Quaranteam: Ontario - Part 1 (Alpha)

Sponsored by Don Alejo

The following is the first part of what is intended to be a true One-Shot Quaranteam story. It’s going to explore what has been going on in Canada and delve into what’s happening with the Catholic Church when the QT Serum forces the world to adapt to its new paradigm.

Note: I haven’t fully decided on the timing of the story yet. I’m leaning towards then start being in October, but need to consult some more with CorruptingPower on what will make sense.

- - - - - - - - - - 

?? Date, 2020; Pembroke, Ontario

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” Connor said. His voice felt weak, enclosed in the little wooden Confessional booth. The Church of All Saints was quiet outside the four walls, the looming sanctuary having sat still and quiet for months.

‘Well, get on with it.’

Connor could hear the voice of Father Benedict in his head; the curmudgeonly old priest wouldn’t have even bothered sitting down or kneeling. Five years, they’d done the act of confession together. The old man’s knees had been shot for the past three and he’d refused to get the surgery he needed, insisting like the bullheaded papist he was that he was fine and didn’t need it. Connor had mentioned pride several times to the man, and he would chuckle and shrug.

“It’s been one day since my last confession,” Connor said, continuing the usual mantra even though there wasn’t anyone to hear it. These days, he didn’t think God would mind so much. “These are my sins. I have been tempted sexually, repeatedly. I have lied. I have taken the Lord’s name in vain. Oh, to hell with it. I had sex, Father. Wanton, passionate, earth-shattering sex. Four times, if you’d believe it. In one day. And, by God- There I go again, but seriously, it was just as good as I remember. Better, even. And I’m probably going to do it again, even if I am sorry about it.”

‘Sounds like you’re falling into old routines.’

This time the voice in his head wasn’t Father Benedict, it was Father Declan. In the year right after Connor had come back to the Church, Declan had been the man to mentor him. He was all forgiveness, understanding, and patience with a no-bullshit attitude. Exactly what Connor had needed at the time.

He was dead now. Connor had gotten the news two months ago.

But then, so were so many other people, it was sometimes easier just to consider them all right where he’d left them in his life.

“It might turn into my vice,” Connor said, still unsure if he was speaking to himself or to God. “I mean, we all have one. I’ve known priests that drink too much, or smoke, or gamble. And I’m definitely not one of those sexual deviant pricks. So… my vice might be sex. At this point, I think you could maybe forgive me for needing one considering all the shit you’re throwing around.” Now he was definitely talking to God. “I really am sorry it’s come to this, and that I’m not stronger in this. I’m just so… alone. And so is she.”

Connor sat in silence for a few minutes, absorbing what he’d declared to God.

“For these and all my sins, I am truly sorry,” Connor said, finishing the ritual.

It felt wrong to not have Father Benedict telling him to say a few prayers of contrition, but he couldn’t bring himself to read the little placard one about being So Utterly Sorry, so he said some Hail Marys instead.

The creak of the wooden confessional booth echoed in the sanctuary as Connor exited, and standing alone he looked over at the altar and took in a deep breath before letting it out. God would understand, considering the circumstances. Probably.

He fished in his pocket and pulled out his Roman collar, fixing it back into place under the black collar of his shirt. With one more glance at the altar, Father Connor Kilcannon headed back out of the sanctuary. There was so much work to do, even if most of his parish was dead.

- - - - -

Connor slipped into his home quietly by the back door. Father Benedict had occupied the rectory that was directly attached to the church, a small apartment that was big enough for one man to live comfortably. Two years before Connor had arrived in Pembroke, a parishioner who had owned the house next to the church had died and left her home to the diocese. Apparently, there had been some debate over whether to sell the property or make use of it, and some disagreement with the relatives of the deceased, but the small home had been available and he’d made use of it for the past five years. One of the first things he’d done was install a small gate in the backyard fence so that he’d have a nice path to walk between the church and home as opposed to going around to the sidewalk and promenading down the length of the building.

At one time his ‘commute’ home had been a moment of relaxing privacy amid days of constant activity and chatter. Now his morning walks to and from the chapel were silent and sombre.

