Date: Tue, 28 May 2013 10:47:16 -0400
From: Randy Boyd <randyboyd1@outlook.com>
Subject: Father Jack (Paolo & the Priest)

FATHER JACK – Part I

PAOLO AND THE PRIEST

This is a work of fiction.  It is only a fantasy... but as a fantasy it's
kind of hot.


As the new head of St. Mark's School for Boys, I had been getting to know
my young charges over that past several weeks.  Most of them were from poor
immigrant families – this was 1932, after all – and their names read
like a ship's manifest from the Ellis Island registry.  There was Gianni, a
shy and serious boy with a yearning to fit in; Tony, a natural athlete and
leader with an arrogant, cocky swagger; Marco, a slender, fine-featured lad
whose eyes had a far-away look.  And then there was Paolo, more beautiful
than all the rest.

These sons of immigrants, Italian all, had the fear of God instilled in
them by their devout Catholic parents (or, in the case of the orphans among
them, by the priests and seminarians who raised and educated them here at
St. Mark's).  The culture here was one of brotherhood and devotion,
tempered by strict discipline and rigid routine.  They were kept in line,
yes, but for the greater good of their souls.


I'm Father Jack, and I was thrilled to obtain this post after a number of
years spent wasting away at a small church outside Philadelphia.  I knew I
could do great work here, and I also knew that these boys – enjoying the
fresh bloom of young manhood – would benefit from my...experience.  Now
38, I know what boys at that age are thinking and feeling, and the ways in
which our needs can benefit each other.


Which brings me to Paolo.

My office was on the ground floor of the school, in a back corner with
leaded glass windows that looked out on a peaceful garden.  The carved oak
paneling was impressive, as was my large walnut desk, at which I was
sitting on this particular morning.  A young seminarian – Jacob was
Irish and 22 – who served as my assistant, entered and closed the door
behind him.

"Father Jack, I need to speak with you about Paolo," he began.  I looked up
and nodded my head, encouraging him to continue.  "I suspect he may be
pleasuring himself during the night.  I found a soiled rag under his bead,
and I know you have strict prohibitions on this kind of behavior...I
thought I should tell you."

"You did the right thing, Jacob," I said.  "Please instruct Paolo to come
see me, and then see that we are not disturbed."

My heart was racing as I thought about how I would discipline Paolo.  Of
course masturbation was natural for a 16 year old, but it was also a sin,
of which Paolo was well aware.  And yet, he can't help himself...  which
gave me an idea.

Ten minutes later, there as a knock on my office door.  "Come in," I said.
The door opened a crack, and Paolo slipped through.  "Ah, Paolo.  Shut the
door behind you and come sit down."  I gestured to a chair which was
positioned directly in front of my desk, about three feet away.  He sat
down primly, and the light from the window behind me – which shrouded my
face in shadow – illuminated his smooth, olive skin and the highlights
in his chestnut hair.  I took a moment to absorb the impact of his beauty;
he was radiant even in his impoverished immigrant garb.  The dun-colored
pants were tight, the folds of the crotch cradling whatever treasure might
be hiding there.  Black suspenders hitched them up, and pressed the tight
Henley-style shirt to the gentle slopes of his chest.  His hands were
strong, his jaw rough with the hint of adolescent stubble, and the ragged
mop of hair framed his elegant, boyish face.  His lashes were dark and
long; his eyes brown and deep.

I appraised him just long enough to make him uncomfortable, before
offering: "I hear you've been enjoying yourself here, Paolo."

He looked confused. "I guess so, Father.  I like St. Mark's."

"I didn't mean to suggest you were enjoying St. Mark's, although I'm happy
to hear that, my son.  No, Paolo.  What I said was that you are enjoying
yourself.  Do you understand what I mean?"

"I'm not sure, Father."

"How old are you, Paolo?"

"Sixteen, Father."

"Sixteen." I paused, taking a deep, audible breath.  "Then you are old
enough to know what happens when you think...impure thoughts, are you not?"

His adam's apple bobbed as he gulped, and I could see his grip on the arms
of the chair tighten.

"Paolo, it's come to my attention that you have been engaging in the act of
self-pleasure.  Do you deny it?"

