Churchmouse
Matthew has a confession.
I really don't like how this one came out, but hey. I said I'd have something each saturday.
"As I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep..." He intoned the old prayer in the same sing-song rhythm as always. After so many years, it had been scorched into his memory. At times it even felt like a chore, though he would never confess to such aloud. Although it happened to be particularly cold tonight, he knelt down at the side of his bed, as he had every other night before and expected to every night following. The tedious routine of Our Father, Now I Lay Me and Hail Mary flowed as fluently as any other well-memorized passage of literature.
There was plenty of literature he had committed to memory by now, too. He was an avid reader. Behind him were two bookshelves filled to overflowing with books, some few from his childhood but the vast, vast majority from his adolescence and the past two years that composed his adulthood. The most common name among them was Asimov. Despite the differences in ideology he held with the writer, he considered science fiction a positive escape from reality, although not one that he would readily embrace as his own life. There was a distinct godlessness to the world of cybertronic beings and endless, ever-growing vacuums no longer beyond life's reach.
When his prayers concluded, he climbed to his feet and then into his bed. Rather than falling fast asleep, he spent the first few hours pondering, the dread of too-certain anticipation flooding his chest. Every night for the past couple years, he had the same dream. It was one that shook him to the core of both his sense of self and his sense of religion, though so far as he considered his identity, that might border on repetition. Although he was no longer on his knees, he murmured an addendum to his prayers. "And please, if you see fit," he hesitated and swallowed hard, despite making the request aloud each and every night, "please let me dream of something else. Or nothing. I don't mind either."
After a while, when his mind finally settled down to drowsiness, he slipped off into sleep.
In his dream, he wore ribbons in his hair and enjoyed it. The idea appealed to him in the waking world as well, but when he was asleep, that prohibitive voice that told him it shouldn't didn't seem to raise any objections. He wore ribbons alongside loose-fitting attire better suited to a more barbaric world far-removed from his own. A delicate loincloth protected him from prying eyes that were, even in this unreal world, in short supply. Around his chest he wore very little. Trailing down his stomach and his thighs were blue markings painted into his fur, all swirling nearer to his crotch, where they were clearly designed to direct attention. Along his arms and down to his wrists were similar markings, fanning out to the tips of each finger. In his waking mind, the attire appeared majestic and somehow vagrant, though he knew he would never utter a word of it to anybody so long as he lived.
He wasn't alone, of course. As always, the next thing he became aware of was the well-muscled lion that towered over him. The lion wore nothing save for a red cloak, lined with black-spotted white fur, or something near enough to resembling it. As always, the lion outstretched a clawed, fearsome hand toward him and he placed his own inside of it. The comparison of size alone was enough to make him appear meek. By the routine the lion would say, "shall we adjourn, dearest Matthew?" And Matthew would respond with a slow, eager nod of his head. Even as he slept Matthew found difficulty with his voice, it seemed. Perhaps that was why things were so vivid.
Their surrounds would enter his attention next. A marble hall that seemed to encompass the whole of the world. Beneath them, a purple carpet that stretched from the unseen entryway along to a throne fit for royalty. Hand-in-hand Matthew and the lion would walk alongside one another, the lion cooing quiet nothings all the while - "dearest mouse, little queen, precious one," on and on until they reached the throne ahead. Each and every word, although they were whispered, would echo throughout the hall and surround Matthew. His head would swim in them and he would cuddle nearer to the lion at his arm, allowing the more powerful male to support the whole of his weight without any inhibition.
The lion, as ever, sits in his throne. He parts his legs open before Matthew, who watches with nothing but enthusiasm and lust. The sight of the lion's sheathe, broad and swelling further, has his mouth watering. "Proceed," the lion would command, the wave of his wrist regal and his tone authoritative. Given permission, the mouse wouldn't hesitate any longer, inching his way in and falling fast to his knees. His fingers would find the lion's knees and press their way inward along muscled thighs, dull claws parting golden fur as they went. The lion would shiver beneath him, equal to the mouse in eagerness but perhaps not in patience. Matthew would feel one firm, strong hand settle between his ears, dislodging a ribbon from its resting place, coaxing the mouse in nearer.
Matthew never needed much coaxing in the dream, something that could certainly not be said of his waking self. He buried his face in the crotch of the lion, nuzzling his cheek in against the swelling sheathe and sac beneath it. All but bathing in the scent and the warmth, he would open his mouth wide and close it around the sheathe itself, running his tongue up along the underside and sucking hard, as though to tug the length inside free by force alone. As always, he would succeed. The lion's texture dreamily perfect, his taste addictive. Matthew would as ever be aware of the flicking of the feline's tail, the soft feel of the puff of fur at the end rubbing along his thigh.
