The Young Bishop

The Bishop's Dream

The dream always started in the same way. Leo, the young Bishop, would find himself in the Garden, hiding in the tall grass like a tiger waiting to pounce on his prey. And the prey – the lovely St Adam, sleeping in the cool shade under the scorching sun. He slept naked, with one arm folded under his head like a pillow and the other stretched out delicately into the nearby tufts of grass.

The young bishop was drawn to the saint’s smooth, olive skin. The short curly black hair, slightly matted from the sweat. The short sensitive hairs on the back of the saint’s neck.

Without showing himself, Leo crept silently on all fours towards the sleeping saint. The warm dry earth crunched beneath his bare knees and palms. He was aware of how the grass tickled his dangling balls and his firm hardness. Soon, he was close enough to the saint to see his hair moving in the gentle breeze. And with each step forward he felt himself getting even harder. He could even feel his heavy sac twitching from anticipation.

How he longed to be inside the only man who had ever been penetrated by the Highest One. To release himself into the father of all men and have his own seed mix with the seed of the Highest One. The very seed that had created him, and his father and his father’s father.

And before he knew it he was kneeling over the sleeping saint’s body. He could hear the air leaving his body with each breath. He couldn’t resist caressing the St Adam’s cheek and the soft, warm skin down his neck.

He was suddenly overwhelmed with that serene feeling of religious ecstasy and all the thoughts he had had suddenly washed away. He just wanted to lay down next to St Adam and hold him. He didn’t want to wake him from his sweet slumber.

So the young bishop, crept up behind the saint and wrapped one of his thick arms around the saints body so he could pull himself ever so gently close to him until their bodies were touching, skin to skin. Their bodies bent to form a tight S shape so that the bishop’s hardness was tucked in between the Saint’s thighs. In the heat of the sun, their warm skin had that sticky feeling but Bishop Leo, didn’t mind it at all.

He was aware of his hardness pressed against the saint’s flesh.  

“Hail Adam, Father of all Men,” Bishop Leo whispered his prayer into the saint’s ear, inching even closer to the saint and feeling the skin on his shaft sliding and pulling his foreskin over the head of his hardness as he pushed himself deeper between the saint’s thighs.

At that moment, while the young bishop finished his quiet prayer, the saint started stirring awake.

“I have been waiting for you,” the saint said quietly. He wiggled himself against the bishop and the bishop who was hypersensitive at this point almost gave in to the pleasure.

“Soon your seed will start a holy war. And before it is all finished we will meet again. My shawit.”

“My shawit,” Saint Adam whispered again. This time he started writhing squeezing his thigh muscles as though he wanted to milk the young bishop there and there. Bishop Leo could feel the drool being squeezed down his shaft and out the little slit.

“My shawit. My shawit…” The saint whispered again. This time not with is mouth but with his mind. Shawit was a word used in the old tongue to mean both husband and master. Leo held the saint close.

Shawit. The saint was almost begging him with just that one word. Bishop Leo who had never been inside another man decided he had had enough of the teasing with the thighs.

Overtaken by that primal instinct to breed, the bishop gripped his hardness and began pushing into the saint’s tight hole. He wanted so desperately to feel himself inside the saint.

But before he could even push the head through the opening, he felt what seemed like a vice closing in on his hardness!

“Aahh!” the bishop cried out as he was yanked out his beautiful dream into a cold hailstorm.

The bishop’s father, Lerra, was standing over him with an empty bucket of icy water hanging from his hands.

With his other hand, Lerra, was gripping his son’s hardness over his bedsheet.

“I did not fight to make you bishop so you could waste your seed in the land of dreams!”

He dropped the bucket and started smacking the bishop and squeezing his hardness  even tighter at the same time. By now the bishop felt his cheeks heating up at the thought of being aroused by his father’s anger.

He couldn’t bear look at Lerra’s face. He was still so excited from his dream and truth be told he had always had an itch he was ashamed to admit when it came to his father.

The young bishop could remember the one evening as a young adult after he was expelled from his boarding school. He had come home and found his father Lerra getting ready for evening prayer. Father Lerra didn’t know he wasn’t alone and so he had left his dressing room door open. And through the crack Leo could see everything.

He could see his father rubbing myrrh and almond oil on his body. He had that soft look most second fathers had after years of being pampered by their husbands. None of his muscles were as defined as they used to be but their suppleness made Leo want to touch them even more. The way every inch of his body moved as he rubbed oil.

