Date: Sun, 14 Oct 2001 18:01:05 EDT
From: Roarrr201@aol.com
Subject: Deadly Sins Part 1

DEADLY SINS

Written by: Roarrr201@aol.com
All rights reserved.


First the usual disclaimer: If you are offended by graphic descriptions of
gay sex, you should stop reading now.

This story is a fantasy. As fantasies go, the rules and norms of real life
don't apply here. But don't confuse fantasy and real life. Always play
safe: otherwise you might risk your life.


DEADLY SINS

Part I

His eyes cast modestly down, his hands neatly folded in his lap, the boy
looked like the very image of youthful innocence.

He sat still, never moving on his chair while he waited for the moment to
speak. Maybe a close observer would have seen the occasional shiver of
gooseflesh on the boy's bare calves that gave his carefully hidden
agitation away. But the men who sat in front of him behind a large desk
were too far away and too embarassed with their task to notice. He was sure
just his even features that sentimental elderly ladies liked to call
"angelic" would deceive them. And short trousers helped too, of course.

When the tall man with the grey beard who seemed to do all the talking
after many elaborately worded preliminaries finally steered towards his
first question the boy looked up. He wanted them to see his large,
long-lashed eyes during this important moment.

"So, Julian," said the man, "I'm sure you understand that we are forced to
ask you several questions now - questions that you will find without a
doubt shocking and offensive.You do understand that we have to ask and that
it's most important that you tell us the truth, don't you?"

Julian nodded solemnly. Then he gave the men a meek, sad smile since he
knew that adults would read that as a promise of boyish bravery even in a
taxing situation.

After he had cleared his throat nervously for several times the man went
on: "So, Julian, please tell us: Has Father Flannigan ever kissed you in a
way that did not seem... er... proper?"

Quickly the boy lowered his head as if he searched his mind very
carefully. But there was no need for him to dig for memories. No, he
recalled everything very vividly. He recalled Father Flanning's hot breath
on his neck as the man's mouth had moved playfully up and down between his
collar and hairline; he marveled once again how skillfully the man had
always managed to tickle him with his soft lips back there without ever
touching any skin; he recalled the moment when the young priest's tongue
had finally ended that teasing prologue and sneaked out to lap wetly over
the whole length of his neck and in his mind he heard himself once more
gasp in enthusiastic response. Involuntarily Julian moved his head slightly
as if to bare his throat for the man's mouth again. He knew he had always
reacted like that, begging silently for more. And he had always got what he
wanted. For a second the boy seemed to feel the slippery tip of Flannigan's
pointed tongue on his skin, the tongue that drew small circles of cool spit
on his chin and on his cheek while the burningly hot lips moved teasingly
slowly up to his ear. He shivered, remembering how the man had sucked on
his earlobe for long moments, how he had swirled the soft flesh with
gradually increasing intensity around in his hot mouth, and he sighed
inaudibly as he recalled that the priest had always stopped only when he
had had Julian whimpering and sobbing with excitement.

Oh yes, Father Flannigan had stopped then for a brief moment and had
breathed softly onto the boy's ear as if trying to cool the heat he had
created himself. And Julian had closed his eyes then and had held his
breath, torn between a desparate need for what he knew would come next and
the nervous fear that it could be perhaps too much this time, that he would
cry out loud, overcome with lust, and thus spoil everything - for he knew
perfectly well that they had to keep quiet. But he had always held still
and waited despite this anguish and each time he had been finally rewarded.
Suddenly, without any warning and always exactly at the moment when Julian
expected it least the man's raspy, wet tongue had shot out of the Father's
mouth again and then Flannigan had shoved it down into the boy's ear as
deep as it would go. Probing relentlessly into the narrow opening, as if
trying to penetrate Julian's brain via his ear, the man had swirled his
tongue endlessly around and around in the boy's auditory canal and Julian
had thrown his head back in exctasy and bit his lips to stiffle a loud
groan while he had made the silent wish that this exhiliarating assault
would never stop. But at the same time he had always prayed for it to stop
at once since he felt that he could bear this very special kiss just for a
few seconds.

Sensing the men's expecting eyes on him and realizing that he began to
loose himself in reveries Julian blinked the memories away and looked up
again. Very softly he said: "Sometimes Father Flannigan kissed me lightly
on the front when I said goodbye to him. Was that wrong? He kissed me on
the front and said: 'Go in peace, my son!' Was that wrong? I rather liked
it."

The bearded man behind the desk shook his head. "No," he said slowly,
clearly searching for his next words, "no, there is nothing wrong with
that, I guess. But there are also other kisses, Julian... passionate
kisses... sinful kisses... you are already old enough to know that...
kisses that speak of heat and sins of the flesh, not of love and purity.
Has the Father ever kissed you like that? Has he kissed you on the mouth?
Has he ever kissed you on the lips and maybe tried to force his tongue into
your mouth?"

