"Sacred Heat"
by Mychael Black
I'm going to burn in Hell for what I'm about to confess to you. My
soul is already damned for my thoughts, for the impurity of what my
mind has conjured in the dead of night. But I cannot live with the
weight of this secret—this sin—any longer. I'm lying awake in my bed,
even now pleasuring myself as I make my confession.
"Forgive me, Almighty Father, for I have sinned."
The cross on my wall is little comfort—as that is where my fantasies inevitably lead me to.
A
man's lithe body hangs from the arms of the wooden cross, his head
down, his body barely clothed. My breathing becomes labored whenever I
look at him, whenever I think of him. What is it that I see in my mind?
Is that what you want to know? Then listen closely, if you dare—for
what I'm about to tell you is truly sinful, in both pleasure and pain.
I wake up to the sensation of another body—soft, warm
flesh—brushing against my own. A hand reaches out to touch me, to slide
along the patina of sweat that covers me. A tongue—a slick, hot
muscle—slithers across my flesh to taste me, to taste my skin, my
sweat, my arousal. A slender hand curls around my length, squeezes me
until my hips rise of their own accord. The man begins to stroke me,
sliding his hand up and down the length of my shaft in slow, languid
moves that serve only to torment me further.
His mouth covers my own and I taste his tongue, his lips, his
breath. He slides his lips from mine, down to my throat, to kiss and
lick my flesh as his strokes continue below. I slide my hands through
the thick mass of his chestnut hair and push him lower. I want his
mouth on me; I want to feel him suck my hardness down his throat.
He moves down my body with the gracefulness of an angel—delicate,
loving, gentle. When his lips close around me, I cry out. He begins a
slow slide down my shaft, and my hips rise to meet him. He slips his
hands under me, cupping me, pulling me up to him. A soft gasp, a
throaty moan—my body releases within him. He slides his lips off of me
and smiles. I smile back.
He moves to kneel between my thighs and my heart begins to race.
He wants me; he is ready, his shaft erect and pulsing. With a gentle
touch of his hands, my legs part. He slides into my body in one slow,
gentle motion.
My hips arch under him; he slides deeper inside. I cry out and he
covers my mouth with his. I encircle his neck with my arms; he moves
inside me slowly. He is strong, and kind. He kisses me again; then he
fills me with his sweet release. When he is done, he slides off of me
and into the darkness.
My Messiah.
(c) 2005 Mychael Black