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i wanna pray but i think i'm possessed

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It starts as an itch under his skin, the chipped tooth in the back of his mouth he keeps tonguing.

He knows it’s bad, he knows it’s wrong, he knows that when he signed up for this life it meant giving things up because sacrifice and sacrament share the same root--sacer, Latin, obviously meaning sacred--and that means he has to control himself. Deny himself. Take a deep breath & keep it in check because only suffering is holy. Denial is divine. He learned that back pre-church, even, watching Se7en in ninth grade with his buddies’ older brothers & how they laid with their heads hanging over the edge of the futon in Nathan’s basement so all the blood would rush to their head until their even-older buddies would turn up with weed & then they’d all sit around taking turns smoking out of a pop bottle and then the older ones would inevitably start riffing on how the interpretation of sins in the movie is fucked--half of them grew up real churchy, churchy in ways Corey’s grandma could never get them all to commit to cuz none of them were even her kids, y’know, she was just raising them all sometimes occasionally & still felt it was up to their actual parents to instill beliefs in them, beliefs he never got from his mom--cuz gluttony isn’t actually about eating, it’s about anything. Too much of anything. “Too much” meaning “however much distracts from God”, however much masturbation & weed it takes to ruin your piousness.

Then they’d get to the part with the strap-on and talk about cutting their dicks off, cuz boys will be boys.

(He kissed Nathan once, when they were in ninth grade. In his basement. Back before he dropped out the first time, the time that didn’t stick. Cuz boys will be boys.

It was...different. Like maybe his crush was just from spending too much time together cuz that happens, y’know, Corey fell in love--falls in love--constantly, and Nathan at the time was just slender & cute & angry with his mousy hair grown out to his shoulders already & baggy jeans & Misfits & Maiden t-shirts and flannel shirts and he was just cute, y’know. Nice. Someone that paid attention to him. Always listened to the harebrained shit he had to say.

And then he kissed him, in his basement. Before his brothers’ friends got there, or maybe after they left & they were all alone. And it wasn’t like kissing a girl at all even if the beats were the same cuz he was only interested in older girls at the time, y’know, girls with softness and squishy hips and tits they’d let him put his mouth on but he was all angles & it was just different, maybe cuz they were really friends, and then it was over too quick, just a few long slow breaths & he said “you wanna play NES?” even with his head still leaning on Corey’s shoulder and their arms looped around each other’s waists so Corey didn’t get to kiss him again, just had to sit on the floor in front of the futon in Nathan’s basement and try to make his boner go away while the cold of the concrete seeped up through the unpadded carpet.)

He’s only ever been okay at telling himself no. Every time he thinks I’m just not priest material and shames himself cuz it’s an itch he can’t stop his nails from biting into. It feels like he’s gonna claw his way out of his skin.

Here's the thing about himself & denial--it's unsustainable. That dam's always gonna break when the itch gets too strong. When he can feel his palms crying out for somebody else’s skin, his wrists begging to be held. It might start with nudie pictures and jerking off to the marketing copy & still previews for paid videos on subscription sites but he always wants more, like there's badness inside him that can only be silenced with hardcore porn and getting fucked by strangers with their tubs of Vaseline in cheap motel rooms an hour outside the city where no one will recognize him.

He wakes up face down in his mattress, rubbing his dick against the sheets in a half-dream of someone else spreading his ass open, kissing his neck, touching him at angles he just can’t reach. More hands than he owns himself. Dreams of dominance so real he could gag on them.

Just looking at ads holds him over for a while, y'know. Browsing. Nutting so hard fantasizing about the potential hookup someday that he actually cries out, legs spasming like he’s possessed, then falling asleep in his own bed safe & alone. He only ever considers replying if it sounds really good and that's how he can tell himself it's not a sin. It’s not every day. He's not answering every ad, barking up every potential tree.