The boy recalled the priest's full, soft lips grazing lightly over his
mouth; he remembered how he had again and again trembled in eager
anticipation in the man's arms when they had performed the playful ritual
that had somehow come to serve as the invariably restaged prelude to the
first kiss whenever they had met: slowly the Father had brought his head
down until his lips had almost - but only almost - touched Julian's mouth
and for a long moment they had stayed like that, motionless, sharing their
breath, feeling the heat of the other body on glowing skin, starring at
each other with unfocused eyes, waiting, listening to the rush of blood in
their ears. And then at some point the Father had whispered "I want to kiss
you now, Julian" and the man's lips had been to close to his own that just
their movement as he spoke had been an exhilirating caress. And then Julian
had murmured just as softly "I want to kiss you too, Father" but yet they
had always waited for another long moment of mounting excitement until they
could not bear the tension any longer, until the Father had slowly parted
his lips and moved his head ever so lightly and that had been the sign for
Julian to open his mouth too and then the man had kissed him with such a
wild hunger that the boy had always struggled for his breath and felt a
delicious fear for his tongue. Either Flannigan had tried to gag and
suffocate him with his long and maddeningly agile tongue: He stuffed the
thick, spit-dripping slab of muscle deep down into the boy's mouth, forcing
Julian's jaws wider and wider apart, and then he swirled the wet, raspy
thing around and around in wide circles and never stopped to push its tip
even deeper down as if he wanted to brush over the boy's larynx. Or the
Father had in vain tried to rip Julian's tongue out of his mouth by sucking
at it with relentless abandon, drawing it so far into the hot crevice of
his own mouth that the boy seemed to loose control over it, and Julian had
let him have his way, exhalting in his helplessness and in the man's
passion that made him tremble with lust just because Flannigan seemed at
that moment to care so little if he enjoyed what happend to him. And each
time that had only been the beginning of a long series of wet, wide-opened
kisses with battling, struggling tongues, tongues that swirled around each
other, laved each over and rammed into the other mouth as deed as possible
- kisses that left Julian with bruised lips, a thick layer of spit on his
chin and with a painfully swollen hard-on that started to leak with
pre-cum. Just the remembrance sent a shiver down the boy's spine.

But the men in front of him knew nothing of that. They saw only his set
face and they heard him say softly, but yet also firmly: "No, Father
Flannigan has never kissed me on the mouth. He has never kissed me sinfully
and with passion. Never."

The bearded priest frowned at the boy. Suddenly his eyes glowed with
mistrust and he said sternly: "Tell us the truth, Julian! Stick to the
truth! Hasn't the Father kissed you passionately? Has he not also made you
kiss his bare chest and lick at his nipples? Has he not even made you suck
at them?"

The boy's cheeks paled as his mind wandered once again back in time. Oh
yes, he had indeed licked at Father Flannigan's nipples. He had sucked at
them. And he had loved it. His eyes became glazed as he revelled in the
memory of the exciting moments when he had slowly unbuttoned Father
Flannigan's shirt, when the man's wide, smooth chest had gradually come
into view, when he had reached with trembling fingers down into the opening
to feel the young priest's hot flesh, to spread the shirt even wider apart,
to run his hands up and down over the wide expanse of those firm, strongly
developed pectorals that filled him with envy and with a burning desire
each time he got to see and to touch them. The boy recalled Flannigan's
throaty moans when they had got rid of the shirt, when Julian's hands were
at last free to roam over every square inch of the priest's naked torso,
free to feel him all over, to feel his neck, his shoulders, his arms, his
chest and back. And Julian had thrilled in those moments and had never
tired to caress and explore the contours of the young man's lean muscles.
Lost in wonder he had touched them again and again to see how they flexed,
to experience their rise and fall, to feel their hardness under the man's
smooth, silky skin when they bulged up against his palm; short of breath
because of his steadily increasing excitement he had traced every curve and
dent of Flannigan's tall torso with the tips of his hot fingers; like a
geographer of the male body he had searched and followed every line and
each wide plane of the man's finely sculptured muscles and each of these
touches had only increased his admiration for the young priest's
overwhelming beauty.

"Haven't you heard me, Julian? Why don't you answer me?" The bearded man's
voice was now soft again. Angry to be startled out of his musing the boy
looked him straight into the face. Surprisingly the man blushed under
Julian's stare. Obviously he was embarrassed that he had let his mistrust
show the moment before. The boy kept him waiting. He did not want to speed
things - his memories were far too precious to be brushed aside so very
quickly.

