Hallowiener

* Before anyone comments, Yes, this part does have many similarities to one of my other stories but I loved the idea so much, I wanted to bring a little of that to Dani's life, and maybe expand it a little. I hope you enjoy.

*****

Dear Journal,

Things have fallen into quite a nice rhythm for me lately. School's going well, my grades are staying high and my folks are proud of me. We went out for a special dinner last week to celebrate my report card. We bumped into Tommy, Becca and Mr Roberts while we were there, and I went back to Tommy's for a sleepover when we were finished. It was nice.

Tommy's been great since he found out that I'm into helping guys. He's really accepted it and got behind me all the way. He has been happy for me to practice on him several times a week, I was going to ask him anyway, but before I had the chance to, he offered. He really is the best friend a guy could have. Although I've still not managed to take more than about three-quarters of his cock, he really is big, he normally helps by pushing me down on the last few inches, but I'm getting there.

I was starting to feel very guilty though. With Tommy helping me practice, I've been able to stay over at his place most Friday nights, and some Saturday's too. That isn't a problem, but Tommy has either soccer practice or a game every Saturday and Sunday, which leaves me in the house, alone, with Mr Roberts. Of course, this is a great opportunity to help him, and it's almost become a regular thing. I'm glad I get to do it, I am, helping makes me happy and Mr Roberts seems to need it more and more each week, but does it make me a bad person? Using Tommy like this just seems wrong somehow. It was starting to get me down. I couldn't concentrate in class and my professors were beginning to ask questions, so, I sought advice from the one place I knew could help.

My family church is a busy place, and I didn't want my parents hearing that I'd been visiting the confessional, so I had to be clever about when I went. I couldn't do it on a Sunday, and most days during the week I was in class. Then, one morning, while taking a shortcut to school, I saw a lot of activity at the rear of the church. Walking up to one of the rather large builders unloading a bunch of pallets I asked him what was going on.

"Renovations, the whole east wing is being strengthened ahead of the winter." He said heaving bags of cement around like they were hackysacks, "Gonna be at least six weeks of work."

I must have shown real concern hearing this news because he quickly added, "But don't worry yourself none, the church will still be open, it'll just be a little noisy through the week." I smiled and thanked him, thought better of offering my services, and made my way to class.

Apart from daydreaming about the large sweaty builder through my first two periods, I deliberated when it would be best to attend the confessional. The way I saw it, the early afternoon would be the best. Lunch was out, there'd be too many people around. I suspected early mornings would also draw a crowd. So, I figured the confessional that normally started at 2 pm would be the best slot, and it just so happened that I had a free period that Thursday.

Well, you can imagine how eager I was to gain the much-needed clarity about my current position, I'd known Father Matthews since I was a kid, he'd baptised me, if anyone knew how I should deal with this, it was him.

I arrived a few minutes early, but I didn't walk straight in. Instead, I waited outside for several minutes looking for the limited activity I was expecting. I was so happy to see that I was right, in fact, I didn't see a single person exit or enter that ornate walnut door the entire time. So, taking one last look around, I made my way up the twelve steps, grasped the fat black knob, and pushed the door open.

I'm not sure what I was expecting, but I suddenly understood why it was so quiet. On the left side of the church were huge towers of metal scaffold and vast swathes of white cloth covering the pews cutting the seating down by half. Moreover, the noise was palpable. Drills, hammering and shouting echoed around the high ceilings. I could imagine that even God would struggle to hear prayers with this racket going on. Still, I took a seat and made sure the coast was clear, before stepping quickly to the far side of the confessional, slipping inside, and closing the door behind me.

The booth was dark, except for a little light shining through the latticework screen in the partition. I knelt on the velvet cushion and bowed my head. "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned." My voice was croaky, all of a sudden, and my heart raced.

"Relax my son, there is no need for nerves in the house of our Lord," the priest's tone was low and melodic, setting me at ease almost instantly. "Take a moment to compose yourself, and let the power of the Lord unburden you."