Just...special cases. Once in a while. Every few years. When the itch in the back of his throat is so pervasive it’s creeping into every Mass he gives like some ugly physical thing. The phantom limb feeling of needing someone else’s appendages to fill his mouth so he can be whole again.

Our Father, who art in Heaven, please shove your rock-hard dongus into my mouth-hole and give me rugburn from smearing my face into the carpet.

Amen.

 

--

 

Have rope, will travel - m4mw - (DSM suburbs).

Just a regular dude looking to tie somebody up & have some fun with toys or just each other. What else would you be doing tonight?

Myself: 40s, BiWM, 5'10", on the thick side with a cock to match. Cut, clean, D/D free. No drama.

You: 21-60, h/w proportionate, into trying new things & testing your limits, open minded, stable. Hygenic, clean, sober when we meet. Open to being photographed is a bonus, but not a dealbreaker by any means.

No drama, no bullshit, no couples. Not looking for a relationship or to pay anybody. Just trying to have a good time and unwind/have fun with likeminded people.

Many years experience, can provide references.

Email only.

  • do NOT contact me with unsolicited services or offers


--

 

It’s straightforward. He provides references, they swap pictures, keep it to email only. Corey doesn’t contact any of his references because it’s a fully formatted PDF he emailed over that includes testimonials and reviews and pictures of his handiwork with tasteful graphic design like this is Dick Yelp which is slightly insane. Corey sends a picture of himself he took in his car in weekend clothes with the collar of his peacoat flipped up last winter. Doesn’t mention his job. Says he’s 5’9” and fit, sober, tattooed, healthy. Doesn’t fuck.

Shawn says, Just to get this straight--you looking for a kink-only encounter, or are you just whining that nobody wants to fuck you?. Attaches the aforementioned PDF and a photo of himself clearly taken at some kind of BDSM meetup--the background’s dark but he can make out bodies in the flash that leaked over (women in fetish gear, naked male backs). He’s wearing a black work shirt, dark jeans. Thick silver ring. Hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. No visible tattoos. His hand in front of the lower half of his face so all that shows is clean nails, blushed knuckles, blue eyes.

Piercing. Like he’s staring into Corey’s fucking soul.

His mouth is dry when he types back, Not whining. Guess that’s just my way of saying I’m clean--celibacy is the best form of STD prevention. Definitely interested in anything you have to offer then turns off his computer. Goes to bed.

Shawn’s reply’s there the next morning when he checks his emails on his phone while his coffee brews. It just says, This is the motel I like--does that work for you? We can split the room. with an address & a link to the booking page.

He just types back, Sure, sounds good to me. His phone adds, --sent from my iPhone.

He does not type “yes daddy”, no matter how hard he’s thinking it.

He drinks his coffee.

 

--

 

Oh. Hey,” Shawn says when he opens the door, so casual it almost borders on disappointment. Boredom. Like this is something he does all the time, cuz it definitely is something he does all the time, like, this is his thing. His element. Corey’s the odd one out. “I take it you found the place okay.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“That you are,” he says. Locks the door and sits down on one of the beds, the one that doesn’t have what looks like half the Adult Video Superstore spread across it. He doesn’t make any move to take his shoes off and Corey just stands there, hovering, unsure of what to do with his hands jammed in his pockets while Shawn---stares him down, sizes him up, whatever the fuck gears are turning in his head. Usually it’s not like this. Usually it’s a handshake at the door, a brotherly pat on the back--that one-armed hug guys do--and then someone’s tongue’s in his mouth and his clothes are hitting the floor. This isn’t like that at all.

Shawn shifts on the bed, leaning back a little like he owns the place. He’s not nervous, not one bit. “You can make yourself at home, y’know, take your jacket off. Stay awhile. I don’t bite. Unless you’re into that.”

It’s so fucking cliche, so corny. He can’t help the nervous laughter that bubbles up from somewhere deep inside him and Shawn cracks a smile, albeit a guarded one.

