by Clay Ferrill
I am not simply a breeder or made for sexual pleasure, not even just scholarly. I am all three in one. I am capable of breeding new life and conveying tremendous passion with my body. I am a skilled lover interested in providing those I couple with extreme, unbridled pleasure. To strive for their pleasure more than my own. Work for that in the act itself. I am also highly intelligent when it comes to the human body and what makes it want what it is. Human touch. Eyes still wide open, I release him in my mind. I push him then from my mind and close my eyes again and rub them.
In my mind’s eye I … back against the door and begin to unbutton my cassock behind him. The young priest approaches me and drops to his knees, lifting it up to disappear underneath, alone now with my naked body, his roaming hands and wet mouth touching me. I freeze in my unbuttoning, enjoying the sensations of his warm, moist hands roaming over my skin, the kissing and licking, my muscles tensing and clenching with the relentlessness of his hunger. Consuming me. Pulling at the hair on my chest and abdomen, the muscled mounds of my hairy butt, pulling down on my flesh. The insistence of his mouth. Pressing down then on the top of his head, I back away from him. My eyes again snap awake. Even now I am lulled back into the thoughts of him. Of our intimacy. The feelings rushing through me are astounding in their power. I again close my eyes. Surrendering to it.
I could not believe the sensations. Quite pleasing with him out of view. My internally loud moans of approval vibrated against the talented mouth, kissing, chewing at me, biting at me. Pressing down on his head again, I stepped away from him in my mind. I closed my eyes again, just for a second Luigi’s face looked up into mine. He stood completely naked having stripped from his cassock. Without breaking eye contact with me, he reached over to a place outside of my view … his fingers trace the butter in the dish. Touching me with his hand in the center of my chest pushing me backward toward the bed. I had done that to him.
He wants this from me. I want what he wants because I am here to please only him right now. Alone right now. He wants for me to take him to me.
I caught my breath as my eyes opened. I was panting. The sounds from the galley still noisy enough to indicate busy hands. I know I’m alone now and quickly reach down to adjust myself. Safely tucked away, as best as I can, I lower the seat back a bit and close my eyes again. I am in love with this man heart and soul. I need to see where my mind takes this. The feelings so overwhelming yet so familiar at the same time. Rehearsed. No. That can’t be it. Not rehearsed. Remembered. I closed my eyes now with that thought in my mind and quickly drifted back to that warm, sensual place in my mind.
I backed my hips up a bit, still lying on top of his body, his arms spread wide bracing himself against a floor covered in smelly hay and straw. In my peripheral vision I face a large-scale painting of moonlight over a large lake, his lake, the mountains distant and barely hiding the moon’s bright glow. The painting is so large. A barn. I am inside of a barn. I am panting to catch my own breath. I released him, afraid that I may have hurt him. He rolled over to face me, smiling widely. So beautiful, my Raffy. The curls of his long hair clean and shiny, his lips such an incredibly rich, red color. Straw tangled in his hair. Rising to a sitting position smashing my hand into him, he collapsed over the top of my head and shoulders and spasmed his thick salt.
My eyes opened slowly. Tears streamed down my face into my thick collar. The oil lamp on the floor that lit his beautiful face. Oh my God. I remember the love of him. That’s where the familiar feeling comes from. My memory.
He’d finished and removed his white apron, now in a simple Roman cassock. “Ciò che è così divertente, padre Cole?” asked the young priest, slowly adjusting his collar. I smiled at him. I closed my eyes shaking my head no without speaking. My center was very, very wet. I had made a mess without touching myself. I rose quickly and went to the bathroom and closed the door. I wiped up as best as I could, but this would not do. I need another cassock. I opened the door and there he was, standing there with another cassock for me. Black with an orange-trimmed collar. Three-quarter length with matching trouser and orange stripes. Perfect. I smiled and took the hanger from him.
