Sex in the Sky

Not every bad day starts out with a sign. What turned out to be the ruination of life as I knew it started beautifully. I was getting married. Unlike other grooms who are about to take the leap into married life, I had no second thoughts about the woman with whom I shared a soul. I could feel her heart beating when I breathed, and she anticipated my every thought. Our love was a blessed one, and no one doubted it. Juniper was the loveliest woman I had ever known, and had a wit that could cut a man to ribbons if she chose (which she never did), and was smarter than I’ll ever be. She was also sweet, and though she liked to pretend she was just another violent, angry soldier, her natural kindness gave her away. She was good for me, and she knew it. Juniper gave me the freedom to feel.

She and I had decided to get married before she was sent to war; I think we were both so eager to final taste those marital pleasures we’d been teased about since we started dating that we simply couldn’t wait. Who wants to abstain until the war is won? Nobody. Juniper teased me constantly that as an athlete I had to have picked up some sort of disease from my groupies even if I was still a virgin in every sense of the word. Hah. Groupies can’t compare to Juniper. And when this day was over I would be a virgin no longer. Finally. The wait was worth it, but by His Majesty’s back hair it was hard.

We had decided on an outdoor wedding, to enjoy the last of our sweet green turf before it turned brown with autumn. It was also a subtle thumbing of our noses to the Nitkistani forces who happened to be in the process of invading our country. Juniper’s idea, of course. Who cares if you could annhilate our city within minutes, Nitkistan? We’re gonna get married in style.

The day was perfect for our wedding. My whole raucous family was there, even those from the East Coast, and Juniper’s clan (she called them her tribe. There were a lot of them) had managed to match all their clothing to the red and violet flowers Juniper had picked out to decorate the benches and altar. The sky was bluer than a jay and the clouds were far away and white. To my love-drunk mind even the forest that surrounded the clearing of my back yard looked benevolent in its green finery. Juniper was resplendent, radiant, beautiful beyond my capability to describe. Her mahogany hair fell loose around her face, her deep brown eyes sparkled at me, telling me how excited her was to see me on the way up to the alter. Her smile, pearlescent in the bright daylight, was turned up slightly higher on one side, teasing me; I think she knew I almost teared up at the site of her. My bride. My wife.

My foot was on the step onto the wedding platform when the first of the gunfire was heard. We all hit the ground, and I pulled Juniper underneath me with little regard for the silk drece that clung so gracefully to her. The sound of helicopters was a low drone in the distance, growing ever louder.

“No, not now,” Juniper whispered in my chest. I would hear tears in her voice.

I kissed her hair, which was all I could reach from squashing her underneath me. “We can sign the legal documents and skip the ceremony, you know,” I whispered back. “We can’t put our families in danger.” I felt her nod and looked over at the monk who was splayed out flat beside us. He was shaking.

“Brother, we’ll just sign the paper,” I told him. He nodded and went on his knees to grab it and shoved it at us along with the pen. We scribbled our names and dated it. Bursts from automatic weapons were our serenade.

Juniper wiggled out from under me (a move that would have been dangerous to me in other circumstances) and grabbed the microphone. “Family and friends,” she shouted, “we’ve decided to cut this hullabaloo a little short!” She waved our marriage license over her head. The was scattered cheering in response. “Get out of here while you still can, loved ones, and be safe!”

Be safe. Famous last words. In the time it took for me to grab Juniper’s hand and race back down the petal-strewn aisle, three Nitkistani helicopters had landed on the street. The wedding party was scattering into the woods, but Juniper was pulling me towards the house. I knew what she had in mind, but was still uneasy with the fact that we were running towards the trouble.

“Jun,” I pleaded, “Please let’s let the house take care of itself. We can’t possibly fight off three copters full of Nitkistani. What about your parents?”

She threw me a look. “My parents will be doing the same thing. As will yours.”

She was right, of course. My mother tossed me a shotgun the intant we stepped into the kitchen. “I would say I’m not happy to see you here,” she commented, “which is true, but we’re going to need all the help we can get.”

Juniper’s father yelled from the den for us to cover the garage. I silently cursed my luck for having bought that brand new hovercar. I had thought to celebrate one of the happiest days of my life by getting a vehicle fit for a family. Now it was just begging the Nitkis to come steal it, and see what other treasures my house had to offer while they were in the neighborhood.

