Can't Say No

His car stopped in the middle of the street when he was a few blocks from home. Michael saw no apparent reason for it. The tank was full. He hadn't hit anything on the way... he was confused.

He found himself in front of the Catholic church in his small town, in the town square. It was late at night, no one was around and the silence was sinister. He found himself looking at the old building and wondering if the priest was in his quarters.

Then he suddenly felt cold. A cold that came from within. A moment ago the air had been cool but pleasant, and Michael felt no chill in the air. Nevertheless, he was cold.

He turned around. Someone was staring at him. A man. Hidden in the shade of the trees.

Michael was immediately alert. He could go into the car and lock the doors or run away, but at the same time he didn't want to look like a coward. What if the man was someone he knew?

His head was full of scenarios.

"Hello..." the man said calmly. "What are you doing out in the middle of the street so late at night?"

"My car's broken down." Michael regretted telling the truth. He should have come up with a lie.

"Oh. That's bad."

"Do I know you? You're in the dark, so I can't really tell."

"I'm just passing through. I don't live here. I thought this was a very nice church. Are you Catholic?"

"Through and through."

"How old are you?"

"32."

"Hmm. Anyway... can I come closer?"

Deep down, Michael knew that the whole interaction was strange, almost unreal, as if he were walking in a dream and being guided by this stranger with the gruff voice.

"Sure," Michael said. "You can come closer."

When he did, Michael was shocked by him.

He was angelic. Tall, long blond hair, white clothes covering an obviously muscular body. He had a hooked nose, which seemed to be the only feature that screamed masculinity in his round face.

He smelled of roses and fire.

He came, towering over Michael, touching his face and lifting it so that they stared at each other. The touch was gentle, intimate.

Michael became inexplicably aroused.

"I can't stay long, Catholic boy. This town is guarded by a legend, so I will escape, but first I will turn you. Your life will be different from now on."

Their lips touched gently. Everything went dark.

--

He felt a pain at the back of his head. He realized he was being carried. He opened his eyes, expecting to see the tall blond stranger. But it wasn't him. The priest was carrying him. Father Randall.

"Father?" he said.

"Yes, Michael. I'll take you inside. You were lying on the floor next to your car."

"Did you see anyone else?"

"No. Just you."

The priest was very strong. He walked up the many steps to the church. Michael felt weightless in his arms.

He carried Michael to his quarters and then laid him on a bed and covered him with two layers.

Michael felt like a child, even though he was a 32-year-old man. But he didn't complain.

"My head hurts," he said sleepily.

"I'll get you an aspirin." The priest left the room. He wasn't wearing his robe, Michael realized. He looked like a normal man, the same age as him. He came back with the aspirin and a cup of water, which he put in Michael's mouth.

"Thanks, Father."

"You should go to sleep now."

He slept.

When he woke up, he was confused. He was in a small sunlit room. He was in the priest's quarters, probably in a guest room. Slowly, he began to remember the events of the previous night.

He was startled by the priest's sudden entrance into the room. This time he was wearing his robe, a long black one.

"I'm sorry," said the priest, Father Randall. But he entered the room with confidence and determination. "How do you feel?"

Michael was fine, although his head still hurt, but much less than yesterday. He knew Father Randall was curious about what had happened the day before, but he didn't know where to start.

"You asked me yesterday if I'd seen anyone else besides you. Who were you referring to?" His voice was demanding. He wouldn't take no for an answer.

"To be honest, I'm still trying to understand what happened yesterday."

He hesitated, because the longer he thought about it, the stranger last night seemed to him. The man, the figure, was a blur in his mind, but one thing was clear, Michael had been aroused by him, aroused to be touched and kissed. That was hardly something you wanted to admit to your priest.

"Michael," Father Randall said. He looked serious. He had very dark eyes, almost black. "Something is different about you. Something has changed. I have my suspicions, but you have to tell me." Again his voice demanded an answer, and Michael nodded.

He told him everything. The car breakdown, the man in the shadows, the angelic apparition, the touch on his chin... his words.

"He said he couldn't stay because the city was protected by a legend. But he would turn me. Then I fainted. He was crazy, I think. Maybe he hit me afterwards and I don't remember. That would explain why my head hurts so much."

