COLETTE AND THE VICAR by Curious Colette

Colette rolled out of bed, still exhausted, at six in the morning. Working at the inn was hard and she kept long hours, but she needed the money. She spent some of her savings backpacking through Europe, and by the time she ended up in the English countryside, she was keen to find a job. The inn, owned and managed by the motherly and overbearing Molly, was only half-full in the off-season. Empty of tourists, the only guests were long-time boarders who had lived in the village for years. Normally, Molly would run the inn by herself, but she was getting on in years, and welcomed Colette’s youthful enthusiasm.

Colette had been working in the inn for a few weeks, but she hadn’t made any friends besides the maternal Molly. The village’s aging inhabitants had known each other for decades, and Colette’s youth and accent marked her as an outsider.

She stared at herself in the small mirror above her sink. She watched herself trace the outline of her heart-shaped face, drawing her fingers from her wide cheekbones to her delicate chin. Her green eyes were wide enough to give her an impression of perpetual inquisitiveness. Her eyebrows were straight and long, and she had never learned how to keep a straight face. She was quick to scowl or bite her lip, and could never stifle a laugh. Her hair was a muted golden brown, and she had taken to keeping it up so it didn’t interfere with her work.

Although she was harsh on her appearance, even she knew that her looks were going to waste with no one her age around. Unlike in city pubs, she had no one here to flirt with. It had been too long since she had someone around to tease.

A sharp knock on her door startled her from her daydream.

“Colette, dear,” called Molly. “I’m heading now to church. I’ll be back in a little more than an hour. Why don’t you take the morning off, sweetheart?”

“Thank you so much, Molly,” Colette said as she opened the door. “It’s a beautiful day and I’d love to see more of the village.” As she heard Molly’s footsteps recede, Colette was struck by an idea. Going to church might help her meet more people. The bells calling people to mass were already ringing, however, and Colette hadn’t changed from her pajamas.

She rushed to pull on a sweater, skirt, and her nicest shoes. She dashed down the stairs as she tugged her hair into a braid.

Colette darted down the path to the village and in a few minutes arrived, breathless, at the heavy bronze doors of the church. She could hear the priest preaching to the parishioners, and she knew that she had arrived too late.

She decided to wander the church’s gardens instead. The priest’s voice carried, and she listened to his sermon as she sat on a nearby bench. Before she knew it, mass was over, and the villagers trickled out.

As the last villager left, Colette slipped through the church’s imposing doors. The interior reminded her of the Catholic church of her childhood, but the differences were just enough to be unsettling. She walked quietly past a crucifix, a statue of Mary and the infant Jesus, and a painted statue of Saint Agnes, with her limpid eyes cast upward in supplication.

Colette saw that the confessional booth was open and lit, and before she could think better of it, she stepped inside and closed the door behind her. She settled herself on the bench and said the familiar words.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been – I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say, or if I’m allowed to. I’ve never been in an Anglican church before. I – I’ve only confessed to Catholic priests.”

“Don’t worry, child,” replied the low and steady voice of the priest, which she recognized as the same voice that gave the sermon she overheard from the garden. “Whatever feels comfortable and right to you, say it.”

“I don’t even know what I should say. I should be honest. I’ve lost my faith. I don’t know if I could ever believe again, in any church. But the sermons and the routine of mass help me. Is it alright if I come anyway? I won’t take communion, I just…” Colette trailed off.

“You’re always welcome here. If you ever have more questions about finding your place – in the church or even just the town – I would be happy to help.”

The wood of the confessional booth creaked, as though the priest were leaning against it.

“Thank you, Father. I’m new here, and I’ve been fairly lonely. That sounds pathetic, I’m sorry. I’m not looking for pity.”

“Anything I can do to help. Go in peace.”

The man’s voice was so soothing and low, Colette sat for a moment more in the confessional before hurrying out of the church.

—

That night, Colette tossed and turned in bed. She dreamt of a dark figure crawling in through her window. His face was obscured, but when he called her name, she knew his voice as the voice of the priest. He threw back the covers of her bed and pinned her arms to the bed. His breath was hot on her neck and suddenly she was burning up. She writhed, feverish, under the grip of the faceless man, until she woke with a start.

