"Father?"
The voice was timid and small, and Father Leceron looked up from his desk to see one of his young charges at the door to his office, hand timidly hanging off the doorknob.
"Yes my son?" asked the priest curiously. "Please, come in, have a seat. Shut the door behind you."
As head of St. Michael's Boarding School for Boys, Father Leceron's office was one of the largest on the grounds. It was furnished in dark, mahogany wood, with intimidatingly large furniture. Father Leceron sat behind the massive desk at the front of the room, beneath a large, menacing crucifix. He gestured to the other central article of furniture in the room, a leather armchair in front of the desk.
The boy stepped forward as the door clicked behind him and scrambled up into the chair. Its large arms and back made him appear tiny in comparison. The boy's name was Dylan, a young lad of thirteen years with curly black hair and large, dark eyes, wearing the dark, crisp uniform of the school.
"What can I help you with?" asked Father Leceron, lacing his fingers.
"Father," said Dylan, licking his lips, "I... I think something's wrong with me."
"Oh?" said Father Leceron. "Why do you think that?"
The boy stared down at the floor, not looking at the priest. His face was red with embarrassment. "Whenever I see the other boys getting changed for bed, or in the showers, I feel... I feel strange. All hot. And I get all... all funny in my..."
The boy trailed off. The redness in his face spread to his ears.
"Your penis?" Father Leceron guessed.
Dylan nodded. "Is this a sin, father? It feels very strange."
Father Leceron took a deep breath and stood, moving out from behind his desk and over to the door. He opened it and glanced out into the hall. No one was there. It was rather late; the boy must have snuck out after his curfew to come there. The priest drew his head back in and closed the door once more, locking it behind him.
"Yes," he said finally to the boy. "What you feel is the greatest sin of all, the sin of temptation to evil. But I can cleanse you of it."
The boy, who seemed nearly in tears at the priest's words, looked up sharply. "You can?" he asked, hope shining in his voice.
"I can," the priest confirmed. "But it will be painful. The sin must be burned from you. Are you prepared for it?"
The boy nodded emphatically. "I don't want to go to hell!" he pleaded.
"Alright," said the priest. "Stand up."
The boy did as he was told, scrambling nervously from the chair, his posture ramrod-straight, as enforced by the nuns and their rulers. The priest led him to the side of the chair and lifted him under the armpits, lying the boy on his stomach across one of the arms of the chair, the boy's face in the cushion.
"Now," said the priest. "Close your eyes very tightly, and do not open them until I tell you to. This will hurt, but it will be over quickly."
The boy squeezed his eyes shut, making Father Leceron smile. With long, elegant fingers, he reached for the waistband of the boy's uniform pants and drew them downward, tugging them and the white underwear over the boy's buttocks and down to the top of his thighs. The pale cheeks sat there, plump and delightful, waiting for him.
The smile curved across Leceron's face, widening, as he unzipped his fly and pulled out his penis. With one hand he spread the boy's cheeks, and with the other guided himself in, pushing his cock into the welcoming heat of the boy's anus.
Dylan squealed in pain, but Father Leceron tapped the boy's hip with his fingers. "Be as quiet as you can, my son," he warned. "Bear the pain like a man."
The boy's teeth clenched, and Father Leceron continued to push forward; this idea had been brewing in him since the boy explained his problem, and the very thought of what he could do had made the priest painfully hard himself. The boy's ass was just as tight and perfect as he had imagined it would be, and he slid himself into it with a sigh of pleasure.
When he was seated all the way inside the boy, the priest asked, "Dylan? Are you alright?" It was all he could do to keep his voice steady; his body screamed at him to thrust, to lose himself in taking the boy.
"It h-hurts," Dylan whimpered.
"I know," said the priest. "Bear it a little longer. This pain is your punishment for your sin." And he began to move. With a feeling of ecstasy, he began a series of thrusts into the young body. The boy's anus was heavenly, clenching tightly around him as though hanging on for dear life. Never before had Father Leceron felt something so tight and amazing.
His fingers returned to the boy's butt, pulling apart the cheeks so he could watch the way his cock was swallowed up, see the flexing of the muscles as he rammed himself deep inside the orifice, see them gripping as Dylan let him go again only reluctantly.
The sensation was euphoric, and Father Leceron had to work very hard to keep himself from grunting as he sped up the pace, pounding away at the tiny opening. It was all he could do to keep his sanity as he watched himself fuck the unknowing boy, spearing him over and over with swift, brutal lunges.
He wanted to let his hands roam over the boy's body, wanted to twist the small nipples, pull the strands of dark, curly hair, force the boy to cry out. But he could not. He did not want to do anything to confuse what he was doing to the boy; he was on thin enough ice as it was.
Instead he sublimated his frustration into the penetration, plunging inside with such force that he wasn't sure his legs would hold him. Dylan was making small whimpering noises now, pitiful sounds that escaped past his teeth at the fury of Father Leceron's thrusts.
Finally, Father Leceron could bear it no longer, and yanked Dylan backward on the chair, toward him, impaling the boy completely on his cock. His balls pulsed as he shot his seed deep into the boy's passage, marking him as an animal marks its territory. For a moment he stood, breathless, still inside the boy, and waited for the world to come back into focus.
When it did, he pulled himself out with a small sound of satisfaction and tucked himself away into his fly, zipping back up and fastening the button once more. He ran his fingers through his hair, combing it, trying to make himself look calm and presentable. Once his breathing began to return to normal, he pulled up Dylan's pants and patted the boy's bottom.
"There you go," he said, somehow managing a calm voice. "You can open your eyes now."
The boy did so and crawled painfully back into the seat, sitting gingerly on the cushion. His cheeks were shining with tears.
"You have in you now the Holy Seed. When it leaves you completely, you will be cleansed." Father Leceron walked slowly around his desk and seated himself with great dignity and grace. "But you must keep this very secret. No one must know about these urges you feel, or the treatment for them. Only if you maintain total secrecy can you be healed. Do you understand?"
The boy nodded tearfully, sniffling.
"Good," said the priest with a nod. "Then you may return to your dormitory and go to bed. Leave your underwear on overnight, then put it at the bottom of the hamper when you get up tomorrow. If you have these urges again, you must come see me immediately."
"Yes Father, thank you Father," whimpered the boy, sliding out of the chair and limping to the door. He unlocked it and slipped out furtively, glancing around the halls to ensure he wouldn't be detected.
The priest leaned back in his chair and glanced up at the crucifix above him. A feeling of pleased satisfaction warmed his limbs. Next time, he thought, he would take the boy over the edge of his desk, in full view of God.