Chubby Chaser Ch. 03

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When Jeremy moved back to the big city, I was bereft. I would have followed him there but he said ass was cheap in the city. That was all I was to him for as long as we were together. There really was no “we”; I was just a receptacle for him to drop a load in. I couldn’t blame Jeremy; he never promised me anything or led me on. It was clear from the outset that he was just using me for sex and the reverse was true for me. We had our kicks and now they were over.

I continued at the same job. Nobody there knew about my interactions with Jeremy. We had kept it secret more for his sake than mine but I was not “out” and not entirely sure about my sexuality. I felt attraction for women, but I had a fetish for chubby men.

I resolved to go on with my life. I began scouting prospects around town.

There were a few obvious characters. I had long nursed an attraction to Mr. Keenan, a high school teacher who taught me when I was a teenager. He was retired now and perhaps a little old now. The man was the right shape for my taste, but he was also happily married. I didn’t really mind being somebody’s side dish, but I didn’t want to be a homewrecker. I filed him to the back of my mind.

Mr. Bolton, the mayor, was fat enough for me, but he was too public a figure, and besides, he was a lawyer. I might lick cum off a dirty bathroom floor with the right motivation, but I wanted nothing to do with a shyster politician.

There was Drew Thaxton, a letter carrier for the Post Office. Even with all that walking and running from dogs, he was still a solid three hundred pounds. He and his wife were both locally famous for their affairs. Their marriage was paperwork only so there was nothing to wreck. Drew was a definite maybe.

I was still considering my options when a tantalizing new one was presented to me. I was invited to my niece’s baptism and christening at the Catholic Church.

There I was introduced to a handsome black man with a deep voice and a slight African accent. He was probably around fifty. He was easily six feet tall, but he was also very large. I was beguiled right away. Awkwardly, he was the officiant, Father Abegunde, our Nigerian pastor. It was hard to tell just how large the priest was. He was draped in vestments. I estimated he was probably close to three hundred pounds. Just my type.

Great, I felt an overwhelming attraction to a priest sworn to celibacy.

I began going to Church, to my parents’ delight. If they only knew why I was going, they’d have thought something else. I made it a point to catch my pastor’s eye whenever possible. I always got a wink or a wave, which I considered positive. Sunday after Sunday I attended until one day, I finally had the nerve to go to Holy Confession one Saturday afternoon. I let the crowd die down; there were actually only a handful of people there.

When I was the only person left and it was my turn, I entered the confessional, basically a small wooden closet with two doorways (with curtains instead of doors), and I sat inside the dingy penitent’s booth. I made the Sign of the Cross in front of the screen that joined my booth to the confessor’s.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been a long time since my last confession.”

He told me to proceed with my confession. It was mostly everyday fare: I didn’t treat my parents with respect or I was rude to someone to whom I should have been kinder. Then I made the declaration I was there to make.

“I have been having impure thoughts about someone I shouldn’t.”

“Impure thoughts, my son?”

“I have been fantasizing about having sex with someone.”

“That is only natural in a young man.”

“I dream of this person when I’m awake and when I’m asleep. I have masturbated to thoughts of this person. I have had wet dreams.” I actually had.

This might have been an uncomfortable level of detail for the priest and I sensed he was going to interject, but I carried on.

“It’s worse than that, Father. This person I am obsessing over is another man.”

It was hard to see much through the screen dividing us, but it looked to me like Father Abegunde görükle escort had fiddled with his collar as if it was just a little too tight.

“My son, the Church does not condone—”

“I imagine licking and sucking this man’s toes and then licking my way slowly up his legs, pushing aside his large belly so that I can reach his manhood. I visualize myself rubbing his wet penis all over my face before taking it in my mouth and pleasuring it with all my skill. I imagine taking his seed down my throat before turning over and offering him my feminine little ass. In my dreams, he takes me that way, rending my backside until we’re both driven on a tide of ecstasy.”

There was a deep breath on the other side of the screen.

“When I think of these things, as I often do, I get hard right away and I know there’s no cure for my fantasy but fulfilment.”

“Some fantasies cannot be fulfilled,” Father Abegunde said. His voice sounded thick.

Penance that week was not too light: he decreed that I should say a ludicrous number of Our Fathers and Hail Marys.

“Go and sin no more.”

Next Saturday, I was back again, once more carefully placed at the back of the small line.

Father Abegunde opened the screen between us and I followed the confession formula. I listed a few small sins and then dove into my impure thoughts. I described some of my fantasies and the content of my wet dreams. Father Abegunde wanted to hear about it this time. Was it my mistake, or was he encouraging me?

“Let God into your heart and these impure desires will vanish.” He sounded more than a little taken aback by the frankness of my sex fantasies.

