It had been a dry, hot summer. The hottest school holidays I could remember, and as they were coming to an end, it was looking like they would continue into an Indian summer.

The wheels of my cycle kicked up dust from the gravel as I peddled down the drive of the rectory. A carrier bag of books swung from the handles.

I had biked to my grandmother to pick up some items she was donating to the church jumble sale and was in the process of disposing of them.

It had been a hard ride. My T-shirt and shorts cling to my slim body. I could feel sweat on my eyebrows as strands of hair clung to my forehead, and I was glad to pull into the cooling shade of the impressive Georgian front.

Dismounting and with a carrier bag in hand, I pulled on the bell cord. Hearing the distant tinkling ring, I waited, examining the flaking paint on the door.

It was opened by Reverend Lacey. A stick-thin man and at well over 6’, he was at least a foot taller than me.

Looming over me, he looked down through thin, round wire glasses. He was in his sixties but, strangely, still had dark hair. Dyed more than likely and with a heavy application of Brylcream to keep a comb over plastered to his bald crown.

“Jonathan, I see you bear gifts,” he smiled. Adam’s apple bobbing in his long neck

“I come with my grandmother’s offering,” I announced grandly.

“Well, let’s hope it’s gold rather than frankincense,” he quibbled

With a grand sweep of his arm, he indicated to me, “Could you put it in the drawing room with the rest, my boy?”

I liked the Reverend. Apart from my grandmother, my family weren’t churchgoers. But I enjoyed his company. People called him prim and bookish. A confirmed bachelor. But he was always kind to me and understood my shyness.

Even with me, he always used flowery language, and I was starting to get a crush on him and finding myself thinking about him. Especially under the covers at night.

My face felt flushed, but that could be put down to the hard ride rather than having just greeted the man I had been having erotic thoughts about.

“Oh my!” I exclaimed.

I entered the drawing room and faced a pile of books, clothes, and other assorted items scattered across the table and floor.

The villa was dated with old furniture and carpets, but it was always tidy.

“Tell me about it, my boy,” he answered. Placing his hands on my thin shoulders to move me gently aside to enter.

“Soon as the word got out in the parish, everyone decided it was an excellent opportunity to empty their attic. They descended on me like a plague of locusts.”

I smiled just imagining it.

“But never mind that, my boy. Where are my manners? You need liquid refreshment, and I shall offer such a bounty.”

“Orange squash would be nice,” I answered with a smile.

“Then squash it is.”

With that, he left. I placed my bag on the table and poked a few items around. I lifted a woman’s floppy felt hat and turned it around in my hands.

“It suits you.”

I turned around as he held out the glass of squash, which I took with a thank you.

I placed the hat on my head, pulled a funny face, and stuck my tongue out.

“There. I told you it suited you,” he chuckled

I gulped the squash down in one long swig, feeling some of it trickle down my chin.

“Steady on my boy. The well hasn’t dried up yet. I can get you another.”

“Sorry,” I answered. A small burp followed. “Pardon,” I added as I took the hat off.

“What are you going to do with this?” I asked, turning the hat.

“Oh. Put it on that pile over there with the other fine head adornments. I will put a shilling on each one. Who knows. We may get a visit from Hydra and finish the sale early.”

I slung the hat onto the pile and placed my empty glass on the mantle.

“Do you want some help?”

“Oh, would you, my boy? That’s the most kind. Mrs. Jenkins was meant to But her husband has been unwell.”

I looked at him confused, trying to figure out who Mrs. Jenkins was, and got a picture of a fat elderly woman. I placed my cupped hands in front of me to silently say, ‘the woman with the breasts.’

“So eloquently put, Jonathan. Yes, the lady with the ample bosoms.”

I smiled back at his kind smirk, and I felt my cock stir. I didn’t want to get an erection. I wouldn’t be able to hide it, and once it started, I would have no control over it. He started to look through the pile of books.

“Anything good?” I asked to take my mind off my shorts.

“Mmm. Kind as your grandmother is, there are no first editions here. If I could just find something rare, it would sort the church out all by itself,” he mused.

I went up to the table and looked through the other donated books. I flicked through the pages on some dry subject, ‘the art of hedge laying’, and chuckled, holding it up to him.

“Hardly James Joyce,” he retorted

“Maybe there’s something juicy here,” I said as I continued searching.

He took the hedge laying book from my hand and tapped me lightly on the head with it.

“Well, if you do, Tell me. So I can read it.”

I chuckled before pausing. I looked intently into his eyes.

“I will ... If you let me read it afterwards ... or...”

I left it at that. I could feel my cock becoming erect. My smooth 5-inches slowly moved up the side of my thigh. I knew if it started, it would be hard to stop, and the bulge was obvious, but feeling the warm, firm heat of it was making it worse.

“Or?” He asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Or we could read it together,” I answered.

My cheeks went crimson, and I looked down and studied the pile of books. It was the worst thing to do. Apart from what I had just said, it more than likely drew his attention to my shorts and the thick lump that lay against my thigh.

“I have a terrible reading voice.” He quibbled to break the tension.

“I think you have a lovely voice. Maybe I should go,” I said. My eyes were still on the books as I pushed the top one with my finger.

“Don’t be silly. Look, why don’t you go through that pile of clothes? You have an eye for that. And I will put mine in the books and be sure to draw your attention to something juicy.”

I looked up and smiled, giving a nod, and went over to the clothes as he started going through the books. Concentrating on them maybe a little too intently. Maybe due to the obvious erection I had

It felt strangely erotic being in the same room with him as my stiff cock bulged in my shorts. Both of us are acting as if it weren’t a thing.