"No, he didn't hit you." The priest bowed his head.

He sighed, and Michael could see that he was worried. The profile of his face gave the impression of a hardened soul filled with worry.

"What's wrong?" Michael asked, intrigued.

"I'm sorry this happened to you, Michael. I'm sorry I wasn't there to protect you. But your life has changed forever."

"Huh?"

"Your reaction is understandable. But you'll soon realise it. It's my duty to show you."

The priest stood up and began to remove his robe.

Up to this point, Michael had been slightly perturbed by his tone, and he was mesmerized by a small, pulsating attraction to the serious demeanor, the confidence of experience, and the paternal protective figure before him.

But now he was faced with a half-naked Catholic priest who seemed to have a very active routine to keep his body strong and healthy.

Underneath the robes, he was shirtless. His shoulders were broad and hairy, his chest was large and hairy, and his stomach was starkly defined... and hairy.

More hair traveled down his trail, where he began to unbutton his pants.

"Hey, hey...wait, what are you doing?" Michael moved on the bed to get away from the priest, suddenly fearing a sexual threat was coming to him. It came over him like a rushing wave, all the ideas people have about Catholic priests, and it destroyed him to think that Randall was one of those deviants.

"Shut up, Michael."

"No..."

"Shut up and look at me. Look at me long and hard. Look at my body, my manhood. I am asking you to think for a minute while you look at me and then tell me if you want to touch me."

Michael was halfway out of bed when the priest's voice caught his full attention with its volume and depth alone. His body tingled in several places. The request was absurd. Completely absurd, and yet, something in the urgency of his voice convinced Michael.

And he stared at the priest's well-toned body, every part, every inch, noting dark veins, bushy patches and fleshy muscles.

Then Michael had to face the fact that his immediate answer to the priest's question was not a no.

Father Randall must have seen that in his eyes.

"That's what the demon meant when he said he would turn you. You are a homosexual now."

Michael swallowed hard.

"No..."

"And you will not be an upstanding person who can control himself and live respectfully. You will feel urges that are almost uncontrollable, and you will be easily swayed by any man who tries. Michael, you are vulnerable. So vulnerable. I am sorry... i've always known you and I know it's not your fault. I want you to know that God will forgive you in the end."

"You are crazy," Michael said, shaking his head.

"If I am crazy, then get up and leave...do it now."

Michael stayed in bed.

"I... i'm going to leave. Right now." But he stayed.

"If you search your mind, you will know exactly why you can not leave."

The truth barked and roared, but Michael could not accept it.

"I love girls. I always have. I have sinned a few times, but I go to church every day and pray; I have stopped drinking too. I just met a woman, Lucinda, she's from out of town, but she's Catholic too...Father, how can you do this to me?"

Michael covered his face with his hands.

"Michael... i'm only doing this to make you realise the gravity of your situation, for no other reason."

When Michael looked, the priest was completely naked.

"And what are y-you doing?"

While Michael watched, the priest began to masturbate. Uncircumcised and hairy... a grower. That wasn't right. He wasn't supposed to enjoy it. But he did.

He felt the pressure in his pants, the stinging pain of the erection hiding behind his tight underwear.

"I'm going to come closer and stand in front of you. I'm fully erect now. I'll leave it up to you what you do next," Father Randall said. "Again, I'm only doing this because I want you to be careful when you leave. If you put yourself in a situation, not even the dirtiest disgusting thing will stop you from doing what I'm going to do to you."

"I understand... you should," Michael began, but paused. He was about to say that he understood and that the priest should refrain from doing anything, but he didn't want to stop the priest now.

He wanted to go through with it.

He came very close to Michael. It was right in front of him. Michael trembled and shook all over.

The balls were hanging in front of his face, huge and round and fleshy. The head shone red. So many veins.

The cock had a strong smell. It seemed to be pulling him by the nostrils, inviting him to come closer, like in a childish cartoon.

"Maybe it's just this once..." he said, accepting that he'd suck the priest's cock.

"No, Michael. Don't you know any stories... Stories about men, upright, married, happy, who suddenly lose their way, give up everything, family, honor, respect... seemingly out of nowhere they become sluts and whores and worship other men."

