Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Salvation ❯ Altar Boy ( Chapter 3 )

Warning: From the title below, I'm sure you can surmise what kind of chapter this will be. Don't like it? Then with all due respect, piss off. This chapter will contain; a watery non-con, self-masochism, blood-letting, and mentions of underage.

Thou hast been warned.

Chapter Three: Altar Boy

Goten's fingers flew over the keyboard in a way they had never done before. It usually took hours of staring at a blank screen before he could muster the effort to write a few paragraphs. Now, however, he was inspired and all ready 62 words over the allotted 700. With a sigh of satisfaction he leaned back and surveyed his work.

"One down," he announced proudly to the walls of the small vacant room, "only two more to go."

He had opted to stay on campus during break. As much as he wanted to go home and spend his vacation with his parents, he knew himself well enough to know that he would be much too tempted to goof off and not work on his Religion's project. There were far less distractions here in his dorm room, especially since his friendly, but overbearing roommate with piss poor taste in music was out of town. And he had to admit, the lack of blaring rap music shaking the walls was conducive to writing research papers.

He ran a spell and grammar check, during which time he thought over the prior night's events. To say that he was a little surprised with himself would have been putting things mildly. He admitted that there was a lot in the world he didn't know about, but he did think himself sure of his own personal sexual preferences. However, last night had opened his doors considerably wider. Though he still liked girls, and actually preferred them, he found out that boys weren't so bad either. He guessed the term `don't knock it until you tried it' really did make sense. He made a mental note to ask Trunks more about this `Vince' character later-he always had a thing for blondes. And speaking of Trunks; well, let's just say he'd never look at his childhood friend the same way again.

After their little romp in the dirt things had gotten quite awkward. At least at first, until Trunks assured that he wasn't attracted to Goten in `that way' stating that he preferred older men and indeed had an open relationship with Scott, who was one of the other Coven members. Goten, in turn, attempted an explanation on his behalf. Yet, this proved to be rather difficult as he was very confused with his own behavior. He tried to say that he had gotten wrapped up in the moment but despite that, still didn't think he was gay. He then endeavored to rationalize why the site of a group of naked young men banging away at each other had turned him on so much.

Trunks had out right laughed at him at that point and told him not to worry about it, clarifying that the Beltane ritual often brought out the most primal of instincts in people. And after all, sex was sex, he just wanted to make sure that Goten wouldn't be pining after him since he was all ready emotionally taken.

The younger teen sent his retort in the way of a weak ki ball to his companion's head, which was dodged with a bark of laughter. While Trunks was his best friend, the thought of having that kind of relationship with him squicked him out. Even if that wasn't so, Goten would probably kill him due the older boy's biting sense of humor and lofty personality. No, they were much better off just as friends. Their relationship set in clear lines once more, Goten had thanked him for inviting him and told him to send his thanks around the Coven and set off for campus.

Now that he was finished writing the first section of his essay it was time to move on to the second, and luckily he was related to a devout Catholic.

Videl was overjoyed when Goten told her that he wanted to come with her to Easter Mass. However, her enthusiasm dimmed when he explained it was for a class project and not his own personal interest. Still, she agreed, saying that perhaps he would learn something and find the church to his liking and that her priest would be delighted to talk with him. His elder brother, though he loved his wife and respected her religious beliefs, refused to step foot in St. Christopher's or any religious circle, being an odd combination of both a Darwinian and a Marxist. But he approved of Goten's dedication to the project and urged him to go, murmuring quietly to keep in mind that faith and facts were two very separate things.

So it was on Sunday at 5:00 in the evening that he was sitting in the car with his sister-in-law on the way to Easter Mass. He had heard of St. Christopher's before, it was were Yamcha, or should he say Father Yamcha was presiding over; a fact that had been a source of never ending amusement at the Briefs' household. A few years ago Yamcha had `found God' and had dedicated his life to serving the Lord. He threw himself into his religious studies and in an alarmingly short amount of time was made a full blown priest.

