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How the Bouncer Entertains Himself

Part 4

for Limemas

by Draconicon

Father Marlon leaned over his steering wheel, the vulture's narrow fingers clenching tightly around the rubber rim. His breath came in ragged bursts, his eyes were closed, and he barely kept from bumping the horn with his beak as he huffed and puffed for air.

"Breathe...breathe...ignore it..."

And yet, the spasms from down below were all but impossible for him to ignore. The constant pulsing between his legs fed by the throbbing under his tail feathers felt like it would never end, and he wheezed for breath as he tried to hold out against the temptation to touch himself. Up, down, up, down his cock throbbed beneath his clothes, begging him to give in and just take some little bit of satisfaction.

"Nnngh...mmmph...not...not yet...not...not now..."

Not in the parking lot. Not as a priest. Not where someone could see.

Far...far you've fallen, he thought to himself. This isn't right. This isn't you. That...that bouncer...

Father Marlon looked up, panting as he forced himself to stare at the church across the street. St. Joseph's loomed tall and proud, and the bells were ringing, calling those that wished to join the service to listen to what the local priest had to say. It was not his church, but he knew Father Malcolm here, and he knew that there'd be greater understanding from him than there would be at his church.

If he could drag himself from his car, that was. The results of his...his interaction with that bouncer at the bar were still troubling him. He tried to shift his position -

"Mmmmph!"

And had to stop in mid-motion, feeling his inner walls clamping down hard against an oversensitive prostate, feeling his ass cheeks pressing down on a pucker that was already swollen and eager, begging him to let go of his inhibitions and start touching himself. If not his cock, then his hole, to slide a finger inside and give it a little rub, to tease his pleasure button and give himself that relief that his body so badly needed. It had been doing that for so long now, and it was getting harder and harder to resist.

It is unholy, unclean, not right for one to...one to want that...

And yet, the various Bible verses and other remonstrations that the Catholic priest had memorized time and time again were doing little to help him now. It had been three days since he'd stepped away from the bar, since he'd made that house-call to the women there to try and make them understand that their sinful lifestyle was an affront to both their dignity and the lord. He doubted that it had done any good, but at the same time, he'd needed to try. But if he'd known about the bouncer -

He hissed through his beak, remembering the hazy moments of pleasure as he'd been thrown over a table, his robes pulled out of the way, and that tongue...that utterly fantastic tongue.

"No...no...no..."

But no matter how many times he told himself off, he couldn't stop thinking of that tongue slithering under his tail feathers, between his ass cheeks, and right against his pucker. That warmth, that slithering feeling of it pushing right into him, forcing his hole open and making him feel the pleasure that everyone else took for granted -

He hissed as he felt the sudden squirt of pre-cum in his underwear, his inner walls clenching down on nothing, but that little bit of movement was enough to make his prostate feel it. He could feel the ripples, the need, the utter insanity of just how turned on he was. He hadn't felt like this since his teenage years, and he was sure that even those days hadn't been quite this rampant with need. The vulture clenched his fingers tighter around the wheel, forcing his mind back, back, back to the humiliation of being forced to the clinic...

Yes. That did it. The judgmental eyes, the way that he had been held to account. That finally forced his cock down, forcing him to stop thinking about how hard he was. There. There. There.

As he finally stopped shaking, the priest managed to let go of the steering wheel. He still had to move carefully, slowly, so that he didn't accidentally start rubbing his inner walls together too much, but at least he could move without feeling like he was going to blow at any minute.

Would God hold me to account if I did, though? Father Marlon wondered as he leaned against his car. If it wasn't my fault...if someone else was responsible for what happened to me...if it wasn't something that I meant to happen...

Surely there was some sort of rule that made it less his responsibility if something like that happened? Surely there was something in the church canon that relieved someone of that sort of blame if they were not so fully in control of themselves.

He could only hope that was the case; otherwise, his past three days were filled with events that would have damned him.

His fingers curled tighter around the top of the car door as he remembered that trip to the clinic. It had been impossible to imagine going to someone in his church for help and advice when his hole was burning, puffy and sensitive - and hungry - so he had little choice but to go to a doctor that didn't know him. Someone that didn't think of him as a priest, someone that could just give him some help that would make him feel better.

