Altar Boy’s Forbidden Confession

The soft shutters filtered afternoon light across Father Michael’s bald head as he sat in that velvet throne of a chair, his black cassock hugging his thick thighs. I stood fidgeting by the wooden desk in my red altar vest, white shirt crisp but my heart pounding like I’d already sinned. Father Declan loomed behind him, bearded jaw set, dark eyes devouring me from under his clerical collar. “Tell us everything, boy,” Michael growled, voice low and gravelly, crossing his legs to hide the tent forming. Shit, just their stares made my hole twitch under my shorts.

Declan’s hand clamped my shoulder first, firm like a benediction gone wrong. “No holding back in confession.” Before I could stammer more about my dirty dreams, Michael rose, towering, and yanked me toward the chair. Declan’s fingers hooked my waistband, shoving my shorts and undies to my knees in one rough tug. Cool air hit my bare ass, my cock springing free, already leaking. “Look at this eager slut,” Declan laughed, palming my cheeks apart right there on the Persian rug, my socks bunching at my ankles.

They wrestled me onto the chair like a sacrificial lamb, my naked body splayed across the red velvet. Michael’s cassock hiked up, unleashing his fat, veiny cock—uncut, throbbing with priestly precum glistening the head. Declan’s followed, longer, curved wickedly, slapping my thigh with a meaty thud. The room reeked of their musky arousal mixing with lingering incense, crosses on the wall mocking my whimpers. “Bless me, Fathers, for I crave your sins,” I moaned, vulnerability cracking my voice as Michael’s callused hands pinned my wrists.

Declan knelt, spreading my thighs wide, his beard scraping my inner skin as he spat on my pucker. “Tight little altar hole, begging for absolution.” Two thick fingers plunged in, stretching me raw, prostate throbbing under the assault. I bucked, sweat beading on my chest, their cassocks brushing my sides like forbidden silk. Michael fed me his cock next, salty pre-cum flooding my tongue as I gagged deep, tears streaming. “Suck your penance, boy.”

Then Declan mounted the chair behind me, his beard tickling my neck. His cockhead nudged my rim, slick with my own spit, bare and insistent. “Take Father’s cock,” he hissed, breaching me slow at first—burning stretch turning to filthy bliss as inches sank deep, balls-deep in one thrust. Wet slaps echoed off the shutters, my moans muffled by Michael’s girth face-fucking me. Sweat dripped from their bald and bearded brows onto my skin, bodies grinding in unholy rhythm.

Michael pulled out, stroking furiously, and unloaded ropes of hot cum across my face—salty, thick, marking me. Declan hammered harder, his grunts animalistic, flooding my guts with pulse after pulse of priestly seed, creampie leaking down my crack. I shuddered through my own dry orgasm, ass clenching greedily. They held me there, panting, afterglow sticky and sacred.

But little did I know, the door creaked open—another Father watching, stroking his own massive cock, ready to join the real mass…