Date: Sat, 24 Feb 2018 19:27:40 +0000
From: J Wize <jaywizetoo@gmail.com>
Subject: The Monastery 4

DISCLAIMER:

This story is a work of fiction and contains descriptions of explicit
sexual acts between men.

If this type of content offends you or you are under the age of 18 do not
read it.

Author's Note:

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If it is illegal to read such material where you live or if you find the
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Copyright 2018, jaywizetoo, all rights reserved.

Please contact me at jaywizetoo@gmail.com if you like. I welcome all
feedback.


* * *


The rumble of thunder outside the monastery signaled the approach of a
storm. We had endured some powerful ones during my stay with the brothers
of St. Bernard of Clairvaux. The rains would crash against the mountain
with surprising intensity. Lightning would illuminate its rocky faces and
blasts of thunder would shake the very foundations of the old building in
which we ate, slept and worshipped.

Most seem to prefer sunlight and warmth to storms and darkness. I suppose I
have always been different than my brethren. The spark of lightning thrills
me. The thunder that inevitably follows sends shivers down my spine. It is
God's power in its fullest flower; a lesson in our own vulnerability and
insignificance.

Through the roiling storm clouds above us, I caught glimpses of the full
moon through the circular windows arrayed in a ring, high above the
Sacristy floor. With each flash of lightning, the polished silver upon the
mahogany shelves below glinted and twinkled. This was the room in which the
monastery stored all of its precious things, from linens used upon the
altar, to silver wash basins, candlesticks and ancient books of liturgy and
monastery records. In one corner a glittering golden monstrance sat upon a
pedestal. A monstrance is an ornate receptacle. Its job is to carry and
display something of sacred value. It contained nothing for the moment, but
could be used to store the holy host, or even relics of great value, like a
fragment of a saint's hair or a bone, or a splinter from the cross upon
which Jesus was crucified.

I could just make out the top of its spire over the smooth, snow-white
belly above me. Two fat thighs of the same pristine shade rubbed the sides
of my head as it bobbed rhythmically, my mouth filled with soft, throbbing
flesh.

The sacristan --the keeper of this room and its treasures-- was an
albino. I had seen him looking at me many times, from down a corridor, from
across a table at dinner time, but he was an incredibly shy man, perhaps
because of his lack of pigment. His eyes were a beautifully vivid,
unearthly pink.

He moaned as I blew him, and I used my hands to explore his hairless
body. It was like caressing a living marble statue, the surface warm and
firm, silken.

He (I would later discover his name was Bryant) had the body of a painted
cherub, though he was much larger, of course. His belly was round and
large, but didn't sag at all. His chest, even as he lay back on the table,
was firm, crowned with larger, breast-like pecs and pink nipples.

His chubby hands held my head as I sucked him, the soft baritone voice
urging me on breathlessly. His cock wasn't extremely long, or even
particularly thick, as some of the others I had seen here, but it filled my
mouth perfectly, hitting the back of my throat with each inward thrust.

"Merciful God, yes," he gasped, "I never knew it could feel like this.
Your mouth, your tongue... Oh, fuck..."

The large, pink balls bounced against my chin as I slurped at his meat,
using my lips to squeeze and milk it as it passed in and out of my mouth.

Another crash of thunder and flashes of lightening illuminated the room.

I pulled off of him and my lips found the impossibly tight, immaculately
clean hole below. I let my tongue snake out and slide across the smooth
skin, sanding shivers up his pale body. I lapped at him slowly for a time,
allowing him to experience the full sensation of a man's tongue against his
most private places, and watching as shudders of pleasure made their way up
his pale body.

I sank the tip of my tongue into the monk's ass, teasing it around inside
in a slow, wet ring, again and again.

"Sweet Mary," he hissed. "Yes, brother. Get it in there deep." His hands
pulled at my head and I buried my tongue as deeply inside him as I was
able. I probed with the tip, trying to locate what he had left there for me
to find.

A small heap of communion wafers, thin and white as the monk himself, lay
next to him on the table. Only a portion of what had been there before.

Reaching up, I took the monk's fat balls in my right hand, my thumb and
forefinger forming a tight ring around the sack as I pulled them to the
side, stretching them.

The monk cried out at the sensation, and his hole widened around my
tongue. I slid in further, my lips locked around the smooth pink lips.

The sacristan pushed, and I could see his big belly tighten. Inside his
hole, I could feel the communion wafers against my tongue, clean, but
softened from being inside the monk.

"Corpus Christi manducare," he whispered, and suddenly my mouth was filled
with the communion wafers. I tasted him, and tasted the holy host, and my
head swam. The wafers dissolved against my tongue, and I swallowed, taking
the consecrated offering into my belly.

