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WARNING!!! This store features not only vore, but vore in a church and of a member of that church, so this could be considered (and probably is) highly blasphemous, sacreligious, heretical, etc., and it also probably means I'm getting a one-way ticket straight to hell. 'Course, with some of the other stuff I've written, I'm on my way there anyway, so I don't care.

The name "Raven's Gate Church" is copyright Capcom. And no, this doesn't take place in Raccoon City. I just like the name of the church.

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Coach Samael "Sam" Withers trudged along the rain-drenched sidewalk with his hands in his pockets. A magnificent specimen of a horse, he stood roughly eight feet tall, with a slight paunch, and a small, neatly-trimmed brown goatee, matching his mane. Today he wore loosefitting slacks, a T-shirt and a windbreaker.

Today was Saturday, and there was no soccer practice scheduled for today, so Sam did was he usually did in the weeks since Mike's death. He went for long walks. Mike's fate was gnawing away at him inside, and Sam remembered reading somewhere that keeping your emotions bottled up was unhealthy. And lately, his emotions concerning Mike were leaning more towards guilt. At first, he told himself he hadn't cared, and had actually enjoyed the incident. But over the last several days, feelings of remorse were nagging at the horse.

But who could Sam talk to? He'd managed to convince the school principal and Mike's parents that the player's death had been entirely accidental.

Which was no easy feat. Because Mike had been crushed into the floor by Sam's gargantuan penis, which had since shrunken back down to its normal length, and drowned by his coach's cum when Sam had orgasmed.

It had taken Sam all night to clean up the cum, and then there was the matter of setting it up so that it looked as if Mike had died tripping in the showers. Luckily, he was such a well-respected coach that everyone took his word. He knew that any pathologist worth their salt, doing an autopsy, would discover the true cause of Mike's death

But who could he tell what really happened? He thought about a psychiatrist. Someone who could help him understand why he did what he did, and how to go about fixing it. But, even as that thought crossed his mind, he happened to glance up, and a large, gothic-looking church loomed into view, dark against the gray, rainy sky. A priest, Sam though. He could talk to a priest. Like psychiatrists, they were prone to keeping their penitents' secrets, although they didn't tend to try and dig around their psyches and figure out the hows and whys. At the moment, all Sam wanted to do was get this off his chest.

He walked into the church. On the way in, he passed a sign denoting its name: the Raven's Gate Church. Indeed, there were two carved raven gargoyles perched to either side of the entrance, giving the church a very ominous feel to it. Upon entering however, Sam found it much more pleasant than he expected. It was a large and lush-looking church, with the usual rows of pews facing a stage with a pulpit. All were empty now. There didn't seem to be anyone in sight. Sam idly remembered noticing only a single car in the church parking lot coming in.

He stood there, dripping wet, as the great door slowly closed behind him with a loud bang, making him uncharacteristically jump. At the sound, a middle-aged wolf appeared through a side door. He looked like the stereotypical priest. Black shirt with a white collar, even a pair of delicate-looking glasses perched on his muzzle.

"Welcome, my son," the priest said, approaching.

To Sam's surprise, he was quite muscular. Nowhere near as large as he, but still, clearly this priest hit the gym and took great care of his body. Even through his clothing Sam could see that he had a broad chest, lovely chest, and, God help him, washboard abs.

"My name is Father Bricklin," the priest said, standing before Sam. "Can I help you? Or have you just come in to seek shelter from the storm?"

"Well, I..." Sam trailed off. Bricklin inclined his head expectantly. "I came for....confession. I don't know if you're authorized or whatever the word is, but..." He trailed off.

Father Bricklin smiled sweetly and nodded. "Of course I am," he said. "Just follow me."

Turning, the priest led the way past the pews to a small, enclosed booth. A confessional. Sam breathed a sigh of relief, watching as Bricklin parted a dark red velvet curtain, and stepped into the right side of the booth. The curtain closed, and the Father vanished from view. Sam got in the left side, closing the curtain behind himself. His eight-foot frame barely fit, but he managed, plunking his butt down on the narrow seat, which creaked with his weight. By hunkering down, he was able to avoid banging his head against the ceiling, although to do so he had to spread his legs wide, knees pressing up against the partition that separated him from his confessor.

There was a wooden lattice in the wall, which allowed Sam to, kind of, see Bricklin, although really he could only see the priest's vague outline. Which, Sam remembered, was kind of the point, Anonymity and privacy. He folded his hands in his lap, and sighed. The moments ticked by in silence as Sam tried to muster the courage to speak.

"Well?" Bricklin asked, not sounding impatient at all. "What do you wish to confess, my son?"

Finally Sam blurted it out. "I've killed someone," he said. "Accidentally." As if on cue, there was a muffled boom of thunder from outside.

There was a moment of silence from the Father. Finally, Bricklin urged, "Go on."

Sam shifted uneasily in his seat. "I'm a soccer coach at a high school whose name I would...rather not reveal."

"That's understandable."

"It was one of my students. One of my players. You see, Father, I, uh, I'm gay." He let that sink in. There was only silence from the priest, so Sam continued. "We encountered one another in the showers and upon seeing one another naked, expressed a mutual desire to...explore one another. So we went into the locker room, and I sat down on a bench..."