“Aww, look at that, he does have a sense of humor after all,” he teases, his eyes sparkling in the light coming in through the crack in the curtains and the soft warm glow of the bedside sconces. “C’mere, handsome, come sit on daddy’s lap…”

Gosh,” Corey guffaws, sitting down next to him on the bed to unlace his sneakers, sneaking in a sidelong glance at Shawn’s grinning face. “You’re the worst, you know that?”

Absolutely.”

His shoes come off then his jacket then he finds himself sliding into Shawn’s lap with his big hands warm around his waist and never has a two-inch height difference felt bigger, y’know, there’s just something about him that makes him seem larger than life. His energy. Something like that. But then they’re kissing and the nerves melt away cuz it all feels okay--Shawn’s hands, his waist, all the places the seams of his jeans dig into his skin. Shawn’s warm & his mouth is soft & Corey just wants to slide his fingers into his hair but he’s got it up in a tight knot at the back of his head & he doesn’t want to take it down without asking so he settles for petting his beard instead, scritching his fingers through the scruff at his cheeks & biting his lip just a little and he can feel Shawn smile against his mouth.

“Oh, I’m gonna have fun with youuuuu,” he murmurs, rolling his hips to make sure Corey feels his dick pressed up against him, getting harder by the minute. “Ever used the traffic light system?”

“Nah, but I think I can figure it out.”

And Shawn just smirks, pulling him into another kiss with his hands spread big & heavy on his thighs, thumbs stroking the insides of Corey’s legs where they’re spread over his lap. “What’s your color? Right now?

Green,” he sighs and Shawn chuckles softly, kissing him again. His hands tracing up Corey’s body, through his shirt; brushing over his ribcage, chest; fingers catching on his nipple. Shawn presses their foreheads together, breaking the kiss.

“Now?”

Still green.”

And there’s the barest flash of something in his eyes, something in the low light--backlit from the wall lamps, blue late-autumn daylight coming in cold from the edges of the curtains--and he pinches, twists, both hands at once. It’s not pain, it’s more like electricity, tingles & the feeling goes straight to Corey’s dick like it’s got a direct connection.

“Oh, fuuuuck--” he groans, desperately rocking up into the touch when Shawn twists just a little harder. “Fuck me---

What about now?

“Still green, shit--

That feels good?” he asks and all Corey can do is nod, whining a desperate mmmhm somewhere from the back of his throat. Biting at his own lip while Shawn smirks.

“Yeah, we’re gonna have fun.”

 

--

 

He’s tied up, elbows at his knees & wrists at his ankles, feet in the fucking air, spread out on his back with the backs of his thighs turned to the ceiling and his hole dangerously exposed. Like a fucking rotisserie chicken.

This is Shawn’s idea of “taking it slow”, “being gentle”. He was wearing underwear when he got here & now he knows why he was told to bring a second pair cuz now he’s not, cuz sometime between “strip” and “what’s your color?” and the flogger and his asshole winking up at the smoke detector Shawn blindfolded him, kissed him harsh all teeth and force before he felt the point of Shawn’s pocket knife tracing up his inner thigh while he squirmed and gasped out “yellow”, his arms tied together from wrist to elbow behind his back. Helpless.

And Shawn just petted his hair and said, “shh, princess, I’m not gonna hurt you,” giving him a whiskery kiss on the cheek, laying the side of the knife against his thigh flat. “It’s okay, I got you--

That’s what I’m scared of!

Shh, you got this,” Shawn murmured and then the knife was gone and he was untying the blindfold and his hands were smoothing along Corey’s shoulders, neck, down his chest again; the blade of the knife held away from his body. “See? It ain’t even big. Everything just feels more intense when you’re tied up like that. Your mind plays tricks on you.”