Prolonging the moment of rememberance, he began to recall how he had used
to play with Father Flannigan's nipples. He remembered that he had always
began by stroking them both at the same time, coordinating his hands as he
brushed gently over the tiny stubs of brown flesh that sat like two
isolated rocks on the perfectly even surface of the man's wide chest. He
had encircled them slowly with the tips of his fingers and had watched with
unblinking eyes since he loved to see how they got hard and stiff under his
soft touch and he had also loved to hear the man's approving, throaty moans
that urged him to go on. It had seemed only natural to kiss that impressive
chest, to move his lips playfully over the priest's beefy pectorals, to wet
the man's soft skin by spreading his spit all over it with long strokes of
his flicking, lapping tongue. Guided by instinct and by desire he had
always managed to lick his way towards one of the enticingly pointed tits
even with closed eyes. When he had felt the wrinkly peak at his tongue he
had begun to circle it tenderly, lovingly, and the young priest's groan had
become more and more intense and urgent with each of those teasing,
circular strokes. The boy had always been eager to spread as much spit over
the Father's nipples as his mouth would produce. After some time he had
stopped briefly and pulled back to admire what he had achieved and his
heart had always jumped when he saw the man's tit transformed: large,
erect, even more darkly hued than before, shimmering and dripping with
Julian's spit. Drawn back into place by some strange, insurmountable
magnetism the boy had then quickly planted his lips over the wet peak of
flesh and had begun to suck at it. Her had tongued the young priest's tit
enthusiastically, laving it even more generously, and had sucked and sucked
and sucked as if to prove that also a man's nipple can produce milk when
you persist. Often the priest had then whispered something like 'Oh yes, my
boy, yes! That's the way to do it, Julian! Suck at my tit! Suck it!"
Spurred by these words the boy had sucked harder then, really hard, like a
thirsty puppy trying to feed itself, and sometimes he even bit at the meaty
stub that stuck between his lips, sinking his teeth briefly but forcefully
into the tender flesh. And Father Flannigan had loved that too.

But Julian told the men nothing of all this. When he felt their impatience
mount he said quietly: "No, the Father has never done anything like that.
He heard my confession, we read the Scriptures, and we prayed together. He
advised me how to be a good Christian. That was all." He hesitated in
artistical timing and then added in an impestuous outburst: "And I would
never do anything like that... like kissing a man's chest or suck... suck
at his nipple. Never!" He even managed to redden.

The silence that followed told him that he had made an impression.

But of course they did not stop to question him. For a change one of the
other men took over. "We know," he whined, "that all this is extremely
embarrassing for you, Julian. But believe me: it is just as awful for
us. It is awful but we still have to ask you. Please tell us, Julian, for
we have to sort this out: Has Father Flannigan ever tried to touch you
under your clothes? Has he ever put his hand between your legs to feel
your... you know, your private parts... to feel your penis? Has he done
something like that?"

The boy's blue pupils darkened as he saw Father Flannigan's hands in his
mind's eye. He remembered how small his own hands had seemed in comparison,
how small and how nondescript. He had just a boy's hands: feeble, smooth
and ungainly. The Father's hands were large, wiry, long-fingered and both
their backs showed a highly individual pattern of strong, blueish veins
that throbbed softly with the beat of his heart. And their touch was even
more reassuring than their look: warm, soft and dry they seemed to be made
to hold and carress you. At least Julian had always wanted to be held and
to be carressed by them. He sighed once again softly as he recalled the
tingling sensations the man's hands had sparked off and sent through his
entire body whenever he touched him. The boy's skin prickled and he longed
to feel again those soft fingers tracing over his back and over his chest
in tenderly slow, circular motions; he longed for that teasing, tickling
touch and for the strange feeling that the young man's hands seemed to
grow, to become even bigger and even more comfortingly strong with each
second that he stroked Julian's skin. Somehow the boy had always had this
idea: when he closed his eyes and when the Father's warm hands dived under
his shirt, tickled him softly, undressed him and began to stroke his bare
flesh they seemed to grow, to grow until they were large enough for the man
to grasp his whole body easily with just one hand. Julian's heart leaped as
he recalled how he had loved that idea and this feeling of complete
helplessness and boundless trust, a feeling that became only stronger with
the mounting urgency of Flannigan's carresses and always had been strongest
when one of the man's hands had at last dived down into Julian's trousers
too, when those long, warm fingers had sought, found and held his achingly
hard dick. Invariably Julian had almost swooned with the overwhelming
pleasure of the moment when the young, handsome priest had finally touched
his throbbing hardness that suddenly seemed to be the point around which
the whole world revolved. He had always been at the very brink of cumming
since that second. But Father Flannigan knew how very little was needed to
bring the boy off so he had always been very tender and cautious. Most
often he had just held Julian's jerking and madly pulsing dick in his warm
palm, making sure that the pleasure lasted. Gasping and trembling the boy
had then waited for Father Flannigan's other hand - the hand that stroked
his small back and traced slowly down over his spine and reached out for
his buns and stroked them gently and lovingly until the boy couldn't bear
to wait any longer and began to plead. 'Please, Father!," Julian had then
whispered hoarsely "Please, Father! Do it! Do it now! I want it! Want to
cum! Have to cum! Please, Father, do me! Make me cum!!"