He swallowed nervously, closing his eyes. He was finding talking easier now, especially since the priest was being quiet and not condemning him. At least, not so far. What also made talking easier was the fact that recounting the experience was producing the usual result. He was getting an erection. The front of his slacks tented.

"The boy began to...pleasure me," he went, "and then the strangest thing happened. Something so bizarre and unheard-of that I have to beg you to believe me me, but, my cock--er, that is, my penis, upon becoming aroused, began to grow."

"Grow?" Bricklin asked. He shifted on the other side of the lattice, adjusting his glasses. Unbidden, the thought of possibly arousing the priest with his story came to Sam's mind. "That sounds a little difficult to believe."

"It's true, Father, I swear it!" Sam blurted, with a mixture of desperation...and desire. Despite himself one hand was sliding down to grope his cockbulge. He stifled a moan.

"All right, so, it happened," Bricklin conceded. "Your penis grew to gigantic proportions. And then what happened?"

Sam turned his head to the side, chewing his lower lip. Confessing to having an affair with a student, and a male one at that, was one thing, but what he was about to reveal was something entirely different. He wondered if he could do it. Self-doubt was building up inside of the horse, and the raging hardon in his pants made him feel the sudden need to leave the church to go and jerk off.

"I don't know, Father," he said, "I don't know if I can do this. I'm having real trouble getting this out."

"Let it out, my son," Bricklin urged. "It's unhealthy to bottle up our emotions."

Sam let it out, all right. His arousal from retelling his story was so great at this point that he decided he would whip it out right there in the confessional. As long as he did it quietly, he reasoned, Father Bricklin would never even notice. He slowly unzipped his pants, and, tugging down the front of his briefs, he allowed ten inches of thick horsemeat to spill out and stand proudly up out of his fly.

As his fingers wrapped around the cock and began stroking his, Sam continued, as casually as possible. "My cock grew gigantic, as I said, and then...it fell on him," he said, gasping as he felt his cock jerk. Was he that close to orgasm already? "I was so consumed by lust, Father, that I began...thrusting into him."

He heard Bricklin distinctly whisper, "My God," but the priest added nothing else aloud.

"I...I crushed him to death with my huge cock," Sam said, not even bothering to try and hide the building lust in his voice.

His massive erection jerked a couple more times, and then, to Sam's surprise, began growing again. He let go of the cock, and watched with wide-eyed awe as ten inches slowly grew to fourteen, just like last time. The horsedick throbbing and swelled, becoming larger, thicker. A foot--no, two feet long. Sam adjusted himself on his seat, watching as the tower of flesh rose up past his eye level, and then higher. It was now over four feet in length, and proportionately as thick around as Sam's waist.

"My son," the totally unaware Bricklin said softly on the opposite side of the partition, "this is a very serious and...unusual sin you have confessed to me. The homosexual lust is one thing, but crushing a teenage boy to death with one's penis is something quite else entirely. Frankly, I must admit I'm uncertain what to do."

Sam was ignoring him at this point, more focused on what had made his cock grow. This was the first time it had happened since that fateful day in the locker room. It wasn't the first time he'd become aroused upon remembering what had happened, but by had his cock randomly grown again, now? Was it because this was the first time he had told the story out loud? He watched as the cock shuddered and swayed, somehow keeping itself standing straight up. But then, it pitched forwards, thudding against the partition.

In his side of the booth, Father Bricklin jumped as felt the confessional shudder. His booth was plunged into darkness as something quite large obstructed his view through the lattice. Whatever it was, it was pressing against the thin wood. Bricklin heard a sharp crack. Snapping wood.

The wolf gulped and started to get up out of his seat, remembering the horse's story, when, suddenly, a cockhead roughly the size of a watermelon burst through the partition, smashing it like balsa wood. Bricklin screamed and fell back down into a sitting position as the gigantic member fell upon him. Its thick weight pressed him down, holding him there, preventing the priest from getting up again.

Now that his cock had smashed through the partition, Sam could see clearly into the priest's side of the confessional. The horse was panting softly, and watched as the cock seemed to move completely of its own volition. The priest was spluttering as the head rubbed over his face, dribbling precum, smearing it over his glasses, which were then knocked off his face. They bounced off the wolf's knee, then silently fell to the floor of the compartment.

Then an extraordinary thing happened. As Bricklin struggled, his muzzle entered Sam's cock slit! The horse gasped aloud at this and moaned in pleasure, leaning back so his head thunked against the wall. He decided he wasn't going to fight it any longer. Clearly, if this happened in a church, then it was something that was meant to happen, so there was no point in stopping it. Sam gripped the walls to brace himself, panting, while his cock began to consume the priest.

Bricklin's head slid smoothly into the slit, and the cock used a combination of its own weight forcing itself down on the priest's body, and sucking motions, to draw its victim in. As it took Bricklin's broad shoulders in, pinning his muscular arms to his sides, the cock began lifting him up. As his feet left the confessional floor, Bricklin's heels hit the edge of the seat he had formerly occupied, causing his brown penny loafers, the only part of his wardrobe besides his collar that wasn't black, to slide off. They dropped to the floor alongside his glasses. Sam observed that the priest wore thin black dress socks to match his pants and shirt.

