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I’ve been accepted as a mafia escort but the role has not been as simple and straightforward as I had assumed it would be. After servicing several mafia leaders to prove that I was serious, and worthy to be in their stable, I was sent away. It was almost a week before the first call came in the form of a text. It was cryptic and vague. It gave an address and a time. It said that I was to meet a priest, Father Zetta, and tell him that “payment is on the way.” It ended with “Make very certain that he is pleased with our arrangement.” My questions went unanswered.
Of course, I assumed that he would want sex, but then he was a priest. I’m not naive enough to think that all priests take their vow of celibacy seriously. I’m not Catholic, though, at least not actively. I’ve never met a priest. I had no idea who he would be, or what would be expected. “Make sure he is pleased.” That was obviously open ended. He was a priest, though, so surely he wouldn’t want that much. I imagined myself on my knees in front of an old man, servicing his half hard cock and wrinkled balls. It made me shiver, but I had agreed to this.
I arrived at the designated place. I loitered in the hall for two minutes in order to ring the doorbell just as church bells down the block chimed the hour. I was shocked when the door opened. The last thing that I expected was the man standing before me. He was in his mid thirties, dark, bearded, his eyes flashed with some emotion I couldn’t define. His body radiated masculinity like a hot stove. I wondered if I was at the right place; at the very least if this was the right man. What had I gotten myself into? Presumably, this rendezvous was supposed to be secret. How much should I divulge? And yet, he was wearing a gold crucifix around his neck. Hesitantly, I asked, “I have a message for Father Zetta?”
The man grabbed my arm tight and roughly pulled me into the apartment, quickly shutting the door behind me. He asked, “Who are you?!” I gave him my name. “No!I mean who sent you? Why are you here?” I repeated the text word for word. He visibly relaxed but it was clear he didn’t trust me… (read more on StagHomme’s Carnal+…)