Slipping in the back door, Connor shut it as quietly as he could and sat down at the kitchen table to undo his shoes.

“Good morning,” Delaney said from the doorway to the kitchen, her voice smooth with a warm timbre, but shot through with a little worry.

Connor looked up, abandoning his shoelaces, and clenched his jaw for a moment. “Good morning,” he said.

She was only partially dressed, wearing the same mint green tank top that she had the day before and her rainbow cotton panties. She hadn’t put a bra on and the bumps of her nipples were clear under the shirt, and the panties hugged her mound. Her silky, light brown hair was tossed to one side and she looked absolutely ravishing. A temptress, even without trying.

None of the sights before him, from her lack of clothes to her pretty, if nervous, smile, were a shock to him. They’d had sex multiple times the previous afternoon and evening, and she’d slept naked in his arms that night.

Connor slowly stood, kicking off his shoes and stepping over them, and went to her. When he wrapped his arms around her and leaned in to kiss those sweet lips her eyes lost their worry and she leaned in, clutching him as their mouths found each other. It lasted a long time, a sweet dance of emotion, and lust, and need.

“I was worried you would regret last night,” she said quietly as they finally separated.

Connor cleared his throat and shook his head. “Regret? Never. Ask for forgiveness? Necessary.”

“So who do I confess to then?” Delaney smiled softly. “I don’t know if you assigning me my penance would exactly be impartial.”

“No, it wouldn’t,” Connor chuckled. “We can figure something out.”

“It can wait,” Delaney said, taking his hand as she looked up into his eyes. “I think I might be tempted again.” Then her stomach growled, and they both chuckled. “After breakfast.”

Making a morning meal was so much… better when it was with another person. Connor had forgotten how nice it was to have a woman in the kitchen with him, working together. The little touches. The smiles and flirting. The kisses. At one point she pulled his hand around and down, under the waistband of her panties to grab her bum and he took full advantage as he groaned against her lips.

“Lots to do today,” Delaney said as they settled at the kitchen table, their breakfast sandwiches of toast, cheese and eggs ready to go along with some apple cider from the previous Fall. There wasn’t going to be a big Cider Festival at the church this year; too unsafe, not enough people. And Connor wasn’t even sure where they would get the apples from if they could.

“There is,” Connor nodded. “Are you good with the disbursement management, or do you want me to ask someone else to help?”

“I’ve been running it for three months, Killkcannon,” she said, levelling a fork at him as she gave him a look over the table. “I’m not suddenly incapable just because we fell into bed together.” The accusation was softened by the fact that she started rubbing her foot up and down his calf.

“So you don’t need me to make the call to Mrs Corson?” Connor grinned a little.

“No, you definitely still need to make that call,” Delaney sighed. “That bitch still has a problem with me for some stupid reason; and don’t give me shit for using language like that in private, because I seem to remember you using that and more last night.”

Connor flushed a little but nodded. “In private, it’s fine,” he said. “I don’t think anything you could think to say would shock me, to be honest.”

“No?” Delany asked. “Not even that I can barely think of anything except that beautiful cock of yours sliiiding into my needy little cunt, my juices oozing out and lubing it up so that you can pound me to within an inch of my life?”

Covering his mouth as he coughed, trying not to choke, Connor blinked rapidly and finally got his mouthful of food down. “OK, no foul language would shock me,” he admitted. “Creative language will still get a rise out of me.”

“A rise, huh?” Delaney smirked. She raised her foot higher, up his leg and towards his crotch until it was nestled next to his dick, which responded quickly.

“There really is a lot to do, Delaney,” Connor sighed, reaching down with one hand and pressing the pad of his thumb into the palm of her foot, massaging it lightly. “And the more we get done early, the more time we have later.”

“Fine, alright,” she said but didn’t withdraw her foot. “I’ll stop.”

“Just press pause,” Connor countered, making her smile. “I’ve also got the outdoor aerobics class at 1 PM, so I need to get the cones back out in the parking lot. There aren’t many guys left coming out, but for those that do I need to make sure we’re good and spaced apart.”

“I should be done with the organisation stuff by lunch,” she replied. “So I can do the cones if you have other things to do.”