The priest's legs kicked out desperately as the cock devoured his torso down to its middle. With a schlucking sound, the Father was pulled in to the waist. The cock bucked, thick pre dribbling out around Bricklin, sliding in thin rivulets down his weakly-kicking legs, to drip off his socked feet.

The kicking feet hit the walls and ceiling of the priest's compartment, and, in trying to find something to touch his feet on, the priest only wound up pushing off the wall, forcing himself accidentally further into the cock.

At this, Sam moaned out, "Oh, Father!"

He grunted, sucking him further in, the black-panted legs limply sliding into the smooth, slick slit, followed by those sexy socked feet of his, the slit sealing 'round his ankles so only his feet stuck out. Looking down Sam could see a perfect outline of the priest in the shaft of his cock, squirming and struggling through the veiny skin, all for naught as he was slowly sucked deeper and deeper towards his fate. With a huge hand, Sam lovingly rubbed over the struggling bulge which had once been Father Bricklin.

The cock slit sucked Bricklin's now weak legs in to the ankles with one smooth gulp, and then slowly slid over his heels. His feet were then sucked in, weakly flexing toes gently disappearing last of all. Sam relaxed as the priest-bulge slid all the way down the shaft slowly, the horse groaning as he felt the weight deposited into his balls. At once, Sam suddenly felt fearful of discovery. But then he remembered that Father Bricklin had apparently been the only person here; his car was the only one parked outside. So Sam relaxed.

The horse thrust his hips, the drooling cockhead rubbing over the ceiling in the priest's side of the confessional, bucking and blurping out globs of pre, as the priest's form inside Sam's balls softened and with thick, slimy gurgling sounds, the prey was digested and slowly transformed into cum over the course of the next several minutes. Soon his balls swung freely, gurgling softly.

"Now what do I do?" Sam wondered aloud to no one, as he slowly came to his senses.

Although he was alone in the church, he wouldn't be alone once he left it. And he couldn't very well walk down the street with these huge balls swinging between his legs. At least, not if wanted to avoid attracting attention. And jokes about "elephantitis of the nuts." So, as wonderful as it was having the Father in his balls, Sam realized he was going to have to release him. So, he slowly began stroking his dick. To his surprise, the giant member was so sensitive that it exploded almost the minute he touched it.

The shaft flexed, a bulge running up it, like water going through a cartoon hose. A proper analogy, Sam thought, considering that upon reaching the end of the line the bulge, which was cum, proceed to spray out like water from a hose. He groaned deeply watching his cock spew gouts of cum, his balls emptying themselves of the former priest. Gradually his swollen balls shrank. Wave after wave of hot, thick, rich cum filled the priest's compartment, and, slowly catching his breath, Sam stroked his mighty dick for a minute, the sensitive organ twitching and bucking, dribbling a little more after its flow finally tapered off.

Slowly, the cock softened and shrank back down to its normal ten inches, allowing the horse to tuck it, and his balls, back inside of his slacks. He pulled his underwear back over the spent genitals and then zipped up.

Already feeling much, much better, he rose, parting the velvet curtain and stepping out of the confessional. Glad to be out of that tight little compartment, he stretched, grunting and feeling his joints pop.

"They really should build bigger booths," he mumbled. Composing himself, he said over his shoulder, "Thanks, Father, you really helped me out a lot. I feel much better now that I got that off my chest."

He then walked out of the church. The clouds had gone but it was still drizzling. Smiling to himself, Sam walked home.

As he left, another car drove into the church parking lot and slid into the parking space next to Father Bricklin's. From the car came another priest, Father Gilbert. He was much younger and thinner than Bricklin, and, without noticing the large, departing horse, pocketed his car keys and went directly inside the church.

Gilbert proceeded directly to the priests' offices without noticing anything unusual about the confessional. Here, he found Bricklin's office empty. This was strange. He and Bricklin were supposed to meet to discuss Sunday services tomorrow. Where could that wolf had gotten to? Deciding to look for him, Gilbert went back out into the main area of the church. Now, the confessional caught his eye.

"What..?" he wondered aloud. There appeared to se some kind of whitish substance slowly oozing out from underneath the curtain, on the side of the booth that Gilbert knew Bricklin always sat in.

Slowly, the younger priest approached and drew back the curtain, and recoiled at what he saw. Rationally, he should not have known what he was looking at, but he former experiences experimenting sexually in college allowed the young Father to recognize what he beheld filling the confessional.

The priest's side was absolutely destroyed. The lattice and much of the partition smashed in, and the interior soaked in cum, dribbling off the walls and ceiling, hot and thick, pooling on the seat and on the floor...amidst a pair of glasses and penny loafers. All that remained of Father Bricklin.

Gulping, Gilbert let go of the curtain and it slid shut again, concealing the sight. As the priest turned away, he felt a strange, familiar sensation building in his loins. As a hardon formed inside of his trousers, Gilbert crossed himself and, doing his best to ignore his desires, went to go find a mop and bucket.

The End