which was when the couple returned home after the evening service. It was a regular event, that began five minutes after they arrived and ended twenty minutes later, so that she could begin to serve a cold supper at 20.00. The medical examination found no sign of intercourse, vaginal or anal. Abigail expressed relief. As did the Pastor when he was told.

The crime scene was investigated. Photographs were taken, but have never been released by the police.

Which raises an interesting question. Who took the ones – there were two – that were received by parishioners over night?
The photos were soon being circulated by so many people that it took the police several days to track down where they had originated. Eventually they were traced to a text sent to a known gossip of the parish by a burner phone.

There were two. One a front view, the other from the rear. Both of Abigail. Naked and trussed up.

The men's eyes first went to her tits and then her ass. Even in the loose frocks that she wore, there was no disguising her well endowed bosom and ample ass.

The women's eyes first lit on her crotch and belly, which sported a lush growth of unruly black hair. Well, they said, who would have thought it? For someone who was always so prim and proper. In fact, prim-and-proper was another of her middle names.

But once the initial prurient interest was satisfied, everyone eyes fell on the writing. The writing that covered her front and back. The words – naughty, dirty or disgusting, depending on your point of view – and the names – names that everyone knew.

Everyone knew at least some of the names or thought they did. The result was that police had to trace and interview about three people for most of the names.

There was, though, no doubt about the name written across her lower back with an arrow pointing towards her crack, with the remark: Pastor's back door.
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