The judging at the clinic had been severe as he'd laid there on the table, legs pulled up and back, but at least the mouse had been gentle about it. A light probing followed by a prescription for some creams that would hopefully bring the swelling down, and he was sent on his way. The pharmacist had been nice, too, though a little too familiar. He was all but sure that the orca behind the counter had been sure that he was some gay man that had gotten in over his head and needed some help from the medical professionals.

It wasn't the case, of course, but -

He shook his head. He needed to stop thinking about that. He needed to stop thinking about everything that had happened in the last few days. Just a little bit more, just a little more time, and he should recover. A poison such as this could not last forever, surely.

Confession, he thought. A little confession will be good for the soul, and for the body.

Father Marlon nodded to himself, beginning the walk up to the church. Each step was a reminder of what could happen if he walked too quickly or with too much of a hurry; though he'd managed to calm down, his insides were still so sensitive, and his pucker was...puffy, for lack of a better term. Inflamed. The normally nearly-invisible pucker was pushed out between his cheeks, not quite spreading them, but making him feel almost equine from how it had changed from the last few days of...of excitement and...and treatment.

His tail feathers fanned out for a moment before he pulled them tight once more. The vulture stood up a little straighter, pushing his robes down once more as he opened the door to the church. The pews were already full, and he could see that they were getting ready to start the sermon.

Father Malcolm might still have time, he thought. If I hurry...

The confessional was around and behind the main room, and he wished that he could move faster as he walked around the pews towards his destination. Every second in the open felt like a risk of being caught out for what the bartender was trying to turn him into, and he didn't know if his reputation, or his sanity, could take that sort of 'discovery.'

Finally, he arrived at the little wooden boxes of the confessional. The vulture leaned against the door to the empty side, breathing slowly through his beak holes as he forced himself to calm down. His cock was stiff and throbbing in the front of his cassock, and he didn't know how much longer he would be able to resist touching himself.

Or fingering myself.

He bit that thought off as fast as he could. That was the dangerous one...or was it?

There was no doctrine in the church canon, as far as he knew, for taking sexual relief that didn't involve touching oneself in the front. There were restrictions for females that came from touching their sex, and for males the same, but the other hole...well, that was fair game, was it not? The lord had not forbidden it to him as long as it was his hand, not someone else's mouth or cock or tongue -

Tongue. That magic tongue.

Holding back a whimper-groan that threatened to overtake him, Father Marlon stepped into the confessional box, pulling the door shut behind him. As he sat down, doing his best not to put his weight on anything sensitive, he heard movement on the other side. The other father was probably there, then.

"Father Malcolm, forgive me, for I have sinned."

"...Go on, my child."

The voice on the other side almost sounded off. Father Marlon blinked, clicking his beak.

"Are you alright, Father Malcolm?"

"It's nothing; a passing chill. Please. Go on."

It explained the slight huskiness of the other man's voice, at least. He shook his head, folding his hands in his lap as he leaned his head back.

"Forgive me, Father. It's been four days since my last confession, and...and I have had a very difficult time in those four days."

"I understand. We all face temptations. Which have risen to face you, Father Marlon?"

"Those of...lust."

He shivered; just admitting that seemed to do something to his shaft, encouraging it in its slow growth in his clothing. He resisted the urge to adjust himself; he knew that if he reached down to touch it, it would only encourage him to keep touching it, to keep rubbing it through his clothes. Instead, he spread his legs, leaning forward -

And he barely resisted the urge to hiss as his cheeks spread, his sensitive pucker touching the hard bench beneath him. His fingers curled tight around his knees, and he...he started rocking his hips, grinding his rump against the wooden bench. With his robes and underwear in the way, it was almost...too pleasurable. Like he was getting someone under his tail feathers, someone that would lick and suck and tease his pucker the way that he really needed it to be teased.

"What temptations have you faced, my son?"

"Mmmph..." He had to keep talking. Confession...confession was good for the soul, and the efforts of the doctors certainly hadn't worked. Maybe if he could just...just talk it out, it would make him feel better. "I went to a club of sin, Father Malcolm. I went to a bar where women took off their clothes and showed off their bodies for others. But they were not the focus of my temptation."

