The Kept

The Kept

Sommer Marsden

I wanted to work at the Rectory because it was a natural power source for magic. And I was trying to escape. I needed to be near an accessible magic portal just in case. In case my magic got out of control from grief or just in case I wanted to turn Todd into a frog or something.

I am totally joking. Okay, sort of joking.

“And what do you think you can bring to Father Joseph, Ms. Pierce?”

“Shelly, please,” I said to Mrs. Francis. She was round and stout and had severe gray hair that made me think of Sister Francis from grade school. If the secretary had taken out a ruler and smacked me with it, I don’t think I would have been a bit surprised.

She frowned at me and I twisted my fingers into the hem of my thin, gray dress. “Sorry. Um. I think I can bring…a good attitude to the Rectory. To Father Joseph. To the place,” I stammered. Damn.

The woman was making me a nervous wreck.

“Well, we can all do that, now can’t we?” Mrs. Francis said.

Not you, sister. A good attitude isn’t in your bag of tricks.
I almost laughed but swallowed it.

Something passed by the low window outside. Mrs. Francis’s window overlooked an old cemetery. Her office and the grounds outside were part of the original church, or so she had told me. I blinked but whatever had passed by the window was gone. She turned and glared at the glass and then back at me. I blinked again, feeling slow and stupid.

“Yes, of course. It’s really just an assistant position. At least that’s what the ad said. I would be assisting him in thank you notes, menus, decorating, cleaning. All the stuff you don’t…” Her eyebrows went up and her fat, freckled
fingers steepled under her pursed lips. Oh, she was just waiting for me to step in it. “All of the things that you are too busy to do. I imagine it is a lot of work to single-handedly handle the affairs of a church and its grounds.

Goodness me,” I said, affected my best doe-eyed, naïve voice, “births, deaths, weddings, charity events. It’s so much. You must be swamped.”

For the first time, Mrs. Marie Francis looked at me kindly.

She even blushed a bit, a red stain spreading over her pale freckled cheeks. She had to be at least sixty, but no wrinkles dared mar her pale Irish skin. No wedding ring dared dimple her fat little finger either. Shocking. “Well, it is. It really is. Making sure Father has all he needs and everything his handled and runs smoothly. Some days we have a wedding and then a funeral. Really, what a mess it would be if everything wasn’t just so.”

I nodded, going along with her prideful boasting. “Of course.”

“I supposed I could introduce you to Father Joseph so he can form his own opinion of your character. I was skeptical at first, but now I think you’re a lovely young woman.

Married?” she asked, rising from her office chair. She gathered my resume and application and shuffled my paperwork into a neat pile.

“No, ma’am.”
Contemplating homicide. Recently left. Old
maid…
“Um, I just recently got out of a relationship.”

“Couldn’t commit?” she asked. The flash of cold anger in her eyes told me why no gold band adorned her ring finger.

Do you call fucking anything that can’t get away fast
enough a fear of commitment?
“Pretty much. It just didn’t work out.”

I felt a tingle along my spine and my nipples went hard.

Thankfully, I wore a bulky sweater. Ms. Francis struck me as the type who would view hard nipples as wanton and blame me for the involuntary physical reaction to a chill.

That half shadow passed by the window again and this time I caught site of a bit of blondish hair. A short person? Dog?

Child?

Ms. Francis spun and glanced out the window again. Her gaze followed mine and she stared hard before giving a soft
humph
. “I’ll have to give you a tour outside later. You seem captivated with the cemetery. The original priest and his secretary are buried out there. Can you believe it? My goodness.

That’s dedication. To be buried where you work.”

I smiled. Something told me she would be volunteering the same damn thing if they still did burials on the grounds.

“Imagine that.”

“Come on, Shelly, let’s go find Father. You’ll love him.”

The pep in her step indicated she might have beaten me to it. She might already love Father.

***

Oh baby, baby. No wonder she loved him. Father Joseph was about six three and broad. His shoulders reminded me of the football team in high school. He had dark brown hair and sparking blue eyes. And stubble. The stubble did me in, and twisted my tongue in horrible knots when I tried to speak.

“Shelly, so good to meet you. If you’ve made it this far, you are impressive to be sure. Edna does not suffer fools gladly. Or non-gladly for that matter.” He took both of my hand in his and I felt electricity shoot from my hands to my pussy. I shifted and squeezed my thighs together. It was not good to lust in a church, let alone lust after the man. The head honcho. The Father.

I was blushing. My cheeks were hot, and I swallowed.

“Nice to meet you too, Father.”

“Joseph, please.”

“Oh no,” I yelped. “I couldn’t.”

“You won’t burn in hell for it,” he said, still holding my hands. The electrical current zigged and zagged under my skin and, on top of the attraction, I felt a skitter of magic in the mix. The Father was magical. Not just magical; he had practiced magic. Shocking.

“Father Joseph it will have to be,” I said firmly. “My mother would have my head if I called you anything else.”

“And you are here to escape,” he said softly. When he looked at me warmth spread over my skin like warm honey.

Strike first impression. Father was not just magical. Father was magical and a bit psychic.

Peeking in my head. No fair.

“What did he do?” He gazed out the window and my gaze followed. Together we watched a murder of crows gathered in the cemetery. A particularly large one landed on a stained, stone angel. I swore it was staring at me.

“He was unfaithful,” I said softly. I was talking to the crow.

Or that’s how I felt. It was so silent in his office, like a small womb in the large stone building.

“And you can’t share?”