"You mean that will happen to me too?"

"You tell me, Michael. But if it happens, it's not your fault."

"Not my fault?" Michael said, staring at the big cock. His mouth was watering.

He knelt down in front of the priest, but before he could do anything, he had to relieve himself of his torment. "Can I take my pants off?" he asked.

The priest nodded. Relieved and satisfied, Michael pulled down his pants and underwear and let his olive-skin cock spring free.

For a moment he did nothing, hoping that maybe the priest was wrong and he didn't want it that badly, but then he realized that he was just hesitating because he didn't know how to start and he wanted to do it right.

He grabbed the priest with both hands, still leaving quite a bit, more than enough for his mouth.

He stared at the glimmer of the head and saw a drop come out of the tiny slit. An uncontrollable desire overcame him, forcing him to stick his tongue out and lick the slit, taste the drop, and it was so good he wanted to scream.

Now he could do nothing but serve.

The way his mouth worked the tip of the cock reminded him a little of sucking on a woman's breast, though the present experience was much more fulfilling. There was taste and hardness in his mouth, pulsing and alive.

"Are you enjoying it, Michael?" The priest asked in his soft voice.

"Yes, Father."

The priest lifted his cock so that Michael could suck his balls. There was so much hair. Instinctively, Michael began to rub his whole face against the juicy balls and long shaft. Now his whole face smelled of cock, soaked with sweat from the balls.

The priest escaped, and Michael complained.

"No, I want more."

Only then did Michael realize that he had ejaculated on the floor... perhaps more than once without realizing it. His cock remained hard.

"I am not going anywhere. Lie down on the bed. I am going to sit on your face."

And that's exactly what he did. Michael kept sucking on his cock and balls, but the priest also sat on his face and let him drown on his hard ass cheeks. He was hairy there too. And he moved his body like a dancer, making Michael dig his nose all over his crack. He could hardly breathe and yet he was happy.

When Michael's face was buried deep in his ass cheeks, he kept moving his hips.

"I am doing this to show you how far you can be used, Michael... How deep you can go."

He murmured approval, he loved that, he loved being brought so low. The priest was hot as fuck. The thought was liberating. Maybe he had always wanted to be buried deep in that cake.

They switched positions again, and the priest lay on his back while Michael bobbed on his thick cock. "Finish me off," he ordered.

All was silent, apart from the slurping noises.

The priest's breath caught suddenly, and Michael, who had been groping them, felt the rising tension on his balls.

The priest moaned and shot his load directly into his mouth.

Michael had never felt so good in his entire life. The load warmed his throat, some of it escaping through his lips. He felt like praying...

"Michael, look at me. Look me in the eye and do not be ashamed of what happened here."

"Thank you, Father."

"Now clean yourself up. Take a shower. And let us go and pray."

Michael obeyed, and when it was time to drive home, his car worked perfectly.

The normality of his life frustrated him. It may sound contradictory, but he had been frightened and then used sexually by another man, and not even against his will.

He took the priest's warning to heart, and yet nothing seemed to change. He had not turned into a crazed lustful faggot as he had been led to believe. He was able to go to work, attend church with his family and even continue talking to Lucinda, the woman he was attracted to. He was still attracted to her. So was the priest lying?

No... because as much as he tried to change his own feelings, he had loved sucking cock. It was the memory of that day that confirmed the priest's words. He could not convince himself that he had been taken advantage of, because whenever he thought of the naked priest, he was immediately driven into a whirlpool of lust.

But if he avoided the thoughts and the traps, he would be fine.

But what forms could the traps take? Could it be a janitor? Michael had to work late into the night and normally the janitor was not there, but that day was different. His partner had gone home a while ago, so he was alone with the janitor and they had the whole floor to themselves.

His uniform was all blue nylon and loose. Michael went to the front desk to get a coffee, and there he was, sweeping the floor. He was black, tall and friendly. By all common standards, he was an ugly man, but he had the right body.

Michael pretended to linger longer with the coffee machine just to watch Amir work. He was gifted from the back as well as the front. Those cheeks made him think of what it would feel like to be trapped inside, as he had been with the priest. And would he smell as good?