His own eyes would rise along the lion's sculpted body, following a trail of distinct brown fur that stood out thicker than the rest. It would lead up to the silk-like brown fur beneath the lion's muzzle, where Matthew would lead his eyes up further to find the lion's. They'd watch one another and everything would be romantic, would be impossibly perfect. Matthew's mouth would slide slowly down that length, swallowing in inch after smooth, unblemished inch, until his lips came to rest in that nest of darker brown fur. Drunk on the smell, he'd start to suck with all of his enthusiasm, lapping along all that he could with his tongue.
There was, on occasion, just one difference to the dream. Sometimes, Matthew would feel tension roll through his back, causing it to arch. He would draw off of the lion's meat, hovering his chin just above it as he cried out. Gushes of the lion's seed would flush over his chin, his lips, even his forehead. The waves of his own orgasm would burst from his crotch and out over his own thighs, coating that barbaric little loincloth, drawing moan after moan from him as-
Matthew woke in a cold sweat, his breathing heavy and his body far warmer than it ought to be. His first thought was always a fever - please, please, a fever. Then his hopes would be dashed as his hand roamed down near his thigh and found it damp. "Not again..."
Pausing at the doorway to the church, Matthew sank his hands into his pockets and wondered whether he really ought to enter. Although he planned on coming tomorrow morning anyway, something deep inside told him that he'd likely burst into flames if he so much as dared to set foot inside tonight. Swallowing hard and breathing deep, he slowly made his way forward, feeling weak in the knees. It must have been one in the morning, perhaps even later, but this place swore by never closing its doors on anybody who needed help. And so far as Matthew was concerned, he needed help.
Inside the air was musty and old, despite the spaciousness of the building itself. The lights were mostly off inside, with a few dim lamps illuminating far corners. Streetlights shone through the stained glass windows, casting off-colour reflections across the tile floor. Matthew made his way further in, pacing slowly through those odd lights until he reached the front few rows. He scanned the church around him for just a moment, deciding that it seemed empty enough, before he settled into one of the front pews. Although he didn't press his hands together in prayer, he did bow his head. Afraid that somebody might overhear, he kept his prayers internal, asking once again to be rid of the dreams that kept him waking up at night.
The mouse half-expected an epiphany to arrive. He thought, just maybe, that one of the statues that decorated the walls all around him might become animate and provide the insight he needed through a thorough lecture. As he sat in silence, he slowly came to accept that no such insight was going to come to him. A niggling doubt in the far, far recesses of his mind scolded him. Here he was, past one in the morning, sitting alone in a relatively empty building, holding a silent conversation with something that so seldom seemed to care to answer.
After what felt like hours, Matthew opened his eyes. He turned about where he sat to retrieve a Bible from the back of his pew. Old, red leather cover, embroided title. He could quote passage after passage of ancient scripture. He flipped through pages with ease, coming to what particular parts felt relevant. He read just as silently as he thought and prayed, letting the time slip by. Soon enough he felt certain that he wouldn't be leaving and returning for the Sunday morning sermon, he would just be unnervingly early. His family wouldn't mind too much if he just explained that he was having some difficulties, so long as he was sure to mention that he'd resolved them before they had an opportunity to press him.
The silence was broken by footsteps. Matthew almost leapt out of his skin. He slammed the book shut in his hands, eyes shooting up to see somebody that had his blood running cold. A young man in the appropriate vestments to be a priest. A tall, muscular-looking lion. Golden-furred, with darker brown fur surrounding his face in a very well-maintained mane. The priest cast a cordial look to the side, too-dreamlike brown eyes resting on the mouse for just a moment. A smile creased the corners of those dark lips as the lion bid his head, before returning his attention to the steaming mug between his hands, almost like some pious effigy carried by a devout in an old film. The robe swayed behind him, almost like a cloak.
The lion cut his way across and entered the nearby confessional without a word. An old wooden cube set off to the side of the church. Matthew hastily checked his watch, revealing that it was all of four in the morning. The priest was either starting work early, or... With a dubious look up to the sculptures around him, Matthew wondered whether his prayers had been answered. With trembling hands he slid the book back into the pew before climbing to his feet. Although he knew very well that a priest couldn't see you through that dark screen of the confessional cubicle, Matthew tugged down at the hem of his shirt and hoodie, ensuring that both were resting properly along his slender frame. He watched the confessional all the while, asking himself again and again, "am I really going to do this? Should I?"
