The Secret of the Shopkeeper Who Went to Confession Every Thursday

Anselmo had been the parish priest of Valdeseras for more than twenty years. He liked his work, as much as a man his age could like any job. He liked saying Mass, preparing the children for Communion, organizing the August processions. But his favorite part, the one he would never confess to anyone, was hearing confessions.

On slow days, at least, there were juicy bits of gossip, or some steamy story to entertain himself with in private before going to sleep. On good days, he had long since lost count of how many mouths had closed around his cock between the four wooden panels of that cubicle. Men and women alike had sucked him in the gloom, swallowing or choking, while he gripped the back of their necks firmly at just the right moment. Entering the confessional already gave him an automatic erection, which his cassock concealed perfectly.

If he were forced to choose a favorite, he would have no doubt. Rubén had arrived in town barely two years earlier and opened a modest but thriving hardware store. Everyone respected him, although Valdeseras was small and suspicion was hard to overcome. He was a quiet man, with no known partner, short and solidly built, with a thick beard that made him seem harder than he really was. Handsome, with those first expression lines of someone in his early thirties. Several women had hit on him without the slightest success. Still, something must have been weighing on him, because he never missed a Thursday confession.

That August night, hotter than most, he knocked on the door of the parish office. It was already late, and Anselmo, a tall, lean man of about fifty with thick gray hair, was about to retire to his room.

—Good evening, Anselmo. Am I bothering you? —Rubén asked, apology written all over his face.

—No, son, you’re not bothering me. Come in, come in —the priest replied, smoothing down his cassock. His visitor was wearing his work polo shirt and a pair of shorts beneath which hips somewhat more pronounced than usual could be made out, making him swallow hard—. Did you bolt the gate?

—Yes, Father. It’s locked.

—Very good. I was waiting for you.

He crossed the room in two strides, grabbed him by the neck, and slammed him backward against the wall. He kissed him furiously, biting his lower lip while his fingers squeezed his throat.

—Did you come sweating from the shop so your cunt would smell like a slut? —he whispered in his ear—. Do your employees know their boss spreads his legs for the village priest?

Rubén moaned and clung to his back. The office desk was almost clear; the few papers covering it fell to the floor when Anselmo swept them aside to lay him on top of it. With one tug, he pulled down his trousers and underwear. Firm thighs appeared, and between them, already swollen and pink, a sex with a clitoris enlarged by hormones, protruding like a small aberration. The priest ran his hand over it, without tenderness, without trying to give him pleasure, only to warn him of what was coming. Rubén shuddered, eyes squeezed shut.

***

A few months earlier, Rubén had entered the confessional for the first time. Guilt devoured him: the guilt of living in that town while hiding his great secret from everyone. Sometimes he dreamed that he was left naked in the middle of the square and that the neighbors pointed at him, laughing. At other times, the men of the town smelled him out, guessed what sex he had, tore off his clothes, and took turns penetrating him in the middle of the street. In those dreams, his own involuntary moans fanned the jeers and fury of the others, while he came in the midst of his punishment, unable to stop himself.

His status as a trans man had never come to light, nor did it have to. But he lived tormented, and, naïve as he was, thought the parish priest would absolve him of the sin of lying and restore some peace to him. He had not counted on Anselmo’s lust. The moment he sat down on the other side of the screen, the priest already had a hand on his sex, stroking himself slowly as he listened. He could not believe his luck. He had always fantasized about possessing someone like that: a genuinely lost sheep, as far from the will of God as he could conceive. A body that had decided to remake itself from top to bottom into a rough man, something small, something fragile, but unmistakably masculine. And at its center, like an indelible remnant he repudiated, a narrow, wet sex that seemed to be crying out to be filled.

When he finished hearing the story, Anselmo did not hold back. He stood up, opened the door of the confessional, and revealed himself to his kneeling parishioner, his erection pointing at his mouth. From then on, he fucked him every week. And that night would be no different.

***

The priest bent over Rubén’s crotch, the shopkeeper sprawled across the desk.

—Well, well, what do we have here? A cunt. I thought I had a whole man in front of me, but it turns out you’re just a slut begging to be knocked up so someone can show you what’s good for you. And what are we going to do with this pretty thing? Eat it? —he said, speaking an inch from his sex, so that his breath made the hair stand on end.

—Yes, I’m your whore —Rubén moaned, legs spread and fists clenched.

Anselmo chuckled softly, blessing his luck, before bringing his lips together with those of the shopkeeper. His tongue circled the entrance, narrow like that of someone who had never been penetrated, because years of testosterone had almost completely closed it. It was as if that entire male body were fighting to seal the one opening that still betrayed him. Little by little, he moved up to the enlarged, hypersensitive clitoris, full of nerve endings, and played with it as though it were a second tongue in a kiss, moving it from side to side. Rubén moaned and tried, in vain, to close his legs.

—What’s wrong, pretty girl? You don’t like the way I eat your pussy? I’m taking it nice and slow, and you won’t stop moaning —Anselmo told him, before striking the tip of that organ with the flat of his tongue—. Don’t play dumb. Spread your legs properly and enjoy it, because later, when I fuck you, I want to feel you nice and wet, hugging my cock.

