Confessions and a Cassock
Confessions and a Cassock
by Sebastian Blade
All Rights Reserved
He had red hair, fine golden copper, dark green eyes. He'd been a runner in college, strong and fast. Black suited him. His slacks lay perfectly over a firm ass, the little white at his throat that promised he was a decent and upstanding man, a servant of God.
And he was.
Monday through Friday he taught at Saint Sarah's Academy. Sundays he worked in the parish, counseling and genuinely caring for people. He'd watched children, built fences, milked cows, changed tires, and read letters to people. God called him to be a servant of men, and he was.
There were some thoughts to wrestle with though. When he'd been a younger man, back in his college days, he known an uninhibited brunet who had made him wonder what path he wanted for his life.
It was Saturday. The questions always came back.
The brunet had become a lawyer. The brunet's name was August Richards.
Father Anderson knew that he shouldn't have been in the chapel. He shouldn't have been fussing over everything, watching the candles, watching the door. He shouldn't be licking his lips. His heart shouldn't have fluttered when a familiar figure cut between the sunlight outside and the cool order in the chapel. Father Anderson forgot how to breath.
August wore a gray suit, impeccable. Power and confidence.
Father Anderson wasn't sure his old friend wasn't just the devil incarnate and like the devil he was too beautiful to look away from.
August strode down the center isle towards a frozen Anderson.
The distance between them became thin as a wafer.
"Today." August said.
"No," Anderson replied. "I cannot marry you."
August made a small dismissive sound. "Hear my confession?"
"Of course," Anderson said, slightly confused. "Of course."
August smiled, entirely too predatory for someone who wanted to confess his sins.
"You know I can't," Anderson said, looking around to make sure that they were alone. "You know I can't leave my calling."
"I love you. You love me. That is your calling."
"Perhaps. So hear my confession."
Anderson nodded, but he was still off guard, and more innocent than he imagined himself to be.
August held open the door to the ornate, antique confessional. Anderson stepped into his half of the confessional world. August stepped right in behind him, pulling the door shut and sliding the lock.
This left both men facing each other, pressed up against each other.
"What are you doing," Anderson whispered.
"If I can't marry you, then I want to be your mistress," August explained, kissing Anderson's smooth jaw, down towards his throat. One hand brazenly cupped Anderson's crotch. "You're hard for me."
"No," Anderson moaned, but his body pressed forward into his friend's rough touch. "It's not ... not like that."
"How is it, Cory? How is it? Marriage is legal. You love me. You always have. I was a fool in school. I left you because I thought I needed to focus on my studies. I'd stop being a lawyer for you. Would you want me if I were a monk too?"
"I want you!" Anderson slipped, "I'm not a monk! Stop! Please. I have taken a vow of chastity."
"But we are in the confessional," August said, opening Anderson's pants one handed. "Everything can be forgiven."
"I love you," Anderson whispered, now clinging to August, face hidden against the lawyer's shoulder.
"I know. The evidence is undeniable." He stroked Anderson's cock, fast, mimicking the action one college roommate had seen his other college roommate doing. "I want you to cum for me, Cory. Give me your ejaculate."
"Will you leave me alone, if I do," Anderson bargained.
"I'll never leave you alone, Father Anderson. I need you."
"I can't leave God," Anderson panted, his release growing closer.
"Not asking you to," August promised. He got his arm around his love, holding him close as he pushed the orgasm in his lover. "I want you to marry me."
"I can't," Anderson cried, face buried against August's shoulder. He held onto big fistfuls of August's suit jacket. "I can't! I have responsibilities."
August held Anderson as he came, a hand holding the back of his head, fingers tangled in red hair. "It's alright, love. It's okay. You can still be a teacher. You can still help people. You have a Ph.D., after all. You can do anything you want, Dr. Anderson."
"Father Anderson," Cory sobbed, clinging to August.
"I'll be back next Saturday. Every Saturday until you come away with me."
"I won't be here next Saturday."
"Yes. Yes, you will."