I did as Father Matthews said and took several deep breaths. With my head still bowed I started. "Thank you, Father." My mouth was still dry but I continued. "I've been struck with a dilemma. Over the past few months, I've embarked on a mission of sorts, helping men relieve the stresses of everyday life, and I believe I'm doing quite a good job. However, recently I've begun to feel overwhelmed with guilt."

"You feel guilty for helping people, my son?" Father Matthews asked with genuine confusion.

"Yes Father, tremendously and it's not going away," I admit, saying it out loud made me a little emotional.

"Calm yourself, child, there's no reason for you to get upset. Guilt is a sin when it is founded, but I struggle to see how it has a place in what you are describing." The Father paused for a moment, "why don't you tell me about when you've helped and we'll see if there's anything we should be concerned about?"

Feeling a little better from hearing the Father speak, the croak in my voice subsided and I began to explain further. "The first time I was needed to help was one of my Professors in school. He stayed late one night and I visited him in his classroom. At first, I was really nervous, but by the end of it, I was exhausted, and felt like I'd accomplished something big! He didn't want his wife to know, you understand don't you, Father? He filled me with so much..."

"Pride? Pride in your accomplishment? I understand perfectly my Son, I do. I completely understand the noble call of selflessness and all credit to you for embarking on this journey." The priest said, "What else?"

"Oh, well, I guess the next time I helped was at Christmas. It was supposed to be me dressed up as an elf to help these two men from my neighbourhood run a little Santa's grotto for the kids. One dressed like Santa and his son was dressed like Frosty the Snowman. But I was late, my alarm was broken, so when I arrived all the kids had gone. They were rightfully angry with me and gave it to me real hard, but I took it. You see Father, they..." The Father cut me off again.

"No need to go any further, that sounds like a wonderful gesture even though you were late. And a little discipline never hurt anyone, and I'm sure that your conscience is clear on that matter, and you won't be late in future," he said laughing. "Besides, I'm sure everyone in attendance had a great time. What's next?"

I sat up straighter in my seat, the Father had really made me feel so much better about my tasks, I was truly worried that what I had been doing was wrong on some deep level, but he had a way of making me feel at ease. "Okay, the main reason I came here today was because of how I feel about my best friend and his Dad." I paused, suddenly wondering if this was the best thing to do.

"Helping your friends is a good and noble thing to do, nothing wrong can come of it." The Father's tone settled my worries again and I took a deep breath.

"I do hope you're right Father. You see, I've been helping my best friend's Dad for the past few months. Almost once a week, sometimes twice, but in order to do this without my friend knowing, I use him as an excuse to stay over, then in the mornings, I help his Dad while my friend is out playing sports." I gasped as I finished, reaching the last syllable on the dying embers of a single breath.

The Father was motionless behind the grating. I couldn't make him out but the little light filtering through cast shadows interrupted by the slightest movement. "Why not simply tell your friend the truth?" He said.

"His Dad is a proud man and doesn't want his son to know," I said.

"Pride, another sin, but one that can be easily forgiven in this circumstance." The Father said after a moments consideration.

"What's worse Father," I said taking another deep breath, "my best friend has even offered to help me practice my technique, so I can be better at helping, but he is unaware that one of the men that need my help is his Dad, so, neither of them knows about each other."

"I can see your predicament. Your friend would most likely be very happy to keep helping you practice if he knew it benefited his Father, but that can't happen without your friend knowing that his own Father needed help. Either you continue to lie to your friend, or break the confidence of his Father and risk damaging their father-son bond, It's the lesser of two evils and not one that can be easily remedied." The Father thought for a while then added, "I think what you're doing is right. Consciously or unconsciously, you've weighed up the alternatives and decided correctly. The most important part of all of this is that you continue to render the assistance that your friends' father so badly needs. In either case, I am happy that you have no need to feel any level of guilt for your actions."

I don't need to tell you that hearing the Father's words made me feel so much better. "Thank you, Father, that is such a relief." I almost burst into tears again.

"No need to thank me, child. These selfless acts of kindness are of you and you alone, you should be proud of the service you offer, I'm sure you'll help many more souls before you're through."

