Release Retreat

"Your body must be in agony," the angel said. "Lie on the bed there and I will massage you." As Mark did so, going down on his belly, the angel took off his loincloth, to reveal a nicely proportioned cock—not as large as those Mark had taken earlier. Like the others, though, the angel was in erection.

Mark was given a sensual, deep massage, which included the touching of his inner thighs that coaxed him to part his legs and then his cock being pulled through to be touched and licked. The angel stroked him to another completion with one greased hand while working his other muscles with the other hand. The sap was rising from Mark's balls again. As the angel moved around the cube, massaging Mark, his erection grew in length and thickness. So did Mark's.

"Please, please. Put it in me. Fuck me," Mark murmured, his eyes having followed the angel's erection, beginning to moan at the size it had reached.

"Is that your wish?" the angel asked.

"Yes," Mark hissed through clinched teeth. "I want it. I want it inside me."

"Granted." The angel climbed up on the cube, saddled himself on Mark's ass, and worked his cock inside. Mark panted hard. As it moved inside him, it continued to expand, exceeding the size of anything Mark had taken earlier. It stretched him and consumed him.

"Yes, yes," Mark whimpered, and then he let loose with an "Oh, Fuck YES!" as he discovered that, as the angel entered him, his cock lengthened to expanded to fully possessing proportions, caressing and stretching the sensitive walls of Mark's soft central core. Mark panted hard and deep as he felt his passage walls yielding to the angel's demands. The two were fused, one organism, the angel's cock was radiating everywhere within Mark's center. The cock vibrated too, setting Mark's channel muscles into off-beat undulations, the muscles coming alive and rippling over the throbbing cock, the cock making love to the channel to the quick of the young man's being and the channel caressing the cock.

The angel leaned over and wove his arms under Mark's pits and locked his fists behind the young man's neck, putting him in a full Nelson hold. He arched Mark's back and set the two of them into a rocking motion, increasing the friction of the expanding cock inside Mark's passage. Mark shuddered and trembled and cried out in passion as the angel, having fully possessed the young man's passage, began to move in and out, in and out. The angel fucked him and fucked him and fucked him, the cock becoming all consuming. Several minutes after Mark had come in a rolling ejaculation that drained his balls again and made them ache, the angel fired off, repeatedly, the eruption going on for several minutes, while Mark went wild with passion, being lifted up and up and up, dancing on the clouds and coming again and again even though there was no more cum to give. La Petite Mort.

As the angel pumped cum up inside Mark's passage so that it ran out his hole and down his thighs, Mark became weaker and weaker. Finally, he blacked out. As he was fading away, the angel was still releasing inside him.

When Mark came to, he found he was purring and humming. He had never felt this high. He also was alone. He rolled off the cube and went out into the corridor. No one was there. No one else was tracking him down. There were to be four, and there had been four. Hobbling, he shambled back to the locker room, finding that he knew just how to get there, although he hadn't been given a map of the labyrinth-like interior of the bathhouse. He showered alone. And he was the only one in the locker room when he went to his locker and opened it. His T-shirt and athletic shorts were, of course, gone, in shreds somewhere, as he had more than half expected they would be. His street clothes were in the locker, though. He pulled on his underwear and then his black shirt, his black trousers, and his black socks and shoes.

At the reception desk, he stopped to sign out.

"Was it what you wanted?" the desk attendant asked. "What you paid for? Not many want the full service like that."

"Yes, it was exactly what I wanted—what I needed," Mark answered, giving the young man at the desk a reassuring smile.

"It was three roughs and one divine, as you put it in your request. That's what you wanted, you said. You sure you were satisfied? It wasn't too much for you?"

"Very sure. The rough is a temptation that must be drawn out, an itch that sometimes must be scratched, but the divine must win out in the end."

The attendant looked a bit confused. "Whatever," he said, and added, a bit uncertainly, "You'll come back again? We want to please. It's just that you said you wanted to be taken by force."

"Yes, I did say that."

"And you don't look like the sort who likes to play the rough games—have them played with you."

"Normally, I don't. But today I did."

"And you were satisfied?" he repeated, still uncertain.

"Absolutely. It was just what I needed. Bless you."

* * * *

Mark walked out of the bathhouse and paused on sidewalk outside to dip into his pocket, pull out his Jesuit clerical collar, and put it into place. He walked, painfully but humming in satiation, north up North Halstead and turned west on West Addison, reaching the subway at the corner across from Wrigley Field. He took the subway south to West Chicago Avenue and walked toward the lake into the grounds of Loyola University's Lake Shore campus, where he was the Jesuit chaplain for social services at the Catholic Madonna della Strada Chapel.

"You're looking so much more relaxed today than yesterday, Brother Mark," Father Stephen said when Mark entered their shared office.

"I took a retreat day, as you suggested. Well, a half day. That's really all I could manage," Mark answered, holding on to an inward smile. "You were right, Father Stephen. A retreat day taken occasionally to take care of all my personal needs—a release retreat, we could call it—is just the ticket to relieve the stress of our duties."

"A release retreat?"

"Yes, that's how I think of the change I need to experience every once in a while. Everything here is just so much goodness and people caring for others that sometimes I miss the variations, the extremes, and have to balance that so that it doesn't all become meaningless to me."

"Extremes?"

"Both the heights of the pain and the pleasure of life—to experience sensations at the edges and feel . . . alive. Can you understand that?" To know the heights of goodness you really need to understand the depths of evil and temptation and pain and submission, he thought, but he didn't dare say that. That didn't stop him from pursuing it, though.

"Of course." There was a pause, though. "Well, maybe. You mean like going to a farm or something and working the land, raising blisters, and then seeing the joy on the faces of those given produce from the farm for free."

"Something like that," Mark answered. But much more than that, much farther out on the edge than that, but he didn't say any more than he already had—he might have said too much anyway. Father Stephen couldn't possibly understand what Mark needed in release, the demons and pleasures he pursued—and that pursued him and he gave in to. "I must remember to do it again soon," was what he said.

"Perhaps next week," Father Stephen said.

"Perhaps," Mark answered, but what he thought was, but perhaps not that soon. As glorious as it had been. If he did that too often, it would kill him.