The Sins of Father Jules: by (c) Hamilton Joyce Mm

Father Jules dropped the fish into the hot oil and stepped back from the spitting fat. His potatos, boiled, cooled, and then lightly fried, stood on their plate beside the hot pan. He hummed a popular tune as he chopped up some chives, and then sprinkled almonds over the fish. It had been good of Madame Charlier, the grocers's wife to give him the fish this afternoon.

'Gaston caught three trout this morning, and we only need the two of course. It being Friday I thought of you immediately'. She showed him the fish, shining and eyes still bright. It had been gutted ready.

'You really are too kind, Madame Charlier. I will cook it with almonds. Thank you so much.'

'You should have a housekeeper, Father. It doesn't seem right the Priest cooking and cleaning. Old Father Hubert had a housekeeper all those years, Madame Buvard.'

'It is good, honest work, and I enjoy it!'

The fish was nearly done, so he turned it in the pan to crisp the other side. Madame Charlier was, of course, "laying up her store of wealth in heaven". He knew from the confessional she was having a steamy affaire with young Dominic Lemaitre, the solicitor's clerk. And, according to Madame Charlier at least, old Charlier was impotent, poor chap. Like most of the men of the village he drank far too much and often the near-poisonous marc spirit, and also like most of the village males, Charlier had nothing to do with the Church: and nor did Lemaitre come to that. 

Father Jules would drink the village's rough red wine with his meal, and in half an hour there would be football on the television. Life was good! 

The match was scrappy, some club affair from Ukraine or Georgia (Father Jules' only real self-indulgence was his satellite television, which could pick up hundreds of unusual channels. Mostly he watched football, rugby or athletics). At half time he opened a second bottle (his only indulgence wine!), and channel hopped for a few minutes before selecting the football again. The match was just as scrappy and still goal-less but things looked up with a substitution about twenty minutes from the end: Father Jules opened another bottle and was well-drunk by now. He was hot too and pulled his heavy black cassock over his head to sit there in his boxer shorts. The substitute was a blonde boy, slender and nowhere near as muscular as the other players. The commentary was incomprehensible of course, but it was clear he was a young lad brought on for some first team experience. And he was fast, too: in fact he ran rings round the lumbering defence and scored the only goal of the match, a solo effort. 

The camera showed the boy's jubilant face, excited and joyous, blonde hair flowing back as he ran, only to be submerged by team-mates kissing and hugging him as they collapsed in a heap on the ground. Father Jules hardly noticed his cock was stiffening. But the cameraman, presumably deliberately, showed a close-up of the boy's crotch, and you could clearly see the shape of the lad's cock. Now Father Jules was aware of his hard-on, and he rubbed it. For the last ten minutes of the match he allowed his fantasies to express themselves, and imagined the boy naked and his face showing that same joy but for very different reasons. He was masturbating, drunk, his boxer shorts pulled down to free up his cock, and very soon he came, spunk flying up over his chest and belly. He slipped his shorts off and wiped the goo up, throwing them onto the chair before turning the television off and going to his solitary bed.

                                        .....................................................................

In the morning he woke feeling as bad as you can having opened the third bottle the night before and indulging in solitary drinking (and solo sex!). He could not remember much, but as he stumbled from the bathroom, looking for cold water to drink, he saw his underpants, crumpled, and stiff with dried cum. He remembered, and his guilt and shame were dreadful! He remembered his lewd fancies, and how he had lusted after the blonde footballer, disgusting drunk. He hated himself and his own moral weakness.

Father Gabriel from the next parish would be hearing his confession later that morning, and he would now have to add lust, unnatural lust his Church would say, to the usual admissions of drunkeness and masturbation. Father Gabriel was a sinner too, always confessing bedding his housekeeper, and sometimes having to confess the seduction of one of the village girls: he seemed to have most of them as they reached thirteen years or so. Father Jules gave him light penances, after all old Gabriel's sins were those of fornication, venial and not mortal as adultery would be. And in any case it was probably better the girls should lose their virginity to a kindly and knowledgeable old Priest than some rough village boy unlikely to pleasure them! He wondered whether Father Gabriel would be as light absolving his neighbouring Priest's sins.... 

He decided not to drink for a week, and to immediately read three books of the Pentateuch. A suitable penance... On second thoughts, a day without wine was a suitable penance, really, as after all it was sins of the mind and not so much of the flesh. Yes, no wine until the evening. He took another gulp of cold water and felt much better. Some breakfast before the Bible would be best as well. Have to look after the body as well as the soul!

                                          ....................................................

