Bless me, Father

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.”

Father Paul instantly recognized the voice, deep and throaty, almost gruff. His mind registered flashes of images when he would watch the swim team practice in the club near the abbey where he lived. On his walks from the abbey to the church, he would pass by the club, attracted by the shouts and splashing of the boys practicing in the outside pool.  A few times, he would stop by and watch. One of the swimmers, a lanky, tall boy of maybe 18 or 19 attracted his attention the most. The boy had this deep voice that resonated inside Father Paul’s body, making him tremble.

“Yes, my boy. Tell me,” Father Paul said, his voice slightly trembling.

Father Paul had decided to join the priesthood as early as when he was 15 years old. He was consumed with guilt by the what-he-considered a mortal sin of lusting after naked boys’ bodies. His cousin Frankie, three years older than him, had begged him to play with his dick when the young Paul walked into Frankie standing at the toilet bowl and pulling on his penis. Paul had stroked Frankie to ejection. The size and the feel of his cousin’s cock had amazed him. That night, in bed, after his evening prayers, Paul had promised Jesus not to ever do what he had done with his cousin, ever again.

“Well, Father,” came the throaty voice through the square, latticed partition. “I have committed the sin of vanity.”

Yes, Father Paul thought. He had been vain, too. He shuddered when he remembered how he had teased Frankie that even though Frankie was three years older, his, Paul’s, dick was almost double the size of Frankie’s. This had led to a dare ending with Frankie giving Paul his first blowjob. Not that he had had any second or third, since he made his vow. But the images were still there, sometimes more vivid than other times, but there nevertheless.

At 29, Father Paul still had these lustful feelings. He still jerked off. He still vowed, consumed with guilt. And then he had done it again. And again.

“How so, my boy?”

Father Paul thought he might have heard a very low snicker, but he wasn’t sure. The gruff voice came again, a bit louder now, just over a whisper. More confident, it seemed.

“I have bragged about my… ahh… my… you know, Father. About my thing, down there.”

Father Paul inhaled. That was the swimmer boy, he was sure now. He had noticed the bulging speedos. Of course, he had. The image of the bulge in the red skin tight, low-hanging speedos was imprinted in his mind, and many jack-off sessions were executed with vengeance as he imagined what might be inside those swim trunks. Brad. That was the boy’s name, Father Paul remembered. One of the other swimmers had called the kid Brad.

“You mean your male member?” Father Paul croaked, feeling stirrings in his groin.

Brad had been standing at the edge of the pool’s deep end, tall and slender, his smooth (or shaved?) chest dripping water, his speedos outlining his penis, his butt cheeks stretching the fabric out. The other boy had called Brad chicken. Brad had grabbed his crotch lasciviously and shouted for the other boy to come and chew on this. Father Paul had almost creamed himself as Brad stretched and plunged into the water, his body so graceful, his jump so clean.

“Yes, Father.”

“What makes you think so?” Father Paul heard himself say as if he was far away.

Brad had had a bet going with one of his swim friends, Leslie. Leslie had first sucked Brad’s cock when they were both 16 years old. It was in the showers after swim practice when Leslie walked in on Brad stroking his dick under the steaming water. Leslie had teased Brad about it, but Brad’s response had been “Come chew on this.” Since then, it had been their secret phrase whenever they teased each other.

“You think the priest is queer?” Leslie had said after they both noticed the frequent visits of Father Paul during their swim practice.

“Fuck you, Les,” Brad glared at his friend. “How many times have I told you not use that word. I hate it. We are both gay, so fucking stop saying ‘queer’.”

“Ok, ok, don’t get so riled about it, dude. You think he’s gay?”

“I can’t be sure, but I have caught him staring at my crotch a couple of times. Remember when you dared me to jump naked into the pool the other day? And I shouted back for you to come and chew? I caught him gazing at my crotch, his eyes and mouth wide open, almost drooling.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s gay, Brad. Come on, man, he’s a fucking priest.”

“Wanna bet?”

Leslie gazed at his friend. “Whatchu got in mind?”

Brad smiled behind the confessional window. He was almost sure now that the young priest was interested, if not gay-gay, at least curious-gay. “I’ve seen some, Father, and mine is way bigger and that is making me vain.”

Father Paul cleared his throat, squirming as he was starting to develop an erection. Right there in the confessional. He felt beads of sweat form on his forehead.