"They were not?"

"No, it was...it was a man." He huffed, shivering as he remembered being thrown over the table again, remembered those rough hands on his hips and how the pleasure had risen so fast, how his hole had become the center of his world so swiftly. "And...and I was...I was..."

He wanted to say that he was raped. He wanted to say that he had been taken against his will, changed, altered by what must have been some demon in mortal skin. The Komodo Dragon had been so intense, so powerful, and he had taken away any choice in the matter that Father Marlon might have had. Yet, at the same time, each touch, each lick, each caress from that other man had sent fire through his body, lust such as no woman had ever aroused out of him.

"I was used," he said, eventually. "Used by something...impossible. I was...tempted...to let him use me further."

"Did you?"

"No, Father. I was...I was able to resist that time. I did not even...I managed to keep from committing Onan's sin, and spilling my...my seed by my own hand."

"Was that your only temptation, my son?"

"No...no, there were...there were more."

He covered his face with one hand, the other gripping at his thigh so tightly to keep from reaching beneath his robe. He knew if he stopped holding it there, it would go to his cock, or worse. He kept talking.

"I went to the clinic to try and figure out why I was feeling so...feverish. Lustful. There was too much for it to be normal, and I feared that he had infected me with something in our encounter."

"What did he do to make you fear that?"

"I...must...must I say it, Father Malcolm?"

"It is important to purge yourself of any doubts, and any fears. That means that you must give me everything, my son. Be specific; what did he do to you?"

"He..." His hand slipped, and he huffed as he groped himself ever so slightly. He pushed his hand away, but it was already sliding along the edges of his robe. "He bent me over his table...and he pushed his tongue inside me."

"And...did you enjoy it?"

"I...I didn't want to -"

"That was not my question, my son."

"Mmmph..." The vulture shivered, lowering his head as his cheeks burned, and worse, as his hand found its way into his robe. He couldn't bring himself to stop it as it pushed down, down, past his cock and towards his taint, behind his balls and right...right over his hole. His finger busied itself tracing a circle around his rim, on the verge of sliding in as he admitted it. "Yes...I enjoyed...I enjoyed what he did to me. It was his fault, Father, I swear. I wasn't...I'm not..."

"Your confession is noted. Please, then, continue."

"I...mmmph..." It was hard to speak while he had a finger teasing himself like that, but he forced himself to continue, regardless. "I went to a clinic...after I spent nearly ten minutes...getting opened up by the bouncer's tongue. I felt...puffy back there, swollen...needy. I didn't want to feel that way, but I did, like I could get...like I could, and should, receive pleasure back there. And so...I went to a clinic. They examined me - professionally - and then sent me to get some medication from the pharmacy.

"When I returned home, I...I attempted to apply the cream that I was given to my...my..."

"Your hole, my son."

"My hole," he said, both shocked and grateful that Father Malcolm completed the sentence for him. He hissed under his breath as his finger curled, nearly sliding past his pucker right then and there, only the barest hints of self-restraint keeping him from finger-fucking himself already. "I...I attempted to apply it, but the moment that I touched myself, it was impossible to not feel...pleasure. I never touched my penis, I swear -"

"Good."

"But I couldn't resist touching...that. My...my hole. It felt...it felt so good..."

Just like it did right at that moment. Just then, just as he was rubbing and circling his pucker, putting light bits of pressure on it. His robes had parted, his cock as hard as it could be, pre-cum running down the sides of it with such a flow, such a ferocious current of lust -

But I am not touching it.

That kept him from breaking the rules. He panted as he leaned back on the bench, his ass slightly hanging off, his hole exposed as he kept rubbing one finger against it, teasing the center of the clenching ring of flesh. Father Marlon moaned under his breath as he leaned his head back, knowing that Father Malcolm could hear it, but he was in the grips of it now, and there was nothing that he could do to stop it. It was just...just too good, and even guilt, even humiliation wasn't sufficient to keep him from taking care of himself now.

"I...I'm sorry...Father..."

"Do go on..."

"I'm trying...I'm...trying..."

"Describe what happened, my son."