I slide my tongue back into him and, three times more, he fed me, until his
ass was completely empty. When my lips finally left his smooth asshole, I
pulled away and rose, gazing down at the snow-white, chubby body.

"Drink," he motioned down to his groin where his cock still quivered with
excitement. I leaned down and slid him into my mouth, sucking hard as the
big chest and belly rose and fell.

It seemed I had barely gotten him into my mouth fully when the pale helmet
head swelled and his cum began to flow in thick, creamy rivulets down my
throat.

"Sanguis Christi," he grunted as he orgasmed, feeding me more and more of
his hot semen. He bucked under me until it seemed he was spent.

I let his cock pop out of my mouth and looked into his blazing pink eyes.

"So endeth communion," I whispered to him, grinning.

He blushed and rolled to the side, reaching for his robe. He didn't even
fully dress himself before making haste out of the Sacristy, leaving me
standing there, completely nude, in the midst of flashing lightening, rain
from outside lashing the windows.

I reached down to take my own hard cock in my hand, but before I could
complete even one stroke, a gruff voice from the shadows behind me spoke.

"An interesting way to pass the time, brother."

The voice didn't sound at all friendly.

I chose to say nothing. Instead, I turned in place, peering intently into
the shadows.

A robed form emerged from the darkness, briefly illuminated by a flash of
lightning.

I struggled to make out the features under his hood. He walked closer to me
and then stopped a few feet away. I caught a glimpse of a blond beard.

The monk spoke, his voice rough and coarse.

"Men like you disgust me."

I blinked. "Men like me?"

"Sodomites. Perverts. Men with unnatural desires for their own kind. There
are quite a few of you here, it seems. I've seen things here that might
surprise even you."

Unlikely. But his words seemed to carry strong intent. I was suddenly very
aware that I was naked. I bent down to retrieve my robe.

"I... I was just..."

"Stop talking," he growled. "And stand up. Leave the robe where it is. It
isn't like you are capable of shame or modesty."

I did as he asked. No, he hadn't asked; he had given me an order. I felt a
trickle of fear down my spine. I knew there were straight monks here. In
fact, it was reasonable to assume that most of the brothers here would have
preferred women, if they had not already taken vows of celibacy.

He walked past me, toward the table, running a hand over its smooth, marble
surface.

"I should report this to the Abbot," he said. "But then, he might already
be aware..."

Good guess.

"Besides, I need your help."

I watched him. "My help?"

"Yes, you effeminate abomination. Your help."

His words struck me like stones, but part of me felt the slightest twinge
of lust at the roughness of the man. At his raw, unyielding, cruel
masculinity.

"I was married once," he said. "I wasn't exactly good at it. My wife left
me a few years in. Said she couldn't spend the rest of her life in a
loveless relationship."

"What does that have to do with me?" I asked.

"You're going to punish me, brother." he replied, not looking at me. His
attention seemed to be focused on the table. "You're going to help me purge
my uncleanness; my sins."

"Your sins? You think your marriage ended because of your sins?"

"Of course it did, idiot." He turned again, pacing the space behind the
table. "She left me for another man. A... gentler man. A kinder one, I
suppose. I was cruel to her."

I looked at him. He probably saw the accusation in my eyes.

"No, I never hit her. I was just... unkind. She... She tried to love me,
but I wasn't worth of it. I threw it back in her face.

I remained silent for a moment, letting him pace.

"I thought about other women while I was with her, when I was in her bed. I
imagined fucking someone else; sometimes friends of hers, sometimes women
I'd met at the store or on the street. I even imagined fucking her sisters,
her mother. Anyone but her. I felt trapped when I was with her, and she
knew it."

"I think I understand," I offered.

"No, I don't think you do," he looked back at me. I still couldn't make out
any of his features beneath the robe and hood.

"I was the worst sort of man imaginable. I wanted sex but not love. I
believed that sex was how a real man expressed himself, how he proved he
was a man at all. I wanted to take for myself what I wanted, whether she
felt like giving it away or not. I pushed her when we had sex. It wasn't
quite by force, but in my heart, that's what I wanted. She sensed that and
shrank from me. That's how I ended up here. When she left; when a court
ended our marriage, I had no option but to join the church and cleanse
myself from this stain."

I nodded. "So you want help confessing? I'm not a priest, brother. I can't
absolve you."

"I don't want your sympathy. You think I'm telling you all of this so you
can forgive me?" He made a sound of disgust. "What I want, you're going to
give me. You're going to take me as I took her; to hurt me as I hurt her."