“This is God’s creation, your body. You don’t need to be vain, but proud. Besides, you probably are too young to be fully developed.” Father Paul wasn’t so sure about that. The kid must be older than 18 and he was already “fully developed.” The young Paul was fully developed much younger than that. Father Paul’s 8-incher snaked against his thigh as it started to harden.

“Want to see? That it can’t be just pride, but vanity?” Gruff, with a touch of sarcasm.

Silence.

Father Paul could hear his heart beats like loud drum beats inside his chest. His cock had already pitched a tent under his black habit.

“Father?”

Father Paul shook himself trying to control the sensations streaming throughout his body but centered around his groin. With a trembling hand he reached for the latticed partition and slid it sideways. The square window gaped at him, and he shuddered as he thought it looked like the gate to hell.

There was some rustling of clothes. Father Paul tried not to make any audible noise as he panted through his open mouth.

“You can’t do that, Brad,” Leslie had said, his eyes wide open. “It’s sacrilege.”

Brad had laughed. He had responded by fishing out his dick and grabbing Leslie’s hair pulling his face onto his crotch. “Chew it.”

Leslie could by then go almost halfway down the monster cock. No matter how hard he had tried to relax his throat, twelve thick inches could in no way go all the way down. Leslie loved Brad’s cock and every time he sucked his friend, he promised himself to try harder. The squirts that hit his throat and filled his mouth were always warm and strong.

Wiping his lips, Leslie had smirked. “Oh, fuck, Brad. How did you get to be so big?”

“I bet that when the good priest sees this, he’s going to chew it good. Inside the confessional.”

“Jesus, bro. I can’t believe you’re serious.”

“Wanna bet?”

So the dare had been on. Stealthily, making sure to move the confessional curtain as silently as possible, Leslie crept inside Brad’s side of the booth as Brad pulled down his jeans and jocks, his dick semi-erect. Leslie watched with wide eyes as the cock knob pushed inside the open square.

Father Paul gazed at the head as it appeared through the window. Ever so slowly, more slid through. And more. And more. With every inch snaking through, the shaft thickened. Father Paul couldn’t believe the enormity of the member getting closer and closer to his face. True, he hadn’t seen many cocks. Except for his and his cousin’s, this was the third one. He had never allowed himself to surf the net for pictures and videos for fear and guilt. This could not be real. The boy was probably playing a prank on him. It had to be a dildo, plastic. No man could be this big.

Father Paul touched the head with his index finger. It was warm. It throbbed. It wetted. As if his mind had deserted his body, he leaned and flicked his tongue at the mushroomed and thick uncircumcised cock head. He thought he heard a moan. Or two moans? He wrapped his lips around the ridged head, his heart beating like a whole band of drums. He swallowed. His eyes plastered at the length of shaft. At the end peeking through the window, curly black hair appeared. He swallowed some more, and gagged. He stifled his gagging and kept working on the head. With a sudden loud grunt from the other side of the partition, and a strong thrust into the sucking mouth hitting the throat, Brad shot his load.

Leslie quickly crept out of the booth and out of the church, stifling his snickers. Once outside he burst out laughing, looking down at his crotch where a wet spot already showed. He couldn’t believe what he had witnessed. He had been able to see the lips encircling the thick cock. When Brad cummed, Leslie could see the white jizz seeping out and onto the black beard.

Wiping the semen off his beard, Father Paul croaked: “One Our Father, ten Hail Mary’s.”

The cock disappeared. Clothes rustled. Brad’s face appeared in the open window. “Now you see, Father? It looks like I will have to come back often to be absolved.”

Father Paul was speechless. He already knew that he had tons of guilt confessions of his own after this. Had he sucked a boy’s penis? Had it been that big? Inside the confessional?

The young priest remained seated inside the professional long after the boy with the horse dick had left. He heard the receding steps, strong on the tiled floor of the church, echoing, full of vigor, of vanity. That night, Father Paul jerked off with vengeance. As if it were a punishment, he pulled on his dick, wishing that it would come off. He shot huge loads of cum, maybe three or four. He cried himself to sleep.

“Come on, Father. Join us,” Brad’s low and sexy voice came across the pool as Father Paul leaned against the far wall, not able to control himself from stopping by the club to watch. Brad had winked at him. His guilt mixed with his lust.