Connor sighed, thinking through the rest of his day. Tonight was another Worship and Prayer Night he ran online - before the pandemic he’d hosted them once a week. Now he did them three times a week because people needed their God, and they needed to feel connected to community, and they needed prayer. Thankfully that didn’t take as much effort ahead of time on his part - a community member would lead the worship from home, and he could manage the prayer request feed in real time. He had three funerals to do that afternoon after the workout class though, and one of the graves still needed to be dug, and he had to get the equipment over to the graveyard so he could set up the Zoom call for the relatives of each of the deceased.

Before he could start putting into words what his day would look like, his phone pinged.

“Not going to check it?” Delaney asked, raising an eyebrow.

Connor swallowed and blinked slowly before fishing his phone out of his pocket and thumbing it open. The message was just the first of many that he would get that day, but he knew what this one was going to be.

Good Morning, Father Killcannon.

A polite and nice message, even sweet since it was coming from Amber Kordic, who had always been a very sincere girl throughout the four years he’d known her.

The problem wasn’t the good morning, it was the fact that it was accompanied by a picture of her topless in her bathroom mirror at home. Her blonde hair was up in a messy bun, and she was wearing low-slung pyjama pants hanging from her hips, and the twenty-year-old was showing off her very nice, natural breasts in all their glory. She had some moles and freckles on her torso that only made her more real, her sizable tits hung with a weightiness, and the playful smile on her face said she knew exactly what she was doing even if she was usually the sweetest girl.

Connor suppressed his groan and just sighed before quickly typing out the same message he had for the last couple of months. Good morning, Amber. It’s a beautiful day, make sure to get some sun. I’m praying for you.

“Who was it?” Delaney asked.

“Just someone wishing me a good morning,” Connor said, setting his phone down on its face so that he could pay attention to his local resident temptress.

“Oh, I know that,” Delaney said. “But was it Amber, Olivia or Isabelle?”

Connor blinked. “It was you?”

“It was me,” Delaney smirked.

“All of them?”

“Well, I assume so unless someone else had the same idea. Those three, Florence, Sally-May and myself, obviously. Is anyone else sending you Tit-me-ups?”

Connor snorted, shaking his head slowly as he chuckled. “That’s what you’ve been calling them?”

“You can’t tell me that getting some tits direct to your phone every morning and evening doesn’t lift your spirits,” Delaney said with a grin.

“That’s fair, even if they’ve been coming with a side of worry and guilt,” Connor said.

Delaney rolled her eyes playfully, then pulled her shirt up to bare her breasts to him. They weren’t as large as Amber’s, but they were wonderfully plump and fit her frame perfectly, and her very suckable little brown nipples were firm and begging for attention. “Better, or worse?” she asked.

Connor gave her a look, making her grin and shrug as she left her shirt pulled up and went back to eating.

“Actually,” he said after a moment. “I did get another topless picture from someone else.”

“Wait, really?” Delaney asked her eyebrows rising. “Who? Someone from C and C, or that we know?”

Connor cleared his throat, trying not to laugh. The College and Careers young adult group that he’d started, which covered the general age range of post-high school to around twenty-five or so, had once hosted almost two hundred young men and women from the church and the community; small compared to the Youth Group he’d run in conjunction with the Minister from the local Anglican church and the Youth Paster from the Pentecostal church, which had become a safe community event for any high schooler within fifty kilometres. Both groups had grown exponentially in size over his five years in the parish, mostly due to his ability to use his wild life experiences before returning to the church to run events that attracted young people without pressuring them, and in telling stories that could both wow them and help them relate to his messages.

The tragedy was that everything he’d built had collapsed. The Youth Group was no more, not because of lack of effort, or volunteers, or funding, or scandal. It was because over the last six months every teenager across the country, and maybe even the world, had died. Hundreds of kids he’d been mentoring, and teaching, and trying to prepare for the full and wonderful lives ahead of them, gone. And not in a blink, but in a long, drawn-out horror. The government was trying to downplay everything, but Connor had the facts in front of him because the Catholic Church kept better records. And he was the only one in the parish to keep them. The fact that he still had a little over half his C and C crowd, many graduates of the Youth Group program, connected online was what really kept him moving forward and hopeful without falling into a grief that couldn't be shaken.

