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This story is a work of fiction and contains descriptions of explicit sexual acts between men.
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Copyright 2018, jaywizetoo, all rights reserved.
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The candle's light glinted off the edges of the bronze chamberstick in my hand. The burning wick was scarcely enough to illuminate the space around me, much less the cavernous space of the great hall. Though my eyes had become accustomed to low light in the months since I arrived here, I still struggled at times to avoid hitting the furniture and other obstacles as I made my rounds. This month, I was assigned to the night watch. I didn't mind. I enjoyed the silence and the feel of the stone structure protecting me.
It seemed like ages since I had been left at the massive front doors of the monastery of St. Bernard of Clairvaux. The wooden gates were 6 inches thick and covered with carvings of saints, sacred symbols and ancient Latin inscriptions. I had been sixteen years old, rebellious as hell, and I had finally exhausted the last bits of patience within my parents.
They had never really understood me, and I had never wanted to understand them. I had longed, as far back as I could remember, to escape; to go someplace quiet and distant; some place I could find myself and never worry about meeting anyone's expectations again.
The monastery had been a good solution for them, and a chance at escape for me. Their coldness lit a fire within me, and neither they nor I looked back when they dropped me off in front of the imposing edifice and drove back down the winding dirt road.
I remember that first night, a crisp autumn evening in Montana. I had never seen a state so beautiful, or so distant from its neighbors. It almost seemed untouched by modern technology or civilization. The monastery was nestled in the rolling foothills of Rising Wolf Mountain, lined with forests of deep green pine, surrounded by lakes and waterfalls, and a sky that rivaled any shade of blue I had ever seen or imagined.
I had fallen in love with Montana almost as soon as we had passed over the border. It didn't occur to me at the time that my parents had already spoken to the Abbot about taking me in. As usual, they had not bothered communicating a thing to me. I figured they would leave me in some town and disappear back over the border. I honestly didn't care one way or another. They weren't a part of my life in any meaningful way, and their actions were their own.
The brothers of Saint Bernard of Clairvaux had taken me in without objection. I assumed, in the months to come, that my parents had paid them or made some sort of donation, but none of the brothers ever spoke to me of it. Perhaps they, like myself, had come from rough backgrounds and had wasted enough of their young lives to warrant a long penance here. Perhaps they saw within me something they could nurture and fix.
My hard feelings had faded as month bled into month, and the day-to-day routine of the monastery became part of me. It was a comforting life, though filled with hard work and a lot of silence, other than during prayers, or when the monks chanted. The simple harmonies would fill the stone halls to their dark wooden rafters, escaping from high windows to cross the grounds to echo through the trees and crags of the forest. below.
It had been seven months after I knocked upon their door that the monks showed me the true nature of brotherhood. I had just turned seventeen and had been deeply enamored of this place, its hulking presence hidden so expertly from the world around us, tucked away in the bosom of the mountain. The brothers did not make a fuss about my birthday, though from the kitchen a cake emerged at that night's communal dinner, simple and unadorned. After prayer, we all partook of it solemnly, as if its sweetness were a blessing from God as I transitioned from boyhood to manhood.
That night I knelt alon, in the center of the cloister, a large space filled with soft grass, open to the moonlit sky above. Around the enclosure, a covered walkway with white pillars separated the courtyard from the rest of the building. The rough material of my brown robe tickled my sides as I recited the prayers I had been taught. They were less a conversation with God than they were a simple meditation. I liked the feel of the Latin words upon my tongue. The night air seemed to draw them from my lips and devour them the moment they were uttered.
I wore a blindfold of soft cotton, to symbolize the blindness of Saint Paul on his trip to Damascus. The prayers were ancient, a supplication to Heaven to strike divine light into my eyes, that I might see clearly thenceforth.
The sounds of the mountain filled me with a peace that I had not previously known. Every cricket's chirp and night bird's call was magnified in my ears. I rested my folded hands upon the block of smooth granite before me, lost in the moment.
I cannot remember how much time passed as my mind wandered the pine forests and flew among the moonlit clouds. I only know that at some point, my thoughts returned to me. I heard the soft sounds of footfalls behind me.