“Hurry,” Juniper said, tearing off her heels and grabbing a rifle and a box of rounds for the both of us.

I grabbed her wrist. “Jun, I—” I faltered, gazing into her eyes. How do you tell the woman you were hoping to spend the rest of your life with that all the rest of your life could only be an hour? That you wished with every cell in your body that those damn troops had landed on someone else’s wedding?

“Oh, love,” she breathed, “I know.” She kissed me, a good solid kiss, with tongues twining and bodies crushed together and blood pressure rising. She did know. And in that kiss was something even more frightening. I knew, without a doubt, that she would rather die than be taken prisoner. The Nitkis are more than cruel to their captives.

We had just barely set up a passable barricade on the garage door when the glass in the front of the house shattered and I heard my father cry out.

“Dad!” I yelled, racing back to the den with Jun on my heels. ‘No no no no no’ I thought. Not my father. Not my family. My jaw was clenched so hard my teeth hurt.

I never got to see whether my father was okay or not. Four enemy soldiers burst through the front door that Juniper’s parents were guarding and pointed guns at us. What came out of those guns were not bullets, because bullets don’t spark through the air, or send pain through your entire body, or make you lose control of your bladder. I finally understood the term “wracked with pain,” as I screamed through my clenched teeth, my body convulsing and my consciousness soaring away on throbbing wings.

I cannot accurately recount what happened for the next week, or it may have been as long as a month. I was fully conscious on occasion, in a great deal of pain, and usually strapped to a wall. I remember being so angry with the gods that they would take me away from the people who needed me. I remember hitting a man, or it may have been three. I know they were Nitkis because they all had gray hair. Only Nitkis have gray hair from birth, like granite. I think their hearts might be granite, too.

I was naked a lot. I only remember this because I was very uncomfortable with nudity, which had always made me the butt of jokes in the locker room. I felt that the only one who should have the onus and privilege of seeing me nude should be Juniper. I think I was given medical tests of some sort. I could only understand enough Nitkan to pass my high school exams, and couldn’t speak it to save my life. The stuff they stuck in me didn’t help.

My thoughts were consumed with Juniper. I knew she was still alive, which was the only thing that kept me from finding a way to end my life. I couldn’t feel that she was in pain, but maybe I was too far away from her. Was she safe? Did she know where I was? Was my family alright? Was she with my family? Whatever chemicals I was given kept me in a near-constant dream state, and those dreams were full of Juniper. Sometimes I was lost enough in those dreams to be happy.

The beginning of my journey back to lucidity started out with a human fishbowl. I woke up sweaty from one of my more vivid Juniper dreams on red velvet, one of my arms asleep from being crushed under my torso and my sleepwear (a.k.a. some cheap underwear strapped on me by those mysterious Nitkistanis) was wedged as far up my butt as they could go. I had my nose practically buried into my armpit, and there was a bright, though pleasantly warm, light that fought its way past my eyelids. I was about to curl up into a better sleeping position and get back to the very pleasant fantasy world I had just abandoned when I heard a tapping noise. I tried to ignore it, unwedged my underwear, and turned over. The tapping grew more insistent.

“Mmph,” I grumbled, levering myself to a sitting position and rubbing my eyes. Was it my imagination, or could I hear a crowd nearby? A yawn nearly split my jaw, and I felt as though my eyelashes had been braided together.

“Ey!” a male voice said. The sound was muffled, like trying to speak to someone through a window. “Ey, shatin!”

“Shatin” is a Nitkani pet name for a boy, a rough translation being “beautiful kid.” I was neither beautiful nor a boy, so I paid no heed.

“Shatin! Ey, you!” There was a meaty smack of flesh on glass. I opened my eyes.

I was in a large glass box. The red velvet I had been lying on was a fainting couch, and there was nothing else in the box besides a pitcher of water and a glass. There were gray-haired people surrounding the thick glass walls, some looking at me, some simply milling around. The crowd was dense, but I could see the tops of other glass boxes in the distance. Was this some kind of Nitkistani expo fair? “Hey, fellow countrymen, look what we picked up across the border!”

I turned to see who was tapping on my box. Two middle-aged men were staring at me with odd looks on their faces. They laughed and elbowed each other when they saw me looking at them. “Ey shatin, dos iebsta janasviv!” they yelled at me, waggling their eyebrows.