“No, not from C and C, but you do know them,” Connor said. “Mrs Schnieder sent me a picture by accident, thinking it was to her husband.”

Delaney’s eyebrows soared. “No fucking way,” she said. “No. Fucking- For real? That’s a real thing that happened?”

“She was extremely embarrassed, so don’t you dare tell anyone about it,” Connor said. “But it seems like she went to type ‘Cornelius,’ her husband’s name, missed the R and ended up on ‘Father Connor’ by accident.”

Delaney’s laugh was warm and sharp, like the happy barking of a friendly dog. “That’s amazing,” she said, wiping the corner of her eyes. “Were they nice?”

“Delaney,” Connor scoffed.

“Oh, come on,” she said.

Connor hesitated, then shook his head. “Not really, and definitely not up to the standard you and your little coven set with your daily messages.”

“Speaking of which, Olivia and Isabelle are slacking this morning,” Delaney said. Then she smacked her lips lightly and rinsed down her final bite of food before slipping off her chair to her knees. The look she gave Connor was scalding. “And I need a bit of extra protein this morning, I think. If they text while I’m busy down here, I don’t mind if you look at their pictures while I’m blowing you.” She started to crawl under the table towards him.

Connor and Delaney didn’t get to their community work until later than they’d planned. There was also some cleanup to do after - sweeping the kitchen table clear and breaking the plates and cups so that Connor could fuck her on it had been a bit short-sighted. But it had also been hot as hell, and they’d both headed upstairs to change for the day with the warm glow of being connected to someone after so much isolation.

- - - - -

“He’s a goddamn smiling dildo is what he is,” Ernst Sandelin growled over the Zoom call. “Pardon my French, Father. Minister. Rabbi.”

“You’ll get no argument from me, Ernst,” Rabbi Weinstein said.

The topic, as the ‘Community Board’ meetings usually did, had devolved into a spat of complaining about the Federal and Provincial governments. By all rights, the meetings should have consisted of the Town Council, but Ernst was the only elected member left standing beyond August. Beyond the three religious community leaders, they were also joined by Lillian, the town Comptroller and one of the only formal town employees still alive, and Bethany Dawson, one of the two remaining RCMP officers who serviced the area, representing the last of the Emergency Response services.

“My question is how he’s even still alive,” Lillian said. “Every idiotic scandal he’s stepped himself into, yet he can’t have the good grace to catch the damn plague and die.”

It was unsurprising to Connor when he’d moved to Pembroke that much of the population leaned right on the political spectrum. The fact that the Canadian version of ‘right’ was mild compared to the fringe Right groups of Europe had almost made him sigh in relief, though the pandemic had certainly started to push them closer and closer to their American brethren to the south.

Right or Left, though, pretty much everyone was in agreement that the man-child Prime Minister was a complete ass and just about anyone or anything could have done a better job - the country was in shambles and everyone knew it, but somehow he got in front of the camera from Ottawa every day or two and made his attempts to lift the spirits of the survivors. It was a clown show each and every time. His broadcasts had actually been hacked and someone had put a clown filter over his face. Twice. There had been an online petition to replace him with the nearest chicken available. Five people had reportedly been arrested for treason because they tried to break into the official residence to assassinate him.

Canadians were trying to assassinate their own federal leader.

That’s when you knew it was fucking bad.

“Let’s try to get back on track, please,” Officer Dawson said. Conner could see she was likely exhausted, and considering she and her partner Officer Green were doing 12 hours on, 12 hours off solo shifts it was understandable why.

“We’re still not getting any guidance from Queen’s Park,” Lillian sighed. “I spend hours on hold every day.”

“And we still can’t get Lancaster on the phone?” Connor asked. John Lancaster was supposed to be the MPP for the riding, but no one had heard from the man in months - everyone assumed he was dead, but hoped he’d show up at some point so they could throw things at him.

