The Bacchanal at the Inn That No Monk Confessed

We had spent years wandering beneath the patched habit of errant monks, the sort no rule wanted and no council recognized. We begged from town to town, faked prayers for a hot meal, and kept on our way. We had trod the roads to Rome and to Jerusalem, but none left as deep a mark on us as the one that led to Compostela, crossing the Lobagrís mountains.

My companion in hardship was named Floriano, a novice with a sparse beard and an innocent little face who made his living with two things: acting the saint and the exact opposite. I had picked him up in a double convent in those mountains, where the widows shut away by their husbands and the nuns themselves squeezed him night after night, milking his cock dry before matins. I got him out of there half worn away, and brought the color back to him by dint of road and hard bread.

I won’t lie: there was some of that between us too. On cold nights, far from any prying eyes, Floriano proved why the nuns fought over their turn. He would kneel between my legs, pull my cock from my habit with greedy fingers, and take it all the way into his mouth, sucking with a convent-trained technique the city whores could only have wished for. I would grip his curls and fuck his throat until tears sprang to his eyes, and he swallowed my load without losing a drop. Then it was my turn to return the favor: I would bend him over the moss, pry his ass cheeks open, and drive into his hole to the hilt with the dry, deep thrusts my nature demanded. More than one village crossed itself at the sound of us bellowing among the pines, not understanding what sort of beast could moan like that.

It was precisely beast that had become my reputation. In that region the legend of the Garruño was making the rounds, a huge, hairy creature that prowled the woods. One afternoon, while I was bathing naked in a stream, some girls caught me as I turned around, saw my cock hanging down to mid-thigh, shouted that name, and took off running. From then on they pointed me out as the Garruño, which had its good side and its bad: the women wanted to see whether the rumor was true, whether the errant monk’s cock really was as monstrous as they said, and the men looked at me like a satyr ready to vault their wall.

***

After days lost in that greenish fog, we came out into a clearing where a large inn stood. It was run by two married couples from the same family. The men were solidly built and getting on in years. The women, by contrast, stopped us in our tracks. The elder one, Doña Casilda, was full-figured without being excessive, with firm white flesh and enormous tits spilling out of her bodice. The younger, Doña Ginebra, let a pair of full, pearly breasts peek from her neckline, announcing a recent pregnancy, with dark nipples showing beneath the fine fabric.

The older innkeeper, a man called Bertoldo with a sour face, greeted us with a growl. But the women, seeing our ragged habits, knelt and kissed our hands devoutly. I used the gesture to look closely at what they, with a sly smile, made no effort to hide: two deep necklines my eyes kept drifting to and where my blood was already drifting elsewhere too. Before long we were seated at the table, with hot food and a jug of mead they refused to let run empty.

The inn was overflowing that night. Noble travelers had arrived with their ladies, on the road to Court, delayed because a wagon axle had snapped and they were hunting for a blacksmith. While Bertoldo argued over where to put us—he proposed the henhouse, so we could sleep among feathers—Doña Casilda settled it: we would sleep by the rooms, like watchdogs of the house, paying nothing in return for lending a hand wherever needed.

—Everything is needed here —she said, looking me up and down and lingering without shame on the bulge under my habit—. And two pairs of young hands are never too many.

—Ours are at your service, madam —I answered, holding her gaze—. And whatever hangs between them too, for whatever you need.

She bit her lip, blushed to the neck, and turned away with her hips swaying more than necessary. I knew then that that night would not be for prayers.

***

Among the distinguished travelers was a fat prelate in red vestments, Bishop Anselmo de Brena, who could not take his eyes off Floriano. I knew that look. The novice, sharper than hunger, let the bishop call him into a corner under the pretense of kissing his ring, and there, instead of confessing, he began to spill a sly little sob-story about how much he had suffered at the hands of others. The prelate, moved and aroused in equal measure, promised to hear him privately later.

When the time came, I posted myself in a crack in the partition. The bishop went from moralizing talk to practice in a breath: he hiked up Floriano’s habit, groped his ass with fat, sweaty hands, and bent down to suck his cock as if he had not eaten in months. The novice let him do it, and the truth was the prelate knew how to suck: he took the cock all the way to his uvula and licked the balls with his broad tongue, groaning between swallows. But Floriano knew exactly what he was doing. He let the cleric get worked up, made him believe it was the best thing that had ever happened to him, and little by little he turned the tables. The bishop’s knees were buckling with pleasure when, as the novice turned around, he discovered the rod the boy had been hiding under his habit, stiff and dripping, longer than any heated bishop would have expected.

—Make penance for me, son —the prelate panted, hitching up his purple robes and leaning over the bed, offering a white, fat ass fed on prayers and feasts—. Hard. Put it in all the way, don’t stop even if I ask you to.

And Floriano, to avenge old accounts, spat into his hand, smeared his cock well, pressed it to the bishop’s hole, and with one thrust drove it in to the hilt. The prelate gave a howl that he smothered by biting the mattress, and from that moment the novice granted him no respite: he grabbed him by the hips and started fucking him with brutal rhythm, pulling almost all the way out only to slam back in with a dry, hard shove that made all the flesh tremble.

