Message-ID: <30403asstr$990457802@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: <jkhuysmans@hotmail.com> From: "Joris Huysmans" <jkhuysmans@hotmail.com> Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; format=flowed X-Original-Message-ID: <F164WdomJ8K5zQEevxc000015b6@hotmail.com> X-OriginalArrivalTime: 21 May 2001 05:08:13.0739 (UTC) FILETIME=[09935FB0:01C0E1B4] Subject: {ASSM} Confessional with Father Ryan (MM) Date: Mon, 21 May 2001 11:10:03 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org> Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2001/30403> X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Moderator-ID: dennyw, english "You wanted to see me, Wilson?" Father Ryan said. "Yes, I want to talk to--somebody," I said in my best troubled teen manner. He motioned to the chair and I shut the door to his tiny office behind me. Father Ryan was one of the few young priests at St. Brendan's, tall and trim and reasonably good-looking, but not incredibly bright, it seemed to me. At least not as bright as the Jesuit teachers at the school, who were as hardnosed and cynical as cops. There was something trustingly placid and plain about Father Ryan, which would make our discussion easier. I pulled up a chair and bit my lip. "I've been thinking a lot about... stuff," I said, with typical teenage inarticulateness. I could see him settling in for the long haul of dragging it out of me. "What kind of stuff?" he asked. "Um, you know..." I said, as he waited patiently. "Sin and stuff. Like... um... what makes us want to do certain things." I could see the wheels turning in his head. He had it figured out--I was beating off 40 times a day thinking about the time I touched one pubic hair on Mary Ellen O'Cocktease, and felt guilty about the fact that my sheets were as crusty as a meringue. And he expected about ten more minutes of me stammering and halting to get there, to the moment of truth. "Are you talking about certain... urges?" he asked. I gazed up at him in amazement as if he were Sherlock Holmes, deducing my occupation from the mud on my boots. "Yeah," I said, admiringly. "Like... there are things I think about... and I know they're wrong... but I don't care... I really want to do them, you know? At least try them." I stared right at him. "Have you ever felt like that about an urge, Father?" Startled, he looked away. "Uh, well, you know, we all feel that way at some time, uh, especially at your age when the urges are very strong and you haven't had much practice resisting them," he said. Yeah, that was pretty dumbass planning on God's part, I thought. "Really?" I said, as if I were about to cry at his insight. "I'm not the only one who has them?" "No, of course not," he said. "I'm sure every young man in this school is tempted by the thought of having, uh, relations with some young lady." He was going to continue but I suddenly looked dejected, and he stopped. "Is something else--" "Father, that's not what's bothering me," I said. "I'm not talking about those kinds of urges." He seemed surprised. "What were you talking about, then?" I hesitated. "You have to promise that you'll never tell anybody," I said. "Like in the confessional. In fact, maybe we better make this official." He seemed taken aback, but when he saw I wouldn't go any further, he said the words that initiated the sacrament of confession, and bound him never to reveal what I told him. "It's been six weeks since my last confession," I said in anguish. "But I don't know how many times I've had these urges, and I've never confessed any of this before, so I suppose my confessions haven't been any good for a long time--" "It's all right," he said. "This one will make them all good. Just tell me, like you were going to before, in plain English and don't worry about the number of times." "Okay," I said. "Well, so I have these urges, and I think about this stuff a lot, and--" "What stuff?" "Um, I think about, uh, cocks," I said. "I mean, I think about a big hard beautiful cock with a fat purple head, sticking up at me, and I think about licking it up and down, and feeling it fill my mouth, and what it would be like sliding up and down until finally it shot, you know, sperm in my mouth--" He stiffened, I mean his whole body did, and he turned kind of redfaced, but he also had this look that was almost stricken. And that was when I knew what I had suspected had to be true. A good-looking guy like Father Ryan didn't become a priest unless he came from a good Catholic family that knew they'd never marry him off. The priesthood, it was where all the queer sons of those kinds of families went, straight into the kind of all-male environment where they could discover what they were, and get comfortable with it--and with the fact that they were going to be part of an organization dedicated to oppressing who they were. Oppressing gays, even as it was about the biggest group of gays on earth. He knew the anguish I was pretending to have as I described my dreams to him: "--And I think about what it would be like to lie in bed with another guy, and kiss him and feel his ass and play with his asshole, and