The cabin door opened to the outside light, very bright indeed. I stood at the top of the stairs and looked down onto the assembled small crowd with my largest white smile. One woman dressed in a salmon peach flowing garment raised her hand over her eyes and looked up at me. The pregnant princess smiled widely back up at me. Only she showed me any expression whatsoever until my gaze shifted to the Prince. I smiled my widest and brightest smile right back at her, beaming. The young Prince, her husband and not the biological father of the growing lives in her womb, stood slack-jawed at the sight of me. Tall, young, blonde. Priest. I dropped the chop bone I had in my hand behind my back, having gnawed all meat from the bone entirely. Descending the stairs to be greeted by the Royal couple and his attendants, hoping like hell I don’t have grease all over my hands because I fucking love this outfit and don’t want to have to wipe my hands on it.
I scan them waiting, the guards farther back, their machine guns proudly crossing their puffy chests. Her ladies are nowhere to be seen. I’m not sure if that is common or not and don’t care. He himself has three dedicated attendants awaiting his every need. All male. Recognizing it for what it clearly was, I inwardly scowled. I despise cultures that view female humans as inferior to males. My internal bristling only made my large white smile all the wider. Fixing His Highness in the eye as I stepped onto the plush red carpeting, greeting him first and foremost as the most important person greeting me, he extended his hand to shake mine, but as is custom in this part of the world, I initiated his customary greeting, leaning down to his head and gestured a kiss on each side of his face and then finally again for the third mock-kiss of greeting, raised my head to again stand straight and shake his hand. I had sniffed inward that entire time. His pheromone signals could not have been clearer. He finds me very, very attractive.
A handsome man, I may oblige him, in some small way. As the royal couple proceed to the waiting limousine, I was sandwiched in the middle of two of his male servants, not guards, with two armed guards following closely behind. I stared ahead at the back of the Prince and imagined him naked and splayed, ready for me. I again smiled as I climbed into the only other waiting car immediately behind the royal couple’s limousine, the Papal flags waving on each side of the front of the vehicle.
Arriving only minutes later, the private compound’s gates swung open to reveal a large oasis-like setting in the middle of the desert. It appeared to me to be very artificial. Exotic birds fluttered about, but their wings, having been clipped, could not gain enough altitude to sail to freedom over the tall compound walls. More unchecked and unchallenged slavery, I thought to myself as my car slowed to a stop at the base of a very impressive white marble staircase. The very subjection of this show, this theatre, I know from studying them, was simply a meeting place for visiting foreign dignitaries. Built to lavishly impress and spoil any visitors that entered here to visit the royal family. Not one of them actually lives in this palace. Just servants, likely slaves themselves.
The limousine door was opened by an armed guard as the Prince and Princess stood waiting nearby behind two more armed guards. “Please accept my apology Father Livingston, but you have to be checked for weapons. Please allow this so we may dispense quickly with the unpleasantness and enjoy our luncheon.” The guard began patting me down. His reach between my legs from the back of my cassock won him a surprise. No underwear. He returned to stand at attention, embarrassed, indicating that I was not armed. We all ascended the long staircase and entered. I shot a glance back over my shoulder at the guard that had patted me down. He was looking up at me smirking.
The table in the dining room was extremely large for just three seated. I was motioned to the far end of the table while they took chairs seated at the other end. The meal to come was not a discussion, it was a meal. We were to eat. With only a brief visit planne
d, it was nice that they were feeding me at all, but I estimate the actual discussion of the Pope’s planned visit will be brief regardless. They don’t dare refuse His Holiness. His is a position of respect, even in these Godless lands of sand. What proceeded to be a lavishly prepared lunch with a tropical flare to it, as was this well-published Prince’s habit, a private chef had been flown in from the island of Saint Kitts, specifically to design the fare for today’s luncheon with me. Paid extremely handsomely.
He would be returned, in one of an entire fleet of royal jets, back to Saint Kitts as soon as the meal ended. It is known however, that if the Prince doesn’t like what is prepared, or his luncheon guests don’t like it in some way, the chef may just disappear, never be heard from or found again. The ruthlessness of extreme privilege and endless wealth, the belief that they are beyond reach of justice. Beyond justice. Not so young Prince I thought to myself. Justice now breaks bread at your table.