“The only cure for me is achieving my aim. But what would my parents say? Wouldn’t they be shocked if I brought a black man home for dinner? My generation may be a bit more liberal, but my parents are old-fashioned folks.”

“He is a black man?” I confirmed this was so and Father Abegunde found himself in the unlikely position of commending my stance on racial relations and equality, even though I was outlining it in relation to the object of my gay desire. He must have realized that he should be chastising me for my homosexual desires. That was the position of his Church after all.

I knew that my fantasies had inflamed Father Abegunde. He was almost panting as I spoke. I wondered if he was touching himself on the other side of that divider.

Once more I was sent back in the world to sin no more.

Week three of my confession, and when I asked for blessing, I could tell Father Abegunde recognized my voice from our previous discussions. He sighed audibly. Once more, I described my deepening carnal fantasies for an older black man. Oh, didn’t I mention he was about fifty?

By week four, Father Abegunde seemed resigned to being stimulated by my fantasies. This time, I definitely heard him beating his meat as I described myself eating out my fantasy man’s wide ass?

“Wide?” Father Abegunde asked.

“Yes, the man that I am yearning for is a fifty-year-old, obese black man.”

“But… but why?” He was clearly beginning to see what he had barely dared to dream: that he was the object of my sexual obsession. He was still pulling his pud. “Why me?”

How could I answer him? I didn’t know why I had a fetish for overweight men. I could only demonstrate the truth of my claim. I stood up and walked out of the penitent’s alcove and without hesitation slipped through the curtain of the confessor’s nook. I fell to my knees in front of Father Abegunde and, seeing as he had it out already, I fell on his cock with a passion. If there was someone out in the church, they would have seen two feet sticking out under the confessor’s curtain.

I knew that this was the critical moment. I had hooked him. Now I had to reel him in.

I engulfed the priest’s glans, tongue-massaging the sensitive bulb of flesh as I jacked up and down on his shaft. I was rewarded by the loud groans of my subject. He writhed and wriggled under my ministrations, he huffed and moaned as my mouth continued to fulfil my fantasy… or was it a prophecy?

As for me, this karacabey escort was only the second cock I had ever serviced. Jeremy’s tool had been considerably smaller than Abegunde’s but what I could not please with my mouth was helped by my hands. I didn’t want the priest to be disappointed in this blowjob. I had plans for this chubby man’s cock.

Abegunde put his great hands on my head and physically stopped me. I looked up into his face and saw that I had generated a great need in him. He stood up, zipped himself up and took me by the hand to raise me up. He adjusted his erection in his pants and so did I with mine.

“Follow me,” he said, his voice husky with need. He continued holding my hand so I had no choice as he led me across the church to a door behind the altar. We went through the vestry and finally we were at the door to his rectory. He opened it and invited me to enter. I did so willingly. Nobody saw us.

The priest’s residence was small, sparse and functional. He guided me to the bedroom. There was a single bed in the room, which made sense for a celibate man… unless he was a man the size of Abegunde. But we would make it work.

The priest had shattered his vow of celibacy the moment he let me put my lips on his cock. Now we were demolishing the wreckage. Behind the closed door of his bedroom, we embraced and joined together in a deep kiss. Our tongues wrestled and I could feel the force of the man in his kiss. We remained like that for several minutes and then we fell away from each other panting.

“It’s been a very long time,” Abegunde said, self-conscious. Was he saying that it was a long time since he had sex of any kind, or had he specifically meant he had gay sex? I didn’t know, but I reassured him.

“Don’t worry, I will start us off and you can take the lead any time you want to.”

The priest nodded. He correctly assumed that I didn’t know how to undo a Roman collar so he took it off in front of me and set it on his bedside table. I unbuttoned his black shirt and pulled it off his shoulders and he stood revealed in all his obese glory. Two big man-boobs hung over a great distended belly. I ran my hands over his smooth, hairless black skin. Then I let my hands fall to his belt. I soon had the belt open and the pants unfastened. He kicked his shoes off so I could pull his pants off his legs one foot at a time.

Then he stood naked before me. He looked self-conscious and embarrassed and I was afraid he was going to panic and call everything off. I think he found something in my eyes that calmed him as I took off my jacket and pulled my t-shirt over my head. I kicked off my shoes, then shucked aside my jeans. I freed myself of socks and then underwear. I was as naked as Abegunde.

I stepped toward him and resumed my place on my knees before him. I wriggled my head up under his enormous abdomen; I felt the weight of his belly on my neck muscles and returned to sucking his cock. His organ had lost none of its hardness. In my mouth, it had a natural salty flavour. I could still smell a trace of body wash from a recent shower, but a manly scent was rising from his pubic bush and his balls.