The Bishop was keen on the visible signs of religiosity in his clergy, and it was a requirement Sunday afternoons after Mass, unless the weather was foul, to parade round the village square in his full robes, reading or pretending to read his little black breviary. The women of the village would mostly greet him, some of the younger ones with a saucy and ironic expression, but most of the men had no time for him. He was not of the village himself, born and bred in the Departmental Capital town, and so had no real connection with men who might otherwise once have been school-fellows. He hated the fake show, and as soon as he could he would stuff the little black book into his robes, and have a stroll through the vineyards and fields towards the wide, slow-flowing river.

He ambled slowly through the vineyards, the soil dusty under his feet this long hot summer. Soon the grapes would be ready and the whole village, including himself, would be picking them to catch exactly the right moment for each little vineyard. Wine was the village's main source of income, and the annual harvest was a real co-operative effort. He picked a grape from the side of the dirt road, but spat it out: still bitter. He smiled, as he thought the grape harvest was perhaps the only time when the men of the village showed anything of the Christian spirit. His mind wandered, and he hardly noticed how hot his black robes were, until at last he reached the river and the shade offered by the alders and willows that fringed the bank. He sat to rest on a log, and watched the water flow slowly by, himself so quiet that a kingfisher sat a few yards away on an overhanging branch without noticing the human intrusion. He thought of the blessed St Francis: the kingfisher would have come right up to the Saint.

His happy reveries were broken by the sound of laughter and shouting from nearby. Curious he got up and went along the river bank, having to push through near shoulder-high willow herb and sweet cecily till he could see the source of the noise. Six of the village boys were swimming in a black, deep pool alongside a ruined jetty, a relic of some long forgotten industrial venture.

The boys were naked....... 

He turned his back immediately in the spirit of "get thee behind me Satan", but that sudden fleeting glimpse was so tempting, so very tempting, that he half turned to look again. His eyes were drawn to two naked sun-tanned boys who were standing on the crumbling stone-work, facing the river. Their little bottoms were tanned the same deep bronze as their smooth backs and slender legs, and it was obvious that they spent a lot of time naked to the sun. Without thinking, he rubbed his cock, which had stirred into life at the siight of the two beautiful boys, and he turned completely to watch them dive together into the stream, and strike out strongly to the other bank. The four boys in the water already cheered them on in what seemed to be a race. They turned and headed back: the darker lad was a yard or so ahead of the blonde one. They reached the jetty again almost together, and the dark lad heaved himself out, offering a helping hand to the blonde, only to let go a second later, the blonde boy falling back into the stream with a great splash. Much laughter! Then another helping hand, and this time the blonde lad pulled his friend forward into the stream with a great, splashing belly-flop. A few boyish struggles in the water, and they were both pulling themselves out.

Father Jules did not avert his eyes from the entrancing view of two little cocks as they faced him, hidden as he thought in the shade and tall herbs. Both cocks were tiny, shrunk away by the cold water, but the blonde boy had such a pretty little triangle of golden hair at the base, while the darker boy had scarcely any pubic hair at all. The Priest now had a full erection: he recognised the boy as Pierre Demangeot, son of the cafe-keeper, and his darker friend Robert Dangier, from the quarry.  

He could not hear what the blonde lad said quietly to his friend. 'You won't guess who has been perving us, Robert...'

'Someone peeking?'

'The Priest himself. He's behind those bushes now, watching us.'

'He's creepy! Dad says he's gay, like most of them.'

'I don't know. He seems a nice enough guy to me. Anyway lets put a bit of a show on for him.'

Father Jules watched, excited, as the two boys wrestled on the grass beside the jetty, first one on top, then the other, arms and legs entangled in what could have been, but was not, a sexual embrace. He retreated futher into the bush, and with an urge stronger than he could control lifted the hem of his skirts, freeing his cock. A few strokes of his fist and the spunk flew, splattering white into the dust, and immediately soaking into little black stains in the yellow sand. The sin was that of Onan, who allowed his seed to fall to the ground.   

He almost ran from the place in shame and in real loathing of his own sexuality. Last night he had been drunk, and the object of his lust some anonymous lad on the television. This time it was sober, and the son of a parishioner: yes, it was the blonde boy who had been the particular object of his desire. 

                                          ..............................................................

He rationed himself to half a bottle with his meal and went to bed early but his sleep was fitful. He was visited in the night by visions of the golden boy, dreaming that the lad was naked in his arms, kissing and caressing, and he felt the boy's tiny penis harden in his mouth before filling it with the juice of life. Then the boy had sucked Father Jules' cock until he came.

In the morning his nightshirt was starched and stiff with the cum, and he remembered his dream with aweful clarity. He wondered if he was going mad, or whether this was some diabolical temptation he was yielding to. Until now he had in fact been somewhat sceptical about the power of the Devil to intervene in man's affairs directly, despite the teaching ogf The Church: now he was less certain. He fell to his knees by the bed and prayed for strength. Or rather, tried to, for his mind was still filled with the beauty of the boy and the delights of the dream, and he knew he was not talking to his God.