"What happened...was...I shoved my finger up my ass," Father Marlon said, his eyes closing tight as the memory and the present became one. "I used the cream like...like lube, finger-fucking my own ass...rubbing it and teasing it the way that the bouncer probably wanted to. I...I couldn't resist the pleasure of my...my prostate. I had to...had to touch it, tease it, force myself over the edge again and again and again."

Squelch, squelch, squelch. He'd finally popped his finger in, and his hole felt wet and needy, almost like some sort of ass-slime was making it easier for him to fuck himself, tease himself, use himself. He barely cared, his eyes rolling back in their sockets as he felt the pleasure rising, the need growing, the utter insanity of what he was doing sliding past his conscience and leaving him caring only about getting more.

"I fucked my ass with my finger, then two, then three. I couldn't stop. I was on my back, on my knees, all over my apartment, trying to resist, but always drawn back. I couldn't take my hand from my hole for more than a few minutes, only to be pulled right back to it. The cream did nothing; I just...I...I...I..."

"Are you getting close, my son?"

"I...I am...I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

Three fingers, now, three slender fingers pumping his pucker as he leaned over on his side, one leg in the air as if he were some whore putting on a show. How was Father Malcolm just sitting there so calmly when someone was completely losing their minds in the confessional? How could he compare to another priest like that when he was the one that had been tempted down such a path of debauchery? How could any of them take that when...when....when...

When it felt so damn good?!

He moaned out loud as he fucked his fingers in and out of his hole, rapidly slapping his hand against his ass time and time again. Each time that he managed to hilt his fingers, his cock jumped, spitting pre-cum across the wall of the confessional. Even as far from the main sermon as they were, some part of the vulture wondered if they would hear him, condemn him, look down on him for this if they ever found out what he was doing...what he had become...

He was a slut, he realized. A total anal slut for what he was doing. But that thought, which would have once at least slowed him down, did nothing this time. This time, it only made him all the hotter, needier, more wanton than ever as he moaned and screamed from the raw pleasure that kept hitting him over and over as his fingers pounded into his pucker.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

"Ah...ah...ah..." Father Marlon moaned at the top of his lungers, unable to hold back. "Nnngh..."

"You have yet to finish, my son."

"I'm...trying..."

And he really was. He could care less about the rules now; completion was so close, and he didn't care about whether he was allowed to cum or not. He wasn't taking his relief with his cock, and that was all that mattered. As he pulled his fingers free of his pucker, rubbing around the rim again before shoving them back inside, he kept expecting something, anything to be the stimulation that shoved him over the edge, but that final pleasure kept proving more and more elusive. He wanted to. He wanted to finish so badly, but something kept holding him back.

In short order, he was a whimpering mess, bucking back against fingers that weren't sufficient, toe-talons curling hard, his eyes rolled back in his skull, and his cock spitting pre-cum by the shot. It was torture, stuck right on the edge, but there was nothing that he could do.

"Please...please...Father...I can't..."

Footsteps followed, and the door to the other side of the confessional opened and closed. Had he taken it too far? Was the priest going to go and call someone else in to deal with the pervert that Father Marlon had become? The vulture didn't know, and he wasn't sure what he wanted it to be. All he knew was that he was close, and he wanted to at least get over the edge before -

The door opened...and it wasn't Father Malcolm on the other side. It was the bouncer.

"Y-you?" Father Marlon managed to gasp, his fingers refusing to stop the in-and-out motion of finger-fucking himself. "How..."

"One of our girls likes to come here for the music; I was just having a drink back here while I waited for her to be done," the Komodo Dragon said, chuckling to himself. "But what do I find but a little slut that decided to come home for the last bit of his treatment..."

"Please...you...you..."

"You know what you want, bastard. You know what you need right now. That addiction's already burning hot in that ass of yours, and if you keep waiting...heh, maybe it'll go away. Maybe you'll get better, but until then, you're going to be burning with lust. This gets a hell of a lot worse before it gets better."

Father Marlon whimpered, his eyes closing to slits as he tried and failed to force his fingers back from his pucker. His insides were on fire, begging for more of that stimulation, begging for that little bit more than he could actually get from his fingers. They weren't big enough, weren't long enough to really scratch the itch that he had between his cheeks. And his cock...his cock was too forbidden, too wrong to touch. Even now, even with all that he had done, he wouldn't break that oath, but...but...