I do not like the Prince at all and while his wife the princess may have been a bit more pleasant if she were allowed to even speak to me. She at least she smiles even though she is not allowed because she is only allowed to show her beautiful face if the Prince wishes her veils to be lowered. She still dares not speak aloud to her husband and then never feeling free enough to speak her mind. Yes, I decide. She will live and I will give my life to see to it if necessary. Her husband the brattish Prince? No. The babies she carries? No. They have been too edited genetically. They must all die. I smiled as the second course dish held aloft for us to enjoy a few bites of the small chilled dish of coconut and lime frozen custard as a palate cleanser. Out-of-this-fucking-world flavorful and delicious. Wow. I could tell by His Highness’s expression after that delightful mixture hit his tongue, that he too had tremendously enjoyed the flavors. Good. The chef will live.
While I could not hear the conversation they were having, their animation in discussion was one-sided, with him doing all the talking. She just sat there weakened by him. He appeared to be growing increasingly impatient with her. “Speak woman!” he lightly yelled. I feigned that I had not heard them, looking down at my plate and the mostly eaten fruit there.
She abruptly stood and walked out of the room. He had scolded her for some unseen transgression. I actually hate this man. His wife, growing the future heirs of the throne of their kingdom in her belly, still he is ungrateful and treats her cruelly. Prick. Common vernacular for an asshole of a human being. Having left her chair vacant, I rose with my plate and walked to the end of the table and bowed in subservience as I motioned for my desire to occupy her vacant chair next to him. He smiled widely and nodded his approval holding his arm out. I took the seat and scooted the chair closer to the table. Servants rushed up behind me to scurry away her untouched plates while I held mine aloft allowing them to clear with busy hands. He smiled at my flexibility in allowing this.
When they scurried away he bit into a large shard of pineapple he’d been holding and his eyes rolled. “Is it delicious Your Royal Highness?” I asked. He smiled his perfect, Harvard-educated smile and nodded his head yes. He held out the fruit tentatively toward me, the same piece he had just himself bitten. I fixed him in the eye and exhaled toward him deeply. I leaned in and opened my mouth. He whispered to me “it is very, very juicy. They say this makes the semen of a man taste sweeter.” I smiled and took the bite of the offered fruit. As I looked into his eyes I took the piece in my mouth and bit down. His eyes already in heavy swoon, almost drunk with my intoxicating pheromones. Perfect.
He raised his hand and shouted loudly “out! Get out!” and the two servants scurried from the room, closing the open doors. I decided to just dive right in. “Unlike other priests of my church, Your Royal Highness, I love to talk about sex. I find the pleasure I get from even talking of taking another man’s body as mine to use to such ends I see fit, to fill him with me, highly arousing and satisfying. I also like to describe having myself serviced and have, in fact, recently emptied into a young man in my mind just an hour ago before my jet landed. I exploded right there without touching myself. I took him hard, and I am giant.” I exhaled again strongly right into his face, turned to me in lust, his eyes now visibly intoxicated. My pheromone mixture, the only thing I can truly control.
“Am I to understand, not meaning to be too forward Your Royal Highness, that you like the sweeter taste of semen of a man when he has eaten pineapple? Then bring me a plate of only pineapple. I will prepare my body for you, as you wish. I am at your command. When you have my seed in your mouth and on your beautiful tongue? You will taste the sweetness of semen that you want. I am picking up a strong desire from you. The very first time you laid eyes on me at the top of the stairs. You imagined me naked and taking you forcefully. Do you? Do you have that desire for me Your Royal Highness?” His head slowly nodded yes, his lips now drooling saliva, totally intoxicated now. I sat back in my chair and pushed back away from the table. His fist, busy pleasing himself, was banging against the underside of the table, now beat as loudly as a drum. Spreading my legs further away from the table, he erupted in an impressive fount. Nope. I ain’t done yet.