That was not vocabulary I learned in school. I understood that they wanted something fom me, I just didn’t know what. So I stared.

“Dos iebsta janasviv, ir mab!” One of the men flashed money at me.

I did manage to learn a few dirty words in Nitkan, and “ir mab” is “your dick.” I gave them the universal sign for “go fuck yourself” and my fiercest glare. The man with the money laughed, and his friend grabbed his crotch and licked the glass. I recoiled, disgusted, and the men laughed and sauntered off.

My repreive was short, as the hecklers were quickly replaced by other men who called me “shatin” and made incomprehensible suggestions involving my mab. I curled up on the couch and sought my connection with Juniper. It was far, but steady.

“Oh, Jun,” I whispered. “If you could see me now.” I almost fell into that beckoning despair the grasped at me with fingers that aroused my worries for my family, my panic of not knowing where I was or how I got there…I managed to snap my emotions shut just before a sob formed in my throat. ‘It has been a traumatic experience, but not the worst,’ I told myself. It was a trick I used when I played space hockey. Adrenaline, anger, disappointment and their derivatives can really mess with my game if I don’t keep a handle on them. Despair and worry, I told myself, are just more of that debilitating emotion stuff. Not for me.

After what felt like hours of being stared at by strange men I noticed a thinning in the crowds. I guessed the Prisoner of War Museum was shutting down for the day, and felt safe to grab the pitcher of water from where it sat in a corner.

I hadn’t realized how thirsty I was until I had already consumed two glasses full of water, then decided to abandon the glasses and drink straight from the pitcher. Why is it that as soon as you drink a lot of water you feel like you have to pee or burst? The only way out of this stupid box, it looked like, was to fly out the top—a good ten feet above my reach.

I thought for a minute. I’m no gymnast, but my vertical leap is nothing to scoff at and all sky hockey players are at least limber, if not authentically flexible. I also knew from experience that with enough momentum one could run up a wall enough to flip off it. And if I placed the ugly couch at a position to use it as an extra stepping stone up the wall, I might be able to leverage myself out of it. And there were fewer crotch-grabbers around to rape me if I succeeded.

After the majority of the people in the building had migrated away from my little fishbowl I shoved the couch into a corner so that the raised side was against a wall. There was an itch in the back of my brain, as if someone were watching me, but when I looked around nobody was paying me any special attention. I bounced on the couch a couple of times to get the feel of it, then got ready to escape.

“Okay, you can do this,” I told myself. I started with my back against the opposite wall and burst into a run. One foot on the couch, the next on the arm, the ball of my right foot on one wall, push myself off and up to the other wall, one more step and my foot is slipping and reach! I grabbed the wall, but it was too thick for me to get my whole hand around it. My body went crashing into the corner and I lost my grip, falling backwards onto the couch and bouncing onto the floor. There would be bruises later.

This time I tried starting from the corner with the couch and running around to the other corner to pick up speed. Almost. I got one good grip but lost my momentum before I could swing a foot up to the top of the wall. Plus that itching, tickling sensation got stronger and distracted me.

Third time’s the charm. Do it for Juniper. Use your arms. Ignore the pain. Lactic acid is your brain trying to tell you to wimp out. For Juniper. I put all my energy into this last burst, launching myself up the wall, my eyes on the ledge. I managed to hook one arm over the wall and grabbed the outside corner of the glass with my other hand (that was incredibly painful), and like a child trying to climb a tree I shimmied and wiggled a leg up onto the wall and pulled myself to straddle it. That damn itching was about to drive me crazy.

Without checking to see if anyone was coming to put the unruly foreign specimen back in its box, I tried to gently lower myself down the other side enough to drop the rest of the way down. I failed on the gentle part. I scraped my fingers on the edge of the glass, almost crushed my dick trying to get both legs over to one side of the wall, banged my chin and subsequently bit my tongue when my arms gave out and I fell about fifteen feet to the ground, and twisted my ankle when I landed, which caused me to fall on my ass onto a very concrete floor. I gave myself the luxury of a very long groan as I pushed myself to my feet.

That’s when I saw the big guy. Another Nitki, but larger than the typical male of both our nationalities. I’m six foot three when I’m barefoot, and this guy had to be taller than me by at least three inches, and more massively built. He could have crushed me with one fist. He looked meaner than a junkyard dog. He was watching me. I froze.

