by Layla Wolfe
Was it his Irish brogue that drew me in so dramatically? His achingly noble profile, that all-knowing eagle’s beak? When I became pointedly honest with myself, I had to admit it was his priest’s badge of honor, the stigma of his authority, the way he wore his command with such a seemingly gentle domination.
It was that allure that drew me in. I knew that in bed, our naked flesh slipping and sliding against each other, he would be anything but gentle. Father Noel Moloney had told me, his words tantalizing and seductive, that he was a Dom who enjoyed spanking men’s naked asses.
That was what I wanted. To be spanked by a priest.
I’d been bad. Oh, so bad.
I imagined he liked handcuffing men, much as I enjoyed being handcuffed. Rendering a submissive immobile was a favorite power play, or so I’d heard. Being handcuffed while having my cock punished, taut and red inside the stricture of a cock ring, was a top fantasy of mine. In fact, that’s what I and my dressed-up cop, were doing when my wife had walked in on us. It still remained a cherished memory in my deeply hidden archives.
I was lulled back into semi-consciousness by the slow realization that my dick was plumping. Good thing I was lying on my front, my dick firmly planted under my hipbone. The masseur’s angelic fingers were swooping over my obliques, that must’ve been what caused my automatic reaction. He was probably used to it. My cockhead was probably sticking out a bit, but the guy probably ignored it. Thank God. He’d cover my ass with the towel before he left.
Ah, Noel . . . I recalled that youthful police station. At first, I’d thought the cop was going to beat a confession out of me, the way he strutted around, biceps bulging out of his rolled-up sleeves. He did backhand my face a couple times, and I liked it. A warmth spread down my chest, stiffening my nipples, raising the hair on my arms. When he tore apart my button-down shirt to expose my heaving chest, I sort of thought something else was up. When he planted each of his boots on the outside of mine, giving me a bird’s eye view of his crotch, I gulped drily thinking he would force his tool down my throat.
But no, that wasn’t his idea at all. Grabbing and squeezing my face in one hand, he growled, “I’ll make you squeal, you fucking brat. You Jewish kids don’t know the meaning of a good jizz. You’ve got long, thick cocks, and don’t know how to use them. I’ll show you what this big schlong was made for.”
And he dropped to his knees between my thighs . . .
Just like Noel had . . .
And wouldn’t you fucking know it, just as I avidly recalled that cop hungrily gobbling down my hard-on, the masseur’s fingers swept down the sides of my glutes, rounded the curve of my ass, and seemed to linger in the crease there just inches from my balls.
I gasped.
Jesus Roosevelt Christ. Did Rover bring me to a gay gym? I hadn’t noticed anything overtly gay about it. Was this one of those massages?
I was going to say something, but in the same fraction of a second decided not to. Just go with it. What the hell did I have to lose? If this was one of “those massages,” I’d have to pay more, tip more. That was all I had to lose. We were in a private room. No one would see, not even the gay Rover. Or did he set this up?
I even wiggled my hips a little to unobtrusively part my thighs a bit when he began stroking closer, closer still to my perineum. My balls were nestled hotly between my thighs. They felt like a hard soccer ball around which my pelvis could roll. Oh, this was exquisite. When his fingertips grazed my balls, I hissed and jumped a little, sliding my arms up so I could bite my fist in frustration. He swept his hands back up my glutes to work on my obliques, and my disappointment was palpable. I exhaled discouragement, almost feeling my body—and balls—deflate.
I soon saw he was teasing me again. This guy was a professional. I tried to remember what he looked like as he grabbed big handfuls of my ass and squeezed. I’d barely noticed—some bland guy in his twenties. But he was squeezing and kneading my ass like a loaf of bread. And I could’ve swore the body part he brushed against my elbow was a stiff dick. Was he going to jack me? I’d been getting a lot of service lately! For a guy who preferred to worship at the altar of Priapus, I sure had been getting a lot of stimulation from other men.
I didn’t mind.