I breathed hard again into his face as my face hovered in front of his. My eyes examined him closely. His skin is flawless. A beautiful man with a very dark soul. “If I stood and moved in front of you, lifting my fine cassock and free myself to you, let you explore my hardness and my size, which I can easily renew to hardness again and again and again …” I will learn later, that every time I speak aloud in verbal seduction I become rigidly erect. My body readies for coitus.
“If I positioned myself in front of you, offering myself to you. Just within your reach, so large. You would lift your royal hand and cup my heavy sack and roll me around in your strong, powerful grip.” I lowered my head nearer to his and sniffed. Inhaling and exhaling several times into his face. His tongue darted out of his mouth to taste my moist lips in front of his face. I drew back quickly. I moaned my approval loudly “as you take my size into your mouth you will first taste the sweetness of the pineapple you fed to me so intimately. You will close your lips around my thickness and swallow me completely.” I exhaled deeply down on him standing above, him still seated in his throne-like chair, the folds of his robes gathered around his waist, his fist there pumping still.
His chair seat is clearly 3 inches taller than any other chair at the table. The ego of that. I roll my eyes and take a few steps back from him. Let his head clear a bit. See his retched, weak behavior. I can’t make anyone do anything physically they don’t want to do to themselves. I can’t control what people do in reaction to me when I transform to verbal seduction. His chair is the perfect height. OK. Enough. Now I’m getting bored with this. Time to end it. He is and will be completely submissive to me now and every time I would see him again in the future, if he in fact had a future, which he does not. A very serious sin has been committed by him, his father, the other members of their soulless scheme. They have willingly altered the path of God and must be ended. Oh, what the hell I think, he’s got another one in him yet. I exhale deeply into his upturned face, hand and fist still blindly pumping at himself.
“Running both of my hands through your loosed, thick black hair sire, your hands reach around to clamp onto my hairy butt cheeks as I push more of myself into you.” Then remembering how he had barked at the Princess so gruffly, demeaning her unnecessarily in front of me, I breathed in his face deeply again. He could barely keep his head up. Drooling profusely now onto the front of his beautiful garments.
I stood there looking down on him with utter contempt. I dominated him into submission, this Prince of man. He gasped in breath, snot running from his nose into his mouth now, a thick white saliva foam ringed his entire mouth. He was gargling his own spit, whipping it. I will take this wicked pleasure from this Prince and then I will kill him.
“Out! Stay out!” he yelled loudly as I turned to see the door handles move and then stop. He is alert enough to know that he needs to be lef
t alone. I back up and retake my chair and scoot it in. His fist no longer moving. His expression is clearing. I lean over and dip my napkin in cold water and touch it to his face, holding my breath. “Are you OK Your Royal Highness? Your expression just went blank and you were speaking so happily of your twin sons. Such wonderful blessed news. I renew my question. May I tell His Holiness the good news?”
I lowered a serving spoon into the dish of yogurt that had been offered to accompany the delicious fruit. I scooped out a generous amount onto my plate, then added more fruit, heavy on the pineapple as he watched my large hand pick them up from the serving dish with my fingers. I could see it reflected in his eyes, the recognition of having offered me the fruit. I smiled wickedly.
I enjoyed the cut fruits and figs and roasted nuts immensely. He reached down to his plate with his hand and put an entire large slice of melon into his mouth. He gobbled it greedily before lowering his hand to smear another large wedge of it through the serving dish of yogurt. This male I stare at now, having been literally drunk, subservient to me and very vulnerable, had offered himself to me and I had refused with strength. His wife having only departed the room less than a minute earlier. A pig. I genuflected beneath the table out of sight asking to be released from having to judge him finally.
Using his hand and fingers to smear the thick sticky yogurt around on his plate, I could see the full consciousness return to his expression as his fingers smeared across his mouth. He’s like knocked fucking stupid now. I may have overdone it. Baked his hateful little fucking brain.