St. Christopher's was the oldest church in West City. In fact, many of the stones in the impressive building where shipped over from a much older church in Rome. St. Christopher's was supposed to be a reconstruction of the same namesake that had been the leading authority on ultra-traditional Roman Catholicism in Italy. It denied some of the reformations made by the modern Church and instead embraced its historic roots and teachings, considering itself pre-Vatican II. As such, Goten highly doubted he would be having the same kind of fun he had at the Pagan ritual.

They shuffled into the crowded church, politely pushing through the throng of people to find a bench that would accommodate the both of them. Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, they found two empty spots between some rather large women and squeezed in. Immediately Goten wished they had found another place to sit. The overwhelming stench of Arsenic and Lace radiated off the older women and wafted over him, making him want to simultaneously gag and pass out. He prayed-ironically-that the service would be short and to the point, but from the way people looked to be settling in their seats, he doubted his luck.

The room was stifling. The church, for all its impressive architecture, lacked modern amenities such as air conditioning. It did, however, have a few electric fans situated at the sides of the pews. Yet, for all of their great mechanical whirring, they only seemed to push the warm air around rather than cool anyone off.

Suddenly, two rows of boys in full altar attire appeared bearing incense and candles. They walked slowly down the aisle lighting the pew candles with their own before retreating to the sides of the room. And then Father Yamcha appeared.

Goten made a choking sound which earned him a hard nudge in the ribs and a reproachful look from Videl. He muttered an apology, but his reaction could not be helped; the once desert bandit was almost unrecognizable.

He was dressed in the typical priest garb; all black, white collar. What was above the band of white, however, was anything but typical and the source of the teen's shock. The priest's hair was cut short to the scalp, nearly buzzed, causing the scar across his face to stand out all the more. Goten didn't know what to make of this; Yamcha had always been meticulous when it came to his hair. The good looking warrior had constantly fussed with his long black locks, never leaving it the same style or going longer than a half hour without finding a mirror. The teen considered him the most vain and shallow man that he knew-besides Mr. Satan. He, like his friends, thought that Yamcha's sudden interest in the church was yet another way to boost his image. Not only could he be vain, but righteous as well. Apparently they had been dead wrong.

It wasn't only his appearance that had changed, but his manner as well. Gone was the laid-back, easy going guy that had dropped by the house now and then with a smile and a pocket full of lewd stories to share. Instead there stood a middle-aged man draped in black with a severe, hard, visage that stared out into the heart of the pews where Goten sat.

The teen repressed a shiver, and looked down at his shoes. For some reason he found it difficult to meet the priest's eyes, yet when he glanced up he noticed that the hard look had softened into something warmer.

Father Yamcha graced the youth with a small smile before turning his attention to the members of his church.

"Welcome to third day of our most sacred Easter mass." He looked around the room for a moment before continuing, "I see many faces here today that were not here the previous two nights. I am overjoyed that so many of you could join us today," from the critical look on the priest's face and his slightly acrid tone, Goten highly doubted his sincerity, "but," he emphasized, "I urge you to remember that the praise of our Lord isn't saved for special occasions." He leaned over the altar and narrowed his eyes slightly. "We must not take God's grace for granted, for as today signifies, much was sacrificed on our behalf," he leaned forward a fraction more as if to loom over the congregation, "and we do hold masses weekly." He then smiled, perhaps to signify a joke, however the gesture did not reach his eyes. The display caused several to shift in their seats uncomfortably. Braver souls ground out nervous chuckles but it was obvious that they were humbled by the thinly veiled scolding.

"Miracles, my friends!" Father Yamcha suddenly exclaimed changing the mood, "miracles!" His voice calmed, "On this holy day our Lord was raised from the dead to lead man to the paths of truth and righteousness. On this holy day Jesus Christ was resurrected, pure and free from the trails of man. He has risen and in Him all creation rises in new life. Let us give thanks for the many blessings He has bestowed upon us…."

While it wasn't the fire and brimstone he had expected, the Mass wasn't exactly a love-fest either. There was no `damning' of anyone per se, but there was a lot of praying for the `misguided'.

Goten wasn't by any means political, but he got a bit miffed that the congregation prayed for the poor misled souls who chose to be homosexual. They prayed for them, not only for their life-style, but their foolish and sinful hope of ever taking part in the sacred bond of marriage, which was such a social hot topic right now. He could just imagine Trunks' reaction to all of this. A smile tugged at his lips as he pictured his openly gay best friend blowing the ancient roof from the building in a brilliant, but deadly, explosion.