And Father Flannigan had obliged. Of course he had teased the boy at first
for some more moments with more soft strokes on Julian's quivering
buttocks, but at some point he had done what the boy wanted: he had pushed
his index finger slowly down into the deep crevice that separated the boy's
firm buns; he had brushed lightly over the sweaty, wrinkly flesh at the
bottom of the dark cleft and had gently felt for the right spot. And
Julian's breath had become short and raspy and had stayed like that even
when the finger had been suddenly pulled back since he knew without looking
that Father Flannigan was now wetting the long digit in his mouth with a
thick film of slickly wet spit. So Julian arousal had reached new heights
when he had felt the gently probing finger again between his buns. And then
everything had happened at the same time: the young priest had pushed his
spit-dripping finger deep down into Julian's madly itching asshole, he had
whispered 'Cum! Cum, my boy!' into Julian's ear, and Julian had cum. The
boy had arched his back and shoved his hips forcefully back to make sure
that even more of Flannigan's thick finger went up into his clutching butt;
all the muscles in his young, slim body had strained, and then his dick had
seemed to explode and he had plunged into the depths of orgasm: Julian's
guts seemed to turn upside down and his balls started to churn out huge
globs of sticky, hot cum. His body had rocked in the young man's strong
arms and shivered endlessly as jet after jet of hot jism erupted with
forceful fury out of his jerking, throbbing dick, jets that sprayed and
flooded the floor in front of him and also the priest's legs while the
man's finger had still swirled maddeningly around and around in Julian's
glowingly hot asshole. But that had not been the end: just when the
spring-tide of his cum began to abate, just when the violent bursts began
to trickle down to a soft stream of sticky cum, just then the Father had
pushed another finger in Julian's already well-stretched butt and that
additional finger, going as far up as to the second knuckle in just the
first shove, had sparked off another row of shots of cum in Julian's aching
balls, another series of spurts and gushes of scalding jism that splattered
and splashed all over himself, and only then had Julian gone completely
boneless with relief and exhaustion.

One of the men behind the desk coughed and Julian started. He stared,
briefly defiant, and had to make an effort to hide his contempt. They were
just a bunch of sad, old farts who had never felt anything like his lust
and excitement. For a second he wanted to tell everything just to make them
realize how poor their lives had, been but then reason prevailed.
Skillfully repeating his former act of indignant fury he said: "No, Father
Flannigan has never touched me like that. And I don't know what makes you
think that I would have let him. But he didn't. He didn't! Do you hear me?"

As he had expected even this answer did not prevent the bearded man from
asking if the Father had ever exposed himself in front of Julian.
Mischeviously the boy faked lack of understanding. He wanted the priest to
elaborate on this. "I mean," said the man with great reluctance while
Julian blinked at him with questioning eyes, "has Father Flannigan ever let
you see his private parts? The parts between his legs? Has he ever exposed
his ... er... penis... his... you know... his dick... his aroused dick in
front of you so that you could not help to see it?"

Batting his long eyelashes in skillfully portrayed boyish innocence, Julian
answered once again in the negative but the image of the young priest's
thick, hard cock was of course indelibly burnt into his mind. When he had
first seen Father Flannigan's dick he had kneeled down instantly, without
any thinking, since there seemed to be no other way to pay proper hommage
to his wonder of the male physique than to bend your knees in front of
it. And of course you also got a closer look. And Julian had wanted to have
a very close look. At first he had been so mesmerized by the sight of the
man's hard cock that he had not dared to touch it. He had only devoured it
with his eyes while his mouth gaped in wonder. Just its size had taken his
breath away: of course he had known that the dick of a grown-up man could
be expected to be longer and thicker than his own boyish member but he had
had no idea that reality could surpass even his wildest dreams. He had seen
two strong legs, the skin smooth, pale and almost hairless, two very heavy
balls, drawn close to the man's groin, also covered with little hair, but
as big as two over-sized tennis balls that seemed to strain the skin of
their sac to the point of ripping apart. And he had seen Father's
Flannigan's cock, huge, thick and rockhard, rising from a nest of curly,
wiry hair, an elegantly curved arch of hard, throbbing flesh that pointed
straight up into the air and seemed way too thick and too long to be held
by any hand. Julian recalled how his eyes had reverentially roamed over the
intricate pattern of veins on the throbbing thickness of this incredible
meaty rod: there were several, some small, thin and winding, some strong,
straight and so prominent that you could almost see the blood pulsing
beneath the silkily smooth skin. Again and again, whenever he had seen the
man's cock in all its glory, Julian had been once again struck by the same
impression of an awe-inspiring strength - a strength that seemed to crush
him but somehow also lifted him to a new height of existence: gazing in
wonder at this impressive pole of cockmeat that moved with a power of its
own, pulsing, throbbing, swaying gently up and down, feeling the strong
heat it emanated at the skin of his face, enthusiastically inhaling the
over-poweringly strong smell of male crotch sweat, Julian had felt more
alive and more grateful to be alive than ever before. This spell worked
even in retrospective: surprised by the power of his recollections even in
this awkward situation, even under scrutinizing observation, Julian felt
that his dick began to stir in his pants and his eyes lighted as he felt
the exciting throbbing motion under his palms. Waiting for the inevitable
next question, he carefully rearranged his hands in his lap to make sure
that the growing bulge down there would not be noticed.