have him play with mine until he was ready to jam his dick into my ass and fill me up, slowly, with his meaty rod--" "Okay, I, ahem, get the picture," he said, trying to cut me off from going any further. I looked at his black trousers and could see that, yes, he did get the picture. "But that's not the worst thing, Father," I blurted out, ignoring his attempt to end the descriptions. "The thing that really upsets me is... who I imagine doing these things with me. Ever since I got this person into my head, I can't get him out--I just want to see his cock and feel it pounding my asshole and--" "Wilson!" he said, cutting me off. "Who... exactly..." he asked, but he had to know what my answer would be. "It's you, Father." His head dropped into his hands and I moved closer to him. "I know it's wrong, Father, a holy man of the cloth like yourself, you'd never have these kinds of thoughts, even when you were my age and trying to decide about your sexuality and all. But I just think of the beautiful cock you must have and I want to suck it all into my mouth--" I had my hand on his leg, now, moving closer to the holy relic itself--"and so I just think, maybe, if I was to do it just once, I'd get it out of my system and then I could confess the sin I just committed to you and I'd never be tormented again." I was rubbing his hard cock inside his pants. "Once, just let me suck it once, suck the whole big long throbbing cock in, and then I'll confess it and I'll never need to do it again," I said, as I found the zipper and pulled it down to see a white cotton knob pop up. I spread his legs and knelt between them as he reached over and pressed the button to lock his door. I reached into his black pants and found the warm snake inside his shorts and pulled it out. He did have a handsome cock, circumcised of course, and as I licked the purple head he leaned back with his eyes closed. I ran my tongue along the whole length of it, deep-throating him and burying my nose in his hair, and it wasn't long before he grabbed my shoulders, like Oral Roberts faith-healing somebody, and I felt his cock jerk and spurt in my mouth as I swallowed his priestly seed (hey, didn't want to spill it like Onan, that would have been a sin). I let his cock flop out of my mouth and stood up to kiss him. As I did he grabbed hold of me and I felt his tongue go deep into my mouth. I pulled his shirt up (not sure how you undo those collars and played with his tits as he rubbed my bulging crotch. He unbuckled my pants and pulled my shorts down, then stared at my teenage cock, as straight as a bishop's sceptre. He seemed to think about it for a second, then took it in his mouth and sucked me furiously with his eyes shut, so vigorously it nearly hurt (or maybe I wasn't used to a tongue that was ten or fifteen years older than my own or my fellow students'). He played with my ass at the same time and I spread my cheeks to encourage him. It wasn't long before I felt his finger slip up my lubricated ass (I come prepared to confession, believe you me). I started pulling on his cock again and it didn't take long to feel it hardening in my hand. I was ready to shoot so I started frigging his mouth really hard and in no time I was spraying his mouth with my juice. He swallowed like an old pro. Well, they call it seminary for a reason. His cock was hard again and so I pushed him back in his chair and sat on him, positioning his cock at my asshole. I relaxed and let it slide in as I sat all the way down in his lap and he rubbed my thighs and nuzzled my neck. I slid up on his pole, nearly letting it pop out, and then forced my asshole down on him again, feeling his cock plumb my insides and fill me better than anybody had before. I rode him up and down for a couple of minutes and then I felt him lean against me, shuddering, and his cock exploded in my ass, spurts of sticky juice spattering my insides. I slid off of him and pulled my pants up. "Uh, I guess I have to confess all of that, too,' I said. "Just, uh, try to resolve not to do such things in the future," he said, nervously tucking his shirt in and trying not to look J.C. on his stick in the eyes. "Actually, Father, there's something else I was meaning to ask you about." He looked at me with a mixture of anticipation and nervousness. "What's that, uh, Wilson?" he stammered. "At the rectory house, I know sometimes you guys have students over for overnight visits," I said. "I think I'd like one of those, tomorrow night. And if you have anybody else in mind that you'd like to invite over, you know, any special friends from seminary or anything, feel free. Just leave some time penciled in for confession the next morning, okay?" _________________________________________________________________ Get your FREE download of MSN Explorer at http://explorer.msn.com -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> | | FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Archive: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository | |<http://www.asstr-mirror.org>, an entity supported entirely by donations. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+