I knew at once that it was one of the brothers. The sounds of leather sandals upon grass were as familiar to me as the sound of my own heartbeat.
I raised my head, listening, wondering if I could sense the height and weight of the one approaching me, perhaps through the depth of his breath, or the sounds of his robe as they swished back and forth.
The monk kneeled behind me, inching forward until I could feel the heat of him through both of our robes. My hood was pulled back, leaving my blindfolded head exposed to the night.
I felt the faintest tickle of breath against my left ear, and the warmth of the man's breath. His whisper was so deep and so faint that I had no idea which of the brotherhood he was.
"Brother Ryan," the man's voice intoned. "Be still..."
I shivered at the sound of the voice, barely audible but still masculine and serene. He might have been any one of two dozen monks who called this place home.
"Tonight you become one of us. You become a man, though you have already been brother and fellow servant with the rest of us. The Abbot has been pleased. Your heart is pure. This is where you belong."
The warmth of his words soaked into me like sunlight on a summer afternoon, and my body relaxed against the man behind me.
He reached up, loosening the cotton rope that cinched the robe closed along my back. I felt the night air upon my skin as the material parted beneath strong, calloused hands. A single finger touched my neck just at the hairline of my short black hair, and traced a line down, sending chills in every direction.
"Be still," he repeated, his voice barely that of a ghost lost on a breeze. "Accept the love of the brotherhood. We have much to give, and much to teach."
The finger reached the lower part of my exposed back and then became a hand, hot and masculine, caressing the soft skin and moving back and forth with an agonizing slowness. Though I was still dressed, I felt exposed and open. The thought excited me, and my cock stirred within the rough folds of my robe.
I squeezed my hands together, my eyes trying futilely to stare through the cotton blindfold.
The brother's lips touched my ear and he breathed into it softly. "I have seen your heart, boy. I have seen what you want, and that for which you have longed." His hand wandered along my back, sliding around my right side, soft as a turtle dove, and around to caress the lightly furred skin of my chest. The fingers explored there, tracing the contours of the muscle there, developed as only a teenager's could be.
I caught my breath. The sensation of touch upon my skin was almost overwhelming, as if I were completely new to the experience. In fact, I was. Only I had touched myself there. Sometimes I would wake in the night, caressing myself, but there was an electricity to this older monk's touch that I had never imagined before.
He kissed the lobe of my ear, and then nibbled it softly, tugging at the soft skin as his hand explored lower, tickling the flatness of my abdomen.
"Oh, God," I whispered. My cock was hard, jutting into the material of my robe, which tickled the swollen head and slender shaft with each heightened beat of my heart.
The hand descended. "This is what you want," the voice whispered. "The touch of a brother, the love only a brother can give." His fingers encircled my throbbing cock and I bucked instinctively, not in alarm but at the electric pleasure that spread from my groin. The monk squeezed me softly, firmly. He pulled slowly downward, milking the soft skin as he breathed into my ear. "This is but the beginning. There are pleasures to be had in this house of God that you cannot yet imagine. Love is the sole purposes for our existence. We honor and serve that purpose as God intended."
The remaining laces upon my back were loosened, and the monk bade me lean forward. I did so, and he pulled the thick material forward, over my head, then raised my torso with that calloused hand and slid the robe down to my waist, freeing my arms from the restrictive material. I was naked from head to the top of my groin, where the brother's hand disappeared into the dark fabric and held me in a silken, iron embrace, squeezing rhythmically as he took my clothing from me inch by inch.
The night air raised gooseflesh upon my skin. The monk released my cock and I felt him move against me as he struggled with his own robe. It was far easier to loosen the ties upon another's back than it was to loosen one's own. But after a moment, I heard the rough material slide down furry skin, and then I felt the heat of hairy skin against my own soft back.
He covered me almost completely, long arms encircling my chest and a thick beard tickling as it settled against the nape of my neck. I felt loved, surrounded, fulfilled. This moment was perfection itself. The monk's hot breath contrasted with the coolness of the breeze coming from the sky above us, and I heard the faint depth of a moan as our two bodies made contact.
We stayed like that for a time, enjoying the warmth of our two bodies, reveling in the intimacy of the moment. I felt the soft hotness of a tongue slide along the skin of my neck, and the tickle of a thick beard upon the surrounding flesh. I shuddered at the sensation and pushed back into the body behind me.