That afternoon he walked up into the hills, in the opposite direction to the river and its temptations.

At the same time Father Jules was sitting on a rock overlooking the village, young Pierre Demangeot was sitting naked by the river sunbathing. His cock was hard and he was gently stroking it. He, too, had suffered a disturbed night, with dreams of the priest. He dreamed he was masturbating while Father Jules watched and jerked at his own cock, a cock large, red and angry looking, like the one a guy had waved at him in the toilets at the stadium during the Schools Sports Gala earlier in the year. He hoped that Father Jules would appear again in the bushes on the opposite bank, and then he would allow himself to come. He wondered if he was gay: certainly he found the thought of adult cocks exciting. He did hope Father Jules would be back for more! Finally he realised he was waiting in vain, and with a final image of the priest coming with great spurts of spunk he came himself, his white cum making streamers across his suntanned chest and belly. Unlike the priest he felt no shame or guilt afterwards, just a slight regret that his pleasure had been solitary.

                                         ................................................................  

Tuesday morning Pierre's friends had gone off to the hills to shoot rabbits and hares using the shotgun of Robert's grandfather. But Pierre had waited in the village. Thus it was that he was able to greet Father Jules politely as that troubled man went to buy his bread and provisions for the evening meal. Father Jules was amazed: until today the village boys had simply ignored him. A few came to Mass, dragged there unwilling by their mothers, but all of them sharing the sceptical anti-clericalism so rife among the men of the village. How, he often wondered, could such sturdy and independent vignerons always vote communist in the elections. They certainly did, and it looked as if this would go on for another generation. Except of course for Pierre, who seemed to want to talk. But Father Jules was too flustered and hurried on by. Close up, the boy was devastatingly pretty, with his golden hair, almost to the shoulder, his blue eyes and tanned face. His lips looked so full, and so kissable. Like the boy in his dreams.

The boy thought Father Jules' smile was friendly and nice, and that he looked quite handsome really. He wondered what he would look like under those robes, and decided he would be slender, wiry and fairly muscular. He expected he would be very white, as he never seemed to take the cassock off. He did not mind if the man was gay like his father said, and in fact half suspected he was gay himself. So what? It was only cock fun gays did after all! They managed to exchange a few words before the priest walked on, the boy explaining his friends had gone off hunting, but he thought it was too hot for that, and would go down to the river by himself in the afternoon. That was when the priest hurried off..... 

He tried not to! The Good Lord knew he tried, but he could not resist. He struggled with his conscience for several hours. It was difficult to concentrate on his monthly report to The Diocese that was due next Wednesday and the accounts just would not add up correctly. The boy kept flashing into his mind, like those annoying internet ads, his mind would wander and his pen hand freeze. He had a light lunch and then set out for his daily exercise walk. He turned left out of the Place de la Liberation, and if he had continued as he intended that would have taken him out onto the hill and away from temptation. But outside the Cafe des Sports the memory of the boy flashed back, and he knew what the boy meant when telling him he would be by the river, alone. Surely not? The boy was only thirteen, after all, and not capable of playing the temptor? But the Priest had stopped and turned about.

Madame Rouget at the patisserie was watching him. 'Left the gas stove on I suppose. They're all the same men, priest or not.' She sniffed and continued serving the small queue.

Father Jules knew the way now, and the broken stems from his progress through the dense undergrowth along the river bank a couple of days before  made it easier this time. He arrived in the little patch where he had jerked off: there were now no signs of the cum that had sprayed and then dripped into the dry sand. On the crumbling stone jetty in front of him a little tangled heap of clothes, and on the bank opposite, laying propped up against a smooth boulder, a vision of loveliness.

Pierre Demangeot had been there half an hour, and the sun had warmed him through, drying him completely from the swim across the river. His cock was hard in anticipation of masturbation, but also in the hope that the religious voyeur would accept the invitation he had offered. He wanted to show the man his cock, have him watch the cum spurt: he wanted more than that, but the instinctive guile of a young lad told him this was a fish that needed to be played long and carefully, like one of the brown trout to be found in the river. Also, if Father Jules did turn up then that would show he was in fact gay, and if he was gay, well, then, anything was possible. His cock twitched with excitement. He moved his bottom a bit. He was sitting on sand so it was not uncomfortable. He scratched at his nearly hairless balls: they itched a bit sometimes as the fine blonde hairs had started to grow. He ran his fingers through the little triangle of blonde curls at the base of his tanned belly: he had as much hair there as any of the boys in his class, and more than some. And his cock was among the biggest too! At just that moment he saw Father Jules' little black pill-box hat above the undergrowth in the bushes opposite.

