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Woe. Dark days behind and before us. A village, my village wracked with grief.

Woe.

The storm took everything. Not everything. Not everyone.

Maglin is a small village clinging to an inhospitable island from which it takes its name. Fishing is, was the only industry keeping the blood flowing through the town, but…

All the village’s men were out, even the young apprentices. It was a freak, a rogue thing tearing up from the South on an unseasonable current, on a rare wind. It broke upon the island first, sending shutters flying and flooding basements. The chill that ran through us that day was not for ourselves, but for the men in all of those boats who had set out for the yearly bounty.

None returned.

Our loss, our terrible loss was not a hammer blow, but the letting of air. We, all of us collapsed, devoid of hope, of joy.

As I preside over the final funeral without a corpse, the women of Maglin, clad in black and black veils descend the long stair back down to the village hugging the water’s edge. I am alone outside my little temple whose aged walls offer no shelter from the cold. It is a hot day, yet I remark, as I stand in the Sun, that I feel no warmth.

…

A light rain is falling that night, though I’ve left the window to my study open. Despite the events of the past month I still discover something soothing about the rain. I turn, drawn from the window’s mutterings of water back to the light of my single candle, and to the words on the page. My quill sits in the inkpot, a sentence lies incomplete on the page. I’m in the midst of my fourth attempt to record the recent events, but thus far I’ve not come close to finishing. I fear I lack the words, the manner of setting the essence of things down on the page.

A ring of the courtyard bell draws me out of my unacknowledged misery. I stand and take one more look outside. It’s late. Even with the tragedy of these days it is a shock to have a caller when there is rain and darkness about.

I slide the unlocked, heavy door open to discover Mrs. Caladena wrapped in a wet cloak, wielding a lantern. She’s shivering, the rain starting to soak through her wrappings.

I stand apart without a word and usher, draw her into my chambers. As she enters, water tripping onto the worn stone floor, I discover that no questions, no words discover me. I am only able to wait, and to watch as she unwraps her cloak, hanging it on the iron rod by the door, a pool begins to form from its drippings. She wears no veil, but is yet clad in black. A new widow, just like all the rest.

“I’m so sorry to bother you, Father, but I needed to speak with you and my heart would not let me stay in my home one more instant.”

“Of course, Mrs. Caladena,” I say, watching her wince at the title I address her by. “But you’re soaked. Please, have a seat,” I say, gesturing to the nearby whicker chair. I shut the windows and start the process of starting a fire, something which I still haven’t quite got the hang of.

“Father, I-”

“No, no. None of that until you’re warm, understood?”

She falls into an uneasy, pensive silence as I meddle about amongst the ash and iron pokers.

Some time later, the fire is warm and healthy, casting its light and love across my chamber. It has yet to sink in that I have an unchaperoned woman alone with me in my abode. Another first, though perhaps it was inevitable given recent events. I am just laying her cloak to dry on the stone by the fire when I hear her stir behind me.

“Father, may we speak now. I’m confident in my warmth and comfort, I thank you for it. I’m afraid I underestimated the stairs, and the rain.”

I turn to look at her, seating myself on the stone by the fire, it’s warmth cascading up through my back, my bottom. I only nod, unwilling to chastise her for her foolishness. What could possibly be so urgent? “Are you thirsty? Hungry? I have bread and water to share.”

A smile I hadn’t expected crosses her face and she produces from some unseen sling a bottle of wine. “I brought this, I hope it’s not an imposition, but I thought we’d share it.”

My brow furrows. A study of character is a necessary feature in any man of the cloth, especially those who minister a flock. There was some tension within her, some fierce energy there behind this guise of joviality and humor she wore on her face. It bothered me, my ignorance, but I saw nothing to do. “Of course, Mrs. Caladena,” I hesitated, waiting for her to retract the offer, but when she sat there smiling forcefully at me, I relented and returned with two mugs.

She handed the bottle to me. “I’m sorry, I’ve never actually opened one myself. My husband used to do it.”

I nodded without opinion, popped the cork on the bottle and poured the dark red into the mugs. It’s notes of fruit and spice filtered up and through the air.

Our first mug we drank without toast, quietly. I awaiting the inevitable topic of the evening which we seemed ever-approaching. She watching the fire.

It was mid-way through our second mugs when she finally turned to me. “Father, I have a strange question for you.”

“Oh?” I sat up in my chair. She was stewing, chewing on something clearly, but I had no clue as to what it might be. It wasn’t regular grief, could it be some hidden guilt? “By all means, ask away.”

“If you could save Maglin, would you?”

“Save Maglin?”

She just looked at me, fire dancing in her eyes.

I looked back at her, her soft, pretty features, big dark eyes, her elegant, raven hair, the freckles on her face, the tan on her skin. Of course, she was right. Not only was Maglin reeling from its loss, but the village itself was doomed without some change. There were no men left. Some would need to be…imported? But who would come? It was a village of widows and not any space left for a new home. None had spoken of this doom now on the horizon, this was the first I had ever acknowledged it myself. We were all, save Mrs. Caladena, content to drink in our grief, our loss.

