Saved

Spokane, Washington

Victoria tried once again to start the motor. It refused to turn over, although the lights seemed to work.

"Shit!" She said aloud, forlornly.

She had rented the Volkwagen pop-top camper for a vacation, and had been having trouble with it. The brakes had gone out in Nevada and the fuel pump took a dump in Idaho. She had pulled off the highway to spend the night, and now she was stranded. She had been to every major city in the world, and she only wanted to spend a month by herself and see Yosemite, the Grand Canyon, and other scenic areas of the West.

Vicki was sometimes referred to as a cheap whore, but was actually a very high priced companion-for-hire. He going rate was five hundred dollars a week, plus expenses, and was usually employed for months a a time. He cliental included business men, politicians, rich retirees needing an escape from home, and even multi-national companies needing escorts for visiting dignitaries. She was twenty-nine years old, but could easily pass for either eighteen or thirty-five. The fact that she was absolutely discreet and only worked for past customers or their referrals had ebabled her to maintain a life style that most prostitues could only dream about. She owned a nice home in Seattle with a Mustang in the garage, and with all of her income being tax free she had ammassed a huge savings account.

Although she new nothing about engines she did manage to get the hood open, and was staring at the mass of unfamiliar components when she heard the sound of ruunning footsteps.

"Hello. Are you having trouble?" A young man wearing a high school track shirt who had been out for a Sunday moring run posed the question.

"It won't turn over," she replied, "it almost seems like the battery thingy is dead, but the lights still work."

The youth, obviously a teenager, bent over the engine, giving her a close look at his muscular, lightly haired thighs and his well defined butt.

"My Dad'd old truck sometimes does that," he explaned, "it's usually just the battery cale." He twisted the cable on the post several times, revealing that it was loose.

"It will probably start now, but you should have it tightened the next chance you get."

Vicki tried the starter again. This time it fired right up, so she shut the motor off and approached the youth.

"Let me give you something for your trouble." She said, opening her purse.

"No problem. Glad to help." The youth replied, noticing for the first time that she was very beautiful and that she wasn't wearing a bra.

"Here, take these," the woman said, pushing two foil packets into his hand, "and come in and let's see how they fit."

Tom looked at the condoms and started to blush. He knew what they were, and had seen the vending machines that sold them in some restrooms, but had never touched one. He was a shy seventeen-year-old who had transferred into the local high school six months ago when his parents had purchased a machine shop. His previous schooling had always been at parochial boys only schools, and he had never learned the social skills and arts that most boys his age possessed about girls. He was, of course, a virgin. The other guys in his class were always bragging about their studliness, and even though he knew that most of them were lying, he still longed for the day that his time would come. His only outlet thus far had been waltzes with Mama Palm and her five daughter, and those had to be accounted for at his weekly confessions. He knew he was at least as good looking and as well endowed as the other guys, but his shyness had kept himfrom getting laid. Now this awesome girl was propositioning him, and with his cock now calling the shots he eagerly followed her into the camper.

Vicki had never taken money from a youngster, although several fathers, uncles, grandfathers, and even one mother had engaged her services to guide their teenaged stallions into manhood, feeling that she was preferreable to pregnancy, suicide, or a hasty marriage based a the heat of the moment promise made to a boy's first piece of ass. She knew instinctively that his boy was a virgin and that she owed him for the rescue. It had also been a month for her, and he was kind of cute.

"You're really big!" She diplomatically lied, being carefull not to over-stimulate his slender cock as she washed him at the small sink. She then had him lay back on the bed, and very slowly started to lick him, starting at his balls and working up the bottom of his shaft before taling him fully into her mouth. It was over five seconds later. She pushed him back when he started to rise, and began again, this time starting with his nipple before moving down to his flat, hairless belly and the inside of his thighs. When he was ready again she gave him a condom.

"Put this on, and take off your shoes."

"Slow down," she told him as he started to thrust, "this isn't a sprint, pace yourself for a mile."

Vicki's main talent, the one that fueled her lavish lifestyle, was her ability to control men's orgasms. She could move herself in perfect synchronization to her partner's thrusts, making him feel like he was humping a cloud, and delay his ejaculation for a half hour, or opposite of him to produce a fierce, immediate climax. Teenagers are not that predictable, however, and Tom had to be satisfied with five minutes. Afterward they shared a cigarette while Tom rested.

"Want to try a marathon?" Vicki asked as she once more knelt in front of him.

Tom was a little late returning from his run, and his mother warned him about being late for church, then asked him if he had a good workout.

"Fantastic!" Tom said, as he headed for the shower.