“Still don’t want you getting near my dick with that thing--”

Jesus Christ, I swear I’m not going near your dick with it, chill out already,” he said, sounding playfully irritated before full on kissing Corey on the mouth again. Then quick as a flash slipped the blade under the waistband of his briefs, yanked it away from his body, cut. Letting the ruined fabric fall away as his knees went weak and he cried out into Shawn’s mouth. Boneless. Spineless. Goner. Jelly.

And Shawn’s hands were stroking back down his body and his fist was around his cock before he could even catch his breath, gently touching him and making all his nerves light up like Times Square.

And Shawn said, “See? Nothing to worry about.

All he could do was nod, his head foggy & heart racing.

What’s your color?

Green.

Yeah? Good boy…...”

But now, back at the moment. The rotisserie chicken problem. His cock laying heavy against his stomach, feeling every knob of his spine drag on the comforter when Shawn pushes his feet back to get a better angle on the fat of his ass and thighs and growls at him to stay put. First with his hands, then the flogger, now a cane he bragged he made himself that has Corey whimpering with every stroke.

Not because it hurts--it does hurt, but not in the way he expected--but more because of the helplessness. Anticipation, fear. His balls are right there and every few hits Shawn “accidentally” lands one in the wrong spot and it makes him gasp and cry and swear and beg so loud Shawn threatens to gag him and he doesn’t know why but he’s nodding because he needs it, letting his mouth hang open.

His ass and his thighs feel hot and cold at the same time, these tingling shocks across his skin. Shawn keeps a hand on him when he reaches over to the other bed for a gag and it feels good, grounding in a way.

You still with me?” he asks casually, leaning up between Corey’s legs--arms, bindings, one in the same--to gently lift his head and Corey just nods, feeling cloudy & mushy but on edge at the same time. Everything intense & connected. Even the little touches--Shawn’s fingers brushing through his hair, barely grazing his ear--feeling immense. Tremendous. Dick-meltingly pleasurable.

There,” Shawn breathes when Corey’s mouth’s full, touching the strap where it lays across his cheek. “If you need to slow down now, shake your head and make a bunch of noise, okay?”

He just nods.

He feels vulnerable, tender. Small. All fluttery eyelashes & rope-taut skin & he can’t even find it in himself to be self-conscious. Shawn touches him again, just trailing warm fingers up the underside of his cock, wrapping his hand around, thumbing over the head & he practically folds in half, moaning through the gag.

“God, that sounds so delicious,” Shawn remarks, dragging his hands up Corey’s thighs. “Look how pretty you are like that, princess…”

Then his hands are gone.

The cane cracks across his balls.

 

--

 

The highlight reel, from what Corey remembers:

Shawn hitting him until tears were streaming down his cheeks and he was sucking in these big shuddery breaths around the gag and Shawn looked fucking delighted even when his voice was gentle, asking if he wanted to stop. Corey shaking his head no. Please. More. Keep going.

Shawn asking “I bet you’re such a good little cocksucker, aren’t ya--” and Corey nodding, looking up at him. Shawn’s fingers twisting into his hair, his breath hot on his cheek. “Yeah, look at you, so fucking obedient. Bet you’d do anything I wanted you to, huh?” The press of his lips to his cheek, the nod; Shawn’s hand around his throat just holding, not squeezing. His thumb pressing into his mouth.

Yeah, show me how good that mouth is--

 

The snap of a rubber glove cutting through the sound of his heavy breathing. The flip-cap on the lube.

Shawn’s fingers rubbing slick over his entrance, Corey still trussed up like a chicken, powerless to stop him. The slow slide of one thick finger taking him then how quickly it became two, three. More lube.

 

The feeling of his hands around his ankles when he pushed in.

Crying, while getting fucked.

Getting fucked so good he maybe saw God.

Begging, pleading, desperate. Tears leaking out of his face. Wanting to dig his nails into Shawn’s back but not being able to, wanting to touch him but not being able to. Not being able to do anything but lay back & take it. Surrender. Absolute surrender. Words in his mouth he can’t recall. Shawn’s hand pressing into his neck; slapping his face, thighs, ass. Pulling his hair. Kissing him hard.