Her room was empty, and cold. Her sheets were twisted between her legs and she felt a sticky wetness growing there. Embarrassed and flushed, she straightened out her sheets and tried her best to fall back to sleep.

—

The next evening, Colette set herself to cleaning the kitchen after the dinner service. She could hear Molly and the boarders chatting in the parlor, tipsy on mead and clustered around a crackling fire.

The front door of the inn opened with a creak and a gust of cold air that carried all the way back to the kitchen. Although most of the words were unintelligible, she heard Molly begin fuss over the new visitor.

“We have a new girl working here, William,” she said. “You should meet her – she’s in the kitchen.”

Colette groaned a little. It surely would be another twee little villager, stout and clad in six layers of plaid wool. Living in the inn was like having two dozen grandparents. But when the kitchen door opened, Colette’s breath was taken away for a moment. The man standing next to Molly was young, perhaps only a few years older than Colette, and in possession of the kind of dark Welsh handsomeness that she’d only dreamt of encountering.

He was tall, imposing, and broad-shouldered, with a long face and a strong jaw. His brown eyes were framed by long calf-like lashes and thick brows. His thick hair was a deep brown and curled gently around his face. Although his face was clean shaven, the hair was still dark enough to be visible beneath the skin.

He reached out his hand to shake, and Colette took it.

“I’m William,” he said, and his voice was strangely familiar. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“I’m Colette,” she said, overwhelmed by his looming height and confidence.

“I’m so happy that you two have met,” Molly said, patting William’s shoulder. “It’s good that young people have others around. Let me take your jacket, dear.”

William shrugged off his pea coat and unwound his scarf from his neck and handed them to Molly, who bustled off to hang them in the parlor closet. As he turned back to Colette, she saw the white square of a clerical collar around his neck and realized why his voice was familiar: he was the priest to whom she had confessed. She felt a blush rise to her cheeks and glanced away.

“I just finished washing the dishes,” she gestured vaguely, “and I’m going to make some bread for tomorrow. If you like, you can keep me company.”

Instead of replying, he gave her a warm, steady smile. She felt compelled to fill the silence in the cramped kitchen.

“I walked past the church yesterday and I think I heard you speaking,” she said, as she turned back to the counter and began kneading the dough. Flour floated around her and settled gently over shoulders, hair, and broad button nose.

“I’m glad you came by the church then,” he said, leaning back against the cabinets behind her, his head resting against shelves Colette could barely reach standing on a stool. “I don’t normally give the sermon. I’m just a vicar.”

“Oh,” Colette said, brushing a strand of her hair from her eyes. She stared down at the counter. “I’m afraid I don’t know much about what being an Anglican vicar entails. But I promise I was very impressed,” she laughed gently.

“I’m sure you were,” William said with a smile in his voice. “That’s why I took the job, you know. Vicars in the countryside, where the average age is near sixty, always perform for the female audience.”

Colette laughed as she crouched down and placed the pastry dough in the oven. She wound a timer and tucked it into the pocket of her apron, then turned to face William with a shy smile. Face to face with him, the kitchen suddenly felt too small.

‘He must know it was me in the confessional,’ Colette thought. ‘I’m a newcomer with a foreign accent in a stagnant little village.’ But William showed no sign of recognition.

“Surely the female audience is wasted on someone who takes a vow of chastity,” Colette said without thinking. William’s eyes darkened and Colette was startled by their intensity. “I’m sorry!” she rushed to say. “That was so rude. I wasn’t kidding when I said I didn’t know anything about a vicar’s job – I don’t know if you have to take a vow of chastity – not that it would matter if you did or didn’t -”

“Don’t worry, Colette,” William said, cutting off her apologies. “I did take a vow to abstain from premarital… relations.”

“Premarital? So vicars can marry? I’m sorry – is that too personal? I really didn’t mean to be rude. I don’t interact with many clergymen, if you couldn’t tell.”

William smiled. “Vicars can marry. So really it’s just a matter of waiting. Although I won’t lie – I spent my university years like any other student. I took my vow with full knowledge of what I was renouncing.”

“It must be difficult,” Colette said before she could stop herself.

