Author: Lizard69 Title: Caught Keywords: Mb, ped Summary: This is a fragment of a story I'll be incorporating into a work in progress. At the moment I'm using it to sort out how to save and post to the archives via email. The public WiFi I was using now has the ASSTR site blocked by filters. Disclaimer This is a work of fiction. If you have trouble with the boundary between fact and fantasy, don't read it. If non-consensual sex between adult men and a young boy freaks you out, don't read it. Do not under any circumstances forward this file to anyone that hasn't specifically requested it. In case you haven't figured it out yet this is intended as *adult* entertainment. Do not allow it to be accessed by minors. If you have inadvertently downloaded it in a jurisdiction where such material isn't legal please delete it immediately. Do not re-post in whole or in part without this notice. Do not repost on any "for profit" site without my specific written permission. Copyright 2011 by Lizard69. Caught (Mb) by Lizard69 Father Lindquest checked his watch as he peeked out of the confessional. There were only three people waiting and it was almost five o'clock so he got up and threw the latch on the front door to lock behind those leaving before he went back to hearing confessions. He didn't inflict heavy penance, and there wasn't any actual requirement to pray *here*, so it didn't surprise him later when the click of the front door latch echoed through the empty church as the final parishioner entered the other side of the confessional. Normally he tried not to pay much attention to who was waiting but this kid had caught his eye. Red headed, maybe twelve or thirteen but so thin he could be a couple of years younger. Mostly though it was a blend of fear and resignation that gave him an almost haunted look. He listened as the kid settled in waiting for the familiar formula he'd heard so many times. This time it was so different and at the same time so familiar he couldn't have been more stunned if a gun went off. "Bless me father for I have dick breath and my asshole hurts. My last confession was before I started letting perverts fuck me. I'd like to be forgiven but I'll understand if that can't happen." The silence dragged out until the kid spoke again. "Father? Are you there? Did you hear me?" Peter Lindquest had heard many things in his years of listening to confessions. This was far from the first time the words of a penitent had struck a chord with his own particular weakness. Never before had he been so tempted to act on what he heard. "Gods' forgiveness is there for all who ask my son. Why would you think it might not be there for you"? "Partly because I'm not sure it was a sin or not my sin anyway. The first couple of times it happened I didn't have any choice. This time was different. I knew he was going to do it to some kid. I could have walked away. Then I thought about what it was like for me, the first time. The only way I could stop him from doing it to some other kid, maybe even a really little kid, was to let him do it to me instead. After we went somewhere private, I found out the only way I could make myself go through with it was to pretend that he'd beat me up and do it anyway if I didn't let him. So I guess he sort of forced me, but I went there knowing what would happen and I didn't ask him to stop. "Maybe God could forgive that. He probably forgives people for doing worse stuff. They told us in Sunday school that if you think about something you did wrong, and you're sorry you did it, and you ask God to forgive you, He will. Even if you're weak and stupid and keep making the same mistake over and over, as long you're sorry and want to do better He will keep forgiving you. But what if you're not sorry? What if you think about what you did and you know it's wrong, but instead of feeling sorry your dick gets hard and all you can think about is doing it again?" "That is a problem my son. No matter what penance I give you, without remorse there is no absolution. It isn't easy to confess these things. You must feel some remorse and want to return to a state of grace or you wouldn't be here." "Yes Father, but... The first time was the worst. He caught me doing something really terrible. It doesn't matter what. I don't do that anymore. Then he caught me jacking off. Instead of making me stop he made me cum, harder than I ever did before. When he was done he told me to meet him at this place I go when I want to be alone. I laid in bed for hours thinking about it. There's no way I could actually go there. I tried to imagine what he might do and started to cry when I realized my cock was hard as a rock. I went there, and... well... it was worse than anything I could imagine. Since then he made me do it other places. Now he's even starting to make me do it with other perverts." "That's terrible!" "That isn't the worst. I... Uh... I'm sort of starting to like it. I'm not a homo. Doing it is really sick and creepy. Some of it hurts. All of it is super embarrassing. But... it's still sex... sort