"No, Father – I mean, yes, I deny it, I mean... I don't do that!"  His
face had gone scarlet with shame and fear.

"Paolo," I said softly, "there is one sin worse than self-pleasure, and
that is lying to a priest about it.  This is very serious, so I will ask
you again: have you engaged in this sinful behavior?"

His lips quivering, he replied in a whisper: "Yes, Father.  But I'll never
do it again, I'm sorry."

"Another lie.  We both know you will do it again."  Paolo was silent,
staring at the floor.  "I'm here to help you, Paolo.  To educate you and
help you do God's will.  You can be saved, but you have to want my help."

"Please, Father.  I want to be good. Help me be good."  I knew he meant it.
He was really a very sweet boy, and his young lusts had got the better of
him, as it does to all boys.  I would help him, and we'd both enjoy his
penance.

"Very well, Paolo," I said sternly.  "Your penance will be very specific,
and I will need you to do exactly as I say.  I have helped many boys to
salvation – boys who were far more troubled than you.  Will you submit
to God's will in this matter?"

"Yes, Father Jack."  His eyes had brightened at the thought of his
salvation.

"Good.  First, I need to understand the precise nature of your problem."
Paolo looked at me blankly.  "In order for God to reveal to me the penance
required, I have to know the depths of your depravity.  Stand up."

Hesitantly, Paolo stood.  "Lower your suspenders," I instructed.
Bewildered, he nevertheless did as he was told.  "Remove your shirt."

"But – "

"Paolo! Do you pleasure yourself fully clothed?"

"Um, no, Father."  As the reality of the situation dawned on him, he slowly
peeled off his shirt and let it drop to the floor.  There was the slightest
sheen of perspiration below his neck.  His shoulders and arms were
well-muscled for a boy his age, his stomack flat and hard.  I was
transfixed by his nipples, which were a dark brown, pointing slightly
downward as if begging to be lapped at from below.  But not today.

"You may sit down, Paolo."  He seemed relieved to be back in the chair.
"What do you think about when you masturbate?"  He looked at me vaguely.
"Masturbation is the word for self-pleasure, Paolo.  Tell me what you think
about."

"I think about how good it feels," he admitted.  "I imagine...putting it in
things."

"And do those thoughts make you hard by themselves, or do you need to touch
yourself to do that?"

"It depends."

"Are you hard now, thinking about those things?"

He looked shocked.  "No, Father."

"Unbutton your trousers, Paolo."  He hesitated.  "Paolo...unbutton your
trousers, now."  His hands made their way to his fly, and he undid each
button one by one.  Looking him in the eye, I instructed: "Pull them down."
As he lowered them to his ankles, I was surprised to see that he wore no
underwear.  He had been telling the truth about his uncircumcised cock: it
was soft, slumbering atop a healthy pair of plump balls, in a nest of
matted pubic hair.  The delicate foreskin hid the head completely.

"Now, I will need you to show me how you make yourself hard."

"I don't know if I can while you are watching, Father," he said sheepishly.

"This is very important, Paolo.  You have sinned before God but, as I am
God's mouthpiece here I will need to know the nature of your sin myself.  I
need you to try.  Go ahead and touch yourself.  It's OK this time.  Do it
exactly as you would if you were alone."

Paolo slid down in the chair a bit, parting his knees to grant him better
access to his cock and balls.  With his left hand, he cradled his balls and
gently started rubbing just one finger along the underside of his dick.  I
was, by now, fully erect myself, and as he became more engrossed in his own
pleasure, I silently unbuttoned by own fly to release my aching cock.

By now I could see the shiny head of his cock begin to emerge from its
hiding place, and his dick, engorged with the pulsing blood of his young
lust, seemed to grow and grow.  It was flat against his stomach, nearly
reaching to his belly button.  Suddenly, his gaze met mine and, releasing
his grip on his tool, he slid both his hands up to his nipples, which he
began to flick with his fingertips.  This was turning out to be quite a
show.

"I see God has blessed you with a large endowment, my son."  The blush
returned to his face at the sound of my voice.  "Now show me how you stroke
it."

He brought both hands down to grab his shaft, and commenced to pumping it
up and down.  His luscious foreskin slid up over the glistening head, and
then tightly down before he repeated the motion.