He moved, then, leaning over the table, spread-eagled.

"Turn me into one of you; a sodomite. Show me the meaning of perversion and
filth. Make me feel like she felt, used for another man's pleasure,
loveless and one-sided."

There he was, his dark robe little more than a shadow atop the marble
surface. I moved forward to stand behind him. A loud clap of thunder
announced my approach.

"You want me to fuck you," I said.

"Do it," he commanded. "And don't be gentle. I'm not interested in being
your lover, you twisted piece of garbage. I'm interested in punishment; in
penance. And I need your cock to do that."

I felt something then that I had not experience since I arrived at the
monastery: anger. It annoyed me that he assumed I would do this. It
insulted me that he had no doubt someone could turn him into one such as
myself. I gritted my teeth. What angered me most was that I felt desire,
despite this. There was a strong masculinity about him, negative as it
might be.

Seeing him there, presenting himself to me like this made my cock harden. I
had never adopted any role with another man other than that of a submissive
boy catering to the desires of older men. But in a strange way, this
reversal had a similar flavor. He was still in charge, still giving
commands.

"Do it, brother sodomite. Don't be a coward," he rasped.

I lifted the hem of his robe and flipped the fabric over his back, exposing
a muscular ass covered in blond fuzz. MY cock jumped as I reached out to
run a hand over the hard flesh. The monk flinched at my touch.

I decided I had better play the part I had been assigned. I wasn't worried
about the Abbot finding out, since he had essentially ordered me to find
ways of seducing the men here; even the ones who had no interest in their
own sex.

But it was clear to me that if the secret goings-on at the monastery were
to come to light, the place (and the brotherhood itself) would probably
fall apart and descent into a scandal of epic proportions.

Reaching down, I took his cock in my hand. It was warm and thick, with
balls that hung low, draping over my wrist. The monk jerked. It was
probably the first time another man had touched him there. I pulled back on
the swelling organ. I could almost see him struggling to resist the
involuntary reactions of his own body, which betrayed him as I squeezed his
manhood.

It felt odd standing there, holding the cock of a presumably straight monk
who loathed everything I represented.  But it was also exhilarating,
potent.

I moved forward, then, dipping my fingers into the silver bowl in which the
holy oil rested, coating them with the golden liquid. I slathered a bit of
it on my cock, and the rest I applied to that perfectly formed ass. I could
feel his tension. Each touch of my hand, each movement of my body against
his caused him apprehension and discomfort.

"Get on with it," he growled.

My jaw tightened and I pushed the head of my cock against his ass.

Then I drove it all the way in in one powerful thrust. My groin slapped
firmly against his ass cheeks and he cried out, though I imagine he had not
intended to.

He didn't complain, to his credit. I had to hesitate a moment. I had never
done this before. The sleeve that enveloped me was hot, slick, impossibly
tight, like an oiled calfskin glove against my sensitive flesh

It was magnificent. I looked down at the muscled cheeks, split apart by my
hard cock. The monk's lower back shined with sweat.

"Is this what you wanted, brother?" I asked.

He didn't answer.

I slid myself out of him until only the head remained in his hole, then
buried it again to the hilt, drew myself out and thrust back in in long,
firm plunges.

"Is this what you want?" I repeated. "My queer cock up your straight ass?"

"Yes, damn it," he nodded. "Punish me. I am no man. I am weak, worthless."
I jerked his cock roughly as I plowed him. "Fuck.... Yes, boy. Make me take
it. Make me pay."

My balls slapped against his as I raped that perfect blond ass,
masturbating him as I thrust my young cock as deeply inside him as I could.

His breath came in ragged pants as I buggered him, my thrusts getting
faster and rougher as he loosened under the assault. I could feel him
trying to tighten his muscles, but we both knew it was no use. He was being
bred whether he liked it or not.

His thighs hit the edge of the table as I slammed into him. Thunder crashed
and the room lit up with blue light; the sizzle of a bolt of lightning that
hit near the monastery grounds. Neither of us even heard it. I pushed his
robe further up his back, sliding my hand under it up to his neck and
shoulders. My fingers tightened in his thick hair and I yanked his head
back, driving myself into the monk's unwilling ass again and again.


From the sounds he was making, I was certain he was nearing an orgasm. His
balls had drawn up and his thick cock jerked against the table's underside.

Suddenly, he pushed backward. The movement was unexpected, violent. I
nearly lost my balance.

The monk whirled to face me. His hood hid his features, but I imagined I
was about to be attacked. This had been a mistake. I raised my hands in a
supplicating gesture.

