Priests Gone Wild
Copyright© 2026 by Ring of Seed
Chapter 4: The Third Vessel – Sergei’s Liturgical Yield
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 4: The Third Vessel – Sergei’s Liturgical Yield - A quiet ecumenical synod. Five older priests arrive expecting doctrinal debate. They leave leaking. A young liaison with a clipboard turns the gathering into a week-long competition of who can: take the most; hold the longest; beg the loudest; leak the least. Blindfolds, guessing games, holy items as plugs, arses presented like competing portals. They pout, sabotage, crowning themselves “biggest slut” while the twink narrator owns them all. No redemption. No moral comfort.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Ma Mult Consensual Reluctant Gay Fiction Group Sex Anal Sex Analingus Cream Pie Double Penetration First Facial Masturbation Oral Sex Voyeurism
The afternoon light slanted through the high nave windows. Dust motes drifted in the beams. The choir had just finished “Gladsome Light” and dispersed to the vestry for tea. Sergei Volkov remained at the iconostasis. Broad back to me. Iron-grey mane swept back. Beard brushing the embroidered epitrachelion as he adjusted the stole with thick fingers. The cross on the front hung heavy against his chest fur.
I approached. Clipboard tucked under arm. Voice low.
“Father Sergei. The entrance blessing looked almost perfect. May I help?”
He turned. Steel-grey eyes deep-set. Stern. Then softened a fraction.
“Good hands, lad. Come.”
I stepped close. Behind him. The air thickened with incense and the stale warmth of cassock wool. My fingers brushed the back of his neck. Then the shoulders. I smoothed the stole. Let my palms linger. He exhaled once. Sharp. Did not move away.
During the next run-through the choir formed a tight line. Bodies pressed. My hand steadied his elbow. Stayed. Chest hair brushed my forearm through the open front of the stole. I traced the embroidered cross with a fingertip. Slow.
“These remind us of grace.”
Sergei’s voice cracked on the psalm verse. A low rumble. His cock hardened visibly under the cassock. Beard twitched. No words. Just the quickening of breath.
Rehearsal paused. The others drifted away. Sergei lingered. Adjusting the stole again. I stepped close. Hand cupped the bulge through fabric. He hissed.
“Careful, boy.”
I kissed the thick neck through the beard. Tasted salt under incense. Sergei groaned. Paternal tone fracturing.
“You shouldn’t ... I am your elder.”
I unzipped him. Heavy cock sprang free. Thick. Veined. Leaking. My hand wrapped around it. Stroked once. Long. Slow. Sergei’s kiss came rough. Beard scraping my cheek. His own hand fumbled at my zip. Clumsy. Urgent. Mutual wank against the icon screen. Precum smeared the painted crosses. Wet sounds echoed in the quiet nave.
I pushed him down. Knees on the chancel step. Cassock hiked. Massive cheeks spread. I knelt behind. Tongue traced the cleft. Then pressed flat against the tight ring. Sergei jolted.
“No ... Lord have mercy.”
Legs parted wider. Arse clenched. Then opened. I licked deeper. Circles. Then thrusts. Tongue spearing inside. Beard matted with spit. My hand wrapped his cock again. Stroked in time with the tongue-fucks. Thick shaft pulsing in my grip. Precum slicking my palm. Sergei’s breath came in harsh gusts. Body trembled.
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