LOGINMara Galton stood at the kitchen counter, spreading butter across a slice of toast, the knife scraping softly against the bread. The TV murmured low from the living room. Her children moved around her in the familiar morning chaos. Sixteen year old Cassie was already dressed, phone in hand, scrolling with the focused intensity of teenagers. Twelve year old Ethan still looked half asleep, rubbing his eyes with the heel of one hand and dragging his feet across the linoleum.“Shoes, Eth. The bus will be here in twenty minutes.”Ben, her husband, sat at the table over a bowl of cereal, shoulders hunched forward like he was trying to disappear into the wood grain. He didn’t look up when she set a plate of scrambled eggs beside him.“You heading to the Wilson place again?” he asked, voice flat, the words more a statement than a question.“Yep. It’s Tuesday.”“Waste of time. Man’s a goddamn ghost.”Mara kept her expression neutral. She poured coffee into Ben’s travel mug. “He pays the best
The side door opened as Lola slipped into the church that evening. She moved down the side aisle, eyes scanning the empty pews and the shadowed corners for anything out of place. The supervisor priest was only a couple of hours from arriving. She had come to make sure Marcus had everything ready.She found him near the altar, standing in the half dark with his hands resting on the marble edge. The moment he turned, she began signing.Everything in order? You ready?Marcus watched her hands. He signed back once, short and rough.Yes. All done.She signed again, slower this time, eyes searching his face.Is everything okay? Is there anything I can do to help?He shook his head. His own hands moved.No need. It’s finished.She started to sign something else, but the words never fully formed because Marcus closed the distance in three long strides, caught her by the waist, and pulled her hard against him. His mouth found hers at once open and hungry, tongue pushing in as if he had been
Marcus opened his laptop at the rectory desk just after six. The housekeeper had not yet come downstairs, still cleaning the upstairs. He refreshed his diocesan inbox out of habit and saw the new message at the top of the list. Subject: Pastoral Visitation – Greyfen Parish From: Bishop Thomas R. Kingsley He clicked it open. Dear Father Marcus, I write to inform you of an upcoming pastoral visitation to your parish. Father Vincent will arrive in five days and will reside at the rectory for a period of three months. During this time he will share in the daily life of the parish, observe the celebration of the sacraments, review administrative records, and offer whatever pastoral support may be required. At the conclusion of his stay, Father Vincent will submit a full report to this office. On the basis of that report a decision will be made regarding your continued assignment in Greyfen or a possible transfer to another post within the diocese. Please make the necessary arrangem
As the seasons changed and the nights stretched longer, on the days when the rectory stood empty after evening prayer and the housekeeper was nowhere in sight, Marcus left the side door unlatched so Lola would stepped out of the cold, dark night and find her way in easily.They would undress without the old desperation. Then he would lay her on his bed upstairs and enter her slowly, cock sliding deep into the wet heat of her pussy while her legs locked around his waist. Afterward they would stay tangled under the thin blanket, skin cooling, content in each other’s arms.On the nights she stayed home, he came to her instead. Hood pulled low, he moved through Greyfen’s empty streets like a criminal. When he reached, he always found the night light left on low and climbed into her bed still smelling of rain. Sometimes he only held her. Sometimes he pushed her thighs apart and sank into her cunt until she came silent and shaking beneath him. He always left before the first grey of dawn,
The confession booth smelled of incense, and the faint trace of candle smoke that never left the church. With the curtain drawn, the narrow space forced them close. Lola straddled Father Marcus on the penitent’s bench, her skirt bunched around her hips, plain cotton underwear shoved aside. His cassock was open just enough. She sank down onto his cock in one smooth motion, taking every thick inch until she was seated fully against him.She was fully clothed. Blouse and cardigan still neat and buttoned, the only evidence of what they were doing hidden beneath the fabric of her skirt. Marcus’s hands gripped her waist beneath the clothing, guiding her as she began to move. Slow at first rolling her hips, grinding her clit against the base of his cock, feeling him throb deep inside her pussy. The wooden grille pressed against her shoulder. Every shift of her body made the bench creak faintly.Marcus watched her face in the dim light filtering through the curtain. Her lips parted. Silent.
Marcus had been communicating with Lola using the signs he half remembered from seminary. Back then ASL had been a required elective, something he endured without any particular interest, picking up only the most basic phrases like hello, thank you, Mass, peace. Now those fragments felt like a lifeline. He practiced alone in the rectory late at night, mirror propped against the kitchen wall, hands moving stiffly at first. You. Me. Need. Talk. He mouthed the words as he signed them, watching his own reflection until the shapes began to feel less foreign.He needed to ask Lola to teach him so communication with her would be more efficient. Then he would teach the congregation too, so she would be able to talk to them easily. He had initially thought of asking her to teach the classes. But she was a deeply private woman who never liked drawing attention to herself . Standing in front of a room full of people and demonstrating signs would have forced her into a role that made her uncom