When the short moans grew farther apart and he felt Rubén’s body beginning to loosen, he knew his favorite part had arrived. He closed his lips around the clitoris and began sucking hard. Rubén cried out and tried to pull his head away, but the priest had no intention of moving.

—Stop, stop, don’t go on, I can’t take any more —the shopkeeper begged, his voice irredeemably high-pitched, unable to pull that mouth away from his sex.

The orgasm coursed through his entire body, shaking him as he babbled and lost control of his legs. Anselmo did not pull away until several seconds after the last tremor, hiding a smile in every movement of his tongue.

—Not bad, huh? My whole face is soaked. I like the way you taste. One day I’ll have to invite some friend from town to try it.

—No, please. Don’t tell anyone anything.

—Tell them what? That the hardware-store owner has a cunt and, when you fuck him, he moans like any common slut? That you can stick your cock in the shopkeeper and it’s like fucking a woman?

—It’s not like that…

—It’s not? Then what is it like? You have a cunt between your legs, and if they knew, they’d bend you over your own counter and run through you one after another until you were dripping. And the worst part is that you wouldn’t stop moaning, with that testosterone keeping you horny all the time. I’m not telling anyone because I want you all to myself. Otherwise, I’d have thrown a party by now.

Rubén covered his face with his arms, dying of embarrassment, while Anselmo began to finger him. First the ring finger, which slipped slowly all the way in.

—You’ve got it very tight, but it’s wet and sensitive, isn’t it? Will I fit all the way in, or are you going to give me trouble again?

The first few times, the priest had not managed to penetrate him completely. That body, after years of hormones, did not open easily for a cock as thick as his. He bled, and the shopkeeper cried and begged. Then Anselmo would pull it out and rub it across his face until Rubén sucked it devotedly. Week after week, his body had gradually opened for him, like a small miracle made to his measure.

Now, with two fingers inside, he felt it squeeze them firmly but without resistance. Behind the arms covering his face, Rubén moaned softly. He had come, but it made no difference; his body could not be sated. Anselmo lifted his cassock and pulled out his cock, already ready to burst. He wanted to empty himself deep inside, against the very doors of his womb.

—Here it comes, little Rubén. Don’t squirm —he said, pulling out his fingers and taking aim.

He thrust with his hips and slowly buried himself. The shopkeeper cried out and thrashed, but Anselmo held him firmly by those hips, somewhat wider than any man’s, which he found so irresistible. With one final thrust, he sank all the way to the base. He had broken the asses of quite a few people in that town, but nothing compared to looking Rubén in the eyes with his cock inside his sex and laughing a little at his embarrassment. He was ashamed to be open, to be wet, to moan every time Anselmo went in and out, to hear the unmistakable sloshing.

—Do you like the way I fuck you, Rubén? Come on, don’t be shy. Tell me you like having me fill your cunt. Or do you want me to be rougher?

—No, no, please. Keep going like that, slowly.

—So you want it slow, huh? You want to feel me slowly. Tell me.

—Yes, I like feeling you slowly —Rubén moaned, trying to avoid his gaze, but Anselmo’s hand seized his chin and forced him to look into his eyes.

The priest chuckled under his breath and slid his other hand toward the shopkeeper’s anus, exposed by his position, and began to press.

—I fuck men in the ass, Rubén. You tell everyone you’re a man. Do you want me to switch holes and give it to you where I give it to the males?

—No, not there —Rubén begged, frightened.

—You don’t like it in the ass? You’d rather I fuck you like a woman?

—No…

—No? I don’t understand you. Make up your mind. Either I break your ass like a man, or I fuck you like a woman —Anselmo said, massaging his other hand over the swollen clitoris, drawing an involuntary moan from him—. Tell me now. Should I keep fucking you like a little woman? Ask me for it, or I’ll change places.

—Fuck me like a woman —Rubén gave in, moaning from the gentle thrusts and the rubbing against his sex.

Anselmo burst out laughing and gripped his hips even harder.

—Women like you, little Rubén, I ride until they can’t close their legs —he told him, and suddenly pulled his cock almost all the way out before driving it in with one thrust. Rubén screamed and tried to push him away, but the priest’s body was much larger than his, and he continued pounding hard, penetrating him to the hilt with every thrust.

The shopkeeper’s screams, muffled against the skin of the man fucking him, mingled pain and pleasure. Anselmo’s guttural roars echoed throughout the empty church. He felt that tight sex squeeze his cock, bit Rubén’s neck, and emptied himself inside him with one final shudder.

Little by little, both their breathing began to calm. The priest’s limp cock slipped out of the shopkeeper’s body, and he sighed with relief as he felt the warm liquid flow out.

—Ego te absolvo —the parish priest said mockingly—. You may go in peace, son. I ask only one thing: next time you come to confession, arrive shaved and wearing a thong. If we’re going to sin, let’s do it properly. Agreed, pretty girl?