He smiled. The Father might be educated and learned, but he was no good at bushcraft. He would never make a hunter if he did not know how to hide better than that. Now the show could start.

Father Jules spotted the boy immediately scarcely twenty yards away but across the slow-moving water. His gaze focused on the boy's penis, which, delight of delights, was hard. It looked bigger erect than it had the first time he had watched, and might even be as large as Father Jules' own, he thought. It was straight, brown like the rest of him, except for the helmet which was a purple-red. It would be good to feel it, he thought, and to kiss it..... His own cock had leaped to attention, and abandoning all decorum Father Jules gave it its freedom, hauling the cassock over his head and dumping it on the ground. Now he was naked except for sandals, though the boy clearly had no idea he was there.

Pierre saw the little black hat disappear, but knew his target was still lurking in the bushes opposite. He stood up and walked the two steps to the river, making as if to dive in, but really showing off his pretty bottom, and his cock in profile.He raised his arms as if to dive, and Father Jules stroked his cock gently, ogling tight buns and slender limbs. Then the boy changed his mind, and instead did a few exercises, bending and stretching, and also showing his body off to perfection, even an occasional glimpse of the dark, secret anus between tanned buttocks. He decide not to plunge into the water and returned to sit in the sun again.

And to jerk off! 

He wished he had brought the binoculars he had found in the Church House when he took over from Father Hubert, as a real close-up would be wonderful....the forbidden word "sexy" entered his mind. But he could see clearly enough as the boy stroked his cock with his right hand, his left cradling balls in their tight little sack. His balls looked hairless still and the cleric imagined himself licking and kissing them, taking first one then the other in his mouth. The boy's hand was flying up and down the shaft now at great speed, as was Father Jules'. Then he saw the boy's legs straighten and tense and he knew the moment was near. His pretty face screwed as if in pain and then the first spurt of cum left a streamer across hairless chest. Father Jules' cum squirted a second later, and he watched the less powerful second and third spurts make globules of white on the boy's tanned belly. 

Wonder of wonder, the boy wiped his belly and then sucked the side of his hand. He was eating his cum. Father Jules had never done that, and now most of his own cum was sprayed onto the dock leaves at his feet. But oozings had still covered his right hand, and tentatively he licked at it. There was no taste he could discern, but a nice, silky slipperiness. He licked his hand clean and wondered what it would be like to taste the boy's cum, before rejecting that gross and forbidden thought in shame.

After a few minutes, the boy did plunge and swim back to the jetty. Father Jules had gone, but the boy could see where he had stood. And the splashes of white on the broad green leaves must be his spunk! The boy reached down and plucked a leaf, licking at it, and deciding it was indeed spunk, and that he had at least tasted his idol's cum. One day, he promised himself, he would have it properly, straight into his mouth, warm and bubbling!

                                                ............................................................
    

The next few days were ones of struggle for the Priest. He oscillated between lust for his object of passion and disgust with himself for succombing to temptation. His cock was often hard nowadays, and he just had to jerk off or his predicament would have been obvious to everyone: the summer-weight cassock does not hide an erection very well!
And when he jerked off his mind filled with the boy and the actions he wanted to enjoy with him: to be followed by the shame and humiliation once the desire had been temporarily satisfied. He stayed away from the river, but kept bumping into the boy in the village.

On Saturday, when he cycled over to the next parish to make his confession (it was his turn to travel), then he could not bring himself to tell that good old man, resolutely heterosexual as the old priest was. So for the first time in many years he would enter Sunday and the Mass not in a state of grace. He was aware he was going down hill fast!

Sunday the service went as usual, and it made no obvious difference that the priest officiating regarded himself as an un-absolved sinner, except to himself of course. And what made it worse Madame Demangeot had brought her son Pierre who sat there scubbed clean and dressed in his best, blonde locks combed and shining, a reminder throughout the Mass of forbidden things. The boy was sitting next to the aisle, and had his long, sexy legs stretched out, his white cotton shorts stretched up tight and giving him a bulge that kept reminding the Priest of the boy's naked cock. Pierre did not take the sacrament, of course, as he had not been to confession the day before (or at all since his confirmation, in fact).   

After the service Madame and her son were the last to leave the Church, always a sign that a parishioner wanted a talk with the priest at the church door.

'Tell Father Jules, Pierre.'

'I would like to be an altar-boy, father, if you would have me and show me how....'

The woman glowed with pride. Would she have been so happy if she knew what was really in her son's mind, and increasingly in the Priest's too?

                                            .............................................................. 

After he had been altar-boy for a few days, and had helped at his first Mass, just swinging the incense and standing there looking angelic at first, Father Jules had mentioned to him that he ought really to take the sacrament, and in order to do that he would have to make his confession. (Hypocritical of the priest really because he still had not confessed his own lusts, forbidden of course by The Church. He could not face the old priest from the next parish with these sins, which were ongoing in any case).