The question was both startling and completely normal. A second crow joined the first. “He never asked me to share.

Not to begin with. It’s the lying that does it. Besides, he doesn’t want to share. It’s not about that. It’s about getting away with something. Stealing. Stealing time away from me, sex without me. It’s only good if it’s not good. It’s only exciting if there’s pain involved.”

Now that the good Father had asked, I really thought I could have shared. I could have suffered other women had I been asked; had I been involved. Women. Men. It wasn’t about me being selfish; it was about him inflicting pain.

That was what hurt, the deliberate cruelty.

“We are supposed to love all, love many. But you’re right.

His unkindness is not acceptable.” Father Joseph ran his hand up my back and my whole body reacted with a wash of pleasure. I liked his touch. Very much.

“So what’s out there? I kept seeing shadows but didn’t say anything. Ms. Francis did not look like she’d take kindly to me saying anything about anything other than you and this job.” I smiled. The smile stayed on my face when his hand dipped lower on my spine. I didn’t fight the images that rose up in my mind, me bent over a pew while the good Father fucked me to merry hell and back. Figuratively speaking of course.

He was peeking in my head again because he smiled, his eyes bright. What sounded like a low growl sounded in the back of his throat. “Dogs. My dogs. I have three. Athos, Porthos, and Aramis.”

“The Three Musketeers,” I laughed.

“Very good. What can I say? I’m a classical kind of guy.”

“No Larry, Moe and Curly for you, eh?”

“No. And shh,” he said. Before I could ask what he was shushing me for, he pulled me in and kissed me. Hard. His tongue was hot and demanding. I kissed him back and pushed all rational thought out of my head, especially the part where I imagined Ms. Francis barging in to find me smooching the priest.

I could feel the rigid length of his cock pressing against me.

I shifted my hips slightly to feel more of him. He felt good.

Solid and ready. And that was what I wanted. Very much.

That hard cock inside of me, making me forget about Todd or the dogs outside or the eavesdropping crows, making me forget that Ms. Francis made me feel small and stupid and lazy for some reason. Fuck. I wanted to fuck.

And I sort of liked him. Already. I wouldn’t think about that part.

“Let’s go see my dogs,” he said against my throat. He bit me, right along the thumping vein, not too hard, not too soft. Just enough sting in the bite to slide along my nerve endings and make me want him that much more.

“They must be very special dogs,” I said, rubbing against his cock harder. If I rubbed and wished, could I get him to sweep his huge oak desk clean like in the movies. Get him to hoist me up there on the glass desk blotter and drive his dick into me balls deep until I screamed and quoted scripture?

“You are a dirty girl,” he said. Peeking again.

I blushed fiercely. “I know.”

“We’ll revisit that particular fantasy later,” he said. For whatever reason I sensed no guilt on his part, felt no guilt on mine, even though these priestly types were supposed to be virginal and pure.

“Sex is not evil,” he said. I had to get him to stop reading my thoughts, or at least act as if it bothered me, on principal. “Sex is actually quite healthy and spiritual, and when I took my vows I worked all of that out with the Man.” His eyes shot heavenward. Then he looked at me and winked, a humorous grin on his handsome face. His lips were the same color as my mother’s favorite roses, a pink so deep it verged on red.

“The Man is God, I take it.”

“Of course he is. Now, let’s get you out to meet the boys before I take you on the desk while my secretary is still here.”

“Let’s go.”

I followed through the hallways. The arched ceilings made me feel tiny, and the skylights let in weak gray light from
-
the outside. The weatherman had promised sleet and snow and freezing rain. I shivered.

“You have the job, by the way,” Father Joseph said. “If you still want it, that is.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” But I knew the reasoning as soon as I said it. My boots clicked noisily on the ancient tile and I tried to quiet my steps by walking on the balls of my feet.

“Because of the chemistry between us.” He opened a red door that led to yet another hallway.

The church was a stone behemoth.

“That doesn’t bother me. I like it actually,” I said.
Plus, I
can always say a stifling spell if it gets to
be too much.

“Magic is fine outside but not in the church. The mystical energy is too intense inside. Bad things could happen. The energy can get out of control very easily with all the stone work to conduct.”

“How did you--”

“How did you know about me?” he interrupted. “You felt it, right?”

I nodded. We went up four busted stone steps and to another door. This one was yellow. When he opened it, cold air rushed in. So did a flurry of dead leaves and a snapped branch from a pussy willow tree. I picked up the twig and ran my finger over the furry gray-pink buds.

“Wonder how this snapped off?”

“Wind?” He shrugged. “You never answered me.”

“Yes. I felt it. The first time you touched me, I felt your magic under my skin like a mild electrocution.”

Another nod. “Good. That’s my one rule. Outside only.”

“Do you ever…do it?” Then I blushed again because it sounded like I meant something else.

“Oh sure, but never inside. The cemetery is almost as good a conductor but safer. Got it?”

“Of course. Never inside. The entire area is charged. You can feel it.”

And I could. I could feel the heady mix of crackling energy and nature’s magic. Mix them together and it’s a powerful feeling. Father Joseph let out a short, staccato whistle and around the corner bounded three large dogs. Two of them were clearly Great Danes marked much like Dalmatians with white backgrounds speckled with black. In some spots, the black markings were so dark they looked almost bluish. The third dog was a shaggy reddish-blond monstrosity. Crystalline green eyes shone out from a tangle of hair along its brow. Its paws made the Great Dane’s paws look dainty.