Father Paul just waved his hand and shook his head. He watched Brad climb out of the pool and saunter towards him, dripping water, impossibly bulged. Father Paul’s heart race.

Brad leant toward the young priest and whispered: “Locker room. Follow me.”

As if in a dream, in a trance, Father Paul followed the young stud, his eyes glued on the round bubbled butt, as Brad walked in front of him.

Making sure the locker room was empty, Brad pulled down his speedos and fished out his dick. Father Paul knelt and took the offered boy cock into his mouth. No speaking. No hesitation. As if haunted by some satanic lust. In no time, the sucking mouth was rewarded with a load of boy cum.

“You know that we are both sinners,” Father Paul said as he stood up to face the smirking Brad

“God forgives, Father.”

Father Paul glanced down at the slimed cock, now drooped over Brad’s balls. He heaved.

“Come to my room tonight. At 8,” Father Paul said as he turned around and walked out.

“No way,” Leslie said, a grin on his face, when Brad told him he was going to screw the priest.

“Yeah, I’m going to fuck his priest ass.”

Father Paul had decided. Priesthood was not for him. He stroked and cummed. Heavily. The taste of Brad’s cum still in his mouth. Incredibly, the guiding light that had controlled his life and actions up till now was fading, replaced by the amazing sensations of lusting for hard cock. He was succumbing into the abyss of sin. And he just didn’t care.

The feelings that stormed Brad’s whole being after Father Paul had knelt in front of him and sucked his cock and swallowed his semen were intoxicating. He felt that he was in control of the world. He ached to shout out in the middle of the street, to advertise his conquest. This was totally different from wooing a girl and getting into her pussy. Leslie didn’t count as an admiring audience. Les admired Brad no matter what. But the priest? Brad shivered as his dick elongated in anticipation of his visit to Father Paul’s room.

A discreet knock on the door. Father Paul’s sweat dripped in his armpits. He had taken off his habit and was in sweatpants and t-shirt. He stared at the closed door. With a heave, trying to avoid looking at the cross hanging above the door, he stumbled over and opened. There stood Brad. Tall and lanky and cocky. Smirking?

Father Paul turned and walked back into the room, sitting on the edge of his bed, his knees clamped together. Brad sauntered in closing and locking the door behind him.

“You want my cock, Priest?” Brad stepped closer, slowly, grabbing his crotch.

Father Paul stared at the approaching kid, his swimmer build accentuating his cockiness, so very unreal, so very real. He could glance the cross behind Brad as if on top of his head. He gulped audibly, heart thumping.

“Well, Priest? You want this cock or not?” Brad repeated glaringly.

Father Paul nodded. “Yes,” came the low whisper.

Brad strode close, now standing right in front of Father Paul, towering over him. He slapped the priest’s face hard. “I didn’t hear, Priest. You didn’t say you want my cock.”

“I… I want your… your cock,” Father Paul said, his face smarting.

The second slap was harder, making the priest’s eyes water as Brad grabbed his hair and pressed his face against the bulging crotch. Father Paul inhaled the soapy/sweaty fabric of Brad’s crotch and felt the hardness inside, throbbing, threatening.

“Take a good whiff, Priest,” Brad laughed pressing the head harder and grinding on the face.

Father Paul could barely breathe, suffocating. This was his punishment. This was his prize.

Brad let go of the priest’s head, took one step back and started to undress. He pulled off his sweatshirt, exposing his defined swimmer’s chest, the ab muscles ripped and tight. Father Paul stared hungrily at the beauty of God’s creation. He reached for the bare chest to feel it when Brad viciously slapped his hand away.

“No, you fuck. You only do what I tell you to do. Got that, Priest? Open your fucking mouth.”

Father Paul opened his mouth, and the spit out of Brad’s mouth dropped into the opened cavity with a plop.

“Swallow it, Bitch Priest.”

Father Paul gulped. “Please, don’t call me priest,” he whimpered.

“I can call you whatever the fuck I fucking want to call you. Now get naked.”

Slowly, humiliated, excited, guilty and feeling shame, full of lust, the priest undressed. He stood in front of the smirking boy totally exposed.

“Fuck, you’re hot, Priest. Turn around and spread your butt cheeks and show me your fuck hole.”