Back in the old land, a bastard was free to share his second father with his brothers and his father. That day, Leo overcome with desire for his second father decided he was going to claim his birth right. He pulled his robe over his knees until he was exposed then he quietly walked into the room until he was close enough to smell the perfume on his father’s body.

He knew his father had the softest olive skin and how he wanted to run his hands through the soft curls on his hair, still wet from the bath.

“Prodsky, is that you?” Father Lerra said, thinking it was his husband in  the house. “Won’t you help me with my oils.”

Lerra climbed onto the bed and lay there on his stomach, with his arms folded over his chin so he was resting and facing out the window, his eyes shut.

Leo thought about coming clean. But what harm was a little oil. He climbed on top of  the bed and pulled the bronze jar of oil from the table. He poured the oil on his hands and rubbed them together then, when he mustered the courage he placed his palm on his father’s back and started rubbing. He was so nervous he could barely breathe.

“Don’t forget my neck too.” His father said.

Leo didn’t know what to do. He would need to move much closer to his father’s buttocks to be able to reach his neck.

So he dragged himself over his father’s body until his hardness was resting between his father’s soft cheeks. But his father kept squeezing and relaxing his cheeks so that by now, Leo was harder than he had ever been his whole life.

Now is the time to come clean, before it gets too far, Leo thought.

“My back is killing me. Won’t you lay on top of me and help me massage my muscles.”

Leo knew his father had back pains and he wanted to help so he laid himself flat on top of his father’s back. The minute he did, he knew he’d made a big mistake.

His hardness was now trapped firmly between his father’s cheeks and his own person. Any movement and he would burst.

So Leo jumped right back up and his hardness swung up with him. He was going to come clean but then his father reached out behind him and grabbed his hardness.

He kept squeezing and releasing, and the oils on his hands meant he kept sliding right over the tip of his hardness. Leo’s father kept poking Leo’s hardness into the crevice between his cheeks hoping it would slip inside him. Leo wanted to be inside him and he wanted so badly to release himself. But it was his father! What would his first father say if he caught him? What would his brothers say?

But the tip was almost all the way in by now and his father kept poking it deeper and deeper.

He could argue he was honouring his Bastard roots. It was his heritage. But he was only half-bastard. His first father would never understand.

“Father stop! It’s me.”

Father Lerra let out a little scream then turned around pulling his bed sheets up over his chest.

Leo stood up trying to find somewhere to hide his shame. He started to walk out the room, his head hung in shame.

Right then his father said the words that Leo would never forget.

“Son, you call yourself a man? What kind of man doesn’t have the balls to breed his own father? Disgraceful!”

-

And now here they were. Alone, his father gripping his hardness over his blankets while slapping him.

“Did he want him to seize the moment and release his seed inside him? Would he be ashamed if he didn’t?”

He could see his father was angry but his soft features always made his angry look seem adorable.

Bishop Leo didn’t want to disappoint his father again. He was so horny that he didn’t even care that it was his second father. He was going to pin him down and give him what he couldn’t give years ago.

So Leo grabbed his father’s arms and threw him onto his bed. He gripped his hardness and spit on his father’s hole. He was ready. Except.

Except Bishop Leo was a romantic at heart. He wanted his first time to be special not some primal fuck with his father. He wanted to save himself and make love to his husband on their wedding night. He didn’t want to just breed him, he wanted to make love to him - cum kisses and all.

“Father, I don’t want to breed you or the Sons of Suna! Find another bastard to do your dirty work! I’m going to wait until I find the man of my dreams. Then I’m going to make love to him every chance I get. I’ll tell the Archbishop I quit when he arrives on Sunday.”

“Son, if you don’t do as I say and breed every Sunanite in this church. I will marry you off to your cousin Prince Heraila! You will spend the rest of your life as his whore, sucking him and his brothers off. Being passed around at his orgies like a piece of meat. Maybe that’s exactly what you want! So you breed those Sunanites or you’ll get what you deserve!”

Father Lerra spit on his son then climbed out of the window and disappeared into the night.

The young bishop didn’t know what to say. The door opened and Brother Mish popped his head in.

“I thought I heard something,” the brother said.

The bishop still hard thought, this is the moment of truth. Do I go against everything I believe in for my father’s sake or do I stand firmly as any man of virtue would?

“Come here, Brother Mish,” the young bishop said holding his hand out to Brother Mish. “There’s something I want to show you.”