This suited young Pierre as it was all part of his plan. What easier way was there for him to declare his admiration, and desire for the Priest?

So it was that he went with his mother on Saturday for the first time. She made her confession and left him to make his while she did a bit of shopping.

The confessional is, of course, secret and anonymous, but the Priest usually knew the voice of his parishioners, and in this case knew it very well indeed. The confession started with the usual petty matters of small thefts, masturbation, and such schoolboy sins. But then it came out; he thought he was in love with a man and knew that was not allowed. But he could not stop himself.

It took all of Father Jules' training and composure to steadily explore this confession, which meant so much to him personally. His heart was racing, and most unsuitably here in church, his cock had awoken! Was the boy obsessed by him, just as he could not get the boy out of his thoughts, and especially at night and in the morning in his bed, jerking at his cock? The boy admitted he had deliberately shown himself naked to the man, had masturbated so the man could see, and had finally tasted the man's cum left on a leaf. So he himself must be the object of the boy's desires, and any doubt was completely removed when the boy admitted that the object of his lust was a Man of the Cloth!

It had all come out. Father Jules' chickens had come home to roost, and all he could say to the boy was that he must try to overcome the temptation, to fight against it, and trust that the man he thought he loved would do the same. He absolved the boy.

                                              .................................................................

The next few days were fraught as Father Jules saw Pierre several times, showing him how to serve as altar-boy, practising with him the age-old rituals. And it seemed whenever he went out into the village he would "by accident" casually meet the lad. He avoided country walks, as he was sure the boy would be waiting for him, tempting him further into sin, and also putting him in jeopardy with the law, another consideration, and all the scandal that might follow, personal and for his Church. Also, he owed it to the boy not to tempt him further!

He, himself, jerked off several times a day now, and always with Pierre in his thoughts. He was losing the struggle, as was the boy who was now desperate to see his lover naked, and to caress him and be caressed. The boy was in a perpetual state of erection, it seemed to him, and no matter how often he jerked himself off, it would return. If this was sin, then at least the orgasms were good, each stronger than the last!  

So both fought against the temptation, losing. No words were spoken, but as they met and went about their business together there was always the unspoken fact. Father Jules had seen the boy naked, and seen him cum, finding that exciting enough to have cum himself. He knew that, and the boy knew that as well. Each knew he was gay, and the other was gay, and each lusted after the body of the other. It was a hopeless situation, with only one possible outcome, whatever Father Jules resolved, and whatever the boy promised. They were both young, vigorous, highly sexed, obsessed, and (let's say it!) in love.


It happened exactly one week and a day after the confession, after Mass, in the vestry.

Father Jules had finished his social session at the church porch, smiling, shaking hands, making small talk, and went straight to the vestry. As he removed his gold and white  surplice and hung it up in the cupboard he saw Pierre was still there, reaching behind his back, contorted and struggling with the ribbon that fastened the back of his choirboy-type white cotton dress. Originally it had just velcro fastening, but one of the ladies had sown on tapes, presumably in case that pretty bottom should accidentally be viewed by the congregation.

'It won't come undone!'

There was a perfectly good reason for that. The devious lad had deliberately tied the ribbons in a tight knot instead of a bow. What followed was planned too, thought out during last night's masturbatory fantasies.

'Here, let me.' The boy's very close presence was disturbing to the priest as he tried to undo the knot, bending down over it, and he felt his cock stiffening. 'Here. Stand on the chair and I'll be able to see better. Now the boy's bottom was nearly level with the priest's face, but the knot still would not undo. It was not meant to. 'You'll have to take it off over your head, and we'll unpick it later.

Exactly what the boy wanted, and he lifted his arms, pulling the thin cotton up, over and off, to stand there in his naked beauty, holding the pose, arms aloft, deliberate. His erect penis was inches from the poor, tempted man's face.

Father Jules stared in wonder, his cock twitching beneath his own black cotton robes. It was so pretty, straight and burnished bronze like the rest of the boy's body, except for the helmet which was red-purple. He could see it twitching, just as his own was, and knew the boy was equally aroused. His mind on auto-pilot he moved that half pace closer, and a hand on each hip reached up to kiss the boy, not on his cock, but on his bare chest that was just in reach. The boy held Father Jules head in both hands, leaned down, and their lips met in a kiss. The boy wobbled on his chair, and felt the man's hands firmer, round behind, holding him steady with a palm on each buttock as they kissed, mouths open and tongues battling for possession of the other's mouth. 

'I want to see you, too....'

