He continued to kiss me and began to disrobe; he removed my shirt and I began helping him with his. He was so handsome with his perfectly kept hair and beard. It was strange; there wasn’t much about this absurdly hot man that seemed or even looked remotely pious. As his massive worked out chest brushed up against my smooth one, I could feel his dominating presence. Soon enough I was on my knees for the holy man. I wrapped my tongue and mouth around it, teasing him and even myself. I pulled it out and went to town, ravenously, full throated. His cock pulsed and twitched in my mouth and throat, clearly more excited than that first time. Father Scott then had me bend over on a bench. I felt his hot breath on my hole and soon his beard scratching my spread cheeks and his tongue was swirling around my hole, lubing it up with his saliva. Not long after, both of us were in dire need of penetration. His throbbing member made its way up my chute. His thrusts were as vigorous as they were tender, and as calculated and steady as they felt primal and passionate. I was here to worship him, but in many ways, it felt like he was worshiping me—or at least my hole—just as much.