The balls. As I hoped, they were large. I could hardly enclose one in my mouth; it was so big. I settled for nipping and licking at them and massaging them with my hand.

As I stimulated both cock and balls, I made use of a free hand to reach around to Abegunde’s backside. I gently penetrated his ass cheeks to tickle his anus with one finger.

I didn’t expect it, but that was all the priest needed to reach his climax. He seized my head in both hands and face-fucked me for about five strokes. He cried out in pleasure as his hot sperm coated the back of my throat and filled my mouth. It was a big load and after going for months without, my taste buds welcomed the taste of cum once again. I swallowed as fast as I could to keep up with the spurting load.

When he was done coming, the priest lay on the bed. There was scarcely room for two normal-sized people on the bed, but he lay back and let me cuddle against him on my side. That way we could both just fit.

“I’m mudanya escort sorry,” Abegunde said.

“For what?”

“I came too fast. It’s been a very long time.”

“I don’t mind. I was hungry for your cum and I’m glad you didn’t make me wait another minute.”

“It’s your turn,” the priest said as he turned and repositioned me over him in a sixty-nine position. He took my dick in his mouth right away and began giving me a blowjob. I was surprised, probably because my previous chubby, Jeremy, never reciprocated any of my attentions. I either sucked him or he fucked me. That was it.

My elbows were in his belly and his dick was before me. Lying on him like this was like being on a waterbed. I reached down and began to jack the cock gently while he sucked on me, using his tongue to trace the letters of the alphabet on the glans of my penis. He was soon driving me wild and I was on the verge of ejaculating myself.

Simultaneously, Abegunde’s floppy penis had hardened again under my tender care. In a breathy voice, I told him I knew another hole he could put that in. If he gave a thought to sodomy being a sin under the Bible, he gave no sign. I jumped up off the bed and picked up my jacket. I had a bottle of lube in my pocket just in case.

Abegunde knelt at the foot of his bed while I positioned myself on all fours in front of him. He lubed us up and let the plastic bottle roll off the bed.

Then he sank into me. Abegunde was gentle, but forceful at the same time. He was no Jeremy, pounding it in all the way on the first stroke. The priest rubbed his cock against my anus and then slowly, gently leaned in with all his considerable weight. My arse was broken in by a smaller cock than Abegunde’s but I had enough practice taking it up my ass that I was able to take him in with ease.

From almost the first moment, the pleasure came over me in waves. I enjoyed the sensations I was experiencing: the fucking, of course, but also the feeling of his strong hands massaging my shoulders and his great heavy belly rolling against my back. The sounds were stimulating: the bed creaking beneath us in time to our fucking; Abegunde’s thighs slapping my backside as he thrust in and out of me; his loud groans and moans of elation. My ass was my pleasure centre though. As the priest slid in and out of me, he was stimulating my male prostate. My cock was joined to the bed by a gossamer thread of pre-cum. I let my arms fold and leaned only on my elbows. I lay face down, ass up and mumbled into the pillows about God.

My new lover gave me ten minutes of hard fucking. As I had so often in the past, I came at the same time as my partner. My tingling dick just expelled a deposit of semen into the bed sheets while, inside my ass, forceful contractions in Abegunde’s powerful cock sprayed cum deep into my bowels. We both groaned and he collapsed on me with all his weight. My skinny body was enveloped in the priest’s body mass. It was an intimacy like none I experienced before. I sighed, only partly from the weight on my lungs.

After giving the priest two orgasms and experiencing one of my own, I figured we were done for the afternoon.

It turned out we weren’t done at all.

After he fucked us both to another mind-blowing orgasm, I lay in his arms again and we talked. Long story short, Abegunde did not personally object to homosexuality as the Church did. He had himself enjoyed gay sex with other students at the seminary when he was studying to become a priest. He didn’t believe that God would reject a miraculous form of love. As for his vow of chastity, he felt guilty on the one hand for breaking his word, but on the other hand, he was a progressive and believed that priests really ought not be forced to celibacy. I guess that’s how he squared it in his conscience. As for me, I didn’t really believe in God or hold any notions that to be gay was to sin. I only went to church for one thing and I was laying in bed with him.

That was the first and only time he entertained me at his rectory. After that we usually met up at my place, which was discreet enough since he didn’t wear his Roman collar or dress like a priest. We both knew that if our trysts were made public, he would be embroiled in scandal and he would probably lose his Parish. I was still afraid to come out to my Catholic family and friends. We both wanted to keep things a secret.

The last time Father Abegunde visited me at home, we broke my bed.

He’s a keeper.

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