I parted my thighs wider to give him the silent nod. He squirted more oil onto his gloved hands and I tingled with anticipation. Again, I jumped, not expecting him to immediately place his greasy fingers right outside my puckered, eagerly displayed hole. He fingered it slickly, skillfully, just stopping short of plunging it in—which is what I wanted. I unwound my spine like a trained seal, placing my palms against the table at my hips. I released my rigid cock from its bondage with a satisfied sigh.
I was going to lie flat on the table again, maybe with my dick painfully exposed between my thighs, but the masseur gripped me by the hip. His hand told me to freeze. Now the greasy glove slipped between the table and my pelvis and grabbed my cock. Sheer heaven. Anonymous, dominating sex! The very best kind. He gripped me gently, rubbing his thumb thoughtfully along the underside, like a farmer trying to milk me. I kept my ass in the air, praising myself for being such an obedient slave. His palm weighed, measured my dick. It was just like my doctor fantasy, being poked and prodded by an educated man in authority. I couldn’t wait for the prostate exam.
He shoved his thumb inside my anus unexpectedly, roughly. “Ah.” I croaked my approval. I would not fight this assault one shred, not me! The thumb plunged in and out roughly while the other hand delicately examined my penis. Drops of precum squirted out my slit when his thumb rotated against my gland. “Oh, oh, oh,” I began to whisper, letting him know he pleased me. He palmed my cockhead while he brutalized my hole, and I dry humped his hand.
Again, I could’ve swore I felt a hard-on brush my arm. At last I turned my head to look. I wanted to see if this guy was as turned on as I was.
And came face to face with a hard-on packed so tightly in 501 jeans I could nearly see the outline of the glans.
The hand released my cock, slid up to the back of my neck as I raised myself on my elbows. Father Moloney pressed my face closer to his crotch. He still wore his button-down shirt and his dog collar, and that turned my lust dial to eleven.
“I’ve got a glad eye for you, lad,” he said in his thickest, most erotic Irish brogue. “You’re a clean on stud, boy. Have you been thinking about swallowing my penis for a while now?”
“For weeks,” I gasped. I was afire with the knowledge that it had been my beloved handling me so expertly. I let him press my face to his erection, and I mouthed it eagerly, just as he’d done to me in the rectory bathroom.
“The power of God commands you,” he said darkly, nearly driving me apeshit. He still reamed me up the ass with his thumb, now adding another latex-covered finger to the mix.
I got into the game. “Will God reward me if I pleasure his vessel?”
“God yes,” Noel growled, falling out of character for a second. His free hand deftly unbuttoned the metal buttons of his fly. When he hooked a thumb into the waistband of his boxer briefs and yanked, his hot, juicy dong nearly brained me upside the head. I grabbed it instantly, steadying it. I couldn’t believe I was encircling his heavy cock in my fist. “Did you think I was some random massage therapist?”
My filters were broken. I said the first thing that popped to mind. “Yes.” Parting my lips, at last I had that holy cockhead between them. My tongue probed the slit, urging out pearls of buttery precum.
“Aye,” Noel sighed. “That’s my boy. Sliding into the kinky life. Getting off on strange hands caressing him. Shows you’re getting more comfortable with it. You don’t mind if you’re kicked and booted by strange men, do you?”
This concept seemed to get him off, so I shook my head, my mouth full. Every time his thumb rotated against my prostate another few drops of jizz spurted from my slit, but I knew he wasn’t here to satisfy me. He was here to drive me wild.
Now his voice turned more seductive. “Th
at’s it. Admire my penis. This is your special skill, isn’t it, boy? Leaving men in tatters with your beautiful mouth?”
Needing to prove myself, I dove on in, swallowing as much of that long meat as I could without gagging. He uttered one hollow, eerie wail, and I knew I’d hit home. He’d had dozens, hundreds of blowjobs in his time. I needed to somehow stand out, and I didn’t know how. He gripped my hair in his fist, and his fat tool pulsated in my mouth. When I tried to look up, I saw he’d rent his shirt apart. A nipple stood out in sharp relief around a profile of what looked like a handsome samurai swordsman, flyaway hair up in a man bun, black goatee coming to a point. Red flowers adorned his armor. Why not an inked priest? He hadn’t always been a priest.
