Priests Gone Wild
Copyright© 2026 by Ring of Seed
Chapter 7: The Blindfolded Guessing Game
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 7: The Blindfolded Guessing Game - 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 chapter house smelled of old stone and yesterday’s wax. Sunlight slanted weak through the high windows, catching motes that drifted like incense ash. Delegates had finished breakfast in the refectory. Cups still steamed on the long table. The five priests arrived one by one. Sergei first, broad frame filling the doorway, beard brushing the collar of his cassock. Then Lionel, purple shirt slightly askew, pectoral cross glinting against damp chest fur. Giovanni next, zucchetto already crooked from restless fingers. Angus followed, Geneva Bible tucked under arm, green eyes sharp but shadowed. Malcolm came last. Lean. Earnest. Silver at the temples. Wooden cross necklace chafing faint red lines across his palms. He hesitated at the threshold. Looked at the others. Looked at me. Swallowed once.
I stood central. Silk blindfolds in hand — cut from spare vestment scraps, black and soft.
“Gentlemen. Informal unity exercise. Remove your outer layers. Kneel.”
They obeyed. Cassocks pooled. Shirts unbuttoned. Chest hair silvered in the light. Arses presented in a loose circle around the altar. I moved behind each in turn. Tied the blindfolds slowly. Fingers brushed necks. Beards. Knots firm but not cruel. Each man exhaled as the silk settled. Darkness took them. The radiator hissed in the corner. A faint metallic click when Lionel’s cross tapped stone.
I spoke low. Voice carrying across the circle.
“You will guess by taste, by scent, by feel alone. Whose kiss, whose cock, whose tongue. Correct earns deeper anointing. Wrong earns another load to hold until dusk. No peeking. No mercy.”
They shifted. Knees on cold stone. Breath quickened. The air thickened with anticipation. Salt under cassock wool. Resinous closeness.
Round 1: Kisses
I began. Moved to Lionel first. Leaned down. Lips brushed his. Soft. Then deeper. Tongue slipped in. Slow. Lionel moaned. Low. Broken. Pulled back.
“Guess.”
Lionel’s voice cracked.
“You.”
“Correct.”
I moved to Giovanni. Kissed him harder. Tongue invading. Goatee scraping my chin. Saliva mixed. Dripped. Giovanni sucked my bottom lip. Pulled away gasping.
“Guess.”
“You.”
“Correct.”
Sergei next. I kissed him rough. Beard rasping. Tongue shoved deep. Sergei growled. Kissed back. Hungry. Beard scraped raw against my cheek.
“Guess.”
“You.”
“Correct.”
Angus. I kissed him deliberately. Tongue tracing teeth. Angus whimpered. Tongue met mine. Hesitant. Then eager. Saliva stringing when I pulled away.
“Guess.”
“You.”
“Correct.”
Malcolm last. I leaned in. Lips brushed his. Soft stubble. Tongue slipped in. Slow. Malcolm moaned. Soft. Broken. Kissed back. Clumsy. Desperate. I pulled away. Let the taste linger on his tongue.
“Guess.”
Malcolm’s voice trembled.
“You.”
I smiled. Silent. Let the silence stretch. Then spoke.
“Correct.”
I moved again. Directed without warning.
“Angus. Kiss the man on your right.”
Angus shifted. Leaned. Found Malcolm’s mouth. Kissed him deliberate. Tongue tracing teeth. Saliva mixed. Dripped. Angus pulled back.
“Guess.”
Angus’s voice cracked.
“Malcolm?”
“Correct.”
I directed again.
“Malcolm. Kiss the man opposite.”
Malcolm shifted. Leaned across the circle. Found Lionel’s mouth. Lionel kissed back rough. Beard scraping. Tongue shoved deep. Saliva mixed. Dripped. Lionel growled low. Malcolm pulled away gasping.
“Guess.”
Malcolm’s breath came ragged.
“You?”
I let the word hang. Then spoke.
“Wrong. It was Lionel.”
Lionel’s blindfolded head tilted. A low, venomous chuckle escaped him.