Gasping into Shawn’s mouth. More pleading like it would do anything.

 

His own voice, high & broken. Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes--oh fuck me----

Gasping out, daddy.

 

I fucking love you----

 

Tears.

 

Coming hard & hot & barely-touched, Shawn’s teeth digging into his lip. His soft little grunt a few moments later then the slithery weird-butt feeling of him pulling out of Corey’s ass before he was ready for him to go, dropping the condom on the floor. His deep breaths as he instantly got to work untying him then hauled him into his arms, petting his head against his broad sweaty chest.

 

How shellshocked he felt there. Realizing Shawn has tattoos too from a distance of zero feet, his strong arms wrapped all the way around his shaky body.

 

 

I got you….I got you….you’re okay. I got you.

 

 

You did so good, Corey. You did amazing. That was---awesome.

 

--

 

Shawn’s still there when he comes back around, laying next to him in bed with the TV on low. His hand on Corey’s waist under the blankets; their hot skin pressing together.

“Hey,” he murmurs, reaching over him to grab a cup of water off the nightstand. “Drink this, okay?”

His voice is gentle and Corey nods, sitting up far enough to take the cup and drink before laying right back down and pressing himself against Shawn’s body cuz he feels boneless still, like he was liquified. Shawn just rubs over his shoulders, chest, sides, gently touching him. Kisses his forehead. Corey hums encouragement but his voice feels strained, creaky. He closes his eyes.

 

--

 

When he wakes up again it’s dark out but Shawn’s still there, still holding him. Plastered to his back with a thin layer of sweat and filth and who-knows-what-else. Law & Order: SVU on TV.

“We got the room all night if you wanna get delivery and just like, hang out. You should eat something,” he says softly, kissing along Corey’s shoulder. “Old lady’s not expecting me back til tomorrow, so I’m gonna stay. I’m fuckin’ tired.” He says the last part into Corey’s neck, big hand spread warm across his stomach, and Corey lets himself sink into the touch, not ready to let go yet.

“Yeah, me too,” he mumbles but then the weight Shawn’s words sink in and it feels like a ball of ice dropping into the pit of his stomach then he’s shuffling over a little bit to look at him better. “You’re married?

“Yeah bud, nineteen years in February.”

Shit, I’m sorry, I--”

“It’s cool, it’s fine, y’know. You’re good. People say all sorts of weird shit when you’re beating their ass. You’re not the first.”

His fingers trail up and down Corey’s arm so casually like this is all normal and for him, it probably is. Meeting strangers in the Motel 6 out past the airport, tying them up, hitting them til they say stupid shit, fucking their brains out. Going back home to his wife and kids. PTA meetings, soccer practice, day job. Whatever he does. His PDF of five-star dick reviews.

“I didn’t say any weird shit about work or anything, did I??”

“No. Why? You a spy or something?” Shawn’s voice is rumbly against his skin, breath hot, mouth pressed into the back of his neck.

“Nah, I’m a fuckin’ priest.

Shawn laughs earnestly, short and harsh, then bites the back of his neck. Corey can feel his smile on his skin.

Fucking moron. God, what a stereotype--pervert priest that cries during sex?? You’re a piece of fucking work.”

You’re married!

“It’s an open relationship!! We have an arrangement!” Shawn quips back, laughing as he pins Corey to the bed and kisses his lips, his hair falling loose around them. His whole body presses against Corey’s, his skin hot & just a little bit sweaty. Dick smushed firmly against his leg.

“God. A priest. I love it. That’s great. I’m living. Thank you for sharing this experience with me.”

Corey just snorts a laugh, leaning up to kiss him again.

“Yeah, you were pretty decent yourself.”

Shawn grins and ducks his head down to hide it, biting at his shoulder.