"Can I clean in your office, sir?" Amir asked later.

"Yes, sure, I will open for you."

Michael was safe with Amir. He showed no interest, and Michael was a little disappointed, even though he told himself it was for the best, and that not long ago he would prefer to die rather than harbour such thoughts for a janitor. So the priest was actually right. Michael had turned.

But he was safe with Amir, he repeated in his mind.

Michael's hand trembled as he brought the coffee to his lips. He too began to sweat.

The janitor wanted to leave the office, but Michael called him back. "I don't think it's clean yet."

He was confused, but continued mopping the floor. He knew Michael was watching him and just kept going. It was as if Michael could see his confusion turning into something else.

"Anything else, sir?"

"Can you clean the office while you're naked, Amir?" Michael asked confidently, even though he cursed himself inwardly.

"Naked?" Amir bit his lip. He had thick ones. "For real?"

"For real."

Amir took off his uniform and kept only his underwear on. Underneath, he was a god... Had he thought Amir was ugly before? He had been so wrong. Amir was outstanding. His smirk turned his face into the most dangerous trap in the world.

He mopped the floor in front of the desk, but in truth he was only showing off his physique. The neck, the arms, the legs - everything was beautifully sculpted. When he closed his eyes, he could smell the musty sweat of hard work.

Amir came closer and wiped the floor around Michael. Now the smell was even stronger. The size of the man towering over Michael made him cry out inwardly.

Amir was behind him now, right behind him, and put a hand on his shoulder. Michael was startled.

"Sir, are you all right?" His voice was casual. Comforting.

"S-sure."

Amir put his other hand on his other shoulder. Michael put down his coffee and leaned back in the chair, feeling his shoulders rub against the front of Amir's. He leaned his head back against his chest.

"Am I being too forward?" Amir asked.

"No."

Damn it. Michael should have been smarter than that.

"You were looking at me funny, boss. If it was any other man, I'd be real mad. But since it's you, I'll let it slide. Hell, I'll let you look. Maybe even do somethin else."

His hands worked wonders on his neck. They began slowly and gently, but became rougher and rougher and his fingers more and more insistent until they were rubbing Michael's cheeks and digging deep into his flesh as Michael turned his head and made little moaning sounds.

A hand wandered under his shirt, grabbed his chest and pinched his nipple. At that moment, he realized that he was so trapped that only a miracle could get him out.

"Enough of this, Amir," he muttered, but the janitor ignored him.

"You don't fool me no more." He undid all the buttons of Michael's shirt from the back, rubbing his stomach and making him feel like a needy puppy. When he had removed all the upper clothes, he returned to the nipples and pinched both of them. "You have nice tits."

"You shouldn't talk to me like that," Michael said.

It was like talking to the wind. Amir forced him to stand up and came up behind him, their bodies touching. He groped every part of him as his body encrouched and rubbed against him from behind, he was visibly aroused and enjoyed pressing against Michael's ass. He wanted Michael to feel.

Michael felt it like a weapon thrust menacingly against him.

But he realized how risky this was. This was his job. He should have been more careful. It was too late now, as he rubbed his ass against the janitor's erection.

His hand invaded Michael's pants, gripping him and receiving full confirmation of how effective he was.

That could still be saved.

Then Amir ruined everything with one simple question. He grabbed Michael by the hair and stared him in his eye. "Do you mind if I call you 'white boy', sir?"

Michael shook his head slowly, watching his chances of regaining control fade as the racial fantasy awoke in him.

"White boy," Amir whispered in his ear. Michael smiled.

Amir smiled too. There was a gleam in his eyes.

"White boy, white boy," he continued to whisper. "I am going crazy here," Amir said.

Michael received a sweet slap in the face.

"Tell me to stop if you do not want me to keep going."

Soon Michael was bent over the table and his pants were slowly removed. He received gentle bites on his ass cheeks that left marks.

"I always knew you kept your pussy clean," he said, sticking his tongue right into the hole.

When he was finished, he told Michael to kneel down.

He acted similarly to the priest in this regard and thrust his cock into his face. The whole area smelled of sweat. It was more like he had not showered all day. Worst of all was Michael's inner admission that he enjoyed the smell himself. He had no choice but to suck.