I took advantage of that lapse in attention. I had my own reasons to collect a little debt from the high clergy, so I went in, slipped off my habit, and put my cock against the bishop’s lips. His eyes went wide at the sight of it up close, but he opened his mouth without protest. I told the novice to get him ready, and between the two of us we skewered him front and back. I fucked his mouth without mercy, gripping his fat ears like handles, while Floriano kept boring into his ass at a pace that made the bed creak. Between the two of us we left him breathless and asking only for a dull groan. To our surprise, the rougher the treatment, the more the damned man wanted it: he writhed against the two cocks on his own, licked his lips when I pulled mine out to spit in his face, and begged through the saliva for us to give him the finish wherever we liked.

We came at the same time, I filling his mouth until semen spilled from the corners, and Floriano unloading inside the prelate’s ass with beastly grunts, and we left the bishop exhausted on the bed, his habit in tatters and his seed dripping from two places, convinced he would not know how to continue his journey the next day.

***

Just then a mature lady entered with a younger one dressed far more lightly than decency allowed. The elder was Doña Estefanía, aunt and godmother to the girl; the younger, the bishop’s own niece, already well into marriageable age. They had come to present the girl to the prelate, and at the scene they found, they threatened to raise the alarm.

I could not allow it. I closed the door and, without losing our manners, presented them with our respects and our tools, which we took out from under our habits and placed at their disposal, still erect and gleaming from the previous feast. I also offered them a sweet drink to calm their nerves. Doña Estefanía, far from being frightened, licked her lips at the sight of the pair of cocks pointing at her, sized up Floriano with her eyes and then sized me up, and then sized me up twice.

—If His Eminence is not in condition —she said, unfastening her bodice and freeing a pair of mature, heavy tits with nipples as wide as coins—, someone will have to attend to us. And from what I see, there is what it takes here.

I laid her on the very same bed where the bishop was gasping. I ripped off her skirts, spread her legs, and found a thick cunt, dark with hair, already soaked from watching us. I sank my tongue between the folds and licked her until she began twisting and grabbing my hair. When I had her on the verge of coming, I climbed over her, put my cock at her entrance, and slid the shaft in centimeter by centimeter, watching her eyes widen at the same time her cunt opened to receive me.

—Holy Virgin —she moaned—, the number of times I’d heard about cocks like that, and the number of times I didn’t believe it.

We rode her as a duo. While I mounted her, driving her to the hilt with every thrust, she made out with me with a long, skillful tongue, and I invited her to take it wherever she wanted. She moved down my neck, sucked my nipples until they hardened, and came back to my mouth licking her own juices from her fingers. She straddled me and started bouncing on my cock with years of repressed fury, squeezing her own tits and offering them to me so I could bite them. I did, and I swear it took me to seventh heaven, with her thick thighs clamping my hips and her cunt biting the shaft on every downward plunge.

Meanwhile, Floriano was attending to the niece, who first eyed him with suspicion and then with astonishment, as she was used to more modest things. The girl had a slender body, with small tits and pink, perked nipples, and the novice was sucking them on his knees while hiking up her petticoats.

—Slowly —the girl asked when she saw his cock bared—, I’m not used to that much. No one has ever put anything bigger than a finger in me.

The novice, patient as a good confessor, prepared her with his tongue before giving her the rest. He sat her on the edge of the bed, spread her thighs, and buried his mouth in her virgin or near-virgin cunt, sucking her clit until the girl began panting and getting wet in abundance. He put in one finger, then two, and when he felt her open and melting, he fitted his cock at the entrance and pushed in little by little. The lovely girl went from fear to delight when she felt a whole cock inside her for the first time, and ended up asking for more and faster, just like her aunt a while before, clinging to the novice’s ass to make him drive it deeper.

Doña Estefanía, astride me, set the pace for the whole scene with her broad hips, rising and falling on my cock with wet slapping sounds, while the young woman beside her discovered pleasures she had never suspected and howled every time Floriano pulled out and shoved back in. When the aunt saw I was about to come, she got up, knelt on all fours beside her niece, and asked me to take her from behind while she watched her goddaughter being thoroughly deflowered. I skewered her with one thrust and emptied my load inside her cunt with grunts that made the cot tremble, and at my side the novice did the same, spilling his seed over the girl’s belly and tits until she was shining with semen.

When both collapsed, spent from fatigue and wine, we left there with nothing left to settle, leaving the bishop dreaming of his penance.

***

As soon as we stepped into the corridor, we ran into Doña Casilda and Doña Ginebra. From the disorder of their skirts, the flush on their faces, and the dampness showing through their petticoats, I understood that we had had an audience, and that they had been touching themselves while watching us through the crack. A hand that is offered and not refused, a smile that invites: that was enough for us to understand one another. They wanted us in their beds, if we could manage to get Bertoldo’s growling hide out of the way.