The boys hands were pulling at the top of black cotton vestments, raising them, and Father Jules acquiesced as his clothes were in their turn pulled up over his head to join the white cotton on the floor at their feet. He was naked beneath them, and the boy could see his hard cock, knowing their excitement was mutual. They hugged each other again and this time the priest's mouth was on the boy's nipples and the smooth skin of his belly, on the triangle of golden fleece, and then the boy felt him lightly kiss the tip of his cock. He groaned, held the head with its wavy black hair, and forced it down onto his knob, rewarded by the warm wetness of a mouth around it for the first time in his young life. He thrust his hips forward and felt it slide between willing lips and those hands clench on his buttocks, pulling him in. He groaned again as he felt the priests's tongue flutter up and down the front of his shaft. Untaught, the man knew instinctively how to give pleasure and he sucked and licked at the same time. He felt the boy's fingers in his hair, holding and guiding his head as the boy now was fucking his mouth, hips moving to and fro, cock slipping its full length in and out. It was all over too quickly for both of them, and the priest heard the boy groan with pleasure again as his mouth was filled with the juices of youth: he swallowed as the little cock spurted three times, and settled into twitching and oozing gently.

'Me now!'

Pierre jumped nimbly down from his pedestal, and gently pushed Father Jules into sitting on the chair. The man watched as if in a dream the lad kneel in front of him, take his erect cock in his right hand, lower his face to it, and swallow first the knob and then the whole shaft. It was as if the Priest's whole life had been building towards this moment of fulfillment and pleasure. All thoughts of sin and guilt gone now he was being sucked off by this angel he stretched his naked legs luxuriously, held the boy's shoulders, and submitted to mouth, lips and tongue. And hands too, because the lad was cradling his balls and gently squeezing and caressing as he sucked, and stroking thighs and belly, fascinated by the black, adult pubic hair. Father Jules ruffled silky blonde hair, and stroked the boy's flawless shoulders, but all this automatically as his whole consciousness was focused on his cock and the feelings of pleasure, yes and power too, that the kneeling boy was giving him as that pretty head bobbed up and down. He could still taste the boy's cum, and feel it silky and smooth in his mouth, and knew the boy would swallow his too, remembering the confession of cum eating, and having watched the boy lick his fingers after masturbating. This last memory triggered his reaction, and his hips rose as he spurted into the boy's mouth. Pierre was surprised at the volume of cum produced by a vigorous adult, but delighted too as he sucked and swallowed, sucked and swallowed, sucked and swallowed.

They were silent for minutes after, recovering from the passion of the moments before, perhaps thinking of the implications of a life-changing encounter. Both were still hard, fully erect.

Finally Pierre, still kneeling, broke the silence.

'I know a place by the river which is secret and hidden. We could go there....'

                               ..............................................................

Last year's prickly sweet chestnut shells crunched under their feet as they pushed through the thick woodland growth. Apart from crackling their sandals made, and the noise of bending and snapping branches, the forest was silent this hot summer afternoon: even the birds were sleeping it seemed. Finally the man and boy pushed past the last tree and there was the river in front of them, a narrow patch of grass on the bank, lush and green and uncropped by rabbits, and the water, again in a deep pool fed by a low waterfall at one end, and disappearing gently round a bend with overhanging trees.

Father Jules screwed his eyes at the sudden sunlight after the gloom of the woods and was astounded at the beauty of the place. Here was the spot for lovers, even if their love was forbidden.

'I found this place when my Uncle's dog went missing. You'd never know it is here otherwise. We can sunbathe here. You look great all white, but with your muscles you'll look fantastic tanned.'

So they stripped naked again, and this time Father Jules made himself study the boy, fixing his beauty in his memory.

Laying on the grass he felt alive: the grass was soft under him and warmed by the sun, the boy silky and lithe in his arms as they embraced, his lips generous in giving and taking kisses as they hugged each other.

'I brought some sun-tan lotion from home. You should let me put some on you, Father Jules, or you'll get burned. The sun is strong.'

'I'd like you to call me Jules when we're alone like this....'

He lay on his back and enjoyed the feel of the boy's hands exploring every inch of his body, working the oily lotion into his skin. The boy was fascinated by the hairs on his belly and chest, and the look of them before and after oiling. The nipples stood hard little points after they had been fingered. He made sure the man's upright cock and his balls were well-oiled! It was good to feel another cock than his own in his fist and to rub it up and down, cradling the balls with his other hand. The man turned over, and from the back seemed even more muscular with his triangular back and tiny buttocks. The boy oiled them, lingering over the man's thighs, and especially over his bottom. Jules groaned when the boy's oily fingers swept past his anus, deep inside the crack of his arse cheeks. So the boy added some oil to his hand and did it again, eliciting another groan of pleasure, and watching the man arch his hips so the bottom semed more jutting and rounded. Pierre spread the arse, and there, hairy, was the man's anus. He leaned over and kissed it: the lotion smelled and tasted of vanilla, and he wished he had kissed the man here before oiling him.