“Nothing,” Lillian shook her head. “And I might as well be getting nothing from Rachel Dahlin. She still just keeps telling me to ‘hold the fort down’ and ‘it will get better, you’ll see.’” Dahlin was the federal MP for the riding and had become the bane of Lillian’s existence.

“Then we move forward as usual,” Connor said. “People still need their necessities, and deserve dignity and respect.”

“Except for the Dildo-in-Chief,” Ernst muttered.

“We’re already scraping the bottom of the barrel on funds, Father Killcannon,” Lillian said. “Soon we won’t be able to move forward anymore.”

“Then we’ll need to get even more creative,” Connor said. Preferably short of assassinating the Prime Minister.

- - - - -

‘Archbishop Jukovic,

What the fuck, man?’

It wasn’t exactly a professional-sounding email. Thankfully, Connor hadn’t actually sent it yet, but he was tempted. The Archbishop wasn’t actually an Archbishop of Canada, but he was the Apostolic Nuncio to Canada - basically the Ambassador of the Holy See and the man with the most direct connection back to the Vatican and the Pope. He wasn’t in charge of any diocese in Canada, and technically each bishop of each diocese functioned in relation to the Conference of Catholic Bishops without being accountable to it.

The problem was that Connor’s diocese didn’t have a Bishop anymore. And the Archdiocese of Ottawa-Cornwall had stopped responding to calls and emails almost three weeks ago, hinting that there probably wasn’t an Archbishop either.

Which left him alone, once the secondary priest in what many would consider a backwater diocese even if it was in a first-world nation. He wasn’t even a citizen of Canada, he was fucking Irish and French by blood and birth.

He started the email over.

‘Archbishop Jukovic,

I am the sole surviving member of the clergy in the Pembroke diocese, where we served 65,000 Catholic souls before this plague. I have not received news from Archbishop Mathieu in over a month, nor any directives for a significant time before that. I shall continue to serve my parish and my diocese to the best of my abilities, but an understanding of what is happening in the world, and any directives from the Holy See, would be greatly appreciated.

Thank you for your time, and I hope to hear from you soon.

Respectfully Yours in Christ,

Connor+’

It wasn’t right, but it was definitely better than ‘What the fuck?’

Connor sighed, shaking his head and then rubbing his face. Realistically Jukovic could very well be dead as well. Who did he call after that? Some of his teachers from seminary? Bishops from other dioceses?

The Pope’s Twitter account was still active. Maybe he should just DM ol’ Francis and see if he could get it straight from the Papal mouth, or his PR assistant’s at least.

OK, maybe that was a little much, he thought to himself.

The presence of warm hands landing on his shoulders and then sliding down his chest was a welcome distraction.

“All done for the day?” he asked.

“No, unfortunately,” Delaney sighed as she shifted down to hug him from behind, her chin resting on his shoulder. “Cindy McPhee’s sick - she swears it’s just her usual October flu, so hopefully that’s what it really is. But she couldn’t do her pickup at the pharmacy, which means I need to go do that and the deliveries will probably take me a couple of hours.”

Connor sighed and nodded.

“Still nothing, huh?” she asked quietly. Delaney was well aware of his frustrations now. In the ‘before times’ when he’d been assigned to the Church of All Saints she’d been one of the first to volunteer for his imagined youth program, a recent college grad who returned to her hometown and wanted to give back to her community. For four and a half years she’d been a key member of the organising committee, managing other volunteers from three different churches, setting up best practices and training protocols. Then they’d gotten even closer in the early months of the pandemic - even if they couldn’t see each other in person, they’d worked to keep their community together, safe and fed.

She lived with him now. There wasn’t really another way to say it. If someone came to inspect his home, Connor had a feeling her ‘bedroom’ wouldn’t likely pass muster in convincing someone she wasn’t just living in his bedroom and sleeping in his bed.

“Someone, somewhere, must have something to say,” Connor murmured. “The Vatican can’t just be silent, I’m just not getting the messages.”

“You’ll figure it out,” she said, and then gently sucked on his earlobe. “I have thirty minutes before the order will be ready at the pharmacy for pickup.”

Connor groaned softly and let himself get pulled out of his desk chair. Rather than letting Delaney drag him towards the bedroom, however, he resisted her pull and instead pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her and taking his turn to hug her from behind as he kissed her neck.