“It is,” he said. His gaze was warm, heavy, and unflinching. “I’m an impatient person. Impatient and uncharitable – terrible traits for a vicar. I’m working on improving them.”

Colette turned back to the counter to run a wet cloth over its floury surface. On an uncharacteristic bent of bluntness, she spoke her mind.

“In Catholic catechism,” she began, “there’s a whole mess of rules to follow. What acts are sinful and in what contexts, you know. Is it the same in the Anglican church?”

William didn’t respond, but she could feel his eyes on her. She took a deep breath and continued.

“I couldn’t imagine marrying someone without ever kissing them, or…” she trailed off.

Silence fell over the little kitchen again. She heard William stir behind her. In two steps, he came to stand behind her. He rested one hand on her small shoulder and the other on her waist. He bent down and she felt his hot breath on her neck.

“First epistle of Peter, chapter 4, verse 8,” he whispered. “‘And above all things, have fervent charity among yourselves, for charity shall cover a multitude of sins.’ You told me in the confessional that you needed companionship. It’s my duty to serve the people of my parish. Do you need this?

“Tell me that you need this,” William insisted, his grip on her growing painfully firm. “Tell me that you need this, and my charity will not be a sin.”

“I need this,” Colette whispered. “I dreamt of you last night -”

She was interrupted by a swell of laughter from the parlor.

“We can’t be together here,” he murmured. “Meet me at the church after Evensong tomorrow night. Promise me.”

“I’ll be there,” Colette promised breathlessly. With that, the cooking timer in her pocket began ringing its alarm loudly. William released her and, in a few strides, exited the kitchen. The kitchen door slammed shut, and Colette took a long, shuddering breath.

—

As Colette went about her work the next day, each creaking floorboard made her heart race, and each small noise had her looking over her shoulder for the vicar. Evening couldn’t come soon enough, and she hurried so much to finish washing the dishes that even Molly noticed.

As soon as Molly went upstairs to bed, Colette locked her own bedroom down the path in the dying light of evening. She opened the heavy doors delicately, and gazed into the candlelit church. A few people kneeled in prayer in the pews closest to the altar. William was nowhere in sight.

Colette turned to the statue of the pining Saint Agnes next to the confessional booth, and lit one of the candles at her feet. A carved lamb, the attribute of Saint Agnes, leaned against the statue’s legs. At that moment, a strong arm tugged Colette into the priest’s side of the confessional.

“William?” gasped Colette as he closed the door. He cradled her face in his hands, silent except for his heavy breathing. This was not the friendly, soft-spoken William she had met in the warm kitchen of the inn. His features were distorted by the flickering candlelight as he loomed over her. He leaned in closer, and Colette took a small step backward, suddenly afraid.

“This is where I sat when we first spoke,” William began, his voice raspy and low. “I knew who you were in a moment, of course. Everyone in the village knew of the new little woman working in the inn. I couldn’t tell you I knew who you were, of course,” he said as he moved his left hand to caress her face. His right hand moved lower to rest on her throat. “That would have scared you off. You’re so skittish, like a lamb.”

“Like the lamb of Saint Agnes,” Colette whispered, conscious of the parishioners praying nearby.

“The patron saint of chastity. How appropriate,” William laughed bitterly. “You dreamt of me that night, didn’t you?”

“And after my dream I could hardly sleep,” Colette said, avoiding his eyes. “I didn’t know your name or even what you looked like, but I couldn’t stop thinking of you.”

“I cracked open the door to the confessional as you left,” he confessed. “I had to know what you looked like. I couldn’t sleep at all that night,” William said, and his grip on her throat tightened. “I was furious with you. For four years, I’ve lived a life of self-denial, purity, and devotion and then you sneaked into my parish, my flock. Deceitful little creature. Have you come to test me? What prince of Hell sent you?”

The creak of the confessional door startled William out his fury. A parishioner stepped into the other half of the booth. The bench creaked as they settled down and blessed themselves.

William sank to sit on the bench, and pulled Colette down to sit on her knees in front of him, indicating silently that if she stood, she could be seen through the wood lattice of the confessional window. She settled between his knees and gazed up at him as the parishioner began speaking.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” the female parishioner said. “It has been one week since my last confession.”