I could feel that he was muscled and powerful, though not in fashion of an athlete. The powerful chest against my back must have come from the hard work the brotherhood performed day after day, cutting down trees for the needs of the Monastery, chopping wood, lifting heavy objects and tending to the needs of this aging building. For men of peace and prayer, few lumberjacks would compete with their physiques. the benefits of clean living and the purity of the mountain air.
"Rise," he whispered into my ear, and we both did. Our robes fell, pooling at our feet, and he turned us in place, so that his back was to the granite block, and my back touched the powerful, furry chest.
He turned me, then, to face him, and I felt the pressure of his large hands upon my bare shoulders, guiding me to kneel once more between large, furry thighs.
His hand rose to my head guiding me forwarded. I could see nothing, but in my mind's eye I reckoned our positions relative to each other. My heart pounded in my chest as I bowed me head. The rough hand slid under my chin, stroking gently and massaging my jawline.
"Open," he whispered.
I obeyed, breathing in through my parted lips. As I licked at them, moistening them in the night air, I felt the silky softness of the monk's flesh upon them, sliding along the ruby red contours of my mouth in a slow, deliberate arc. I tasted salty-sweet fluid that leaked from the flesh, from the swollen helmet, wetting my lips further and lubricating them with each gentle circuit of the slit across them.
I kneeled, entranced by the taste and by the wild sensations. I had never used my mouth this way, never come close to tasting a man's most private parts. I had thought about it now and then. In a monastery, such thoughts invariably invade one's sleep and one's daydreams. I had admired the burly, peaceful men peopling this holy place, but had never seriously considered that this sort of behavior would be tolerated, let alone welcomed.
The fat head pushed past my wet lips, then. I opened my mouth wider to take the thick flesh inside. The rush made me dizzy. I wondered which of the many brothers I now held in my mouth.
His deep moan gave me no clue as I took more of him inside. His whispering was too faint, too devoid of accent or timbre to place him. If only the brothers spoke to each other more often. But such was not the custom of this monastery. We spoke only in concert, singing or praying, but rarely as individuals.
I suckled the thick cock, my head bobbing to a slow, rhythmic tide. I concentrated on the smooth, veiny flesh as it slid across my tongue and pushed at the sensitive skin of my cheeks. He was large, but so very gentle. He guided me with each slow, electrical slide into my mouth, and each tantalizing pull back, until the flared edge of his cockhead pulled at the inside of my lips. I would take a breath as he withdrew, then hold it as he slid further and further into me, until I was used to the blunt head nudging at the back of my mouth and prodding further into the bend of my throat.
His whispering grew more heated, more insistent, as I pleasured him. I ran my hands over the muscles of his thighs, down to his knees and over the bulges of his calves, then back up to grasp the sides of his hips, my fingers curling over the furry muscle that marked the edges of his ass.
He held my head now with both hands, both pushing and being pulled, guiding my tempo as he fed me his thick cock. On his next inward plunge, I took him into my throat, swallowing and milking as my lips stretched around the base of him. It felt like all the world filled my mouth and throat. I felt stretched and owned as he held me there for seconds, savoring the hot wetness of my silken throat wrapped around his member.
My head swam with desire for this gentle, powerful man. I could hear his breathing quickening. The desire in him was rising, as mine was, and I sensed neither of us would be able to do this for long. I tightened my lips upon the flesh of his cock. He was hard, but not hard enough that the big cock couldn't curve into the depths of my throat.
I began to pump him, pulling off his cock until only the big head filled my mouth, then sliding back down to lodge him in my throat. With each push and pull, I became more used to the sensations, and more convinced that this is what I was born to do. I milked the big man's manhood again and again, listening to him gasp and moan and whisper obscenities, along with sacred words, and words of love; an erotic mix of the holy and the profane that thrilled me as I swallowed the flesh of the brother before me.
His hands gripped my head tighter as he neared his climax, and I could hear him struggle not to cry out as he hissed a long, feral breath and the huge organ in my mouth began to throb and buck in my throat.