Pierre wiped his hand clean of lotion by transferring the slippery remnants to his own anus, allowing his index finger to slide inside and oil the inner part. The last few nights he had imagined what it would be like to have a cock in there, and found the idea very exciting.

Back now to their interrupted embrace.

Father Jules Felt the boy's cock hard against his body as they kissed, and knew his was stuck somewhere between the boy's legs. Then he felt a hand reaching between them to grasp it and move its position slightly. Still there kiss went on, lips and tongues. Suddenly the boy gave a sort of squeak, muffled by their kiss, and the priest realised that somehow his knob had penetrated the boy's bottom-hole, and more, because the boy was hugging closer, and moving so he was laying on top, and the cock was sliding in deeper and deeper. The passion of the boy, and the pleasure of the tightness defeated any remaining qualms of conscience. Indeed, the boy was having him rather than vice versa! 

So he lay back and enjoyed the new sensations. 

He looked at the boy's face and watched it go from an eager sort of cocncentration, blue eyes glittering with excitement, and then a dreamy look as if almost drunk, which told him the boy was finding pleasure at least equal to his own. He had his hands on the boys hips, at first gripping them tight, but later letting them slide sensuously, smooth, silky skin through his palms as the boy rose and fell back on him. He could feel his orgasm rising, and he got his hands under the boy to help lift him each time, so increasing the power and rapidity of the boy's down-thrusts. A drop of sweat fell from the lad onto his chest, and he found that so sexy that he was coming. He almost shouted at the power of his first spurt of cum deep inside the boy. The lad knew his lover had come and fell forward on him kissing him while his cock pumped into a bottom that was alternately squeezing and releasing, milking the cum from him.

Father Jules was in a daze. The boy was speaking, but he was not hearing. The boy was repeating something. 'I nearly came. I'm sure I only had to touch myself and I would have.'

'I didn't hurt you?'

'It always hurts a bit. But it feels good too.'

'Always?' Father Jules had a moment of shock. Surely this innocent boy had not given his bottom to other lovers?

'I cheated. I've been practising with a candle and then with an old chair leg...'

'You're lovely and hard.' As they whispered, he had felt down between their bodies and was grasping the boy's cock. 'Do you want to.... fuck me?'

He had hesitated over the use of that word. In all his life he had never uttered the word "fuck" before, though he had heard it in the confessional and casually in the streets and markets. But this was a day for firsts.

'I'd like that. But I'd rather you sucked me off again.'

This time he made it last, and concentrated on what he was doing so he could learn the contours of the boy's body, the feel of him under his hands. He stroked the smooth, tanned belly and ran the tips of his fingers through fine golden pubic hair. He fingered the little brown nuts of his nipples, and felt the cock twitch in his mouth as he stimulated them, pinching them between fingers and thumbs. He licked balls, tight in their sack, ignoring the boy's protest when his mouth left his cock, and took first one and then the other in is mouth. Most of all he fondled the boy's buttocks, his finger sometimes penetrating there where his cock had so recently taken the boy's virginity.

Each timw he felt the boy's orgasm rising, knob hardening and cock swelling, leaking precum, he would stop, lick balls or belly, and then start again as the crisis passed. Finally the boy could stand the  teasing no more, and gripped the man's head strongly, forcing it to stay over his cock, and filling his mouth with cum, silky and warm.

They lay together, the man still sucking on a cock now limp. 

'Can you swim?'

'Not as well as you, Pierre.'

The boy decided to tease him a bit. 'And how do you know I swim well?'

Even now, the priest did not feel like admiting he had watched the village boys, naked at the river. 'You are beginning to get swimmer's muscles, here,' he stroked the boy's shoulder blades, 'and here'. He gripped the boy's biceps. 

'Let's cool off then.'

The boy broke from his embrace and dived gracefully into the water, a brown streak of joy. The man followed him, less gracefully, and joined him at the head of the pool, where they sat side-by-side on a great, smooth limestone slab where the waterfall showered icy water over them.

Pierre had his arm round the man's waist, and Jules his arm round the boy's shoulders. The boy rested his hand in the man's crotch and held his limp cock for a moment.

'Look how our cocks have shrunk. Yours is nearly as small as mine now.'

'It's this cold water...'

'Lets warm them up again in the sun then.'

On the green river bank again, Father Jules lay on his belly, to start to tan his bottom. Pierre lay beside him and looked at the muscular, slightly stringy body laying so white beside him. His bottom was cute: small and hard, and just a little bit rounded. The boy felt his cock stiffening again in the warm sun, and reached to stroke Jules' buttocks lightly at first, but then squeezing, kneading, parting the cheeks.

'I would like to fuck you now.....'

