Chapter 11

“Not as magnificent as the view down here, my son!” the man’s syllables slopped, echoing up at him. Henri felt the man pushing his face deeper in, his nose like a truffler’s snout, desperate to burrow beneath the topsoil, seeking the treasure beneath. Henri couldn’t help but groan, finding himself stiff, his balls tightening up even as they hung in the air between his thighs, vulnerable like a bunch of grapes. They sometimes received a tongue or a tug, but Henri could tell this priest’s interests lay deeper, the places where clumsy fingers and crooked pricks could rarely reach, where creams or perfumes barely splashed. This priest sought the warmth within.