When my wife left me I sought solace in Father Ben, the local parish priest. He was a real rock for me and I soon realized that I had feelings for him. It was odd because he was not what one would call conventionally good looking. He was aged around forty five and not a very tall man, he had developed a paunch and a rotund large bottom that bizarrely turned me on. I was mid twenties and rather athletic. I did not know whether my feelings were reciprocated by him, but I did know that it was against church teaching for man to lie with man. It was tearing me up inside until eventually I wrote him an e-mail:
Dear Father Ben,
Thank you for all your help over recent weeks. I have enjoyed our chats and tea, our walks in the hills, our pints in the pub. However, I have a confession to make. I have developed feelings for you. I think I love you: your shy looks, your tousled fringe and your manly physique, I even grew fond of your moustache and beard. I have to be honest, these feelings are of a sexual nature. I long for you to take me in your arms and kiss me. Even more, I have fantasies of you letting my take care of your natural needs by oral means. I have pleasured myself many times at the thought of us lying together in one bed. I have also placed my own fingers inside my tight anal ring and imagined it was you doing it to me, readying me for your own God-given love-candle.
Please forgive me this confession of love, but I had to get it off my chest. I shall not see you again. The thought itself makes me want to cry, to never again smell the pipe smoke as you sit contentedly in your rocking chair, to never see your sweet socked and sandalled feet crossed over each other as you read me that beautiful Greek love poetry. I am driven to distraction, whenever I saw your pants on the washing line I wondered what treasure they contained, what forbidden fruits lay within their folds, be they gherkins, bananas or cucumbers ; cherries, plums or peaches! Oh forgive me the effrontery Father Ben but I write this letter with shivering hand. The good book says `get the hence Satan!' so I will depart forever, but oh, that we could be together just one night, a weekend cottage, or a city centre hotel maybe? Perchance to dream. My penis and rectum twitch at the thought of you, but I understand that this idea no doubt disgusts you.
Yours in eternal love and thanks for all your help Iain xx
I was astounded and overjoyed to receive a return email signed simply FB from a different address, on the following Monday morning:
Dear Iain,
I spent the last night tossing in my bed (literally!) at the thought of us together. The catholic church is a universal one and it has many broad strands, but for now we must take account of official teachings and stay clandestine. I have gone again over scripture and my own conscience but, given that I am not in wedlock, can see no commandment from Our Lord, Jesus, that we can not consummate our love. Yes, Iain, our love! For on those walks and during those chats I too had those feelings: a strong bond of physical attraction and a heartfelt desire to commingle our manly juices and liquids in all ways possible. Who are we harming by these acts? If done in a loving way, then surely no one. I took a solemn oath f celibacy over fifteen years ago, but this is the only time I have ever felt the need to break them. When we went for that bike ride last weekend, the sight of your taut backside in those shorts made me want to renounce my vows there and then. Surely it is better to preserve parish stability by our both coming to terms with the fact that we are meant for each other: you my pupil and servant, me your benevolent teacher and master. The only religious scruple I would have is that we should not use any artifice such as condoms or rubber gloves...no, we must, if I can borrow the vernacular, go bareback. I long to spill my seed inside your fragrant flowery passage of pleasure. In the joining of our juices we shall be one before God. Do say you will consent, and come to the parsonage Thursday night at 10pm. The Monsignor will be off to Lourdes for the weekend, and I have given Mrs Miggins the cleaner 3 days off. Let us use this time for me to `breed' you in a holy rite all of our own. Please come on foot and use the back entrance. It is my firm desire to then use your back entrance for what nature and the good Lord surely intended, pleasuring me. The pants you mention, billowing on the washing line, I have had to wash all too often since meeting you as more than once they have been coated in my love-cream, a product of midnight abuse brought on by the thought of sliding my spittle-coated Aaron's rod up your Valley of Darkness.
FB
P.S. Don't wash till then, we shall bathe together.
I read and re-read the letter. Father Ben wanted to make love to me bareback, to cum inside me, what an honour! I wanted to clean myself for him, anoint my body with soaps, aftershaves and powders, but his instruction was clear.