"I do hope so Father, I love helping them. At first, I thought it was wrong, but now I see it's natural and something that I should embrace with both hands. In fact, I may go and see my teacher this afternoon and see if he wants more help. He's really big, but I feel up to the challenge today. Thank you again, Father." I stood up, and I heard the Father moving in the other stall. Opening the door a fraction, I was about to leave.

"I'm curious." The priest said before pausing, I stopped and pulled the door closed again, "I just wanted to ask, what sort of practice could your friend offer that might help his Father with stress, some form of therapy perhaps?"

"I guess it is a therapy of sort, but it's mainly deepthroating," I said casually. Reopening the door, I heard a loud splutter and what sounded like a heavy book and rosary hit the floor of the confessional. I closed the door again, stepped up to the lattice, and tried to peer through, "Father, are you okay?"

"Forgive me, my Son, I don't think I heard you correctly, would you repeating that?" Father Matthews voice was low and husky. I wondered if he had any water in there, it must be thirsty work talking so much without a drink.

"Oh, sure, it's handy having someone of equal length and girth, so I can practice deepthroating his cock as much as I like. Then when I see his Father I can..." A loud groan came from the other side of the grating that stopped me. "Father, are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine, my son, only, I didn't anticipate this revelation." A silence fell over the cabin. "Did... do you do this for all the men?"

"Totally, it's shocking how much they need it too, that's why I thought it was so important I keep going. Now, thanks to you, I can push on and maybe even find more men to help. After all, they can't be the only ones now can they?" I paused for a response, but nothing seemed to be forthcoming, "Maybe I should have a confessional myself, it would be a great way for men to ask for help without actually telling me who they are until they're ready. That would be cool."

The Father coughed again, almost choking on the other side of the cabin. "Forgive me, my child, this new admission, has shocked me more than I expected."

"That's okay Father, I was quite shocked the first time I came to terms with how stressed men get too. It's really quite dire isn't it?"

"No, my son, that's..."

It was my turn to cut the priest off as I expanded on my confession. "I mean, take my teacher, he's a good, honest, married man, and he wants to remain faithful to his wife, so rather than sleeping with another woman, he works out his frustrations with young men. Frustrations that manifest in animalistic urges that he wouldn't dream of exacting on his poor wife, and let me tell you, Father, his cock is so big, you know when you've been fucked by him. Wow, yes!

I took a breath, there was a murmur of speech from the other side of the lattice, but I continued. "And like you said, discipline is good, so when I was late that night, and Santa and Frosty bent me over and spit-roasted me, it was what they deserved. They'd delivered so much joy to the community, it was only fair that I let them have some of that joy for themselves. What's more joyous than a father and son team bonding over a joint activity?

"I know what you're going to say, father and son bonding is good, but with my best friend and his Dad, it could work, but his Dad has already asked me not to say anything, so I'll just have to keep going. Besides, I guess sucking my friend's cock is not only good practice for his Dad but for other men too? Wouldn't you agree, Father?"

There was harsh silence in the air punctuated with deep shallow breaths. "I... I..." was all the priest could say for quite some time.

"It's a lot to take in huh?" I said, feeling relaxed in my newfound openness.

"This is not... You shouldn't be... I can't believe that you..." Father Matthews whispered, but his tone was urgent and angry. He paused again. "Do you... enjoy it?"

I considered how to answer, I knew what he was asking me, taking pleasure in a selfless need negates the selfless action of it, "yes, very much. Knowing the peace I bring others is fulfilling, Father."

"No, do you enjoy it, and don't lie?" His tone had calmed but his voice was still husky and low.

I bowed my head, a feeling of guilt washed over me again. "Yes," I whispered

There was another long pause and I sensed the priests' eyes focusing on me through the wooden partition. "What... What do you enjoy about it, my son?"

The pauses were beginning to come from both sides of the latticework, "Cock, the feel of it Father, hard and thick, warm in my hands."

I thought I heard a slight moan, "only your hands?" The priest asked.

"No, Father, in my mouth," I paused and my brain fought the admission, "my butt too."

The silence overtook the room again, only the distant hammering and clattering of tools could be heard, the confessional started rocking slightly, probably as a result of all the work. As we sat there in silence, the idea of the confessional came back to mind, then my thoughts drifted to Father Matthews. "Hearing other peoples' problems all day must be hard work." I thought to myself.