Finally, I said, “Yes, if there were some way to save the village, then I would do it.”

“No matter what it was?”

My brow furrowed. I finished the wine in my mug and poured another. As I did Mrs. Caladena finished hers and held it out to me. “Now I am unsure. There are, of course, more important things than villages. Please, don’t mistake me, the loss of this community would be a great and terrible blow, but…perhaps it is God’s will that such a thing must occur.”

She took the fresh mug of wine and drank it, all of it, in a rush. She looked away from me into the fire for some time. “I have a plan, Father, a plan to save this town,” she said quietly, almost muttering the words. “You see-”

“Mrs. Caladena,” I said, holding up my hands. “Please, do not say anything you might regret later. I’m afraid it’s late. Of course, I won’t send you home with the rain on, you may sleep here, as long as you promise to return to your home before dawn. I can’t imagine what the village might say if you were found slinking back in the morning,” I said, smiling in what I attempted as warmth.

There was some consideration, some thoughtfulness behind her eyes. Finally, she nodded.

I shortly made preparations, saw to it that she was comfortable in the unused bedroom, and retired to my own. A strange evening to be sure. I snuffed the lights and climbed into bed, still warm and wavy from the wine.

…

Sometime later I was awoken by a pleasant sensation. I stirred, my eyes opening to darkness. A tremendous heat was applied to my nethers, my cock. I reached down and gasped. There was Mrs. Caladena servicing my cock with her mouth. I made some stammering to stop, but she had wedged herself between my thighs and was gripped on tight.

“Mrs.-”

She slurped across the bare head of my cock as she teased me with her tongue, wriggling and writhing it just below the head where I was most sensitive. I could only stare blindly up into the darkness, my mouth agape. Nothing could have prepared me for her ministrations, the pleasures, the heights she was unleashing upon my body.

“We can’t-”

Her fingers reached down to brace my balls, fingers pushing, pressing against them lightly, gently. The warmth, the bliss spreading through my blood sank me deeper and deeper into the bed, paralyzed. Withdrawing her mouth from the pleasure she was inflicting, she licked the tip, then breathed across my cock covered in her spit.

“You have a nice cock, Father. It’s bigger than my husbands.”

From the reprieve I tried to regain my strength, poise. I hoisted myself up onto my elbows. “Mrs. Ca-”

“Call me Sophia.”

“Mrs. Caladena, I don’t know wh- We need- You-”

She began to climb forward, I could feel her passing over me, straddling my knees, my thighs. “You don’t understand, Father. You’re our salvation. You just relax and let me do all the work.”

“Mrs.-”

I gasped as she reached beneath her and grasped my cock at the base. She lowered herself, bringing the head of my cock into contact with-

My mouth fell open as I she took me inside her. I gasped for air, panting as she took me deeper, and deeper inside of her. She put her hands on my chest, braced her knees against the bed on either side of me, and began to bounce, quickly sinking up and down, again and again across my cock. I winced against the intensity. Her depths, wet and slick felt unlike anything I’d ever experienced.

She lowered her self, her chest, to me, letting her breasts press against me. She nuzzled her face against my neck, letting me hear her soft breaths of pleasure. “Are you a virgin, Father?”

I said nothing, unable to think, unable to speak beyond the feeling of being welcomed inside her.

“Maybe ‘were you a virgin’ would be the more appropriate question?” she asked, a light, teasing laughter followed. She kissed my neck, my ear. “We’re going to save the village, Father. Just do what feels natural, just release your seed into me. I’ll do all the rest.” She gripped me then, wrapping her arms around me, digging her nails into her back, panting with each breath as she raised and dropped her hips relentless pushing me in and out of the deepest parts of her.

My face contorted, unable to comprehend, explain, handle how impossibly good it felt to be inside of her. Something was rising within me. I grunted, panted, trying to catch my breath as a tension built within me. That God had given such a gift to his creation…

I unleashed myself into her depths, thrusting my hips upward, carried by the urge to bury my hot seed inside her fertility. We moaned, gasped together as I felt her walls, her love grasp my whole length, keeping me deep. She rocked her hips gently, coaxing more, and more, and more out of me.

We lay there in dark silence, the static of rain falling outside. She ran her fingers through my hair and kissed my neck. She cooed and sighed and I just tried to breathe. A bliss I had never tasted before crashed through me.

Some time later, she rolled off of me, and lay for a moment next to me in my bed. I was still near catatonic. She whispered, and I could hear the lust, the naked satisfaction in her voice, “Very good, Father. We’re going to save the village, you and I. I’ll be back tomorrow night and the next until I’m pregnant. Once I am, then I’ll turn you over to the other women. They’re already eager to hear the details of tonight.”

…I said nothing, nearly back asleep already.

She kissed me on the cheek, rolled out of bed, padded across the room, and shut the door behind her.

…I lay there, listening to the rain…

NSFW: yes

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