Why was Brad so humiliating? This must be a punishment. But somehow Father Paul felt that it was fitting. Even erotic. His cock stood fully erect and throbbing just by being treated like this. He reached both hands back and pulled his butt cheeks apart. The unexpected slap on his butt was loud and made him jump.

“You know this fuck hole is going to be fucked tonight, don’t you, Priest?” The voice was sexily gruff.

Father Paul couldn’t even find his voice to try to explain to Brad that he was virgin, that his experience was next to nothing, that Brad was huge.

“Now, put on your fucking robe.”

“Please, Brad. I told you. I’m leaving the priesthood. Please. I’m not a priest anymore,” Father Paul pleaded.

Brad reached and pulled Father Paul’s hair with one hand, slapping his face cheek with the other, then forcing his mouth open to deposit another blob of spit. Then, Brad leaned and sucked Paul’s lips. Paul almost died.

With his habit on, the front tented with his erection, Father Paul waited for what was coming.

Brad laughed out loud as he undid his jeans and pull them down, keeping his tight briefs on, outlined sideways with his thick long cock reaching out beyond his waist, stretching the fabric.

“On your fucking knees, Priest Bitch. Fuck, you look like a bitch in this robe… Work this bulge,” Brad taunted, his feet planted solidly and spread apart, his back arched pushing his pelvis out.

Kneeling, Father Paul pressed his face against the huge erection, taking in the scent, making him dizzy with desire. When he reached for the brief’s waistband to pull it down, he was slapped away.

“What did I tell you, bitch?” Brad stared angrily at the kneeling priest. He reached down, pulled Father Paul up by the hair and threw him onto the bed on his belly. He hitched up the robe roughly, pulling Father Paul’s legs apart and wide.

“What..? Brad? What are you doing?”

The slap on the butt cheek came hard. Repeated. Again. Slap.

“Fucking bitch,” Brad’s gruff voice turned throaty.

Father Paul grunted as he felt Brad’s body pressed on top of him, pinning him. He shivered uncontrollably under the pressing weight when he felt the boy’s hard pole between his upper thighs.

“Please, Brad. It’s… I’m… oh Brad. Please,” Father Paul begged, his body tense.

“Shut the fuck up, Priest. I’m going to fuck you so good you’re going to be in the heaven you always promise good people. You want my cock. You fucking need it. You told me it is God’s creation, didn’t you? Now shut your trap and open up.”

Father Paul screamed into the pillow as the cock knob breached his tight virgin ring muscle.

Brad’s hand pushed Paul’s face tighter into the pillow, his swimmer body pressing down, jamming the priest down under him. The pressure was hard. The thick shaft was trying to force in through the resisting hole. Brad grunted, bit Father Paul’s side of neck and pushed harder.

Father Paul almost lost consciousness. He was doing penance for his sin. The boy’s cock seemed to thrust in forever, pushing deeper, stretching wider, the searing pain driving warm tears onto his buried face. Brad was relentless, keeping the pressure, taunting. Father Paul was heaving, Satan’s tool penalizing him, owning him, pulling him into hell, into paradise.

“You love this cock, huh? Makes you hurt good, huh? Bitch Priest? Taking man cock up your ass. Fuck, you’re so tight.” The butt slapping punctuated the thrusting, relentless and merciless.

Father Paul panted, amazed that the pain was receding. He was shivering under the young swimmer. He almost suffocated as Brad wrapped his arm around his neck, totally owning him. The fucking was hard and fast and deep. The virgin tunnel was getting stretched to its maximum. Father Paul felt that he was ripped apart. When Brad growled and buried balls deep, Father Paul realized that  he was being bred by semen. He realized that there had been no protection, that Brad was fucking him bare, that the swimmer was dumping his swimming sperm deep inside his guts. What he didn’t realize was that the dampness under him was a pool of his own jizz.

Pulling up his briefs and jeans, Brad slapped Paul’s butt a couple of times for good measure. “You are a hot fuck, Priest. Better than pussy. Fucking tight. You’re going to be my cum dump from now on, aren’t you? I promised my boy Les that I was going to fuck you.”

Father Paul quit the priesthood. But he did not quit Brad. The love making with the young swimmer was becoming sweeter, the guilt and shame fading, the lust increasing. Father Paul, now just Paul, became Brad’s cum dump. Needless to say, Leslie often joined in working on Paul’s cock as Brad raped Paul’s hole.