The demi-saiyan was also not pleased about praying for those who did not accept the grace of the Lord- as the church deemed appropriate-and thus would never receive salvation As much as love and forgiveness was preached about, very little was shown, in fact, he got the distinct impression of the opposite.

Yet to be fair, most people at this church seemed to genuinely believe that the people they prayed for would burn in Hell if they were not deterred from their destructive paths and came to the light or the church. So they prayed for their souls, so that they could be `saved'. They didn't want anyone to burn, but the contrary; not bane, but protection…from themselves.

Goten thought that they were the `misguided', though he dare not share that thought aloud. Their hearts seemed to be in the right place; they wanted, apparently, peace and love for all of mankind. But to reach salvation, they chose the path of intolerance. And that didn't make any sense, at least not to him.

The Easter Mass included many hymns and prayers, most of which were in Latin. He couldn't understand a word, what he did know was that a lot of kneeling was required and he was getting quite tired of trying to prostate himself by big Bertha and her perfume of smelly doom.

At last, communion was given and people started to file out of the church. Soon after, the priest was able to take Goten back to his study where they would be able to speak in private. After thanking Videl-he would be flying back home-he caught up with the once dessert bandit who guided him through an archway in the back.

"Did you enjoy the service?" Yamcha asked, looking over his shoulder as he lead the way down the narrow halls and stairs that twisted into the bowels of the building.

"It was interesting," Goten answered honestly, noticing that the father had a slight limp as he walked.

"Interesting," the priest repeated, chuckling to himself. "Well, I suppose you might have found it a bit drab. I know you're not exactly the church-going type."

From the tone of voice, Goten was unsure of how to answer. He was completely uncertain of how to act around this man. There wasn't a shadow of the Z warrior who had been a friend of the family for so long. Why such a drastic change? His own friends and family were baffled by the warrior's sudden interest in the Catholic church, especially such an ultra-traditional branch. However, he believed that Trunks' parents knew the answer. This was due to the fact that every time Yamcha was mentioned they would snicker and shoot each other cryptic looks, but they never bothered to share. Shaking himself from his thoughts he responded;

"Um, not really, sir," he mumbled meekly as they reached a heavy oak door.

The man before him was about to open the door but paused and turned to face him. "Sir?" the Father asked, smiling; again it did not reach his eyes, "Goten, you've known me since you came into this world. I've been a friend of your parents for well over twenty years now. Why the sudden formality?"

The demi-saiyan shifted on his feet, "I don't know, its just," ah fuck it, he was growing tired of walking on ice, "well can I be honest?"

"Of course, I hope you would be."

"Well," he offered, "you're so different from when I last saw you and I'm not sure how I should talk to you now."

Dark brown eyes met his own and a small smile creased the older man's face, "Are you trying to tell me that I'm unapproachable, Goten?"

"No! Um," he really needed to stop saying that, "well, maybe just a little imposing."

Did he imagine that, or did Yamcha looked pleased about that statement? "Like I said," he continued, "you've changed so much."

There was a pause here for Goten to accommodate an explanation. Like he wasn't all ready uncomfortable; he hated being put on the spot. He stumbled around for an answer.

"You're so well spoken now, and you're so serious," Duh, Goten, he reprimanded himself, he's a priest now, of course he's serious. "I mean I know you're in charge of this church now, so I guess you have to be more serious, but it's such a turn around. I hardly recognize you."

The father nodded, satisfied with the youth's answer. "Come inside," he beckoned, opening the door, "and perhaps I can give you an explanation if we have time. Take a seat."

Goten did so, seating himself in a antique hardwood chair. It was beautifully carved, but damned uncomfortable and he squirmed a few moments before settling down.

His eyes darted around the small room; he was surprised that it was so simple. He had been under the impression that the head of the church would have a lush office. Save the religious paraphernalia, this resembled the room that detention was held in back in high school; plain white walls and the basest of furnishings. A crucifix hung on the opposite wall but other than that the room was without decoration. There was a desk, a few chairs, and a shelf on the wall filled with books situated behind the desk the priest currently sat at. Goten did a scan of the authors and was pleased with himself that he recognized a few from his class. Chaput, Clement XIII, Pius XII, and a whole section devoted to John Paul II, apparently Yamcha's interest strayed to all forms of Catholicism not just his own.