Then he smiled, as if he thought I was playing a trick on the POW Museum keepers, and pointed to a green sign over a door. I couldn’t read what it said, but it looked like an exit. Maybe he was a sympathizer. I took off, favoring my ankle a bit. I was a few feet from freedom when I saw something spark in my peripheral vision. Damn museum security carries stun guns, too? I took a rolling dive toward the door, hitting all the bruises I’d already created. No time for groaning this time, though; my hand was on the door handle, the door was opening, and I could see an alley beyond it. That’s when someone grabbed my arm and threw me backwards.

‘Hell, no,’ I thought. I am not getting stunned and moved back into a fishbowl again. I was tempted to yell “You’ll never take me alive!” but I thought they might take it as a challenge and prove me wrong. I had Juniper to live for. So I let myself get angry.

Juniper termed my anger “The Red Rage,” saying I was like a beestung bull in that I lash out viciously at anything nearby. In my family and social circle that is never allowed. In space hockey that is only accepted when we’re losing badly, and then only against the other team and as long as the ref can’t tell. As a prisoner in the middle of Nitkis with wicked stun guns it’s a necessity.

The man hanging onto my arm received a fist in the nose. I got a hold on his belt and threw him at two other men who were aiming stunners at me, then grabbed a young potted palm near its top and swung in like a club. Three men went down and a stunner skitted into my path. It had eight rounds in it, six of which hit their intended targets. I tackled another man and shoved his head into the concrete, and was grabbing his stunner when I realized I had been closed off from the exit. For every man I had knocked aside there were two more who took his place. I paused, encircled by grey-headed, flint-eyed soldiers who clearly had no intention of letting me go anywhere. And then there was a needle being jammed into my neck, and everything went fuzzy.

There was an irritating voice jabbering rapidly in Nitkan and a lot of catcalls. My brain felt heavy in my skull, and my limbs were sluggish. I was nude again and in the fetal position. At first I thought I was back in the glass tank and it had been shrunk as a punishment. I stood up slowly, my head swirling, and noticed that this box had handles like a litter. Ahead of me I could see a stage and a short man prancing around with a microphone. The jabbering guy. Nitkan has a different inflection than my native tongue, but I got the sense that something was being auctioned. I forced my eyelids to stay open wide enough to spot another box like the one I was in sitting on the far side of the stage.

There was a boy inside who looked barely past puberty, his body gangly and awkward. He wasn’t Nitkani by the looks of it, but he smiled at the audience I couldn’t see like it was a sea of family faces. I looked closer and revised. I don’t know many people who masturbate in front of family. As the barker yammered and the crowd roared as the boy struck poses in his glass box, managing once to get one foot stretched above his head and wiggling his pelvis around. The crowd got louder. I didn’t have the energy to be appalled.

The barker seemed to come to a decision on a bidder and the boy was let out of the box. The winner was a man well past the age when he should have been thinking about sex. The barker kept talking and the old man had the audacity to lead the boy away by his erection. The boy looked like he was giggling. I was going to be sick.

Honestly, it only registered to me that I would have a similar fate when I was taken onto the stage. I was still reeling from getting drugged, and the lights and noise was overwhelming. I sat down in my box and heard a collective groan.

The barker teased me, I think, but I let my head rest on my knees and closed my eyes. I think the bidding on me was much less enthusiastic. The barker banged on the box right at my ear level. Ow. ‘You want a reaction?’ I thought. ‘Let’s see how you like this, you tiny ponce.’

I stood up to my full height, feeling a glower fix itself on my face. The barker was less than a foot in front of me. The next time he turned toward me I yelled at the top of my lungs and slammed against the glass. “Everybody “jumped, and I couldn’t keep a triumphant grin from my face. I knew I was a sight, covered in bruises and disheveled from my recent ordeals. The noise dimmed for a minute, then I heard a voice call out a number. The barker mopped his greasy little forehead and continued the bidding. He got too close to me again, and I kneed the glass where his head was. I heard him call me a shatin and I responded with a filthy hand gesture. Damned if I was going to make this easy for him.

Carl was now holding on the showerhead for support, and Patrick began to slap his ass. His head was leaning down, and he began to beg Patrick for more. Patrick loved slapping Carl’s ass; his dominant side was rising quickly. After around ten slaps, he penetrated Carl with his middle finger. Carl nearly left his feet when he felt Patrick’s extremity travel deep inside him, and he crooned deeply. Patrick used Carl’s cock to move him in circles as he began to rotate his finger inside his ass. He massaged his prostate, which caused Carl to look straight ahead, eyes about to burst from his skull.