A strong, blond-furred arm shot out and I felt his hand on the back of my
neck. Before I could react, he spun me in place and shoved me toward the
table, back first.  I felt the coolness of the marble against my shoulders.

As I watched him standing there beyond my throbbing cock, he lifted his
robe over his legs, his midsection, his chest, and threw the material over
his left shoulder, leaving only his head covered by the dark material.

I got my first look at his physique. He was lean; leaner than anyone I had
seen here so far, and muscular. His frame wasn't large, but it was in
perfect proportion. The crests of his hips curved down to blend into
powerful thighs, and a hard cock jutted out in front of him. His abdomen
was rippled, so that I wondered if there were an ounce of fat within his
entire body. His chest, covered in blond fur, also rippled and bounced as
he flexed it. In the dimness of the Sacristy, illuminated by flashes of
lightning, his body looked predatory and feral.

He moved toward the table and I braced myself for an assault, sexual or
otherwise.

Then he surprised me. Rather than taking that position between my spread
legs to which I had become so accustomed over the past months, he sprang
upon the table with me and straddled my hips with those muscled legs.

I stared up at him, but before I could say a word, he squatted over my
groin, reached down and took my cock in his hand, guiding it to his ass.

I was dumbstruck. He had not surrendered to his animal lusts, as I expected
he would. He sank down and I closed my eyes, pleasure washing over me as
his molten insides enveloped me. I groaned.

He thrust downward as his knees touched the table on either side of my
waist. I was all the way in him, watching those abs compress and stretch
and flex. He rode me roughly, like a writhing, undulating whore atop her
trick in some forgotten alley, more animal than human.

The lightning was coming so rapidly now that the two of us appeared caught
beneath a strobe light, our motions erotic and lewd, like those in a
pornographic movie. My hands gripped his hips, my chest and belly rising
and falling as I fucked him --no-- as HE fucked me.

I had never cum this way. I hadn't been sure that I even could, under these
circumstances, but as he rose and fell, impaling himself on my young
manhood, I felt myself drawn closer to the edge of the abyss.

"Oh God," I gasped, "I... I'm getting close!"

"That's right, brother. Cum inside me. Fill me up with your faggot
seed. Shoot that unclean load inside me and complete my penance. Turn me
into one of you for a night. "Show me how you love to debase yourself and
the others, you degenerate.  That's it... Can you feel it Can you feel the
Devil welling up inside you, pushing you, luring you to spill your seed
into another man's body, like the men of Sodom, at the doors to Lot's home,
crying out to him to release the angels so that could be raped and
degraded?"

I was losing control. I could feel my balls churning, the urge to breed
this monk on top of me, to fill him up with scalding hot semen as only a
boy my age could. When I could hold on no longer, I let out a bellow that I
realized others might be able to hear all the way from the dormitory wing.

In that moment, I didn't care if the entire monastery woke up. Part of me
didn't want to give this man what he wanted; this twisted man who loathed
everything I was, but the other part of me knew I had no choice. I had
already passed the point of no return.

I could feel the hot cum passing the base of my cock, traveling up the
shaft and gushing into the straight monk's hole in powerful, throbbing
contractions, each a bolt of electricity that shot up my spine.

It seemed to go on forever. He kept up his rough, up-and-down pumping even
after I was drained. I could see that he was near an orgasm again, though
he had not even touched himself.

"Oh, fuck. FUCK! Mea culpa! Mea maxima culpa!" the monk cried, then rose up
off of me, my cock popping from his hole, and scrambled forward to jam the
swollen head of his cock into my mouth. It exploded with hot cum; enough to
surprise and choke me. I gulped the first mouthful down but his cock
slipped from my lips and the next jet of potent cream splashed against my
chin, my upper lip, my nose and forehead.

He slipped the head back in my mouth and his third and fourth gusts went
down my throat, coating my tongue with his angry essence, but the rest of
his cum coated my cheeks and face as he pulled out again.  I couldn't
recall the last time I had seen such a massive load from a man of his size.

When his balls were finally drained, he pushed himself back off the table,
letting his robe fall and cover his sweating body.

Taking in long, gulping breaths of air, he watched me from beneath his
hood. I wondered if I would ever see his face. I expected him to say
something, gloat, insult, rant, anything.

But instead, he spat upon me. The clear saliva landed on my softening,
drooling cock, as if to put the final punctuation on his contempt.

Then he turned and strode off, vanishing into the shadows.

I don't remember how long I lay there, listening to the storm rage outside,
but when at last I arose, licking the cum from my fingers as I wiped it
from my defiled face, I hoped only one thing:

I hoped that he would need punished again, very soon.

Sic erat pax.

* * *