The sound of the older man's voice took his attention away.

"Videl has told me that you're doing a project for a religion's class at the university?"

Goten nodded.

"Is this the same class that android 17 is teaching?"

"Yes."

Yamcha frowned slightly, his brows coming down, "I heard that he had recently earned his Ph.D. in Religious Studies and was given tenure, is this true?"

Again Goten nodded and shrugged, wondering where the scared man was going with this.

"Times have certainly changed," the priest murmured ambiguously, drumming his fingers.

"Is there a problem?" the teen asked disconcerted.

"No, of course not, if the study has lead you here. However," his tone dropped an octave, "I urge you to be careful. 17 has some radical ideals about what he considers the search of faith."

Apparently, Yamcha had some quarrels with his professor, though Goten couldn't imagine why. It couldn't possibly be about the battle that took place before he was born, that was over eighteen years ago. Since then, the android had more than proven that he wanted nothing more than a `normal' life. What ever altercation there was, it must have been on a personal level.

"Well," he provided, "I've not noticed any radical ideas while I was in his class. He's pretty objective, actually."

"Ah, but to immerse yourself in faith, you cannot be objective."

The teen didn't know why, but he felt the need to defend his professor, "I don't think he's trying to teach faith. He doesn't preach to us in class, he just talks about religions." At least he was pretty sure that was the case, he wasn't exactly the best of students, thus his current visit.

"Even more dangerous," the older man muttered softly. "Well," he intoned with zeal, "hopefully I can provide some insight and perhaps perk your interest, hmm?" Goten was about to make another comment in defense of his teacher but looking at the man's face seated across from him he thought better of it and settled on a polite smile.

"So, tell me about this project and how I can help you with it ."

"Well, basically I supposed to study three different western religions and their rites. One of them is an Easter Mass. I basically have to have you verify that I was in attendance tonight and have you answer any questions I might have," he shrugged. "But it was pretty straight forward, I mean, I all ready knew what Easter was about." He stopped to consider, "I think the only things that threw me off was all of the Latin and I was a little confused when you said the third day of Easter Mass. Why three days?"

Yamcha took a moment to look over the boy across from him before answering. "Easter is not one day, though I'm sure you were taught that it was." He straightened, "It is actually referred to as the Easter Triduum. It begins on Holy Thursday," he explained, "with an evening Mass celebrating the Lord's Supper. The high point is the Easter Vigil on the tragic Friday of the Passion, in which our Lord was betrayed and crucified. Finally today, as you have witnessed, we closed with the evening prayer of Easter Sunday, the day of the resurrection."

"Oh," Goten said, scribbling in his notebook, "I didn't know that, thank you."

The priest nodded, a peculiar look on his face. The teen tried to ignore it by asking a few more question which were answered in the same steady tone. After writing a few more notes down he handed over the notebook to be signed and dated. The Father took the notebook and reached for a pen, but before writing anything down his eyes scanned over the previous entry.

"You went to the Lunar Tides Coven before coming here?" Though it was stated as a question, it came out more like a clipped statement.

The demi-saiyan affirmed the allegation pondering why he suddenly felt like he had done something wrong. "Professor 17 said I had to attend both and Easter Mass and a Beltane Ritual, plus a third of my choosing to complete the project."

"Did he now?" The priest's eye brows raised, "He's actually forcing his students to attend heathen rituals?" But apparently the question was rhetorical because he shook his head and said, "Hm, never mind. May I ask how you came by the Lunar Coven?"

Goten shot him an uneasy look. He really just wished the man would sign his notebook all ready so he could leave. He'd been uncomfortable from the moment he stepped into the building and it was getting worse by the second. He figured the best way to speed things up was to answer.

"Trunks brought me."

Yamcha sat bolt upright, "Trunks?"

Is there an echo in here."Yes."

The priest narrowed his eyes, "I wasn't aware Trunks was a member of this Coven, I thought," he got up from his seat and moved around his desk- again Goten noticed a slight limp- to pull out another chair close to Goten's. "You didn't speak to Trunks' parents at all did you?"