By the Thursday I was in need of a good shower, but I at least brushed my teeth and used scent. He showed me in and once the door was closed we embraced passionately. I was stubbly by then, but if anything it turned me on to see the clean cut priest looking a bit rough and dirty.
`I hope you don't mind, but I have prepared a little ceremony. It is not official, of course, but I wanted to do this before the eyes of God.'
`Of course' I said, `I completely understand, but rather baffled.
Once in his dimmed bedroom, lit only by candle-light, he took a communion wafer and gave me half.
`Body of Christ'
`Amen'
He took the other half himself.
`Blood of Christ' he said, handing me a chalice of altar wine.
`Amen' I said, drinking the heady brew all the way down.
`Lord. May this union of men that you are about to receive strengthen and unite all men within the Church, may the coming together of your servants Ben and Iain in physical love spread peace and love throughout your kingdom, where you live and reign forever and ever. Amen.
With our catholic guilt at least somewhat allayed, we started a nice session of heavy petting, lots of deep tongue kissing, tongue sucking, and then he pulled back, asked me to open my mouth, and spat into it.
As the ball of his warm saliva mixed with my own I returned the compliment and we soon were using our fingers to scoop any loose strings of spit into each others' mouth. I was unsure where this would end and then he actually started gargling on our combined mouth juices.
He swallowed it down and held me close:
`That's the first sacrament of man-love' he said. `we drink each other's spit'.
`Aha -- this is so nasty' I whispered, as I looked forward to the next sacraments.
`I know, but it's our little secret' he whispered back, licking my ear. I had been unsure as to the sincerity of his whole ceremony, but now I just started enjoying myself and letting it get as perverse as we wanted it too.
`What's next?' I asked as a glint lit up his face. With that he fished out his semi-hard cock from his regulation priests trousers, and smiled as I fell to my knees, in awe of this pillar of Rome.
`Motherfucker!' I involuntarily whispered as the big fat dick flopped before my eager mouth.
"Now Iain! I think the expression would be better put as `Sweet Lord above!'.
I would have replied but my parents always told me its rude to talk with your mouth full. He had a musty salty tang to his faggot-skewer, and oodles of foreskin.
`Leave the bulb for now' he confided, and in an instant he had fished his frankly indecently large ballsack out through his zipper, and I started coating them in my saliva, eagerly wondering if Mrs Miggins could take the week off. Married life is all well and good, but I now realized I was destined to worship at the temple of cock.
`Ooh yeah, that's a good little cockhound, lick my ballsack, hmm, fuck that feels good!', now it was his turn to forget himself and slip into profanity.
I unbuckled him and he stepped out of his trousers, tossing the shoes to one side and reaching for his dark knee length socks.
`No Ben', I said, `leave them, they turn me on'.
`Good -- I like them on to'.
With that I took my tight bleached jeans off, and kicked off my sneakers, leaving my white sports socks on. We were so hot for each other my own dick was already cheekily peeping over my Calvins, the foreskin forced back by the engorged helmet.
`Ah, I see the Bishop is paying us an unscheduled visit' he laughed. I looked down shyly and blushed, as I was acutely aware that I had built up a residue of smegellum in the previous couple of days.
`Don't be silly' he said, sliding over the bed to kiss it. `It's a beauty too! Maybe not quite as fat, but just as long.'
He brought over a communion wafer.
`Let's have some fun' he said. `Don't worry, it's not consecrated.'
`OK, I'm game' I said. Next we pulled each others' sweaters and shirts off, but I made sure he kept the dog collar on.
He knelt at my crotch as he proceeded to pull back my foreskin and smelt the cheese.
`Mmmm, nice and mature' he growled, then he licked and scooped my bulb clean, getting right into my helmet ridge, then he carefully spat it out on the wafer. Next I understood it was my turn as stood, pushed my down, then peeled his folds of foreskin back. I will not go into details other than say it was more of a creamy Brie than my own crumbly Cheddar. I looked up at his sweat-beaded face imploringly, as this really was not my cup of tea.
`Come on my son' he said, `No licky, no dicky'.
