Becoming Father Michael Pt 1

Becoming Father Michael is a complete fantasy and any resemblance to anyone, or any location or convent is completely unintentional.

=========================================================
Becoming Father Michael part 1.

“Have you thought of becoming a priest Michael?” Father Rafferty said after one mass when I just finished my confession.

“No father,” I said, “I think now I’ve finished school I’ll go and train for an accountant.”

“Ah but to be sure Michael there’s more to this life than figures,” he said, “Tis a fine life serving the Lord, Michael.”

“But father,” I replied, “Did I not just spend a quarter hour confessing to Jesus how I keep lusting after women?”

“That’s right Michael,” he said, “So why have you not thought of the priesthood?”

“But father!” I replied, “Every time I see a woman all I can think is what she’s like beneath the dress, how’s her cunt, is it shaven, what’s her ass like? you know, is that stockings and suspenders she has on, is her ass red raw where her man has whacked her, what has she for tits, you understand father?”

“Well,” he said, “I’m not getting any younger, and its a healthy young curate I’ll be needing, now tell your mammy father Rafferty says you’re to start training for the church next Sunday.”

“But father,” I protested, “I think about poking women with my rock hard cock just about every waking moment!”

“Sunday lad, now get out of my sight,all this talk of stocking and suspenders and smacking their bare asses, ’tis worse then the phonography,” he said, though I had a sneaking suspicion he meant pornography.

Mam was less surprised than I thought, “To be sure Michael you’re a strong enough lad,” she said when I told her, “And you know the scriptures do you not?”

“Yes but Mammy, I want to be a publican!” I said.

“You’ll spend your money on gambling and whores and come to no good,” Mammy said, “No it’s the priesthood for you lad.”

It was the next Saturday father Rafferty came around to see me, “Now your Mammy says you’re fine to join the priesthood and I’ve got a nice curate job for you if you can measure up.”

“Have I to sit an examination?” I asked.

“In a measure of speaking,” he agreed, “You’ve to see the mother superior at Ballykisasole convent,” he said.

“When father?” I asked.

“Why now,” he said, “You’re not been wanking have you?”

“No father, I only wank in the morning and evening and when I wake in the night,” I admitted.

“Good lad.” he said and he took me outside where his new green Ford Cortina stood, you know the one with round tail lights and his was the 1600cc with leather seats.

“Maybe you could have a car like this one day when you’ve your own Parish.” he suggested as we flew along at seventy miles an hour.

“God in heaven preserve us,” he said a couple of times.

“Do you pray constantly father?” I asked.

“No, tis the tyres,” he said as if I understood cars.

The Convent was like convents all over Ireland, big forbidding grey walls with happy nuns all singing and dancing and smiling inside where they looked after the orphan babies they found abandoned upon their doorstep, and to my surprise I was invited in not just to the visiting room but to the Mother superior’s quarters.

“So this is Michael?” Mother superior commented, “He’s a credit to you Dougal.”

Father Rafferty coughed awkwardly, “He’s a lusty lad by all accounts.”

“You lust after old women then Michael?” the Mother superior asked.

“Father?” I asked.

“I had to share the confessional with her grace Michael,” he admitted, “It won’t go against you, tell the truth.”

“I dream of cunts Mother,” I said, “Hairy old cunts, young juicy cunts, I cannot think of anything else!”

“But you’re a virgin still, you have refrained, the truth now!” she said.

“Yes mother,” I explained, “I just wank myself stupid.”

“Now that’s the worry, d’you see you’ll go blind.” the mother superior explained, “Won’t he sister Pious.”

I hadn’t realised frumpy middle aged sister Pious was there nor the young innocent sister Mary.

“Are you sure?” I asked, “How else am I to suppress my urges?”

“Have you explained nothing Dougal?” the mother superior asked.

“No, I’m afraid I did not.” father Rafferty admitted.

“The thing is Father Rafferty is getting older,” the mother explained, “For some time now he’s needed a cock ring and now he needs a butt plug up his ass before he’s any use to us at all.”

“What?” I asked in confusion.

“Oh he can poke Mary and the like, she’s all tits and legs, but he’s no good to me or Sister Pious or the ladies on O’Donnel street.”

“What?” I asked.

“He can’t get a cock lift, it’s not right a nun of my age needing to wear stockings to turn my priest on.” the mother superior admitted.

“Or mine,” Sister Pious agreed, and blushed furiously.

“You did say you fantasised about the Mother superior Michael,” Father Rafferty reminded me.

“Yes, I did, I did once,” I admitted, “In the night.”

“You see poor old Dougal just doesn’t measure up any more Michael,” The mother superior insisted, “Why ten years ago he had seven inches of solid cock, eight on a good day, solid muscle and a good squirt of nice creamy spunk, Michael, potent stuff Michael.”

“Cock?” I asked.

“And Michael’s cock Dougal, is it straight or curved and how long?” she asked greedily.

“How should I know?” father Rafferty asked.

“I thought you said he was the one?” Sister Pious reminded him.

“I haven’t exactly measured it,” Father Rafferty explained, “I couldn’t ask the lad to drop his trousers could I?”

“He’s your damned son,” she reminded him, “Seamus Riley never stayed sober long enough to poke the mother so he must be yours,” she said, “Just look at the eyes and the finger nails.”

“Ah well, your not wrong,” he said, “But the thoughts he has, stockings suspenders and whacking nuns on their bare asses with a leather belt.”

“In confession?” Sister Pious enquired.

“Yes in confession,” Father Rafferty agreed.

“You better show us,” the mother superior suggested, “Let us decide.”

“What?” I asked.

“Trousers down Michael,” Father Rafferty insisted, “You heard the reverend mother.”

“But father!” I protested.

“Trousers down Michael,” the mother superior ordered, “Let us see if you’re man enough for the good lord’s work.”

“Oh let me!” Sister Pious insisted and she stepped forward and grabbed my fly buttons and fumbled awkwardly as she tried to undo them.

She was no beauty but the scent of her in her starched headpiece and black robe and her fingers on me was enough and I started swelling in my underpants, “No!” I cried.

“What do you mean ‘No,” the mother superior cried, “There’s good work to be done, there’s orphans needed Michael and good god fearing young mothers whose men can’t do the manly thing just crying out for babies.”

“But mother!” I exclaimed as Sister Pious fumbled the last button and wrenched my flies open.

My cock made a tent pole of my underpants, until Sister Pious undid my trouser belt and wrenched my trousers and underpants to my knees.

“Will you look at that sister,” the mother superior cried, “Eight inches of good Irish cock.”

“Are you sure sister?” Sister Pious asked, “Could it be eight and a half?”

“Now Michael, you see we Nuns we give up fleshy pleasures to serve the lord but just once in a wee while we like to be reminded so, if you wouldn’t mind.