“Fuck, that's good,” Delaney hummed softly as she rocked in his grasp, grinding her ass back at him “Honestly, Connor, I think you might be the love of my life.”

That stopped them both because, even though they were sleeping together, neither of them had said the L-word yet.

“Shit,” Delaney said after a moment.

“I love you too,” Connor said, deciding there that, whatever else happened, he wasn’t going to ever be able to deny that to anyone.

“Shit,” Delaney said again.

“Yeah,” Connor agreed.

He was a Catholic Priest. The world was ending. Falling in love wasn’t really in the cards.

“So… what are we then?” she asked quietly. “Because introducing you as ‘my boyfriend, Father Connor’ doesn’t exactly have a solid ring to it.”

“No,” Connor chuckled. “No, it doesn’t.”

“Am I your mistress, then? That’s what a priest would have had if he was fucking someone in the middle ages or whatever, right?”

“Why do I get the feeling that you sort of like that idea?” Connor asked, slowly sliding his hands down her body and then under her shirt just to reverse course and head up towards her breasts.

“To be fair, it’s kind of a romantic title when it isn’t associated with cheating,” Delaney sighed, leaning back against Connor more. “The hidden mistress that the Priest couldn’t do without, keeping house for him, raising his children.”

Connor’s eyebrows shot up. “Children?”

“That… wasn’t meant to be a hint,” she said. “And I don’t know if we should be considering procreation during the end of the world.”

“Fair,” he said. His hands reached her breasts, cupping the now familiar, perfect handfuls and letting her nipples rub across his palms.

“And if I’m the mistress, that makes you the master,” she said, her voice shifting just a touch lower.

“Oh, is that what you want, then?” Connor asked, squeezing her breasts more firmly. “Me to be the master to your mistress?”

She turned in his grasp, his hands losing her breasts but finding her smooth back. Delaney raised her arms, looping them behind Connor’s neck and pulling him down into a hungry kiss as she laughed with a joy that never failed to spark in his heart. 

Neither of them had been entirely inexperienced when she’d shown up at his door that first afternoon. Connor’s youth, bouncing between Ireland and the rave scene in Paris based on which parents he was with at the time, had led to some wild experiences. And while Delaney hadn’t had quite as hedonistic a lifestyle while she’d been in college, she knew what she was doing and what she wanted. They’d explored each other thoroughly in the first few days, and now they had fallen into an easy rhythm.

“Say it again for me,” she asked him through the kisses.

“I love you,” Connor replied, knowing what she meant.

She moaned and pulled her lips from his, kissing down his neck, but instead of letting her head down towards an opening blowjob, he lifted her shirt up until it came all the way off. As she lowered her arms Connor ran the fingers of both hands through her silky, light brunette hair and looked into her pretty eyes. “You’re in a rush, my mistress, so maybe we skip the foreplay that you know I don’t need when you’re in the room.”

“Then what are you waiting for, my master,” she grinned. “Where would you like to fuck your mistress?”

Connor picked her up by her ass, Delaney laughing again as her bare chest pressed to her, and he carried her out of his little office and into the main living room. He lowered her to the couch, kissing her as they went.

“I love the feel of your hands on me, Con,” she breathed out.

“I love the sound of your laugh,” he countered.

“Fuck me,” she demanded.

“I plan to.”

They both scrambled to finish disrobing, Delaney finishing first and leaning back on the couch as she spread her legs wide and lewdly stroked her pussy. She kept a wide triangular bush on her mound, a little curly but neatly trimmed around the edges and perfectly smooth on the lips - all the easier for him to lick her. Her hips, stomach and waist were all soft and slender, her body practically designed to wear a bikini at the beach. But Connor wasn’t looking at her body as she displayed it for him and he shucked off his pants and boxers, he was staring into her eyes. It was there he could see the mix of her smouldering lust for him, and joy at being with him, and her hunger for life with him.

He was already hard. She was already slick. Each of them gave themselves a few strokes spread around their natural lubricants, and they were ready.

“Turn over,” Connor told her.