“Ah, boy,” he groaned, directing my skull with his handful of hair. He plunged his cock, and by extension me, in and out in a long, sweeping sway of his hips. “You worship at your father’s shrine just fine. That’s it. Perfect. Make your supplication by pleasuring me. Ah . . . I see that pleasuring your father makes you so hot that your little boy dick is squirting.”
“Little boy dick” indeed! I knew it was part of the game, but I was offended nonetheless. I was squirting because he was massaging my gland with his big thumb! I was a butt virgin, having never been fucked by a cock, so I wasn’t nearly stretched, and his thumb felt as big as a tool. And the way he was brutalizing me, well, who wouldn’t squirt a little? And his delicious cock in my mouth kept my mouth watering.
But I had to be a rebel. Maybe I knew I’d receive even bigger rewards for it.
Detaching my mouth with a giant sucking noise, I cried up at him, “Hey! Who’s got a little boy dick? Mine’s just as big as yours. You should know, since you sucked on it.”
“Hey!” he barked immediately, yanking his thumb from my hole. I nearly cried with the loss of it. I had felt so full, so fulfilled. Now I was just an empty vessel. “You come here, you little brat! How dare you try to put us on equal footing!”
Whipping his latex glove off and flinging it against the wall, Noel slapped my ass! I was in such shock all I could do was cling to his hips, but the stinging blows certainly didn’t deflate my cock at all. He spanked me with such clammy, sticky hands that his blows spread out in a warm, erotic mist all over my ass, balls, inner thighs.
“I wasn’t trying to—”
“I am a servant of truth!” bawled Noel in that lovely Irish lilt. Smack. Smack. “I will correct those who sin for their own good! My love for you will lead to my own persecution, but punishment will make you stronger!”
“Yes, father,” I gasped, my mouth against his taut abs.
But that wasn’t good enough for him, not even when his hand slipped down and smacked my full balls. Oh, that made me squirt, you better fucking know it. It was like I was coming in little dribs and drabs. I ached for him to grab or even spank my dick, but that wasn’t part of this game.
Yanking my head by my hair, he shouted down at me, eyes of fury. “Have you forgotten? Your penance is to drain me, little boy. Show respect to your father by giving me the ultimate crisis with your little mouth.”
“Yes sir,” I mumbled, and joyfully went back to work.
Oh, it was work. For a man like me who wasn’t experienced in hummers, my jaw hurt almost right away. But I kept plugging at it, lovingly twining my tongue around the beautiful meat of it, teasing the hole, savoring globs of juicy spunk. Noel couldn’t deny he was also losing his load a bit at a time, unable to rein his lust in. He spanked my asshole, my glutes, and my balls until my entire pelvis throbbed with unspent seed.
But he was right, the main event was servicing him, and if this was what I was born to do, I’d best start learning!
After a while, my throat muscles must’ve relaxed or something. But I found I could deep-throat my lover so completely that my lips grazed the ridge of his corona. I was so pleased with myself! When I swallowed, my throat muscles contracted around his meat, massaging it further. A fine tremor ran down his entire torso, and his spanking became more distracted. His muscular thighs trembled with his intense concentration, and his dominating patter slid languidly into the mutterings of the deranged. Soon he was just gripping the globe of my ass in a skeletal hand.
That’s when I knew. He was coming.
Noel was right. It was a supreme feeling of victory, of sweeping achievement! Curled up on the massage table, my own dick pointing uselessly at the ceiling, gulping hot loads of jizz, I was the one in control! I had this priestly idol at my beck and call. Every slight gulp of my throat, every flick of my tongue had him jiggling in a hopeless pile of jello, and he had no control over it. I did.
I massaged his pubic bone and he moaned. I had the nerve to slap his ass, and he cried out. I wanted to rip his dog collar from his throat and suck on his flesh like a vampire. I wanted to suckle his nipple like a rabid dog. I wanted to bite the beautiful white meat of his ass.
And every tiny movement of mine would render him even more helpless.
He was the Dom, not me! Then why did I have all the control?
I had never felt so potent, so manly as when I curled like a fetus on top of damp towels, on a medical table, no less, and savored the very core of virility of this most virile of all men.