"OK, Paolo," I said calmly, trying to hide the quaver in my voice, "you can
stop now."  He looked devastated, ripped to quickly out of his reverie –
and before he could finish.  I could see he was desperate to shoot his
teenage load, and he didn't care what it took to get him there.  He would
do anything.

"I have seen your sin and determined a way for you to please God and earn
forgiveness."  His hands gripped the chair tightly; it was all he could do
to keep them off his prick, which was clearly throbbing with unspent spunk.
A bead of perspiration dripped slowly from his armpit down his ribs, and
the fringe of his hair was pasted with sweat to his forehead.  His mouth
was open slightly to accommodate the quickening of his breath.

"Paolo, God has given you a large cock.  That's good, and it will serve you
well later in life when the time is right for you to procreate.  But
masturbation the way you do it, with two hands pumping like a beast, is
obscene and lustful, a grave sin indeed."

He waited anxiously.

"Your foreskin is God's way of telling you that there's a `pure' way to do
this.  Are you ready to learn God's will, and to begin your penance?"

"Please, yes, Father." Paolo looked at me expectantly.

"Good.  Sit up straight in your chair."  He did as he was told, his rigid
member pressing against his abs.  It was a sight to behold, and I must
admit he was driving me nearly insane with lust.  "Now, with your left
hand, pull your foreskin down until it is tight and the head of your cock
is revealed to God's all-seeing eyes."

As he did this, I could see a milky pearl of pre-cum poised atop his
cum-hole.  It quivered there for half a second before dribbling deliciously
down toward the thumb of his left hand.  My own hard cock, which I was
pumping secretly underneath my desk, began leaking a steady stream of its
own natural lubricant.

"Now open your right hand all the way, Paolo, and hold it level with the
floor just an inch or two above the head of your penis."  He seemed
intrigued; this was new.  "Don't touch it yet – I am waiting for God to
give us permission to proceed."

This was agony for my young penitent.  He'd probably never spent this much
time on a single masturbation session – and I'm certain he'd had many –
in his life.  He was ready to finish... but I was not.  It was so hot
having this naked boy, doing whatever I told him to do, sitting obediently
in the chair in front of me, begging me for forgiveness...

"Do you want God to forgive you?"

"Yes, Father!"

"Beg him."

"Please God, I beg you to forgive me for my lust!" he cried.

"Do you want to please God?"

"Yes, Father, but I don't know how!"

"God needs a sacrifice from you.  He needs to see that you are truly
penitent.  Stand and approach my desk."  His pants still around his ankles,
Paolo shuffled to the edge of my desk, his stiff young meat bobbing lewdly
now in front of me, his hand still pulling his foreskin tightly down to
reveal the silken smooth skin of the head.  I wanted to taste it...

"God is ready to relieve you of this burden."

"Please, Father!"

"Kneel upon my desk."  Paolo struggled up onto my desktop as quickly as he
could, looking every bit the awkward, horny teenager that he was.  His
beating cock was now just inches from my face as I looked up into his
pleading eyes.

"With your right hand open, Paolo, rub your palm in a circular motion
around the head of your dick."

"Like this?" he asked sweetly, curious about the new sensations he was
feeling, mixed with his excitement at being watched by me (and encouraged
by God).

"Yes, I said," my voice nearly a growl, "just like that.  And only like
that.  Show God you can be obedient.  By rubbing only the head, you focus
your sinful lust on the most sacred part of you, the part God gave you for
a pleasure that is pure and good, and which you must only share with him."

Paolo was in a trance now, rubbing his palm slowly around his glistening
cock-head, his breath steady and hard, tiny grunts escaping his throat
unconsciously.  All shame had vanished; he displayed his body and cock
proudly to me and God.  I could now see his knees bend and thrust, gently
at first but with increasing speed and purpose.  The force of his circling
palm was pushing the shaft of his prick from side to side, now around in
circles.  His tongue was pressed against his lower lip, and I could smell
his boyish breath as his gasps became more persistent.

"This is for the glory of God, Paolo, and you are doing very well."

"Ungh."

"God delights in your pleasure when you do it in his name."

"Uungghh!"  His hips were thrusting forward with more insistence now.  I
could tell the horny teen could not hold out much longer.