Proceeding as thoroughly as before, the bearded man then wanted to know if
Father Flannigan had ever told Julian to touch and hold his dick.

Tightly confined in his briefs the boy's swelling cock began to pulse even
more forcefully as he recalled how the young priest's huge, power-packed
cock had felt in his hands. His palms became slick with sweat and he seemed
once again to feel the familiar shiver in his whole body that he had always
felt whenever his trembling fingers had finally got hold of Flannigan's
hard flesh. Admittedly, just the lightest touch had been most exhilirating
and Julian had never tired to trail his fingers over the man's dick, aching
to explore the monumental member, circling the contours of the enormously
fat head, tracing the thick, rich, rippling veins that pumped perceptively
under the burningly hot skin, moving playfully up and down, marvelling how
the hot rod never seemed to stop to become even longer, even harder and
even thicker under the soft stroke of his cautiously tender fingers. But
yet, the moment when he had tried to close his hand around the massive
shaft had invariably been even more exciting. Gasping softly in his
reverie, his fingers clutching involuntarily for the image that he saw so
vividly in his mind, Julian recalled the contradictory emotions he had
always felt right in that second. On the one hand his heart had leaped with
joy when he had felt the hot rod in his palm and the contrast between the
skin's silky smoothness and the awe-inspiring hardness underneath that
soft, thin layer had never failed to make his mind swirl. Again and again,
it had seemed completely incomprehensible that the massive bar was as hard
as steel but also so wonderously alive: pulsing and throbbing in time with
the man's fast heartbeat in Julian's exploring hand, bouncing from time to
time when the young priest made the thick shaft jerk and jump to tease the
boy, enticing him to squeeze harder, to grope even more boldly. But on the
other hand the boy had always experienced a flicker of disappoinment when
he realized once again that he could never hope to possess this ramrod with
his exploring, fondling hand: it was simply too big, way too big, to
experience this wonder of powerful maleness by touching it with your hand,
no matter how often you ran your hot, sweaty finger along its incredible
dimensions, no matter how hungrily, possessively you gripped the
over-sized, throbbing bar. The vein-etched shaft was almost as thick as
Julian's wrist - not just at the base; no, the whole shaft was that thick,
right up to the massive, brightly red cockhead, wide-flaring at the base,
blunt-tipped where the generously shaped piss-slit topped its crown, and it
was so long that both of Julian's hands, placed side to side on the hot,
pulsing rod covered less than two thirds of its length. Feeling suddenly
timorous, dumb-founded by the massive physical presence of the young
priest's cock, Julian had tried to close his hand around the column of
hard, throbbing flesh, but even when he squeezed the undulating, over-sized
bar of man meat real hard a gap of several inches between his thumb and
middle finger remained, a gap that even seemed to grow as this fire hose of
a dick swelled even more strongly between his fingers, forcing his
clutching hand even wider apart. But then this mixture of anxious awe and
inadequacy had invariably been quickly replaced by an altogether different
feeling: Julian had felt the almost unbearably strong urge to plunge
himself whole-heartedly onto the man's loin, to sink that giant
throat-stabber to the hilt into his mouth and suck ravenously, gulping down
all those beautiful, hard inches of long, fat, thick cockshaft in just one
lunge and to suck and suck and suck at it until the handsome man would not
be able to hold out any longer and just had to spurt a fountain of hot cum
into the boy's greedy, gurgling mouth. Trembling with excitement and
anticipation, the boy had then waited for the sign that he was allowed to
do what he so desparately wanted to do: for the fleeting glance out of the
young priest's lust-glazed eyes and the brief nod of his head which told
Julian without any words that he was now to get down on his knees and suck
the man off. Quite often the Father had kept him waiting for long,
torturously inflamming moments. A master of teasing, Flannigan delighted in
the boy's mounting excitement and so he had taken his time, moaning softly,
his eyes closed, his chest heaving, while Julian, excited beyond all means
by this fullness, so thick and hard, that jerked and throbbed in his hand,
had never stopped to caress and squeeze the man's burningly hot rod. But
sooner or later, Father Flannigan had always given him the signal - and
Julian had always been quick to react.

These recollections made the boy's cock stiffen and expand to full length.
Awkwardky he readjusted his position on the chair when he felt how his dick
began to drool with a generous amount of slick pre-cum that quickly wetted
his briefs. Once again Julian regretted that he had to keep his experiences
to himself and for a second the considered the mad idea to yank his
achingly hard erection out of his fly and to jack off in front of the
bearded priest and the other men while he told them all. With some
difficulties the boy surpressed a grin as he saw himself in his mind, his
pants down on his ankles, his legs spread wide, his stiff cock jutting
forward, reaching out for the men behind the desk who were frozen in shock,
their unblinking eyes glued to his fast-moving, tight-squeezing hand that
pumped with ever increasing gusto on his throbbing dick. He even seemed to
hear his own voice, stammering in high-pitched excitement, as he talked
about his burning desire for Father Flannigan, taking great care to be as
precise as possible, to leave nothing - no, absolutely nothing - out, and
then he had the vision how he would come in front of the men, frozen in
lust, his pelvis arched forward, staring glassy-eyed at his own dick,
watching the endless eruption of shots of cum that flew high up into the
air, arched and splattered juicily on the large desk, splashed on the men's
hands and sprayed even the tall man's grey beard, branding him with his
jism, as he emptied his hot nuts again and again, lost in his memories how
he and the young priest had made love.

