"Good afternoon, Father. We're collecting donations for the village playgroup. Would you like to contribute?"
Father Brendan Doyle smiled at the two women on his doorstep. Their features were so alike they might have been sisters.
"Of course," he said. "Would you like to come inside? It's such a miserable day."
The two women had shared an umbrella and now it was lowered and shaken as they both stepped inside the vicarage.
"British summertime, Father," one of them said with a wry smile. "We should be used to it by now."
"Quite right," he agreed. "Please go through. The door on the right. It's unseasonal but I've lit the fire. It takes the chill off the room." He rubbed his hands together as they paused before the open fire.
"This is an unexpected pleasure, I must say. It's a lovely little village but one sees so few people during the day."
The women's long coats dripped steadily on the carpet.
"You've retired then, Father?" one of them asked.
"Not quite, yet. A few more years. The village playgroup, is it? I wonder if you might like a cup of tea?"
"You might like to take your coats off and find somewhere to sit. I shan't be a moment," he called from the kitchen.
He took a small tray from the pantry and a jug of milk from the fridge. As an after thought he added a plate of chocolate biscuits.
The wind blew the rain against the window as he carried the tray into the living room.
"I find an open fire quite cheerful on a day like today. I hope it's not too warm for you-.." He paused abruptly.
The women were removing their coats. Underneath they wore tight white blouses and very short, plaited skirts. They were both big women and their blouses gaped to reveal their cleavage. Their legs were very thick and very pale.
"I wish you could see your face, Father," one said. She laughed unkindly and put her hands on her meaty hips.
The other woman dropped her coat and walked towards him. She took the tray from his trembling hands.
"I don't think he remembers us," she said. She turned away and bent from the hips to place the tray on a small side table. Her short skirt rose to reveal white panties as she looked back at him. "But I don't suppose it's our faces you'd remember," she said. "This is how you used to like us to stand, wasn't it Father?"
Father Doyle could only stare in disbelief as she straightened.
"We're older now, of course. That's probably it," one of them said.
"Our tits are a lot bigger."
"We were more naive in those days."
"Eighteen.
"Innocent."
"Submissive."
They smiled unpleasantly and began to walk slowly towards him.
"Colleen and Moira Donnelly, Father? Surely you remember all those times you kept us after school? What was it you used to say?"
"Stand in the corner," her sister said.
"Bend over, was one of your favourites."
"Don't make a sound.."
"Take your panties down..."
Father Doyle gasped. He felt suddenly weak.
He looked in alarm from one sister to the other. The smell of their cheap perfume seemed to fill the room. Their expressions had turned cold. They took an arm each and led him around to the back of the couch. He remembered everything but he denied it.
"Please, I don't know either of you."
Their laughter was as cold as their eyes.
"We'll see if we can jog your memory, Father. I'm Colleen. You made me put my hand inside your trousers two weeks after my eighteenth birthday." They'd reached the couch and she began to unfasten his belt. "Surely you remember? I didn't want to do it but you insisted."
Father Doyle tried to pull away but they held him firmly as Collen lowered his zip and slipped her hand inside.
"It was just like this," she said. "But you were hard then. Hard as a rock. Not soft, like this."
He drew away to try to avoid her hand but she moved with him and explored him through his briefs. He felt her fingers under his balls.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"But you remember me, Father? Moira? You had me stand in the corner with my hands on my head and then you stood behind me and felt my tits." She put out her large breasts. "Do you want to have a little feel now? A cheap thrill? Bring back old times?"
Her face was fleshy and she winked at him as Colleen withdrew her hand from his trousers and deftly unfastened the button that held them closed.
Father Doyle couldn't think. He was too shocked.
"I don't, I don't remember. It was all so long ago. Please, you must leave."
"Eighteen years ago, Father, " Colleen said, and pushed his trousers down.
"I'm disappointed, Father. Fancy not remembering us," Moira said and pouted. "We've put on a little weight, but still.."
She took both his hands in hers then moved around to the front of the couch. Her grip tightened when he tried to pull free.
"Now remember, Father. No noise."
She pulled gently and he was compelled to bend over the back of the couch.