I held him, buried far enough in my gullet that the load he must have shot flowed directly into my belly. The orgasm seemed to engulf him completely, and his body jerked with each heavy spurt. I could feel each load rolling up the length of his cock, past my lips and over the curve of my throat before gushing from the wide, slit and coating the path downward.
Only when his breathing began to slow, and the throbbing began to ebb, did I pull him from my throat and hold the still leaking head in my mouth. Thick, creamy cum still poured from him like lava, and I swallowed several more times before the flow ceased. I tightened my lips and pulled away from him, milking once last dollop of the sweet fluid into my mouth before the big head popped free, wet and hot in the nighttime breeze.
The monk before me sat for a time, his breathing returning to normal. After a few moments, he rose, and lifted me to my feet, turning us again so that my back faced the granite block. He pushed me backwards gently, his big hands lowering me to the cool, smooth surface. I sat, replaying the events of the past few minutes in my mind. The potency of it still filled me. Nothing I had experienced in my short life had come close to this.
I felt the monk's hot breath against my groin, and I felt strong hands spread my thighs apart. Then my cock, still hard and throbbing, was enveloped in wet, silken heat, from head to base. I gasped.
The mouth was molten gold, and I felt the bristles of the man's heavy beard against the sensitive skin of my groin, my inner thighs and my balls. For a moment it felt like my whole body was inside the brother's mouth. He just held me there, minute after minute, letting his heat soak into my flesh.
I reached down, running my hands over the rough stubble of his nearly shaved head. Nearly all the brothers cut their hair this way. Some were naturally bald, and others made themselves smooth by choice, but most of them men had a dark buzzed look to them. It was easier to manage this way and didn't get in the way of work and routine.
The head began bobbing slowly, each movement sending ripples of unbelievable pleasure up my chest and down my spine.
"Oh, Jesus. Yes," I whimpered. I couldn't comprehend the pleasure he was giving me, as I had felt nothing like it in all my years. "It feels so good."
The monk didn't answer, but quickened his pace, the suction of his hot mouth increasing as he milked my throbbing, teenaged cock. My chest rose and fell as he swallowed me again and again, the wet sounds particularly audible to me in my blindfold. I could hear the sounds of the night in the distance, but they paled in comparison to the sounds of the brother's mouth and throat devouring me.
I felt my orgasm beginning to rise from the skin beneath my balls up the shaft disappearing rhythmically into the man's bearded throat.
"Oh God, I'm gonna cum," I warned. The hot sucking and slurping continued unabated.
As I reached the pinnacle and began to lose control, strong hands gripped my thighs and the head descended. His lips opened wide and he took both of my balls into his mouth. They were already tight against my body with my impending explosion, and I imagined the stubble-covered cheeks bulging outward with both my cock and throbbing testicles enclosed in silken heat.
I came, crying out and bucking upward into the man's face, my hands holding his head as I tried to stuff even more of myself into him. I shot load after load of my young cum into the monk's mouth. I could hear him swallowing each, a wet gulping sound that made me never want to stop. I think my orgasm must have lasted for a full minute as he knelt patiently before me, drinking what I gave him to drink and sealing, perhaps forever, the bond between me and the brotherhood.
When I was at last spent, I felt back against the cool granite, gulping fresh air into my lungs as the man licked my cock clean with soft, slow strokes.
I heard him moving, then, sliding back into his robe without a word.
I listened, still nude and spread-eagled upon the granite block, as his footsteps receded into the shadows of the cloister.
"God be with you," it was barely a whisper. And then he was gone.
I removed the blindfold. Marveling at how well lit the cloister appeared in the moonlight now that I was accustomed to perfect darkness. The moon was full and bright, illuminating the grass with silver magic. As I pulled the robe back around me, I wondered at the beauty of this place, and imagined what other delights I might discover amongst this, my new family.
And just like that, I was back in the great hall, staring into the burning candle and hearing the soft whispers of this ancient building, imagining the voices of those who had passed before. I wondered why this particular memory had come to me, but I didn't have to wait long for the answer.
It was my birthday.
I made a note to pray in the cloister before I retired this evening. The Matins prayer was long finished, and most of the monastery was sound asleep. Morning would come early, and my brothers would be waiting for me at Lauds.
Et erat pax.