Baffled, he shook his head, "No, just him."

Yamcha let out a sigh of relief. "Good." The peculiar look appeared back on his face once more. "Well, at any rate I'm sure you learned much for you project. Tell me, you didn't actually involve yourself in the heathen ritual did you?"

Goten's eyes hardened and he gave the priest a cold look; he was getting quiet sick of this, "And what if I did?" he asked defensively.

Unexpectedly, the older man chuckled and laid a hand on his knee, "Goten, I'm not trying to chide you. You are, after all, not a member of my congregation. I was asking, because if you took part in their ritual, perhaps you should partake in one of ours." He smiled, not removing his hand. "Just to even things out. I'm sure it would earn you some more credit on your project. What do you say?"

Somewhat relieved, he thought it over. He really didn't want to, but Yamcha was right. He would definitely earn more points if he participated rather than observed.

"Okay, I'll do it," he said pensively. "What kind of ritual do you have in mind? The Mass is over."

A gratified look crossed the other man's face. "Oh, no, only a select group of members can partake in Mass. You must be purified, you see, to attend to such a holy rite. This is simply a purification ritual, which all of the young men you saw today had to go through to get to where they are now. However," he added, abruptly standing to shut the door, locking it, "before you fully agree to it, I need to tell you that this is a secret rite handed down over the centuries among the clergy. You must promise to tell no one. I will write that you partook in a confession, but you must leave the details out, do you understand?"

The demi-saiyan nodded hesitantly, wondering what he had gotten himself into. Though, the dismal thought of his mother's reaction of a `F' on his first term grade sheet stifled any misgivings he may have had.

"Excellent." Yamcha said, eyeing the young man in the chair thoroughly.

"What do I need to do?"

"What we are about to do is called `sin swallowing'. This is a purification ritual for certain types of sins put aside for the choir and altar boys. You're a bit old, but since this is more of a demonstration, I see no harm in it."

"Why is it only for young boys?" Goten asked, his curiosity piqued.

"It is usually for those between the ages of eleven and sixteen," he explained. "This is because youth does not often carry as much sin as adults do and those younger than ten or eleven seldom have need for such a ritual. Sin swallowing is only effective with small infractions, you see, so it's geared towards this age group." Yamcha sat himself down in the chair next to the dark-haired teen's. "It is only for young men, because women carry Eve's sin and thus, are impure on a deep level, do you understand?"

Goten didn't, but wisely said nothing, settling on a nod.

"This will work like a confession. You confess your sins, but only those of a carnal nature. The sin will build up within you, and I, being a pure member of the cloth will draw it out of you and contain it. I will then transmute the sin until it is harmless and can be released."

"Okay."

The priest pulled his chair closer and laid both hands on the teen's knees. Thinking this was part of the ritual, Goten said nothing. "Traditionally the confessor is to disrobe, since you are not a member of my church we can skip that if you like."

"I'd rather not, if it's all the same with you."

Though he looked a little crest-fallen, the older man made a noise in the back of his throat and pulled something out of his pocket before he continued, "First I'm going to put this over your eyes, sin swallowing requires the confessor to be robbed of site, because sin blinds us all." Goten complied by shutting his eyes as a black eye-mask was placed on his face. "Now," the priest continued, "I'm going to ask you some questions and you must be completely honest." He paused a moment before asking, "Since we've all ready discussed it, we'll talk about the ritual you participated in a few nights ago. Did anything sexual occur?"

Well that's cutting to the chase, isn't it? But he humored the Father, "Yes, it was the Beltane ritual which is a fertility rite."

"What happened?"

"A lot of people had sex."

The priest smiled frostily though the teen couldn't see it. "That's a little vague. Did you have sex?"

There was no answer.

Yamcha's hands traveled up higher on the boy's thighs as he leaned in closer. "Goten, you must be honest with me. Keep in mind that this is a confession; it is confidential," he reassured.

"Well I'm not sure," he admitted.

"Tell me exactly what happened."

A slow blush crept on the youth's face. "They were performing a ritual called the Stag Hunt. The priestess walked around the circle with a pair of antlers to choose who would be the sacrificial Stag."