Carl could still make out what was happening in the showers, though. Through the sounds of the spraying showerheads the clamor of men fucking and sucking could be heard. He could see Brady fucking one guy, and being fucked by another. The Italian had the younger guy on his knees, ass high in the air, fucking him as the younger guy sucked cock. The two guys who were hugging before were right next to them now on the floor in an incredible sixty-nine. Farther off through the steam and mist Carl could see an extraordinary group circle-jerk taking place. He could also see Alex, who was riding Bill’s hard-on as he straddled him; at the same time he was sucking the cocks of two other men. Everyone else seemed a blur, but the groans and whines of pleasure filled the room.

Patrick removed his finger from Carl’s ass, and roughly pushed him to his knees under the hot water. Again he slapped his immense black cock repeatedly against Carl’s face, turning him into a whimpering captive. Patrick knew that Carl was his for the taking, and he commanded him to suck his erection. Carl quickly complied, ravishing Patrick’s cock, taking it deep down his throat, and jacking him with both hands. He simply devoured his cock, and Patrick took his head in his hands, fucking Carl’s mouth while watching the action going on around him.

He could see Alex taking Bill’s fucking like a real professional, and gazed as the two men shot their cum all over Alex’s chest. The same two guys then knelt down and pumped his cock with each one of their hands. Alex could take no more; Bill screamed, and pumped Alex’s butt full of sizzling cum. Alex leaned back, and shot three or four arcs of fluid high into the air. He wailed as the force of his orgasm shredded his body. Carl continued sucking and pumping Patrick’s cock. Every now and then Patrick could make out a guy cumming during the circle jerk, which really got to him. He paced himself as he fucked Carl’s mouth, not wanting to climax too soon.

Patrick looked at the two men in the sixty-nine next to them. They had their arms wrapped around each others asses and the muscles flexed as they squeezed tight. It was as if they were wrestling as they sucked each other. It seemed they were trying to see who could make the other orgasm first. He saw the Italian now cumming all over the younger guy’s back and buns while receiving the loads of two other’s on his shoulders. The men in the sixty-nine came together, with one of the men cumming in the other’s mouth as the first simply stroked the other off. The sexual intensity was beyond belief. Men were getting off, and then moving to other men, seeming to never lose their erections. These were men that simply loved men.

And Carl continued to make love to Patrick’s cock. Patrick looked down to see Carl’s erection pointing directly upwards, long and hard. Now some of the men were moving out of the shower and into other parts of the gym. Patrick reached down, took Carl’s cock in one hand, and used it to pull him to his feet. Carl then led him out of the shower to his locker. He would let Carl know now how much he would own him. First, Patrick snapped a leather studded cock strap around the base of Carl’s cock and balls, and he attached a long leash to the ring at the bottom.

He then bound Carl’s wrists behind his back, and finished by placing a ball gag in his mouth, holding it tight with a leather strap, which buckled behind his head. Patrick led Carl by the leash down to the sauna, and they entered the steamy room. They were alone now. He instructed Carl to sit on the bench, and knelt between his legs. Carl breathed deeply through his nose, and Patrick began to tease him, asking if this was what he wanted, telling him that he would be his man.

Carl could only nod his head in agreement. Patrick ran his fingers along Carl’s tight balls, making his man tense with pleasure. Patrick loved to suck a gorgeous cock, and the one in his hands was as fine as he had ever seen. He licked the huge head of that cock, curling his tongue in circles around it. The strap had brought that massive erection to the point of total hardness. It felt like steel in Patrick’s hands. He began to lick up and down the sides as Carl thrashed his head back and forth. Saliva spilled out of Patrick’s mouth, and he used his tongue to lubricate Carl’s cock, getting it soaked in spit. Beads of sweat began to form on their bodies now. Patrick wrapped both his hands around Carl’s cock, and squeezed as hard as he could. Carl groaned through his gag. Patrick now took the head of Carl’s cock in his mouth, and rotated his tongue in circles. He removed one hand, and began to lower his lips farther onto Carl’s cock.