“He that covereth his sins shall not prosper: but whoso confesseth and forsaketh them shall have mercy. Tell me, my child, how may I help,” William replied.

The woman launched into a litany of minor offenses. William stroked Colette’s cheek gently as he listened. She leaned in and kissed the inside of his thigh. He groaned quietly as she rested her head there.

“And I’m trying hard to diet like the doctor says I should, but it’s hard to resist temptation,” the parishioner continued.

“Matthew says to watch and pray that ye enter not into temptation: the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh-” William gasped lightly as Colette ran her hand lightly over his hardening cock. “The flesh,” he began again, stuttering, “the flesh is weak. Resisting temptations strengthens the soul.”

Colette tugged down his zipper and his cock sprang free, painfully engorged. She did not touch it, but instead laid light kisses around the base.

“Gluttony,” William choked out, “gluttony and lust weaken it.”

“Thank you for your counsel, Father,” the woman said.

“Go in peace with the Lord, my child,” William said, his voice shaking. Colette began kissing his shaft, which twitched and leaked pre-come.

The parishioner bade him goodnight, and the bench creaked again as she left the confessional. When the door of the booth shut, William grabbed Colette by the waist and pulled her onto his lap, holding both her wrists in one of his enormous hands.

“Look what you’ve done to me,” he said, angrier and tenser than ever. “You drive me to sin. I should be on the other side of the confessional for having welcomed you, you sinful little thing, into the house of God.”

“What you do, you do in the service of charity, Father,” Colette whispered into his ear. She felt bolder and more in control than she had ever before, even with her hands trapped. She settled her knees around him and ground against him. “Wouldn’t you do the same for any wayward member of your parish?”

William hissed. “Four years, Colette. Four years of faultless self-denial, and in two days you have me ready to rip off my collar.” He released her wrists in order to tug her hips closer to his and hike up her skirt. She grabbed the front of his shirt.

“Keep your collar on, Father,” she said. “I think it makes you look distinguished. I’d like to see you in a full cassock at the pulpit.”

“I’d like to see you spread out on the altar,” he spat.

“We might not need to wait, sweetheart,” she said, matching his venom with false innocence.

“The priests should be in bed now,” he said. “Let me go first.” He cracked open the confessional door and peered into the church. “It’s empty. Come on out, little lamb.”

They dashed together to the altar, almost tripping over the stairs. William grabbed her by the waist and lifted her onto the altar, bending over to give her their first real kiss. He began to pull his shirt off in blind, eager lust, but Colette stopped him.

“I want you to fuck me with your collar on,” she said. “I want to remember that you’re a vicar.”

“I want to forget,” he groaned as she ground herself against his thigh.

“Charity, Father William,” she chided as she kicked off her shoes. “Now please, please, please. Fuck me like it’s our wedding night.”

“Impatient little minx,” he said. “You should show more respect to your vicar.”

With that, he ripped her cotton panties off and plunged into her. All his anger and frustration and pent-up desire were released at once. He pushed her onto her back and pinned her hands above her head. Instead of bending to kiss her he suckled, hard, on her neck. Hunched over like a beast, he pumped his hips violently.

“You have the tightest little cunt,” he hissed. Colette was beyond words. She could only moan. She had never been with a man like this. She felt smothered by his enormous frame, and as he grunted and shook above her, her mind went completely blank. Four years of frustration were being worked out on her body, her pussy. Her body ached as he hammered into her with no regard for her pleasure. She wound her legs around his torso and laced her ankles together, pulling him closer and raising her hips so he could penetrate even deeper.

In the back of her mind she recalled that they had forgotten a condom, but she knew she couldn’t stop the vicar now. At the thought of him coming inside her, Colette’s whole body tensed up and she shuddered as she came, again and again, the pleasure rolling over her in waves.

William paid no mind. He was single-minded, concerned only with fucking the tight little pussy for which he had abandoned his vows. The altar began rocking slightly with the force of his thrusts. He began pumping into her harder and faster until finally, with light exploding behind his eyelids, he came.

With a long, guttural groan, he emptied his boiling come into her. His hips thrusted a few more times, slower and slower, and she felt his hot seed flow into her. He collapsed on top of her, exhausted, and they both let out a long sigh.