"You are nearing the next stage in your penance, aren't you, my son?"

"Yes, Father...ahh... I think I'm... yeah...unhgh..."  He was delirious
with lust, as was I.

"When you release your seed..."

"Mmmm...hhmmm..."

"...you must give it to God and ask for forgiveness from me."

"How do... ahh...mmmhhhh... how do I give it to God?"

"I will convey it to him, my hands are his hands, and they will receive
your seed when you are ready."

"Ooohhh...Ungh!  Aahh..  Ungh..."  He was getting really close now.

"Say it, Paolo.  Say you are coming to God for his forgiveness."

"I'm...coming...I'm coming... to God for his forgiveness!  Mmmm..."

I reached up and pushed his hands away, grabbing his red hot young boycock
in my rough hands.  He let his head fall back and his arms opened wide as
he thrust his dick between my hands.

"Aaahh... Ohhhhh... Father, I'm... coming... Coming to God for his
forgiveness...Aaahhhh..."

I could see his young balls tighten as the cum bubbled up his piss slit and
burst out into my hands.


"Aaaarrrggghhhh... Ummmngh!  Forgive me, Father!  Aaarggghhh!"

"Yes, my son!  That's right – come for me, and God will forgive you."
His spunk – slippery at first and then sticky as I worked it between my
fingers, exploded out of his teen dick, gobs of white goo that dripped down
his shaft to his balls and all over my desk.  It was all I could do not to
lick it up.

"Mmmhhh... Oooohhhh... Mmmm..." he sighed, his eyes closed now.

"God is well pleased, my son.  To show you how pleased, he wants me to
mingle our seed together."  Paolo watched, wide-eyed, as I stood from my
chair and revealed my aching 8-inch man cock.  "The Lord's mysteries are
great...mmmhhh...and his gifts prodigious...unghhhh..."  It took only a few
pumps on my shaft, now sopping with my own pre-cum mixed with his sweet
young boy juice, before I shot my load while he watched in awed silence.

"Aaarrrggh...Unggghhh...!"  Ropes of my jizz shot upward, some hitting his
slowly softening cock, others landing heavily on the desk.  I reached up
and rubbed our puddled spunk together on his dick, and in the gathering
pool on the desk.

"You have pleased God, Paolo."

"Thank you, Father.  Am I forgiven, then?"

"Your penance is not quite finished, my son."  Paolo looked crestfallen.  I
added hastily: "But you are well on your way to rehabilitation in his eyes.
You may sit back down – but you must remain naked for God's eyes for
now."  He returned to the chair, the cum beginning to dry white on his
olive skin.  It was a glorious tableau, and I didn't want it to end.


"There are two things God asks of you now, Paolo." He waited quietly, his
posture more relaxed than before, now that he had slaked his teenage lust
in front of his priest.

"First, you must make a promise here before your priest and before God that
you will never again pleasure yourself in secret.  When you feel aroused,
you must seek me out, and you will give your sacred seed to God in the way
that he commands.  Is that clear?"

"Yes, Father."

"You promise, then?  Breaking that promise would be a very grave matter, a
sin of the highest order that would guarantee severe punishment."  I had to
lay it on pretty thick, I knew, if I was to keep this boy from jerking off
alone at all hours of the day.

"Yes, Father, I promise."  My heart swelled with happiness as I imagined
future afternoons with Paolo, my hands – perhaps someday my face, my
tongue – covered in his sweet teen milk.

"Second – and this is perhaps even more important" I paused for effect,
" – you must promise to let me know if you know or suspect that any of
the other boys are masturbating in private.  As you know, this is a serious
sin and it is your solemn duty to help ensure the salvation of their souls.
Will you do that?"

"Yes, Father.  I will do that."

"Very well.  You may get dressed."

I felt a twinge of sorry as I watched the young penitent tuck his heavy,
moist cock back into his trousers, as he slipped the soft cotton of his
shirt back over his head, and as he walked silently out, closing the door
behind him.

But I knew that this was only the beginning of my stories of St. Mark's.


THE END


More stories from St.  Mark's are planned – if you have ideas about
afternoons with Gianni, Tony, Marco or Jacob, please let me know:
randyboyd1@outlook.com