I came up with the plan during the next afternoon’s siesta. While the innkeeper slept, we painted blotches on his skin with dye, and when he woke we made him believe he had contracted one of those diseases that carry a man off. Terrified, he accepted the remedy we proposed: spend the entire night praying, shut inside a barrel of salt and sawdust with his head sticking out, until the ailment left his body. Poor Bertoldo commended himself to all the saints, never suspecting that the only miracle of the night would happen somewhere else.

While he prayed in the dark in the stable, I tended to Doña Casilda. The innkeeper was waiting for me in her chamber, already naked on the sheets, her hair loose and those enormous tits hanging at her sides. To see her spread with her legs open, with those generous white curves and a pink cunt shining with desire, was a feast. I knelt between her thighs and started licking her, sucking her clit and burying my tongue deep inside her, until she writhed and begged me to fuck her already. But before giving it to her, I climbed astride her chest and brought my cock to her mouth. She devoured me with her mouth first, swallowing my cock with the long-delayed hunger of years, sucking me with both hands and eyes rolled white, spitting strands of saliva that ran between her tits. She sucked my balls one by one and then took me back to the very back of her throat, groaning as if this were the first decent cock of her life.

When I had her on the edge of coming, I put her on all fours at the edge of the mattress, grabbed those fat white ass cheeks, and slowly drove my shaft in, watching her cunt stretch to swallow me whole. Once he had it inside, she let out a hoarse howl and started pushing her ass back, asking for more. I fucked her without mercy, my hands on her waist and her tits swinging under her body, her cunt swallowing the whole shaft her husband had never given her in the same way. I worked her up between sighs, tested other routes by spitting between her ass cheeks and pressing the head to her little hole, but she shut it with a start —“not there, that’s too much, you’ll split me in two”— and I left her for Floriano, of more prudent size, who was waiting his turn with Doña Ginebra in his arms.

—Let each one receive what suits them best —I said, and we exchanged partners.

The novice positioned himself behind Doña Casilda while I laid Ginebra on her back and put her at my mercy. The pregnant woman had a delicious body: the budding belly, tits swollen with future milk, dark sensitive nipples. I sucked them until she arched, and when I spread her legs I found a tight cunt, clenched, already dripping with excitement. I worked her with my tongue for a while, playing with her clit until she came screaming and clutching my ears, and only then did I fit my cock at the entrance and start to push. The two of them felt the two shafts entering at once, slender and slick in hot caverns, and the little minxes knew how to wring them out, groaning in duet, holding hands over the mattress while Floriano and I drilled them in the same rhythm.

Later we switched again. I put Doña Casilda on her back, lifted her legs to my shoulders, and skewered her once more, this time face to face, biting her tits until they were red and fucking her with deep thrusts that made all her flesh jump. And this time, with her hotter and drunker, I insisted with one finger from behind while I fucked her from the front, and the little slut no longer said no: she let herself be prepared, let herself be opened, and when I asked her to get on all fours and offer it to me, she obeyed without a protest. I spat between her ass cheeks and slowly worked the tip in, and Doña Casilda, now fully surrendered, took without shame what had made her scream before, biting the pillow while I drove the shaft into her virgin ass to the balls. Beside me, Floriano was fucking Ginebra seated on top of him, and the pregnant girl bounced on his cock with a shamelessness any whore would envy.

It was a long night, one without end, with the innkeeper tireless, coming again and again over both cocks, and the younger woman quieter but just as active, alternating between sucking both of us and offering up her pregnant cunt. We ended by unloading all over them, over tits, over faces, over open, satisfied cunts, and the two of them licked off, laughing, what had stuck to their skin.

***

At dawn we freed Bertoldo from his barrel, cured of his false leprosy. He was so grateful for having had his life saved that he begged us to stay on as permanent guests, and from then on he devoted himself to prayer with a fervor he had never had before. The inn, he said, would from that day on be a place of penance and recollection.

That did not last. That inn lost in the Lobagrís mountains ended up becoming a secret refuge for nobles seeking, far from their palaces, what they could not have in them. Doña Casilda grew more uninhibited every night, with no hole left closed and asking to be used everywhere at once, and Doña Ginebra discovered her vocation went far beyond serving mead, and learned to suck cock on her knees better than any woman. Floriano hesitated between returning to the Order or continuing on the road with me. And I, who have borne the Garruño’s reputation since that stream, knew that my destiny remained what it had always been: to walk the roads, comfort those in need with my rod always ready, and never confess what I left behind me.

When we learned that Bishop Anselmo was coming back in a rage, with his female relatives and a problem difficult to explain under their skirts, we did not think twice. We gathered our habits, said farewell to the good inn with one last bacchanal in which no one had anything left to hide anymore —Doña Casilda skewered by the two of us at once, in cunt and ass, and Doña Ginebra sucking us in turns with her face smeared with semen—, and put distance between us before dawn could find us.

Berenguel de Tordoya