Tom's was not the only seed spilled there that morning. Father Dan, the new assistant priest, had been taking morning walks near the riverbank where the camper was parked. A month ago he had seen Tom on one of his daily runs, and had hidden in a hunter's blind to watch the boy. Tom had stopped to remove his shirt and tie it around his waist. Tom looked around, and satisfied that he was alone pulled down his shorts and jockstrap to piss. When he was done he lokked around again and leaned up against a tree and started to stroke his cock. Father Dan, unseen, matched him stroke for stroke. This seemed to be a Sunday morning ritual for Tom, and Father Dan had arrived early for the show only to find an intruder. Now, with the camper rocking heavily on its' springs, Father Dan's orgasmic thoughts were not of the flawless body of the woman visible through the open door, but instead were focused on the tight, young ass that was riding her.

"Today," Father Dan told the church youth group, "we will talk about the importance of saving your virginity for marriage."

The other members of the group has heard this one before, and were bored. Tom, however, felt as if it were directed at him personally, and listened to every damning word. After the sermon was over Father Dan dimissed the other to go to confession, but asked Tom to stay.

"I will hear your confession now." Father Dan said, closing the door.

"Wanton lust," Father Dan began afterwards, "and sodomy are the worst sins imaginable, essentially the same as rape, and the perpetrator of these sins, unless he recieves absolution, is sure to burn in the fires of Hell for eternity, along with his family."

These words hit Tom like an electric shock. Ten years ago, when he was seven, he and his five-year-old brother were playing in the family's travel trailer. Their roughhousing had knocked over a can of Coleman fuel, which they hadn't noticed until Tom's brother picked up some matches. Tom was blown out the open door and recieved only minor injuries, while his brother died sreaming in the inferno. Tom still had nightmares about it.

"The only way that you can save your soul is for you to experience the pain of rape and the humility of sodomy yourself." Father Dan intoned, his prick stiffening in anticipation. "If you feel that your soul, and those of your family, should be saved, came to my place at five this afternoon and prove to me that you are willing accept this bodily sacrifice."

The clueless Tom went home, changed his clothes, and sat in front of the TV wondering what this sacrifice would entail. His parents and little sister had gone visiting, leaving him alone in the house. A panel discussion about crime and punishment came on the TV and a femi-nazi was ranting that the only thing that a man could experience that was even close to rape was castration, and that castration was the only fitting punishment for rapists. Tom sat up and turned white. 'Is this what Father Dan meant?' he wondered. He reviewed the priest's words, but couldn't come up with any other interpretation. He would do anything to end the nightmares, and had even contemplated suicide, but not this. He finaly went to the kitchen of the deserted house and picked up a sharp carving knife. He stretched his balls, swollen from their morning workout, away from his body, lifted his cock with the back of the knife, and tried to complete the slice. He couldn't do it. He then placed his balls on the cutting board and tried to hit the knife with a mallet. He couldn't do that either. Tom pulled up his shorts and crossed the yard to his dad's machine shop.

The press caught his eye. It was a huge machine with a hundred ton capacity that could flatten a penny to the size of a silver dollar. He tied a loop of string around his nuts, stretched them across the anvil of the machine, and pulled the lever. The hydraulic ram began its' slow descent. Tom paused when the cold steel touched his balls, and then closed his eyes and pulled the lever. It only moved another quarter of an inch before Tom, convulsed by the pain, released the lever and rolled to the floor.

Tom, now desperate, checked his watch. It was after four, and he had to do something soon. He crossed the floor to the assembly table, which was about two feet high and constructed of heavy steel. A piece of four inch round shafting a foot long had been welded to the table top as a form for bending pipe. Tom placed another foot long piece of the shafting nearby, and found a three and a half foot long section of thin irrigation pipe the same diameter. Working quickly, Tom cut a slot in one ond of the pipe about one inch wide and a foot long. He then lowered the pipe, first over his swollen nuts and then over the protruding shaft, before locking it in place with a clamp. Tom picked up the forty pound piece of shaft, lifted it high over his head, inserted it into the pipe, and willed himself to drop it. He couldn't do it. He held it there until his arms felt like lead and he was at an impasse; he had neither the stength to lift it out or the resolve to drop it.

Men's cocks have always determined the fates of their owners, and Tom's was no different. Called to full attention by the stimulation to Tom's balls, and trapped between his quivering belly and the cold pipe, Tom's cock shot its' fourth load of the day, weakening Tom and causing him to lose his grip. The ram reached bottom as he was still spurting the last seed that he would ever produce.

Tom's first sensation was that of shock and weakness, which was replaced by total, all encompassing pain, and finally unconsciousness. Tom awoke later to find Father Dan and his parents beside his hospital bed.

"I did it, Father Dan," Tom said with a weak smile, "I saved us."

Authors note: This story, up until Tom's deparure from the camper, is all true axcept that he never did the marathon.

Costructive criticism is welcomed. Is the story too short or too long? Too explicit, too subtle, or just plain dorky?

Father Dan's past indiscetions and his punishment is a story that needs to be told, but not by me.