It was such a beautiful specimen that the thought of not gobbling it down and getting it up my bum hole was so distressing, that I decided to close my eyes and think of Camembert. `For Iain so loved the world of cock...' I thought as I lowered my hesitant tongue. Then a strange thing happened, I enjoyed the taste. Oh it was cheesy and smelly and dirty, but it was Ben's cheese, and that is was I could taste.
I smeared it on the same wafer, then we ate it together: the second sacrament. I had a feeling we were know going to move arsewards, which I have to admit, had been a longtime dream of mine. From the earliest days of puberty I had always harboured a secret desire to give a man a rim job. Now, in this most unlikeliest of places; a church parsonage, I was about to do it. Ben was completely butt naked by now, and I could feast my eyes on his large, rotund and surprisingly hairy arse.
From under the bed he brought out a strange device which he proceeded to squat on.
`It's a papal stool', he said, `Or a smotherbox'. He then got me to lie in position, clamped me in, then proceeded to walk over to the mantelpiece, fetch is pipe and tobacco, then sat on the stool, squatting his hairy ring over my face.
The next twenty minutes were heaven, I toungued his moist, soiled hole, breathing in a mix of his faecal miasma, the tobacco smoke, and our sweat. He was a hard taskmaster though, barking out instructions between purrs of satisfaction as I darted my tongue up his unpolished passage. Occasionally he would re-position to give me a mouth full of scrotal sack.
Finally, it was time for him to take my cherry. He led me to an adjacent room where there was a rubber mat and got me to go down on all fours, then place my face to the floor. In a second or two I could feel his tongue and fingers nuzzling up to my hole. Mmmm, it felt great, especially the bristles from his beard on my arse-cheeks. He even cheekily put his pipe up my arse, then tasted my bum-smear off it. After some minutes of this, he solemnly intoned that I was ready for the last sacrament -- the most sacred in the consummation of two men's love: the breeding of the seed.
`What one man delivers into the bowels of another, let no human, of either gender, rent asunder' he declared.
`AMEN!' I responded, as his Tower of Babel took me up the aisle.
God works in mysterious ways, I thought, as he gradually probed his dick further into my tender virgin ass. I had gone to him as a heartbroken divorcee and now he was making me a bride of the church, red-faced, sweat-caked, utterly submissive, yet totally happy.
`Oh sweet Jesus' he intoned `you've made an old man very happy. Your reward will be great in heaven, you gorgeous little faggot!'
There were so many jumbled messages in his words now that I could only assume he was trying to reconcile his heartfelt desire for a good old dirty queer rut, with pleasing God. Whatever, it was turning me on even more.
`Oh, that's it Father Ben, bum me into paradise. Ride me like Mary's donkey!'
`Oh that's some ass, indeed' he laughed, as he gripped my love handles and started to treat me like his personal bucking Bronco. For a man of his age and build I was surprised by his stamina, and, truth be told, not a little unperturbed by the ferocity of his thrusts.
`Oh shit, fuck that's good. Yes, yes father, make me do penance' I spluttered, as he pummeled his fists on my back and ass cheeks, and spread them wide with his digging finger nails to enable a better view of him driving his easter candle into my taut and increasingly reddening hole.
`Take it like a man, you depraved little shitehouse', he roared. Now these were holy orders I could relate to!
He went in balls deep then withdrew with a painful squelch. I waited in trepidation then felt a spear thrust straight back through my bruised ring, his dick ramming up balls-deep, his helmet nuzzling deep within my innards up to my last supper.
`Shit Father Ben, it hurts, that's too hard'
He muffled my protests with a nearby cushion, and continued to spear hump me five or six more times till he collapsed on top of me and I collapsed under his weight onto the mat, my white-socked calves and feet plaintively wriggling in the air as he took a breather. It had stung alright, but I had loved the feeling of taking his manhood so well.
`Good child, good child. This is my new son, with whom I am well pleased. You've taken your punishment now. All that's left for me to do is cleanse you with my spunk. Are you ready for it Iain?'
"Oh yes father, wash away my iniquity with your man-juice'.