Patrick loved sucking cock, and he was good at it. He could sense that it would be only a few seconds before Carl lost it all, and he fiendishly halted his actions, taking his mouth off, and holding Carl’s cock tight. Patrick stood, and he removed his hands from that lovely cock. Sweat was now pouring off of both of them. He pulled Carl just to the end of the bench, and raised his legs. Carl knew what was about to happen, and although somewhat frightened, he knew he desired it. Patrick began to rub the tip of his cock up and down the crack of Carl’s ass.

He stopped at his tunnel, and he could feel the concentrated wisps of hair teasing the tip of his hard-on. Patrick grinned at Carl, and he paused to remove the gag from his mouth. Carl instantly began to beg for Patrick to fuck him, to penetrate him, to make love to him. Their mouths met in a deep kiss, and Patrick began to enter him. Carl whimpered as he felt Patrick’s muscle begin to push inside him, and he was able to relax, escaping the initial pain. Patrick pushed deeper and deeper inside him, and his ass felt as hot as a furnace. He reached behind Carl and released the bonds holding his wrists, and Carl responded by tightly grabbing Patrick’s ass.

Patrick began to fuck him, slowly at first, and then gradually increasing his speed and intensity. Carl was in a state of total pleasure. Another man had never felt so good to him. He pulled Patrick deeper with each thrust. The combination of the heat, the sweat, and Patrick had transformed him into a total animal. He began to beg Patrick to give it to him harder. Now several other men had entered the sauna, drawn to it by the sound of passion. They gathered around the pair, about five guys in all, stroking their hard cocks, urging on Patrick and Carl. Patrick was now stroking Carl’s cock as he fucked him, and this quickly brought him to the edge. Patrick was near orgasm also, and he craned his neck downward, taking Carl’s cock in his mouth as he continued to fuck him. Carl felt his orgasm hit; it tore through him like a butcher knife.

With one last thrust, Patrick felt the first stream of semen flow through his cock into Carl’s ass. Carl screamed like a man in terror; his fluid poured into Patrick’s waiting mouth. His orgasm was uncontrollable; Patrick’s cock in his ass prevented him from any type of authority over his body. Patrick did his best to drink all of his cum, and he continued to pump his own load into Carl. Patrick felt a fresh load of cum splatter onto his back as one of the guys surrounding them exploded. He felt a hand cup his balls, urging even more cum out of him.

Sweat and semen flew everywhere as two more of the men blasted their loads onto Carl’s face. Patrick finished off Carl, who was still moaning deeply. He pulled his head off Carl’s cock, and he immediately felt someone grabbing him by the back of the head. Patrick instinctively opened his mouth, and felt a nice warm cock fill it. This man came right away, and Patrick sucked it all down greedily. The last guy sat next to Carl, and with a few quick pumps of his hand, Carl had him cumming also. All of these other men soon left, thanking Patrick and Carl for the show.

They could have stayed; the party was to last until morning. But it was now after midnight, and they wanted to have some time to themselves. Patrick and Carl stepped into the cab, hand in hand. They sped to Carl’s place, where they spent the night talking, resting, and making love.

Just one day had started a new chapter in Carl’s life. He was totally happy with Patrick, and they soon moved into a new house together. Carl would never see his therapist again.

Hell, other boys and I had fooled around with each other for years and all the while we dreamed of pussy. And when I finally got a taste of pussy dipping I still found it the most satisfying sensation in the world.

I thought about Aunt Polly”"s lips and tried to compare them to Paul”s. I could not. Paul”s were now. They were wet and sucking softly and oh so good. I found my hips making fucking motions toward his mouth. The tsurge began way down at the base of my cock.

Paul held the throbbing head over the chalice and miked every drop to mix with the preachers.

Eventually everyone except Tom who had piped his load into the preach”s rectum added his contribution into the chalice. Reverend Jim took our offering into the small office at the end of the hall. He had a desk, a couple of chairs, a small refrigerator and a blender. He took a bottle of milk and a can of Hershey”s syrup from the refrigerator. He filled the chalice twice from the milk and made sure that the residue went into the blender. He poured a dollop of syrup into the mix and a teaspoon of malt powder. He added two scoops of ice cream from the freezer. It was obvious this ritual had been performed before.

The blender whirled and hummed. The mixture became frothy.

I wondered who would have the nerve to take a sip. I knew Paul would. No one else had taken another”s member in his mouth or seemed libable to swallow another man”s juice.