The priest had looked too much like the lion from his dream for it to be a coincidence. He swallowed hard once more before slowly making his way to the confessional, his legs feeling light and his steps uneven. He stopped outside the door of the confessional, murmuring, "um, Father? Are you, uhm... Open, right now?" There was a moment of quiet before he heard the lion rumble in response, his voice a too-familiar baritone,
"We're always open here."
"Okay," the mouse replied dimly. He remained where he was for a few moments before fumbling with the latch on the confessional door. When it opened he froze again, before awkwardly shuffling his way inside, turning about in the cramped little space. He tugged the door shut behind him, then sat down, fumbling his hands between his knees. Through the screen he could hear the priest sipping at his drink. Coffee, the mouse supposed. Matthew spent the silence collecting his thoughts, trying to sort what he wanted to say into a proper statement. There was much and he was certainly worried about the priest's response. Finally, he felt words blurt from his mouth while he still thought over how he ought to be constructing them. "I dream about having sex with other men."
Another sip resounded from the opposite pane of the dark screen. Matthew looked to the side. He could see the lion's head in dark silhouette, just barely visible. It bent inward toward his mug, before rising to settle back against the wooden wall behind it. A lengthy silence stretched on between them. "Would you like to tell me about the dream?" The lion said, finally, causing Matthew's heart to skip a few beats. The mouse's breath caught in his throat. He noticed his hands were sweaty and brushed them off on his pants. It was impossible to sit still in the cramped little confessional. The mouse weighed his options more than once, all the outcomes he could foresee racing through his mind. He reasoned, in for a penny, in for a pound.
"It's a lion," he mumbled, then scolded himself for doing so. Would the lion sitting beside him, albeit separated by a pane of wood, think that he was flirting? He hoped not. Then again, as the thought of the lion being receptive occurred to him, he felt a warm flush run through his knotted stomach and down just that fraction further. His voice shaking, he continues on. "He's stronger than I am. A little... forceful, I guess. He has me kneeling right in front of him and..."
He heard something from the opposite side of the confessional. The lion's breath hitching? A brush of fabric? Matthew dismissed it as his imagination at first, but cast a curious look to the side just to be certain. The lion's head was still back against the wood. Matthew didn't hear anything as he waited, so he continued on, his voice just a little softer. His worries were dulled somewhat by the lack of a hostile reaction, but he still wasn't at his most comfortable. "And he pulls my face into his crotch. He's naked," Matthew added as an afterthought, "and I guess I start... I start, uhm, performing fellatio."
"Start what?" The lion's dull baritone reverberated through the dark screen. Matthew felt blood flush into his cheeks. He tipped his head away from it. He thought, perhaps, that the screen functioned like a two-way mirror and that, just maybe, the lion was watching him from the other side and laughing silently somehow. Then he dismissed the thought as his own irrational nonsense. He was too worried, he needed to calm down. So he swallowed the lump forming in his throat down yet again and continued on, barely whispering now.
"I start sucking his... um, his cock, Father." Matthew heard that hitching noise again. This time he was certain about the movement of fabric over fabric, but with the baggy robe that the priest was wearing, he was certain that it was just the Father shifting position where he sat. These cubicles were awfully stuffy, after all. The mouse's nose and whiskers twitched as he thought he smelled something strange, something he didn't recognize, but he decided that it may well have just been how an empty church smelled and he was only now noticing it. Quietly, he went on. "The part that really, really worries me is how it ends... Um, usually I feel myself achieving an orgasm and the lion finishes over my face. I tend to wake up and when I do, Father, I realize I've... uh, I've made a mess."
"Come around here," he heard the lion say. There was something commanding in the priest's tone. Matthew sat still for a moment or two. He'd had plenty of confessions before, though none were ever for anything this severe. Perhaps the priest felt they needed to be discussing this face-to-face. Perhaps the priest wanted a better look at him to properly excommunicate him. Matthew breathed out a heavy breath and shakily mustered his way to his feet, walking forward the one step he could before opening the door. He skirted his way around to the other end of the confessional booth, the side he'd never really seen before. The door was ornately carved and while the other side only had a little latch, this end had a proper handle. Matthew found it insurmountably difficult to reach his hand out, close his fingers around the icy-cold metal of the handle and apply enough pressure to properly swing the door open.
When he did, his eyes eyes doubled their width. His mouth fell open and he thought his jaw might detach altogether. There was the priest, the lion uncannily like the one in his dreams, sitting with his legs apart and his robe open at the front. A prominent erection rose from between his legs, deep pink shaft already pulsing with need. The lion's clawed fingers were clasped gently around the base, ensuring that it would be in clear view. Matthew stammered in an attempt to ask what was happening, but the lion didn't allow him to finish the question. "You're welcome to walk away," he said, his breath just a little weighted, though his voice still seemed even enough. "But I think you'd rather stay."