But all this inner turmoil went unnoticed. Seemingly as imperturbable as
before, the boy denied again firmly that anything improper had ever
happened between him and Father Flannigan. When he was finished the men
looked silently at each other and Julian sensed that he made good progress:
clearly they had now begun to question their preconceived ideas in
earnest. And he had still so much more in store. Convinced that he would
succeed in the end, the boy felt that he could now even enjoy the
interrogation. Suddenly the possibility that the men would abstain from
further questions troubled him: he wanted to be questioned, he yearned for
more opportunities to indulge in his memories and to lie for Father
Flannigan's sake. And he got what he wanted. Sticking resolutely to the
weird questionnaire that he had obviously prepared in advance, the bearded
priest wanted to know if Father Flannigan had ever asked Julian to kiss his
... er... dick or even told him to... er... suck at it?

Julian had of course guessed that this would be the next question and so he
had already begun to invoke his memories even before the man had finished
his question. Blushing with embarrassment, he remembered his first awkward
efforts to master Father Flannigan's huge dick and his disappointment when
he had failed to get more than just an inch or two of the hard, pulsing rod
into his mouth. But he also recalled his pride when he had proved to be an
extremely talented cocksucker who learnt very quickly. Just after a few
practical lessons he had become a true expert in sucking big, hard
cock. Whenever he had received the eagerly awaited signal Juian had just
lunged forward and had accepted the man's huge cockhead into his mouth
without any thinking, without any restraint. Rewarded with the exquisite
taste of Father Flannigan's slick pre-cum, the boy had swirled his tongue
around the thick head of the man's big dick like mad. Instantly the shaft
had seemed to swell to even larger dimensions while Julian had
enthusiastically washed the head clean with his wet tongue, licking up all
the sticky fluid that covered the hard rod in a generously thick and
slippery layer. He had felt the hardness, the heat of the man's fat dick in
his mouth and it drove him wild and he began to bob his head up and down on
the shaft of that huge, over-sized dick, to some extent still intimidated
by its size but yet also determined to take it all, to take all of it into
his throat, all those wonderfully hard inches.

Invariably, Julian had needed some time to adjust. Opening up his mouth as
wide as he could and trying to unhinge his jaws, he had gradually succeded
in taking more and more of the throbbing meat into his throat. His hands
had caressed the young man's firm legs and taut buttocks while he had
flicked his tongue again and again over the smooth skin of the huge
dickhead that filled his mouth, invaded his throat, drilling deeper and
deeper, pushing against his twirling tongue. Julian's own dick had jerked
and itched in response to Father Flannigan's excited moans and his
encouraging groans. After some moments the boy had felt the man's prickhead
at the back of his mouth, pressing forward, and for a second he had thought
that he could get no more of that rod down into his throat. But then,
through an unconscious twist of his neck, some barrier seemed to have
broken down and then he had felt the large dickhead and the long, thick
shaft surge deep into his throat and suddenly he had found his lips spread
wider than ever before, spread painfully wide as inch after inch of that
thick, fat cock slid slowly down into his throat, probing deeper and deeper
still, until the base of that throbbing, pulsing dick met with his strained
lips. Julian's nose had been buried in the thick forest of the young
priest's wiry crotch-hair and the man's big balls had scratched at his
smooth chin. His jaws had ached like hell but then he had realized that he
had really taken every inch of Father Flannigan's huge, hard dick into his
mouth and throat and invariably that thought had made his mind spin and
reel like mad.

Sometimes Julian had cum right at that moment, without even touching
himself, just from feeling Father Flannigan's dick throb and jerk in his
throat. His lips tightly wrapped around the man's pulsing, jerking cock,
inhaling the intoxicating scent of his sweaty crotch that smelled of virile
strength but also of soap and ever so faintly of incense too, Julian had
looked up and his eyes had roamed reverentially over the priest's
magnificent, naked body and over his handsome face that by then had always
been shiny with sweat and glowing with lust. Julian's heart had hammered in
his chest at double speed while his glazed eyes had taken in the sight of
the man's strong neck and his broad shoulders, the well muscled, wide pecs
and his small, round, peaked nipples, the rippling muscles of his flat
stomach, the trim waist. Finally the boy had stared into Father Flannigan's
eyes and he had lost himself pleasurably in their deep, inscrutable blue
while his mouth and throat had been completely filled by the mighty shaft
of the man's throbbing dick, and Julian had felt the beat of the Father's
heart in the big dick right there on his palate, and his own cock had
jerked and drooled and his balls had been pulled close to their base by
some strange, insurmountable force - and Julian had cum, entranced by the
pulsing of the rockhard, huge dick in the tight confinement of his wet
mouth and his clamping throat. He had plunged into the depths of orgasm and
had cum without even touching his dick: His guts had seemed to turn upside
down and then his balls had started to churn out gallons of sticky, hot
cum, his whole body rocking, shivering, as jet after jet of hot jism
erupted with forceful fury out of his jerking, free-swinging dick, spraying
and flooding the floor between his bent knees with huge blobs of white cum
again and again until the tidal wave of his boy juice had finally dwindled
down to a trickle.