“Thought it was him, did you? Poor Malcolm. Even blind you can’t tell the difference between a bishop’s beard and the young man’s tongue. You really are the weakest link. I could’ve guessed that one with my eyes closed.”
Giovanni’s laugh followed, sharp and cruel.
“Weakest link? Darling, you’re barely a link. You guessed wrong on the only kiss you got. You’re not just wrong. You’re irrelevant.”
Sergei’s growl rumbled low.
“Irrelevant and pathetic. You’re not even worth the wrong guess.”
Angus’s voice cut in. Cold. Doctrinal.
“Wrong guess. Predestined failure. You were never meant to play. Sit out. Stay out. The rest of us will take what’s ours.”
Malcolm’s face flushed crimson beneath the blindfold. Body trembled.
I announced it calm.
“One wrong guess too many. Malcolm sits out.”
Malcolm’s blindfold came off first. He blinked against the light. Saw the others still masked. Lips swollen. Beards glistening. Realised. Eyes wide.
I took his wooden cross necklace. Looped the chain tight around his wrists behind his back. Cross dug into his palms. Sat him on the prie-dieu facing the circle. Close enough to smell the thickened air of old wood and wax. Far enough he couldn’t reach. His cock strained against his trousers. Precum already darkening the fabric. Dripping onto stone in slow drops.
The others stayed blindfolded. Arses presented. Waiting.
I spoke again. Voice calm.
“Round two begins.”
Malcolm’s hips twitched once. Breath hitched.
Round 2: Sucking
The others stayed blindfolded. Arses presented. Waiting.
I spoke again. Voice calm.
“Round two begins.”
Malcolm’s hips twitched once. Breath hitched.
The prie-dieu creaked under his weight. The wooden cross chain pulled tight against his wrists. A faint metallic click when it shifted against the stone. His cock strained harder against the fabric of his trousers. The dark patch at the tip spread slowly. Precum dripped in steady drops onto the floor between his knees. His chest rose and fell in shallow bursts. Eyes wide. Fixed on the circle of masked men.
I moved to Sergei first. Unzipped him. Heavy cock sprang free. Thick. Veined. Leaking. I presented it to Lionel’s waiting mouth.
Lionel leaned forward. Tongue flicked the head. Tasted. Salt. Musk. Then took the head in. Sucked slow. Hollowed cheeks. Tongue swirled. Veins dragged against his lips. He pulled back. Breath ragged.
“Guess.”
Lionel’s voice low.
“You.”
“Wrong. It was Sergei.”
Sergei’s low chuckle rumbled across the circle. Lionel flushed beneath the blindfold. I pushed two fingers into Lionel’s hole. Stirred the retained load from yesterday. Wet squelch filled the room. Lionel moaned. Hole clenched around my knuckles. Slow seepage leaked down his crack. Dripped onto stone. Malcolm watched. His own cock jerked. No touch. Precum stringed from the tip to the floor.
I moved to Giovanni. Presented Angus’s cock to Giovanni’s mouth. Angus leaned forward. Licked the head. Tasted. Beard rasped against Giovanni’s shaft. Sucked deeper. Giovanni groaned.
“Guess.”
Giovanni pulled off. Breath harsh.
“You.”
“Wrong. It was Angus.”
I pushed fingers into Giovanni. Stirred. Wet sounds louder now. Giovanni whimpered. Hole spasmed. More forbidden spill. Dripped. Malcolm’s breath came in short gasps. Cock throbbed visibly, precum pooled beneath him.
I directed Angus without warning.
“Present to the man on your left.”
Angus shifted. Cock thick. Leaking. Presented to Sergei’s mouth. Sergei sucked slow. Deliberate. Tongue swirled. Pulled off.
“Guess.”
Sergei’s voice rough.
“You.”
“Wrong. It was Angus.”
Two fingers into Sergei. Stirred deep. Sergei growled. Hole clenched. Deep trickle gushed. Creamy rivulets down hairy thighs. Malcolm watched. Body shook. Cock jerked forward. No hand. No touch. Just the sight. Just the wet sounds. Just the smell of thickened air and salt and wax and cum.
Round 3: Rimming
I spoke again. Voice low.
“Round three. Present your gates.”
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