Jesuit Priests of Goa

I stifled a fearful whimper when I next saw Stefan raise his body over me and gather his cassock up and tuck the folds in the sash at his waist. His lower belly was exposed, and his angry red erection curved cruelly and monstrously up from an unruly, blond bush.

I arched my back, my eyes rolled back in head, and I let out a scream of pain as, hunched over me and holding my legs raised and spread with his fists, Stefan invaded me with his cock—much larger than the dildo I had been practicing with. The thick, throbbing staff slowly moved up inside me, and, when I'd opened sufficiently to him, he set his buttocks in motion and began to pump.

As he fucked me, Stefan brought his face down close to mine so that, even in the darkened cell, he could intimidate me with his glowering expression and he could see in my eyes and the yawning of my mouth the effect of his assault. He was watching me so carefully that I became sure that the communication of my virginity at that point to a man's cock had been exchanged between Stefan and Kincaid and that Kincaid would be receiving some special consideration for having brought me here.

It was only then that I realized that the small cell was crowded with naked men. The other brothers were here. Four of them were watching Stefan fuck me, their dicks in their hands, waiting for their turns, I soon was to find out. The Portuguese, Benedito, was at Taer's cot, holding Taer upside down, the Filipino's shoulders supporting his weight on the floor and his body rising up Benedito's, with Benedito grasping the young Filipino's hips and pile driving his cock down into Taer's hole.

I briefly wondered how this position was manageable, but I learned how it was done before the night was through, as Benedito fucked me later the same way.

When Stefan was finished with me, he was replaced by Jacques, who pulled me back up on the cot, stretched out behind me, and made slow love to me as if we were lovers, covering my cheeks and shoulders with slobbering kisses. At that point, I appreciated the change from Stefan's almost clinical deep, painful thrustings. The size of him was probably more than I should have been subjected to for my first time. I wondered if Kincaid knew what would be happening to me tonight—being fucked by all six of the senior priests in succession, not just Father Stefan—and if he had even arranged it. I certainly was glad I'd thought of starting to prepare myself with the dildo.

That I had started to prepare myself obviated any claim I could make to myself that I didn't want to have sex with men. Well, with man. I hadn't thought in my wildest dreams that it would be with a succession of men—at least not as a start.

They all were hunky, though, and they all were stripped down now. I looked over to the other cot. Taer was sandwiched between the two Goans, Domingo and Joki, taking them both like he did this every night. And, who knows, maybe he did. The redheaded Brit, Timothy, was prodding Jacques to be done with me and was coming very close to the edge of voicing something. Stefan and Benedito were standing off to the side, the gnarled, but still hard-bodied older men. Both were stroking their cocks and looking from Taer's cot to mine. A full moon was out, sending its beams into the room from a barred window high on the wall. It gave enough light for me to distinctly pick out all of the men—to see the look of lust on each of their faces.

I was afraid the Goans would take me together as they were doing Taer—something that I would have thought to be logistically impossible. It apparently wasn't. But, although they fucked me in a threesome after Timothy, who surprisingly had a long, but not thick cock and who, equally surprisingly, was the most vigorous thruster of the lot, had finished me. Domingo and Joki didn't try to enter me together, they worked each end of me at the same time with their cocks and exchanged places half way through.

It was Brother Benedito's pile driving, with me stretched to the floor, that put me almost over the edge of exhaustion and consciousness, and I felt fortunate that he hadn't come earlier in the parade and caused that soreness in my neck and across my shoulders before the others had been done with me.

They left me panting and moaning deeply, flat on my back on the cot, my knees bent, and my legs spread because I couldn't close them. I worried while they were leaving that my moaning would be loud enough to be considered vocalization, and it may have been.

They let me remain prone on the cot in the cell until their martial arts routine started the next afternoon. I wondered throughout this time whether the next night would be the same in the cell as the first one—and, if so, would it become more than I could take.

My last night at the Francis Xavier Retreat House was different from the first, though. I discovered that the fortress had a dungeon when Father Stefan arrived at the cell, pulled me off the cot, threw me over his shoulder, and descended what must have been more than one story down a winding stone staircase.

He bound my wrists and hung me from a hook in the ceiling of the dark and dank chamber he took me to. The whipping must have been mostly to arouse him—but it symbolically might have related to punishment for the loud moaning I couldn't help but engage in the previous night. Although there were faint welts criss-crossing my back the next morning when Professor Kincaid and the rented bus came to collect me, they were too faint to concern him or to bother me when he fucked me in his hotel room bed that night. When Stefan had finished the brief and light lashing of my back, though, his erection was monstrously hard.

He fucked me harder and longer than he had done the night before, but at least there was no gang bang that night.

* * * *

I lay on my belly on the bed in Kincaid's Goa hotel room, my hips raised just a bit, leveraged by pressure on my knees, to give the professor a good angle for stroking his cock inside me. He was covering me close from above, his fists grasping the wrists of my raised and spread arms and his face close to my ear, where I could hear his heavy breathing, panting, and moaning.

His groans had increased as I began to move and rotate my pelvis. His thrusts became more insistent, faster, and deeper. He ejaculated inside me and rolled away from me, jerked the condom off his cock, and dropped it on the floor beside the bed—to join two other spent ones that had been used earlier in the night.

I felt myself being turned onto my side and pulled into his chest. His mouth was at my ear.

"Are you sure you'd never done it before then?"

"No, that was my first. Am I responding right, the way you want me to?"

"You are doing it beautifully. I had no idea you would be so good. And you came to me, asking for it tonight, just as I said you would. You were fucked by—?"

"Six of them, in succession."

"It sounds so . . . it sounds. . . . Do you know Sam Holt . . . in the sociology department?"

"You want to fuck me with him?"

Kincaid didn't answer immediately, but his intake of breath was all I needed to know of what he was thinking. I let my mind wander back to that night, just two nights ago, and how I had felt about that experience—of men standing around me, watching me being fucked and impatiently awaiting their turn.

"Yes, if you wish," I whispered. "And are there any others you'd like to join in?"

"Oh, fuck," he said, with a groan.