'Remember I've never had a cock there before....'

'You'll love it. I did. It hurts a bit, but it's so good. I'll put some of this oil in for us.' 

It did hurt just a bit, strange the priest thought as the boy's cock was still quite slender. but that passed and it became almost enjoyable to feel the cock rub its way in and out with increasing pace. Better still was the obscene thought that kept passing through his mind, repeating the phrase "I'm being fucked. I'm being fucked by a beautiful teenage boy". His own cock was hard again and as he knelt he was able to reach under and jerk it is time with the smack of the boy's thighs against his buttocks. He was lost now in a new world of pleasure and what his intellect knew was sin but what his heart called love.

Words from the boy broke through his ecstasy. 'I'm coming! I'm coming!'

He did not, to be honest, actually feel the rush of cum deep inside him, but knew the boy had come as that cock moved more freely and slipped in the silky fluid. And that thought made him come too, his spunk again splattering to the ground in imitation of those old pagan rituals suppressed by his Church.

                                        .................................................

Summer has slipped into Autumn, and suddenly, with the first snows it is Winter. The boy and his lover are laying in bed, in the Priest's House next to his church. The centuries old rituals of the Mass finished earlier, they have just completed those other observances that men (or in this case a man and a boy) practise in the service of a much older God. Cocks at least temporarily satisfied by mouth and bottom they lay side-by-side, both drinking red wine, the boy from a wine-glass, the man from a lager tankard.

'Don't get too drunk, Jules. I want you to fuck me again before I go.'

'You make me hard just looking at you, my angel, and the wine just stops me coming too quick for you. I'll put my glass down in any case as I'm going to suck you again.'

The lad sipped his wine, propped against pillows, while the man sucked and kissed his cock and balls, caressing thighs, belly and chest, especially the boy's nipples. They both enjoyed nipple-play.....

'You know Robert? Robert Dangier. His dad works at the quarry.'

'Well-built, dark complexioned lad? Yes I know him. He's very handsome.'Father Jules had, of course, once seen the boy naked, that first day when his idyll with Pierre had started with a chance voyeur episode. 'Very handsome lad. Never comes to Mass, or confession.'

'He's about my best friend, after you of course. He's got a great body, lovely smooth skin, and a lovely cut cock.'

'Smooth?'

'He's not even as hairy as me, and I'm not hairy at all. Of course he's nearly a year younger than me, so he wouldn't have much hair yet, and his cock is a lot smaller than mine. Nice and straight, and brown, and cut, but small really.'

'You've seen it then?'

Pierre played the game, not letting on that he knew full well the Priest had once spied on the two of them and seen them naked by the river. 'Yes. And more.'

'Tell me.' He was licking the blonde lad's still nearly hairless balls and the hard place between them and the anus, which he would have loved to kiss, but it was out of reach.

'I didn't like to in case you got jealous....'

'I've a lot of sins... as you know my little angel... but jealousy is not one of them.

'We've been jerking off together for ages, but last week I showed him how to suck cock. Like I sucked him off and later he had me the same. Then a week ago I had him fuck me, and fucked him in return.'

'He liked it of course?'

'Well he does now any way!'

'You haven't told him about me? about us.....?'

'He knows I've got a man who fucks me, I told him that. But not who it is. And he'd never guess in a month of saint's days.'

'Make sure he doesn't!'

'He says he would like me to suck him off while a man fucks him, bigger cock you see! And I'd like that too. I mean him sucking me while you fuck me.Hey! I bet you'd enjoy his confession!'

'I expect I would. And so would I enjoy having you both like that. Kneeling, a boy at each end, one in my arse and one in my mouth. Paradise on earth!'

'We could you know...'

'It would me risky for him to come here. I mean one of the nosey village women could see and put two and two together. Very risky. It's all right with you, altar boy etcetera.'

'Something else about him, he's very gay and a bit girlie too.'

'Girlie?'

'He's got some stuff he stole off Madame Gaultisser's washing line. Panties, suspender belt and stockings, scarlet satin. He likes to wear them when I fuck him.'

'Awkward in panties I should think.'

'They're very flimsy. easy to pull aside. And it doesn't stop him fucking either. in fact it's dead sexy. Hey! You're hard again. Thought of Robert in Lisa's lingerie!'

'May well be.....'

'We could you know. Get him to be an altar boy too, and nothing could seem more natural than the three of us here Sunday, after Mass.'

'There's some spare white Mass vestments?'

'Plenty.'

'Well, get him here for Mass next Sunday, and show him what to do at the altar. Oh! And tell him to have those sexy pretties on under the vesture......'

                                                   ...........................................................................

It's a slippery slope that primrose path, and once you start on it there's no knowing where or when it will end......

                                                  FIN: That's all..... for now.