Matthew nodded his head slowly, inching his way into the cubicle. He had an origin for that odd scent now. Although he could be certain that his thoughts weren't coming clearly, he had enough mind to close the door behind him, before he sank down onto his knees. Just like in the dream, he felt inexplicably drawn to the lion's crotch, no longer hesitating as he drew his face in nearer and nearer. Once he was close enough, he nuzzled his cheek in against it. The lion chuckled but did nothing to stop him as he brushed it against his other cheek, then lathered it with lick after lick.
The taste was something that Matthew hadn't expected at all, something completely new and foreign. His first reaction was that he didn't like it in the slightest. It was nothing like what he thought it would be. But, devoted to the experience now, he licked it again and again. He heard the lion moan, felt that subtle shift in position, heard a soft bump as the lion's knees drew as far apart as the little booth would allow. As his tongue explored the lion's manhood, Matthew noted another variation from the dream. Veins. Not too many, but as he ran his tongue along the underside of the lion's cock, he definitely felt a small vein right beside the prominent one he was sure all males had. It was a small bump in that shaft and he found himself feeling almost ashamed of the depraved thought, how would that feel inside me?
Then, the priest's firm hand settled between his rounded ears, just slightly off-center. The lion was following the motions described to him, tugging Matthew's head in nearer, though Matthew's face was already buried in his crotch. The mouse realized a moment late that the lion wanted him to sink his mouth lower. He hesitated. His dreams had never involved another man's sac, at least not like the lion seemed to want. Despite that, he inched lower, stretching his tongue out to cup one of those tender orbs. He sucked it in by his lips, gingerly lulling his tongue around it. It surprised him how different in taste the lion's cock and balls were. He was put off at first, again, but a few licks more and he acquired the taste. "A natural little..." The lion started to say something and Matthew suspected it must have been offensive, because the priest's voice trailed off. The lion covered it with a moan.
Fingers trailed down from atop Matthew's head to underneath his chin, carefully tugging the mouse up. Matthew looked along the robed body, the definition of the lion beneath somewhat hidden by the layers of clothing. His eyes continued up, along the black and white robes, to the dark brown mane beneath the lion's chin. They roamed up all the further, locking with the lion's. "Time for you to suck it," the lion instructed and Matthew found he was too happy to oblige. He opened his mouth wide and started to sink down over the lion's cock, hearing some odd mixture of a chuckle and moan emanate from the stronger male above.
Matthew tried to do it just as he did in the dream - sink right down until his nose was buried in the lion's crotch. He felt the head of the priest's shaft probing at his throat and gagged, drawing right off. "Take it as far as you're comfortable," the lion murmured. Matthew flushed with embarrassment and made a second attempt, this time closing his mouth around the first few inches rather than attempting the whole length. He set to sucking instinctively, as though he was nursing, lapping enthusiastically at everything that he could. He felt the lion's hand on the top of his head again. "Up and down," came the next bit of advice, and Matthew rose his head to accommodate.
Matthew drew his lips up until they were pressed against the ridge of the lion's crown, before he felt the lion's hand pressing him down again. Gentle, guiding, not rough and forceful. Matthew complied easily. He set into a rhythm, bobbing along the lion's cock, cupping his tongue against the underside, moaning softly around it all the while. He was enjoying this more than he could admit, finding he loved it all the more as he fell into a rhythm. In his own pants, his cock was stiff as it had ever been. One of his hands pushed his own pants down before wrapping around his length, stroking in time with his bobbing. By how he felt, he would cum in just a few moments. He tried to hold on.
Then he felt the lion's fingers close around one of his flat, rounded ears and tug up. Not sharp enough to hurt, but with enough force to draw him up. Matthew was confused at first, lifting his lips away and looking up to the lion. He saw the priest's eyes were shut and his breath was caught again. Matthew was surprised as he felt a gush of warm fluid connect with his chin and lips, coating his face in cum. The sensation forced his own climax out of him. The mouth bit his own teeth and shivered, moaning as he shot his own between the lion's feet.
Both males remained as they were for a moment, breathing heavily, dazed. Then the lion's fingers released the mouse's ears, bringing Matthew back to reality. Matthew, with the lion's seed dripping from his chin, opened his mouth to make a comment. Finding nothing to say, he just tucked his manhood away and started scrambling to his feet. He turned where he stood and hurried his way out of the cubicle, only to be stopped by the lion saying, "wait a second." Then he looked back over his shoulder, breathing fast, panic mounting in his chest. "I'm here every day at the same time. Come back when you're ready to talk."
With that, Matthew rushed out of the church, hurrying home in the early hours of the morning covered in the priest's cum.