Preach took the pitcher from the blender and poured into eight small Dixie cups, moving back and forth until the mixture was evenly distributed. Each cup was approximately half full.

“One for all,” said the Preach. “We drink the eucharist.”

“All are one,” said the boys.

“An offering given is an offering received.”

“Even to the last drop,” said the boys.

“It is a gift greatly savored.”

“This communion contains the milk of creation, a part of me joins a part of you. We are one as we become one.”

“Amen!”

“We partake of The Elixir of Creation.”

The preacher raised his cup to his lips and sipped.

The priest and each boy followed suit.

I was mesmerized by the ritual. Taken in by the actions of the others, I sipped from my cup. It was, in its way, a beautiful thing, a religious thing. The taste was like any other malt. I knew I was tasting a potion made the combined sperm of four other boys, the preacher and the priest. I knew in a way I had taken into myself something that only a cocksucker could swallow. Whether my lips had encircled a cock or not I swallowed the results, not of one but of six others and my own.

When the last drop was swallowed and each had licked his lips, they shook my hand and welcomed me into The Society of the Sensual Jesus.

That afternoon I went home with Paul and took his extended cock into my mouth. Paul patted my head lovingly as I struggled with that long tube of flesh and moved my tongue around it. Though I dreaded his first throbs of ecstasty, I ignored his warning and hung on as he shot wad after wad of thick, slimy stuff into my throat. The taste was not as bad as I feared, though I found it slightly bitter. A chill went down my spine. I continued mouthing his softening cock as I nursed his cock as a suckling calf would its mother and it was good.

***

One day I asked Paul. “Does Father Ted ever put his thick cock to Preacher Jim in the ritual?”

“Not when we”re around but I think they take turns on their own. I think they probably fuck up a storm.”

“I”d like to see Lew throw a good fuck up the priests ass, sort of a pay back.”

“Wouldn”t it be nice sometime for the whole group to pump his ass?” said Paul. “I mean do a regular gang-bang on him.”

“Have you ever let them do that to you?”

Paul shook his head.”

“Have you ever done it to either of them?”

“I did Preacher Jim. He said I was further up there than anybody ever was.”

“Does it feel good, being in a man”s ass?”

Paul shrugged. “It”s the only fucking I”ve ever done. It feels great.” He smiled. “Preacher Jim would let you if you gave him a blow job after.”

“I don”t know if I could do that.”

“You did me.”

“But you”re my friend.”

“Preacher Jim would be your friend.” Paul stroked my hard-on, teasingly. He bent forward and kissed the head with a wet tongue. “His cock isn”t all that big and it”s doesn”t taste bad.”

I reached under his balls and tickled his ass hole. “I like to fuck that fucking priest in his shitty, old asshole until he cries uncle.”

Paul grinned. “It could happen. Who knows?” He gave my cock an extra squeeze, turned and got on the floor on his knees. “In the meantime, why don”t you drop a load up mine?”

“You”re kidding. You said you”ve never done that.”

Paul smiled. “I”ve been saving my virgin ass for you, old buddy. You going to give me some?”

I crawled behind him and spit on my cock. “Are you sure?”

Paul giggled like a girl. “Promise you”ll be gentle.”

I touched my cock to the brown, starfish opening and shoved. “Fuck You.”

“Yeah,” gasped Paul, “Do me. Do me good.”

“You”re a tight little fucker,” I gasped.

“God Damn!” moaned Paul.

“Does it hurt?”

“Yeah!”

“Want me to stop.”

“God damnit! Shut up and fuck my ass.”

“You”re tighter than a girl.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“I meant that as a compliment.”

“I bet you kissed the girl.”

“I”d suck a man”s cock rather than kiss him.”

“That”s all right by me.”

“I”ll give you a blow job to fuck your ass anytime.”

“I”m gonna come any second,” panted Paul, but I”ll let you lick up my gravy.”

“I”m shooting my load up in your bowels any second.”

“Am I a good piece of ass?” gasped Paul.

I rammed my rod all the way in and froze, balls pressed against his spread buttocks and throbbed shot after shot of my white stuff as far up as I could reach. “You”re the best,” I panted.