But more often than not Julian had managed to hold out. Impaled by the
young priest's pulsing, hard dick that seemed to reach down into his
stomach, the boy had somehow, by an immense act of willpower, quelled the
urge to shoot his load immediately. He had learnt not to cum despite all
his excitement and had waited for the exquisite moment when Father
Flannigan finally took charge. Holding the boy's head firmly in place with
both his hands, the young man had always begun with slow, carefully
controlled motions of his hips: he had pulled just a fraction of his hard
dick out of the boy's suctioning mouth, had waited for a long moment, and
had then shoved the tip of his cock slowly back until his dick had once
again been completely buried in Julian's constricting throat. Gradually,
those playful, tender thrust had become more urgent, more passionate;
slowly, the shoves had become longer, harder and deeper. Spurned by the
boy's muffled lusty moans the man had rosen to his toes, eager to get
better leverage for ramming deep, and he had begun to piston the huge,
throbbing shaft of his mighty cock deep into Julian's straining throat,
drilling hard, slamming down, fucking the boy's wet, slurping mouth with
increasing speed and intensity and the boy had gulped and slurped
enthusiastically, juicily, his head bobbing back and forth in a whirlwind
of action as the long, thick inches of the young man's huge cock were again
and again shoved into the depths of his tight throat. Julian had made
gurgling noises of pleasure and had grasped his own rock-hard dick, had
spread sticky pre-cum over the hyper-sensitive skin, and had begun to jerk
himself off feverishly while Father Flannigan fucked his face harder and
harder, his huge balls bouncing heavily, audibly on the boy's chin.
Julian's bobbing head had become faster and faster as he tried to meet the
strong man's urgent thrusts; his tongue had swabbed more and more wildly
around Flannigan's deep-driving, hard-pistoning dick, and invariably the
boy had groaned deep down in his chest with wild lust when the Father had
at some point began to accompany his passionate face-fuck with softly
murmured dirty words. His voice husky with sex, the priest had said things
like "Oh yes, my boy! Suck my cock.... suck my big, throbbin' cock... suck
it, Julian! Good boy... Yeah... Suck!... Suck!... Suck!... Suck! You're
good... really good... at this... Julian! I love to see you like this,
boy... down on your knees... writhing.... squirming in front of me...
moaning and groaning... goin' down on me... slobbering on my hard cock...
on my thick, fat dick... strainin' your lips to get all those hard inches
stuffed down into your achin' throat! I know you want me to cum in your
mouth, Julian! You want me to shoot my jism on your tongue... to drown you
with my sperm... and don't you worry... don't you worry, boy... I'll do...
I'll do that... in no time at all... if you go on to suck me like that...
ohhh, yeah.... yeah... good boy... my cock-suckin' boy... make me cum...
I'm... close... close to cum... right in your mouth!!"

They had moved in unison for long moments of pure lust, barely able to
control themselves anymore, moaning, grunting, groaning so loud that they
ran a great risk but neither of them had given a damn about that when they
had been close. Finally Father Flannigan had gasped, his whole body shaking
with lust and need, and he had whispered: "Gonna cum, Julian! Gonna cum...
right... now, my boy! Take my load, boy! Take it! Gulp me down!  Cummin'...
cummin'... now! Now!! Take... oh yeah... take it...take it... take my
blessing!! Take my cum!!!" And Julian had felt the huge cock inside his
mouth and throat grow harder, hotter and longer; he had felt how the big
prickhead began to quiver, and that had been the signal to force himself
back off the throbbing cock until only its head was still in his mouth.
Immediately he had found himself with his mouth full of hot cum that
exploded into him with awe-inspiring intensity and washed thickly and
creamly down his throat. Julian had swallowed eagerly while still more of
the tasty substance had been pumped into his mouth, and he had swallowed
fast to prevent the loss of huge amounts of the man's precious juice. The
boy had grabbed the man's undulating hips with one hand to hold on and then
had gulped down fast and hungrily, triumphantly accepting every singly drop
of the Father's sticky, salty cum, while he had jerked his own aching dick
fast and hard until a huge load of jism had been brusting out of his
jerking dickhead too, shovering his bent legs and the floor with huge blobs
of hot cum. For many long moments man and boy had both gushed thick globs
of hot jism out of our throbbing, jerking, spurting dicks, moaning and
groaning, writhing and battling, while their sweaty bodies had heaved and
convulsed until they both had finally emptied their huge stores of cum,
until the repeated rise and fall of Julian's Adam's-apple as he drank down
the young man's rich, thick, sweet flow of jism had finally slowed down
since there simply was nothing left to suck down into his eagerly lapping,
slurping mouth, until they both had slumped weakly in the sweet afterglow
of yet another unbelievably satisfying climax.