of. I cum harder than I do by myself. Sometimes now when I'm jacking off I'm not thinking about girls. If anyone found out, well..., I probably wouldn't die but living around here wouldn't be much fun anymore." "My son, listen very carefully. I'm a priest. I do the Lords work. That is my profession, my calling. I'm also a man, as weak and sinful as any other. I cannot revile the men who have sexually abused you because I share their affliction. It is tempting, more tempting than you can imagine, to offer you a path to absolution that starts with allowing me to do things you'll regret. No matter how great my personal failings I cannot pervert my calling to that extent. There is also no way I can grant absolution for a sin you have not committed, or haven't committed yet. If you told me you intended to lie or steal something I couldn't absolve you before the act. If somebody forced you to lie or steal I couldn't absolve you because without volition, without choice, there is no sin. So, I'm going to ask you to return at whatever time you feel remorse for an act you have voluntarily committed." The boy was hardly three steps from the confessional when Father Lindquest stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "I've already locked the main door. Come with me and I'll let you out the side." The steps leading down to that door were inside instead of outdoors like the main entrance, and continued past the landing. They went down another flight, past the basement level before the boy asked what was going on. Only after pushing the kid into a boiler room and pulling the heavy fire door closed behind them did the priest answer. "There's something here I think you'd like to see. This church is old, close to a century. The boiler is gas fired now but when it was originally installed it was coal fed. On Sundays one of the deacons would stoke it. During the week the altar boys took turns keeping it running just enough to keep the pipes from freezing. There's room on the right to walk around to the back." Behind the boiler was a sort of shop area, dimly lit by a bulb on a cord hanging from the ceiling. The priest grabbed a heavy flashlight off the workbench and pointed it at the back of the boiler. At first all the boy saw was a huge round plate, black and dusty. Then he noticed that more than half of it was covered with rows of short scratches about a quarter inch long, mostly in groups of four with a diagonal strike through them. Spaced out at random spots were pairs of letters, like initials, breaking up the rows of tally marks. "When I first saw this I thought it was a record left by the altar boys who had stoked the boiler over the years. Only if that was it there didn't seem to be nearly enough initials or tally marks. It was those initials that gave me a clue. See the KH right at the top? Those are the initials of the pastor of this congregation at the time the church was built. The others follow in sequence. There are a few gaps but most of the priests who have served here over the years left their mark. The question is, why here? What were they counting that was important enough to keep track of but only worth scratching on the back of the boiler? Why wasn't there something in the church register?" "I won't bore you with how long it took or the mountain of old records I searched through. I finally found the explanation in a letter of resignation one of the grounds keepers submitted many years ago. He said he could tolerate and forgive priests for not being perfect although the act he'd interrupted was the most disgusting thing it had ever been his misfortune to witness. Men of the cloth should be held to a higher standard. What he could not abide was having to work in a place they had chosen to practice their wickedness, and being forbidden to paint over the marks they'd made to commemorate their sins. In his opinion the priest involved should face legal as well as spiritual punishment for what he was doing to that child. Regardless, he was going to honor the boys request to keep the incident confidential. There was no reason to add public humiliation to what he had already suffered." "So kid, what do you think he was doing to the boy?" "Fucking him?" "There's no way to be certain, but that's what I'd bet. Either that or something worse." "But..." "But what?" "There must be hundreds of marks." "More than a thousand, almost two, it's been a long time." "That's what I mean. Why didn't anyone tell?" "I'm sure some of them did, at least they told their parents. A few of these priests transferred on short notice. Neither the kids nor their parents wanted to get the cops involved. Most of the kids just quit being altar boys without giving the real reason. Some of them, there's no way of knowing how many, kept quiet because they didn't want anyone finding out that they liked it. What's your name?" "John, some people call me Johnny but I like John better." "OK, John. How many times have you made that embarrassing confession?" "Uh, Two counting today." "How many priests have fucked you?" "None yet."