"Fuck..."

"Mmm, first time that I've heard a Catholic priest swear," the bouncer said, chuckling. "So, what's it going to be, Father? You going to let me 'help' you, or are you going to do the 'right' thing and pretend that you're going to make it through this without losing your fucking mind?"

The vulture knew what the right answer to that was, but he knew that there was no way in hell that he could make it through that. He was already on the verge of just...just doing something impossible, something immoral, to someone just for the sake of satisfaction. If he didn't find some way to control this, he would be nothing more than some pervert hunting the streets for a victim. Whatever he could get for satisfaction, he'd take, even if it meant making a deal with the devil himself standing in the confessional doorway.

"I...I..."

"Yeah, 'Father'?"

"Please...h-help me..."

"Knew it."

The confessional was cramped, but St. Joseph had received funds for refurbishment, so there was just barely enough room for the pair of them inside the little wooden box. The vulture submitted to the other man pushing him back, legs in the air, as the Komodo Dragon got to his knees. He knew what was coming; that tongue had driven him mad before, and now, he was going to feel it drive him to further -

"AH!"

He gasped, his eyes going wide as his mouth fell open. Wet, slippery, but so very strong, it punched past his pucker and dove deep. The priest's legs shook overhead, his beak quivering as he felt that elusive orgasm getting closer and closer. Lick, lap, lick, lap, each successive touch of the tongue inside doing what his fingers never could. Not only was it going deeper - so much deeper - than his fingers, but it was slimy and forceful, rubbing over his prostate, demanding that it give up the pleasurable bliss that it was holding back from him.

And more than that, every lick was somehow making him more sensitive than he had ever been. His eyes twitched, rolling back, his fingers gripping his legs ever tighter as his cock twitched and bounced against his belly-feathers.

"Ah...ah...nnngh..."

So close, the squelching sounds of that tongue diving in and out getting stronger and stronger, the feeling of slime and arousal getting so much better. He was a mess, but somehow, that only made it better. The messiness, the naughtiness, the smell of his own musk getting stronger and stronger as he got closer to his climax: it all added up to greater and greater pleasure.

Lick, lap, thrust - right on his prostate. Father Marlon's breath left him in a wheezing moan as everything tightened, and he finally came.

Pulse, pulse, pulse went his cock, and each squirt was a blast of pleasure that all but blotted out his mind. The priest rolled his head back, arching his back, thrusting his hips against the questing tongue deep in his ass. The feeling of that slimy, warm thing would have repulsed him days ago, but now...now, it was the best thing he'd ever felt. His tongue stuck out past his beak as one cum-shot actually hit his chin, and he didn't care. All that mattered was the thrashing thing inside of him, and the pulsing, steady heat of his orgasm getting wrung out of him.

Each twitch of that tongue against his prostate made the pleasure last longer, longer, and longer still. He whimpered, the pleasure becoming something almost like pain as it just kept going. There was no stopping it, no holding it back. All that he could do was ride it out, feeling it rising and falling, rising and falling, and his cum just...spitting out, time after time, splatting against him, the wall, everything.

It just didn't stop.

Pulse, pulse, pulse...pulse...pulse...

As it finally started slowing down, as the orgasmic wave became more of a series of sputtering sparks of pleasure rather than a continuous stream, that tongue pulled out of him. He wheezed in exhaustion, his eyes slowly coming back down to focus on the bouncer. The other man was getting to his feet and pulling at his pants, revealing that bulge...that dick...that...that...

Squeeze.

Squelch.

"NNGH!"

He all but came again just at that moment, cock jumping against his belly. He didn't know what that tongue-fuck had done, but he knew one thing; his asshole was no longer just for pushing things out. From this moment on, his hole had become a fuck-hole. It was there for cock, for tongue, for anything that the Komodo Dragon wanted to ram up there, and any complaints that he had about that use were too late to be counted. If he wanted to avoid it, he shouldn't have let the bouncer shove that damn tongue up his ass.