***

It was several weeks after my anal encounter with Paul. Strangely, we had not repeated it though we had been to the church gym, done our rituals and some mutual blow jobs after. We had watched various members pay their tribute to Preacher Jim”s ass. This day we had finally watched Father Ted put his cucumber sized, thick prick up the plump ass of the church leader. The priest”s stroke was relentless as though he was trying to punish the solid, resilent cheeks with his cock.

The Preach begged for more. He moaned and for the first time he spouted his man juice solely from the spike up his ass. Happily someone had the foresight to direct his spouting dick to the chalice and catch his offering to our ritual cocktail. I spurted my load into the chalice thinking once more that I would like to sink my cock between the hairy cheeks of the fucking priest. As he withdrew his dripping member he turned and miked the last drops onto the floor of the locker room. I thought he looked directly at me as I milked the last drop from mine and watched it mingle amongst the others offering.

*** A week later the other players were going down to the showers. I felt a hand on my ass. “Jay, hold up.” The priest”s firm hand pulled me back. “Let”s try a little one on one. I think I can improve your game.”

“Won”t the others be attending the ceremony?”

“It can happen without us. We can make up whatever we need to make ourselves aright, later.” His smile was reassuring. He smacked me on the butt and backed up, dribbling the ball.

He came at me, faked and then breezed by me and sank the bucket. Smiling, he passed the ball to me. He stuck to me like a leech. He slapped the ball, stole it and sank it before I recovered. He came back and put his arm around my neck. “You”re too tentative. You have to be decisive, switch hands and drive.” He flipped me the ball. “Try again.”

We played for nearly half an hour. The others came up, waved goodnight and left. Father Ted promised preacher Jim to lock up. Only we were left.

Father Ted said. “Let”s make it interesting. Ten free throws each. Who ever makes the most gets a blow job. What do you say?”

I shrugged. “You know you”re going to win.”

“Not necessarily.”

The priest sank his first five. So did I.

Of the second five I missed two. Father Ted made his first three then missed the last two. I could swear he did it on purpose. He shrugged. “I guess we both lost or to put it a nicer way, we both won. I”m afraid we”ll have to settle for a little round of sixty-nine. Are you game?”

“I reckon. We ought to shower first.”

“If you wish,” said the priest, “although there is nothing wrong with the salty taste of a man”s honest sweat.” He stretched the elastic at the top of his shorts and shoved them toward the floor. He lowered his jockstrap and kicked it off. His dick was already expanding in anticipation. The stiring in my crotch told me I was as anxious as he. He pulled off the sweaty T-shirt. Except for his thick cock, he was not a prime physical speciman though he was all sinew and muscle. He moved to a padded mat in the corner and sat down to remove his shoes.

We were totally naked in seconds.

On my knees beside him I reached over and clasped his cock in my fingers. He did something to make it expand in my hand. Mine reacted similarly when he grasped me.

“You”ve got a nice hunk of meat for a young man,” said the priest.

“Except for you I”ve never touched an older man”s cock.”

“Or sucked one?”

“No.”

“But you want to.”

“I think so.”

“Have you sucked with the boys?”

“Only one or two.”

“Which is it?”

“One.”

“You like doing it a lot?”

“I like having it done, a lot.”

“And doing it?”

I shrugged. “I don”t mind it too much.”

He bent and swallowed my cock to the curly hairs around my balls.

I groaned.

“You”ve got a nice, sweaty taste of youth. Salty and solid.”

“I don”t think I can swallow you that way,” I confessed.”

“Take what you can.” He lay on his side and moved so his mouth was opposite my crotch. He extended his tongue and touched the throbbing head of my glans. “I do baptize this cock in the name of the holy hard-on of Jesus.”

I giggled. “And I anoint you with the holy spit of a cocksucker.”

I heard his chortle as he swallowed me totally and I filled my mouth with the hard, holy meat of Father Ted”s short, thick cock.

After a few swirls of his tongue, I could not help thrusting forcefully into his mouth. It felt too good to resist. Soon he was doing the same to me. With his every stroke he penetrated my throat a bit further until I was sure that what touched my lips were his pubic hairs and I was taking him as easily as he swallowed me.

His hands clasping my ass, rhythmically squeezed my cheeks while I hung on his scrawny buns. His fingers crept into the crevice. One thick finger toyed at my back hole and forced entrance.

I moaned as he breeched the muscular resistance and invaded my ass. I came in roman candle bursts shooting into his mouth and he did much the same in mine.