The hooded figures filed into the back of the church, four from one side and four from the other. When all eight had entered, the back man in each line turned to pull shut the heavy oak door behind him. The soft whine of the early evening wind was instantly replaced by a stifling silence, and the torches on the walls seemed to burn a little brighter in their sconces.
The men stopped halfway down the aisle and bowed their heads. When they raised them again, their faces were set into grim masks. Each wore a dark brown cowl, clasped loosely enough for the cold air inside the church to raise goosebumps on the naked skin half-hidden inside. The men were lean and well-muscled, and when they passed through the torchlight it was obvious that the days spent grafting in the fields had tanned their skin a deep, chestnut brown.
Brother Simeon, on the other hand, was not brown. His body was smooth and fair, though no less stocky or powerful than that of his fellow monks. Even after being stripped and lashed to the altar, his jaw line retained a defiant jut; bent over and splayed across the hard black marble, coarse rope criss-crossing his torso, he looked almost like a racehorse mid-jump, coiled and tense where he should have appeared supine and submissive.
Brother Simeon was to be punished that night. Punished for each sin he had committed in the six months since he’d first strolled through the Abbot’s door, 60% carefree insouciance, 30% stonewashed jeans, and 10% steel; the kind of steel that men missed at first, but in time came to lust after and fear in equal measure.
When they reached the altar, the members of the disciplinary committee fanned out and unclasped their cowls, allowing eight soft pools of wool to hug the cold stone floor. Brother Stephen was the first to step forward. He was the oldest of the monks, and at 40 his hair was flecked with grey, but he still moved with an easy, supple grace. It was the tattoos on his dick that confirmed his seniority: 12 deep blue rings, circling his thick shaft, one for each novitiate he’d trained.
Brother Stephen walked calmly around the altar. He stood directly in front of Brother Simeon, slid a callused finger under his chin, and lifted it almost tenderly, till the two men were able to look each other in the eye.
“Simeon, you know why you’re here. Our God asks little of us: only that we work the land, harvest the crops, and fuck the women who come to us in search of the pleasure their boyfriends can’t provide. You’re a hard worker, and every man here would give his left nut to be blessed with your good looks, but every night you turn away the girl we send you. For that, you must be punished. Do you accept this judgement?”
As Brother Simeon opened his mouth to vocalise his assent, Brother Stephen tilted his hips and gagged him with his cock. Acceptance was irrelevant – this was their God’s will.
Quickly, Brother Saul and Brother Solomon swept in from opposite sides and descended upon Simeon’s trussed hindquarters. Saul was the youngest of the monks, a rangy stripling of 22 years, with a mere three rings inked around his dick. He knelt between his bound compatriot’s legs and carefully parted his soft ass cheeks.
Saul’s tongue had already brought countless women to shaking, sobbing orgasm in the two years since he’d swapped his novice’s tunic for the monk’s habit he was now permitted to wear. With Brother Solomon watching, and methodically applying holy oil to his stout cock, he dragged it between Simeon’s balls and up, till he was able to lap gently at the exposed hole. Saul was a serious young man, thorough and tireless in his work; again and again, his strong tongue deposited a milky pearl of saliva onto Simeon’s skin, before pushing it skilfully inside him.
Although his body shuddered and convulsed under Saul’s tongue, Simeon stayed silent. Brother Stephen’s huge dick filled his mouth to the point where he was forced to breathe through his nose, and a small puddle of drool had already formed under his chin, but he bore his punishment with the stoicism demanded by his order.
Brother Solomon laid the pot of oil down on the altar and eased Saul to one side. He was a tall man, with hawkish features, jet-black hair, and a coarse, clipped beard. Not yet 30, he’d still accumulated nine rings around his dick, though it was a testament to his prodigious length that there remained room for many more along the heavily-veined shaft.
Solomon pressed one hand down into the small of Simeon’s back. His dick glistened in the torchlight, and with great ceremony he positioned it between the prisoner’s buttocks. Brother Stephen nodded once: it was time. The muscles in Solomon’s ass rippled as he thrust firmly forward, deep inside Simeon’s tight hole; a low moan vibrated around Brother Stephen’s cock and echoed out into the church, where it was met by a rumble of approval from the watching monks. Solomon quickly settled into a heavy, percussive rhythm, sawing his dick in and out with deliberate force. It was not his job to bring pleasure to his compatriot; only to purge him of the sin which had wrapped itself around his soul. Harder and harder he fucked the helpless Simeon, until the altar itself appeared to tremble under the power flowing through his dick.
Only as he neared orgasm did Solomon’s movements become jerky and staccato; his knees buckled slightly, and with one final thrust he flooded Simeon’s hole with thick cum. After his dick had finished pulsing, Solomon pulled out, mindful not to allow any of his seed to fall onto the sacred marble. He walked back to his position on the outside of the semi-circle and Brother Saul replaced him, to penetrate Simeon’s ass with his tongue once again. Solomon’s cum tasted sharp and bitter, but Saul was not deterred; he knew how important it was to swallow as much as he could, to prevent any leaking out and defiling the altar.
Brother Silas was next to step forward. His easy, laidback manner had made him a favourite among the ladies who passed through the monastery’s doors; his endless stamina and curved dick, with its fat, plum-coloured crown and seven tattoos, only served to enhance his reputation still further. He fucked Brother Simeon as he fucked his women, allowing him a few seconds to adjust to the initial shock his girth never failed to induce, before rolling his hips and gradually delivering inch after inch inside him.
After Silas had shot his load, and Saul had sucked as much of it from Simeon’s hole as his tongue could reach, it was the turn of Brother Shiloh, followed by Brothers Seth and Samuel. When the last monk, Brother Sheva, approached the altar, cum ran in long streaks down Simeon’s legs, and his back and shoulders shone with sweat. Still he held Brother Stephen’s cock in his mouth, with a discipline and focus that his colleagues could not help but admire.
Sheva’s would be the seventh and final dick to enter Simeon’s body that night. As he thrust it into the tunnel that five others had already mined, Brother Stephen also abandoned his watchful stillness and began to fuck Simeon’s mouth with equal fury. The air in the church, cool and fresh just an hour earlier, almost shimmered with heat; it smelled – tasted, really – of a dark, rich musk, of the nine men whose sweat and spit and cum had been spilled in the service of their God.
The moment had almost arrived. Brother Saul reached underneath Brother Simeon’s body, and deftly unknotted the thin rope around his cock.
“Now, Simeon”, intoned Brother Stephen, “now your punishment is complete and you must release the sin from your body.” As he finished speaking, his dick swelled and he laced his fingers through the soft blonde hair of his young protégé. He and Sheva came together, pouring their hot semen into Simeon’s mouth and ass. The eight monks stepped back and watched the tip of Simeon’s cock flare once, twice, and then coat the stone surface underneath it with cum.
Finally able to slump down onto the altar and rest, Brother Simeon allowed himself a small smile. The punishment had proved even more enjoyable than he’d dared to hope it might. One thing was for certain: his sinning days were far from over…