"Ah...ah..." He panted as he watched the other man pull his cock out, stared at the erection as it throbbed over him, and didn't fight as his legs were spread again. The only thing he did do was moan and whimper as that thing rubbed between his cheeks, the hot head kissing his pucker twice before resting against it. "You...you're going to..."

"Yep."

"Oh, fuck..."

"You want it. Don't deny it."

There was no denying it; his hole was already clenching in anticipation, and his insides were already begging to know what the real thing would feel like after getting tongue-fucked and finger-fucked as hard as he had been. The priest's awareness of the rules were fading, replaced more and more by the raw desire to just...enjoy himself, to throw the rules and the functions of his position to the wind and just give in. He was...he was so horny...so empty...

So, he spread his legs further, giving an invitation with his body that he couldn't give with his mouth. He made it damn clear that he was more than open to take it further, and the Komodo Dragon took that invitation, just like he took him.

The first thrust was wet and deep, and he couldn't believe how good it felt. His cock jerked, on the verge of spitting another orgasm already, and his balls...oh, his balls were aching from just how full they still felt. Three days of constant semi-edging must have made them feel like they were never going to get off, but they sure were today. They were going to get everything that they needed today, under the influence of that fat -

"NNGH!"

Out again, the thick tip popping out of his rim. He felt that, felt it all too keenly, only for it to pop back in. Pop, pop, pop went that thick cock, opening him up and then filling him again, stretching and straining his puffy hole, forcing him to open up and get used to the feeling of being little more than a fleshlight for the other man. That was fine; that was more than fine for him, considering how good it felt.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

The confessional seemed to rock around them, and Father Marlon was all but sure that he was going to lose his mind. His cock jumped, an orgasm milked from it, but anything coming from his cock failed to concern him any longer. All that mattered was his ass, and how good it felt now that he had a real cock inside of it. The difference between that and fingers and tongue were so vast and broad that he knew that he'd never be satisfied with just his fingers again. That would only serve to get him warmed up for the real thing from now on.

In, out, in, out, faster and faster, each thrust filling the air with the wet squelch of that cock popping into its new home and the rough thump of scales against feathers. The smell of sweat and pre-cum and sex were so strong that he couldn't make out anything else in the small container, and he knew that their little secret was going to be revealed in short order.

Thoughts that would have given him panic before but only brought him pleasure now started flitting through his head. He would be exposed, lose his position as a father of the church, be forced into a life of sin. Everything that he had been would be taken from him, leaving him nothing but some little cock-sock for the Komodo Dragon over him, this strange beast that had taken everything and left him with nothing but the urge to seek ever more pleasure.

And he loved that thought. The old way of holding back didn't matter. All that mattered was his ass, filling it and fucking it. The vulture arched his back as he was fucked, wrapping his legs around the reptile's hips to pull him closer, deeper, further inside of him.

"More...more!" he begged.

"Heh, knew you'd end up being eager," the other male said.

"More!"

And he got more...so much more...The Komodo Dragon picked up the pace, his hips and his thighs battering against the pinned vulture, and he knew that he'd be stuck here, getting it, taking it as long as the other man had stamina for him. He didn't want to stop, even as his balls started draining with orgasm after orgasm. He wanted more, needed more, to be pinned and used and rutted as long as he could get it.

It didn't matter when he started shooting blanks.

It didn't matter when his cock started to ache with perpetual pleasure and orgasms that just stretched out because his hyper-sensitive asshole was just getting pushed to its limits.

All that mattered was that the pleasure kept coming, that his hole kept getting used by the man that had changed it, and he got what he needed to feel good rather than repressed by the world around him.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

"More," he begged, even as he felt the world spinning, his need dragging him down, down, down into the depths of his own mind. "More," he begged, his stamina fleeing as the Komodo Dragon pulled something out, some mark to wrap around his neck. "More," he whispered, and the world went black.

The End

Summary: The priest from the previous story ends up succumbing to the corruption of his ass, and gives in to the pleasure that he's been offered.

Tags: M/M, Humiliation, M/solo, Vulture, Komodo Dragon, Fingering, Denial, Edging, Corruption, Anal, Rimming, Orgasm, Forced Orgasm, Cum, Hyper Sensitive, Series, Priest, Embarrassment,