“Yes,” she hummed, quickly scrambling onto her knees and bending over the back of the couch. She knew his favourite position was missionary (no pun intended) so that he could kiss her and see everything that he was playing with. But he knew that Delaney’s was from behind, pounding hard at just the right angle to delve for the G-spot as he pinched and pulled on her nipples. Once she was in position, Delaney waggled her ass enticingly as she looked over her shoulder at Connor, making it wiggle a little as she laughed again.

Connor mounted her, sliding the head of his cock through her labia and dipping into her warm core for a moment before pulling back and then driving himself in firmly. Delaney’s whimpered moan was a beautiful, even note.

“Thank God,” she sighed as her body relaxed after the initial surge.

“If you keep pulling that crap, I will find ways to get back at you,” Connor said, adjusting his foot for a moment as she was buried inside of her.

She laughed again, revealing that she’d referenced God on purpose, and looked over her shoulder with the kind of wild hunger that only she could give him. “Sorry, Con,” she said. “Please just fucking rail me. I want to feel it while I’m driving all over the damn town.”

There were so many reasons that Connor had come to realise he loved Delaney. Despite the five-year age gap, despite the massive difference in their upbringings, he saw so much good in her and they shared so much of the same spark for the people around them.

But when it came to sex, even if her body was a wonderland and her eyes were open portals speaking her desires, it was the noises that Delaney made that hooked him. She would gasp, little light things that were barely a puff of air. And she would whimper. And most of all she would mumble a phrase, over and over, repeating herself five times, every time.

“Fuckme, Fuckme, fuckmefuckmefuckme!”

“Right there, baby. Right there, baby! Yes, right there, baby, righttherebabyrighthere…. Baby!”

“Pound my ass. Pound my aaaas, poundmyasspoundmyass. Pound. My. Ass!”

He hadn’t pointed it out to her because he never wanted her to change it.

That moment was always going to be a quickie - they were both wound up and turned on, and she needed to leave. The sex didn’t happen in waves. No blowjob, no oral. They were humping at each other, pelvis slamming against ass, cock in pussy with repeated motions.

Delaney came first, her reaction to her orgasm always to try and wriggle away, but again they knew each other and Connor knew she didn’t want him to let her wriggle off his cock so he held her tight and kept fucking her. She started giggling as she came down, drunk off her own high for a moment, before her giggle turned to a laugh.

“What?” Connor asked.

“Every sperm is saaacred,” she sang the line from the Mony Python movie.

“Oh, now you’re asking for it,” Connor grunted, knowing she was doing it on purpose so that she could get a particular response out of him. He gave it to her, adjusting his footing again and getting higher over her like they were actual animals humping in the wild, driving his cock into her as he crossed his arms behind her neck and pushed her head down against the back cushions of the couch.

“Fuck, yes!” Delaney moaned. “Fuckyes. Fuuuuck, yesfuckyesfuuu-uuuck….. Yeeeess.”

Connor drove himself deep and let his orgasm fly, emptying his balls into his mistress with a long, drawn-out grunt as she shook and wriggled under her heavy press, enjoying her own reactionary orgasm to the feeling of being filled.

When they were both done, panting and sweaty, they shifted as one onto their sides and then Connor slowly disengaged from her and rolled onto his back. “Good?” he asked.

“For now,” Delaney answered, rolling from her one side to the other so that she was looking at Connor and could rest her cheek on his chest. “I promise I’m still taking by birth control. You know I’m just teasing you, right?”

Connor scoffed a little. “Such a bad catholic girl,” he joked.

“Says the sexy Irish priest that just gave me a mid-afternoon fuck,” she smirked. “Now can I shower first, or do you have somewhere you need to be?”

“You go,” Connor sighed, feeling the joy of the moment slipping away. “I need to go out to the graveyard and dig out some more plots.”

Delaney took a deep breath and let it out, absorbing that and then nodding. She sat up a little higher and kissed his cheek. “You’re a good man, Connor,” she said. “The best man for me, but a good man in general.” She got up and headed for the bedroom, her sweet peachy butt a sauntering sight to behold.

“I hope so,” Connor murmured to himself. “I really hope so.”