"Father," I said finally, "how do you relax?"

The rocking paused for a moment just in time for the Father to respond, "I... I turn to the Lord."

"Does that work? I mean, helping people like this must be stressful, I know helping takes a toll on me and I don't do it all day." I said.

The hammering quietened and all I could hear was the faint, rhythmical creaking of the old wooden confessional as it vibrated. "At times, it gets... very hard, like... right now." The creaking picked up speed and the Father added, "It's harder than... I remember."

Silence fell over the conversation again, the creaking of old wood was all that could be heard. "Father," I whispered quietly, "you've been such a relief to me today, and I know it's not normally how this works, but if you would ever want or need help... I would gladly do what I can."

All noise stopped. There was a slight shuffling of feet but at this point, I couldn't tell if it was my own nervous steps or someone else's. A loud creak broke the silence like a thunder-clap. The light through the lattice flickered a few times, first this way, then the other. Then silence fell again.

"Do you truly wish to serve the Lord, my son?" The priest finally said. His voice was firm, but still broken and husky, "If so, then kneel and prepare to take the sacrament."

I turned on my seat and faced the grating, quickly dropping to my knees on the cushion, bowed my head, clasped my hands together in prayer and began to recite The Lord's Prayer. I was halfway through when I heard a loud noise of wood on wood and glanced up. The lattice had been pulled aside, it was dark, my eyes had adjusted but it was still fuzzy, but the smell was unmistakable. Through the gloom rose the head of a glistening cock, fat and wide, the shaft followed, thickening with every inch all the way to the basis, flanked underneath by two large balls.

"Through me, you will prove to God that your talents are worthy. Only through me will you receive the blessing you crave." His voice had lost all of its croaky undertones and instead was forthright and direct, it left me with no doubt what I needed to do.

I closed my eyes, and said a short prayer wishing for success and let my tongue lap a clear trail from the underneath of the Father's large crown, all the way over his slit. My initial action was greeted by a deep rumbling moan and the priest thrust himself forward. I reached up and grasped his thick shaft. At about six inches long, Father Matthews was nowhere near as long as any of the men I'd helped before, but he was by far the thickest. My fingers would close around him, and my mouth only just managed to accommodate his large head. I mumbled an apology but my jaw wouldn't budge to form the words.

"That's... fine, my son," The priest said breathing heavily, "I've not met a boy alive who can take my cock without it hitting his teeth, I've grown to enjoy the sensation."

Hearing this I doubled my efforts and jammed my head forward. My lips met my first and all air travel halted for a second before I was able to breathe in through my nose. If it wasn't for the construction, the whole church would have heard me choke. I stayed there, working his cock with my mouth and tongue, I didn't expect to be able to work him into my throat, but I was going to try. I need to succeed. Just like the Father had said, if I wanted to be proven a worthy aid, then I would need to prove it here, in the noblest of ways, and so I pushed down another inch and felt his spongy cock head, lock itself into my gullet.

Instinctively, my hands flew out sideways flat against the partition when Father Matthews pulled back and hauled me with him, then he thrust forward again, a short, stabby motion, but it served to bury another inch in my throat and I felt his pubic hair tickle my nose. I was salivating all over his shaft, it was dripping out of my mouth and the wet sloshing sounds coming from my throat were loud and frequent. I swallowed for all I was worth but his cock wouldn't budge.

"Praise the Lord, you were given a talent boy." The Priest said with little care to who might have been listening.

I gripped the sides of the opening left by the removed latticework and Father Matthews began to thrust against me. I kept my head as still as possible, but with every backward movement I had no recourse but to lean forward, and before long, I was craning forward, my head through the opening and in the priest's cabin. He grabbed my head tightly between his large hands and fucked my face hard. Over and over again he stabbed forward causing my throat to spasm and choke his cock tighter. The more he did, the more I slobbered, the more I slobbered, the more he could move, until he was easily able to pull his thick cock back into my mouth and slam it deep all over again. My throat at stretched to accommodate him, and even if it hadn't, he was making it comply.