I lost all sense of time. It seemed as though I gulped twenty, thirty times. When I finally detached my mouth from his quivering cock, I was licking the spunk that had squirted from the corners of my mouth. I had a broad smile that wouldn’t quit. Noel still had a fistful of my hair, and his head was thrown back. He looked as though posing for a classical statue, his Adam’s apple vibrating, the crucifix trembling in the pit of his throat.
I slowly unwound my spine. I let my legs dangle over the side of the table, straddling his hips. Placing my cheek flat against his abs, I listened to his rapid heartbeat. I rubbed my face lovingly against his firm muscles. He was one tall, thin drink of water. I wondered why he had come to me instead of using sluts on Grindr. Wasn’t there much more exposure and risk with me? He didn’t have to do it. Yet he had.
I smiled against his abdomen. “How much did you pay that masseur to go away?”
Noel exhaled all in one whoosh, finally letting go of my hair. I looked up. He wore an expression of weak and feeble joy. “Do you really want to know?”
Now I was confounded. Did that mean he paid a lot, or a ridiculously low amount? He was right, I didn’t really want to know. I fingered his nipple as I’d been craving to do, rolling it between thumb and forefinger. “I don’t need dinner now.” No wonder he thought I was ridiculous! Because I was.
But he agreed. “No. But you’re coming back to the rectory with me. Someone gave me a wild pig last week and I need to make some chile verde.”
Stretching my spine, I finally clamped my mouth down on his stiff nipple. I dared to toy with his crucifix, and in return he just stroked my hair fondly. Did he think I was some kind of great chef? Why did he want me at the rectory? Why was I questioning everything? It was the engineer in me. I couldn’t stop questioning.
A sudden boorish voice jolted us out of our reverie. “Hey, Zuckerman! How the fuck long are you gonna be in there?” Rover’s voice was alarmingly close, as though he stood right over my shoulder.
I jerked myself away from Father Moloney and looked. No, he was still on the other side of the curtain. “Be right out, Rover,” I called, falsely cheerful.
Noel startled me even more. “Never mind, Rover. I’ll take him back to the rez.”
There was a brief silence. “Father?” Rover almost squeaked with shock. That was something to hear. Noel and I shared a glance and chuckled. “You in there? All right. I’m splitting now.”
Relief spread through us all. To the sound of battering rain against high windows, we dressed ourselves, hoping we looked respectable. It wasn’t until I was walking through the lobby at Noel’s side, proud to be on an equal footing with him, that I thought I saw someone I recognized.
I was probably wrong, because he was in the parking
lot standing behind at least three solid sheets of rain, showers of water that obscured my view. But it was the way he stood, like some snarling James Bond villain, giant Frankenstein boots cemented into the ground. His aviator shades probably enhanced my imagination. And that sneer, as though he’d been born with his face smashed into one side of the delivery table. All of that put together made me flash briefly on that Russian spy Dragan, the guy Ozzie Avery had sent to ghost me in Stillwater, Montana. “Find platinum, find platinum,” he kept hounding me. I could see him coming to the Colorado River rez and intoning, “Find uranium. Find uranium.”
But I said nothing. Why should I irritate Noel with this crap, even if that was Dragan?
Besides. When we reached Noel’s Fatboy, he took a call from Galileo. “Yes? Yes?” he said attentively, while handing me his lid. I feel foolish wearing a helmet when he went bareheaded, but he was the host. “Oh, shit, you’re kidding. We’re coming right back now.”
He tucked his wet phone into an inside pocket of his black leather jacket. I couldn’t tell if he frowned from concern or the rain in his eyes.
“The dam to Vicinity Lake just burst.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
NOEL
It was a day of wild, furious nature.
I wasn’t even ashamed that I’d slipped that masseur two hundred-dollar bills to leave. It was all church money, of course it was. Every penny in my hands technically was church money. But did I give a flying fuck? No, I was a muppet for Fremont Zuckerman, and I wanted his full Jewish lips around my penis. I paid handsomely for this twisted privilege. Having sex where I could actually be discovered was a turn-on for me. That’s why I’d been obsessed with the glory holes, truck stops, and Grindr hookups of the back alleys.