For him, maybe he was just trying to ignore it, but it was making me hornier. To the point that my cock was so rigid that it tented the front of my shorts

I would hold an item up to ask where he wanted it from time to time. It was normally followed by a quib from him, such as to the rag and bone man, before pointing at a pile. I would walk brazenly, unashamed of my excited arousal, to the point where it didn’t seem an issue.

“Oh, this is nice. Better than anything else here,” I said.

It was a short-sleeveless T-dress with a low-cut front that flared out beyond the waist and was decorated with small flowers. I held it against me. It was clearly a petite size, as the bottom was halfway up my thighs.

“It suits you better than the hat,” he joked, looking up.

I smiled, swaying back and forth.

“It does, doesn’t it?” I chuckled as I pulled it over my head, tugging at it to get it down as it clung to my T-shirt.

“Be careful, Jonathan. Or should I say young lady? I can get at least a pound note for that.”

“Just doing some quality control,” I chuckled.

“Talking about quality I imagine it’s time for some tea. How about I make us a pot? And scones, of course.”

I agreed it was a great idea and was left alone to clear the small table that was placed between two worn but comfy single seaters that faced the fireplace. Unlit due to the season, but certainly a place to sit on a cold winter night with a blazing log.

When I say clear the table, it involved placing the unchecked books under it. It was then that I suddenly had an idea. I went to the door to check if the reverend was still in the kitchen and pulled the dress off. Quickly removing my clammy T-shirt, I put the dress back on before reaching under and pulling my shorts off.

I neatly folded them and placed them on the pile of clothes still on the dining table. I started walking around the room, amazed at the sensation. My cock was stiffly tenting the lower part of the dress, and I watched how my erection swung lazily back and forth under it. My bell end was swollen and sensitive as the thin cotton of the dress brushed against it. I started to see the dampness of my pre-cum darken the spots where it leaked and wondered if I would get wrong for messing up something designated to be sold.

I checked once again at the door, listening, and heard him still in the kitchen. I couldn’t resist lifting the dress up and taking hold of my erection. It felt so naughty standing in his dining room, slowly stroking my cock.

The Reverend Lacey’s footfall on the hallway, along with the rattling of China, alerted me, and I dropped the dress, made my way to one of the single seats, and crossed my legs, allowing the dress to ride up and expose the bare flesh of my smooth thighs.

“Here we are, my young Perseus. Nectar of the gods Tea. Oh, and scones, of course.”

“Thank you,” I replied as he placed the rattling tray on the table.

I propped my elbow on the armrest and rested my chin in my hand. I swung my crossed leg, hoping he would notice as he poured the tea. He glanced up at me to ask if I wanted sugar and saw my bare, hairless arms and chest. He moved his gaze to the dining table and saw my folded T-shirt and shorts.

“Are you putting them in the sale?” His response made me chuckle.

“It was too hot wearing them and the dress,” I answered as he sat down.

“How about taking the dress off instead?”

“Oh, Reverend, is that an offer?” I laughed. “The dress is cooler to wear,” I added before he could correct me on his meaning.

“Milk?”

“Yes, please. Do you like me in it?” I asked as I reached out, took a cream scone, and started to stuff it in my mouth.

“Please ... do help yourself, Jonathan.” He retorted to my cake grab, making me chuckle again as a few crumbs flew out of my mouth.

“Yes, you’re very pretty in it.” He continued as he indicated if I wanted sugar.

I made the V for victory sign, and he plopped two cubes in.

“To pretty for a man of the cloth.” He sighed as he handed me a cup and saucer.

I gulped the last of the scone down and took the saucer with a small thank you. We sat in silence as we sipped our tea, the only sound being the grandfather clock ticking. My cheeks were flushed, and my cock was very stiff. The reverend Lacey had just now admitted his attraction to me.

“Do you take confessions?” I asked before sipping my tea.

“Oh my. This sounds ominous,” he replied, putting his cup and saucer on the table and folding his fingers together across his chest.

He pondered for a few moments.

“I’m Anglican, Jonathan. We don’t have a confessional like a Catholic priest. As in a booth. But I can take a confession in an informal way. Like over tea in private. Do you want to?” he asked kindly.

“What about punishment?” I quizzed, turning to him and placing my cup and saucer beside his.

“Punishment! I can offer absolution. A general pardon,” he answered.

“Oh”

“What’s all this talk about punishment, Jonathan?” He looked concerned.

I picked at a piece of thread on the sofa.

“I just thought maybe the best thing after a confession would be a punishment. Such as maybe I dunno. A spanking. Like in school.” I looked at him and smiled shyly, my face crimson.

“My poor boy, nothing you confess would warrant such a thing,” he chuckled

“Maybe I feel I need one. If I confess, that is ... say ... say after I confess and I say I needed one.” I rambled on. My voice trailed off as I turned to the thread again on the sofa.

“As your confessor, it would be my decision. And it’s not in our remit. You understand?” He spoke softly. I nodded.

I raised myself from the threadbare sofa and walked around the small table. Stopping in front of him, I stood silently. My arms hanging by my side.

The summer dress gave my statues as a boy away by displaying my erect cock. The cotton draped over my firm pole.

Reverend Lacey’s Adam’s Apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed nervously. His hands were holding the armrest like a man on a rollercoaster. His knees are firmly together.

He has always been so confident around me, but at this moment he seemed dumbfounded. It was now up to me to show such valor.

I hitched my dress up slightly and placed a knee on the sofa. Wedging it between the armrest and his warm thigh I reached out my hand and gripped his boney shoulder, allowing me to straddle his lap.