Naturally, the men learnt nothing of all this from Julian. His voice
teeming with disgust, he repeated for the umptenth time that all his
meetings with Father Flannigan had been perfectly innocent. He had revered
the Father as a priest and the Father had been very kind to him, almost
like a real father (only that his own real Dad had been anything but kind
since he had left him and his Mum some years ago), but there had been
nothing else between them - and that would be the end of that!

Once again the men were clearly impressed but yet they were still not
finished with him. To check off also the very last entry on their list,
they asked Julian if Father Flannigan had ever fucked him. Their questions
were so garbled and so obliquely worded that the boy got briefly
confused. When he was at last sure what they meant, his mind went blank.

"No," Julian said flatly, "nothing like that ever happened. Never ever! How
can you think it did?"

Then the room went quiet for a long moment. Once again the men behind the
desk exchanged long glances. Sensing their confusion and their strong wish
for certainty Julian steeled himself for the last, decisive moments and for
his final blow. Lifting his head proudly, challenging him to speak, he
looked the bearded man straight into the eye. And the man reacted as if had
only waited for Julian's silent command.

"Let me thank you for this testimony, Julian!," he said pompously, "You
know we really had to question you. To tell the truth, we are now confused.
Quite confused. Grave allegations have been raised against Father Flannigan
and till now we have had good reason to believe..."

"I know what Bill Spode says!," Julian said firmly, interrupting the man in
a truly preemptory tone, "But Bill Spode is a liar!"

The man blinked with surprise. "How do you know that name?," he stammered,
"Great care has been taken to protect the iden..."

Impatient to speed things Julian interrupted him again:

"I know what Bill says about Father Flannigan because he told me in advance
he would tell those lies. He told me he would accuse the Father of
harressment and abuse and that everyone would believe him although it's
nothing but lies. He said he wanted to raise hell for the Father because he
hated his guts. Back then, I didn't take him seriously. I thought he just
driveled."

Naturally, the men asked for more details and so Julian told them the whole
story: how Bill Spode had always had this strong dislike for Father
Flannigan although he was treated just as well by the Father as everyone
else, how that dislike had grown into outright hatred when the Father had
caught Bill at lying one day and when he had therefore rebuked the boy in
front of other pupils. He told them what Bill had said during a break
between classes, in a corner of the school yard, only the week before: that
it would be fun to see Flannigan in big trouble and that he would therefore
say that he had been harrassed and abused by the young priest. "Bill said
he wanted to see the Father go to jail and that it would serve the Father
right if he got raped there by the other convicts because he had humiliated
Bill in front of us," said Julian, his eyes suitably wide with horror, "But
that is nonsense. The Father just reminded him that it's a grave sin to
lie.  Bill is bad, you know. Really bad. Mr. Pagett said that too."

Frowning at Julian since he had suddenly lost track, the bearded man said:
"Who is Mr. Pagett, please, and what has he got to do with this?"

"Mr. Pagett is a hand at our school. He's in charge of the heating and of
all the other technical stuff too. He overheard us on the school-yard and
he said he would report Bill to the head-master. But I talked him out of it
because I thought Bill would never dare to do what he had said. Now I know
better. It's all my fault, really," said Julian dejectedly, batting his
eyelashes dramatically as though he tried hard to blink away some swelling
tears.

Suddenly all the men talked at the same time and the bearded priest had to
speak up to drown their excited voices.

"Why has Mr. Pagett not come forward with this information himself?" he
said suspiciously, "He surely must have heard of the case?"

But Julian was perfectly prepared.

"Mr. Pagett is a bit... a bit strange, you know. It's said that he has been
in some trouble as a young man, that he's been to jail even for some time.
That was long ago, of course, but he still shies away from other people and
always keeps to himself. He's anxious to become involved with any
authority, I think. But he's a honest man."

During the outbrust of relief and joy that followed the men dismissed
Julian very quickly and without any further ceremonies. Grasping his still
hard cock through the pockets of his pants, the boy walked stiffly away.
Only when the huge door was safely closed behind him did he allow himself a
triumphant grin. His heart leaped and he begun to run through the
reverbearting, high-ceilinged hall as if a heavy burden had been lifted
from his shoulders, but then he reminded himself that he had yet not
attained his final goal.

A sudden twinge in his chest took Julian's breath away and made him slow
down. His mind reeling with dark thoughts, he left the building with
faltering steps.

Only his cock that stubbornly refused to become soft and limp again still
served him as a token of future pleasure while he headed to his school.


(to be continued)

Comments and constructive criticism are always appreciated.

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