"And whom did she choose?"

"Me." Goten answered, feeling a little warm as he reminiscenced.

"And then what?" the voice before him asked softly.

"Then all of the men in the group dropped their robes, they were completely naked underneath with symbols painted all over their bodies." He heard the other man's breath catch, but ignored it, going on, "They began to chase me through the woods, I pushed my ki down because Trunks told me that I was supposed to let them catch me."

"And did you let them?"

The memories of that night flooded his mind, he could still see the naked, toned bodies running through the trees, the torches illuminating their sharp curves in a play of shadow and light. He swallowed, his mouth suddenly a bit dry. Plainly, could he hear the hoots and cat calls and the ruckus laughter that followed. He could still smell the sent of damp earth and sweat…and the hint of male musk. Vivid was the sensation of leaves scattering under his skin as he was thrown to the ground. A fire built within him, the memories becoming more clear in his blinded state, stirring him to arousal. He shifted in his seat, but the hands on his thighs stilled him.

"Yes, I did," he answered, his voice huskier than it was a moment before. "I let one of the men I had met tackle me to the ground. All of the others showed up with a large pole. They stuck it in the ground and held me up to it. They hammered a plank underneath my feet so that I could stand and then…" He trailed off as his erection strained painfully against his jeans, his mind's eye recalling every detail. Then he remembered where he was. He wanted to smack himself. What kind of pervert was he? He was in a Catholic church in a priest's office, for fuck's sake. And then it registered that he wasn't wearing a loose long T-shirt, but a tucked in polo shirt. The priest had to have seen his hard-on by now, especially since he was sitting right in front of him. His cheeks went scarlet in humiliation.

Yamcha must have sensed this because a warm breath suddenly ghosted his ear.

"It's okay," and without warning he felt a hand caress him through his jeans. He started, shocked and jolted by the sensation.

"What-what are you doing?" he asked apprehensively.

"Shh," the petting continued. "It's all part of the ritual. Let the sin build within you. Don't hold it back or we cannot cleanse you. Now continue."

But that was easier said than done, a sea of conflicting emotions were whirling in his mind and the light pressure on his crotch was making him even harder. On one hand, he wanted this to end so that he could go home. This didn't feel right. But if he did put a stop to this, then Yamcha might refuse to sign his notebook On the other, more sordid, hand, the light touches were pretty nice and re-telling the tale of his night with the Wiccans made his prick twitch delightfully. As it usually did, hormones won over logic and so, with a shaky breath, he continued.

"They cut off all of my clothing with a knife and then some of the men rubbed me with oil."

"Where?"

"My head, chest, knees, and," he knew he must have been beat red by this point, "my penis and scrotum."

"You're doing well, Goten," purred the voice. He felt the pressure on his crotch deepen and a slight moaned escaped him despite his best efforts to synch it. "Don't hide it, my son," the priest urged, "let it out, let the sin build. Keep speaking."

The teen rocked his hips into the fondling hand, he felt the priest's other hand smooth down his chest. "Then…oh.. then some boys came out with baskets of ribbon, they tied them to the head of the pole and handed the ends to the other members. They danced around me…" he let out a gasp as his belt was loosened and his jeans undone, "tying me to the pole. Then the guy who tackled me told everyone that I was his catch and asked if anyone was going to challenge him." He moaned again, louder this time when the hand that had been tantalizing him, reached in and grasped his weeping cock freeing it from its restraints. "No one did," he finished gasping.

"What else?" the voice perused.

"And then he took the knife and pretended to cut my throat. He took the antlers from my head and left with a lot of the men. But some stayed..oooh"

A palm wrapped around his cock stroking him slowly but firmly. Goten widened his legs allowing the man to settle between them.

"Very very good, my boy, you are ready for me to start extracting the sin that has accumulated," he tugged the prick in his hand harder to indicate what he was speaking about. This caused the teen to yelp in pleasure and nearly fly out of his chair, "Keep speaking," the Father commanded, "do not let my actions deter you from your confession. You must admit everything."

"Oh..Okay," he breathed. "Trunks walked up to me and told everyone that I was his carcass." That didn't sound quite right but at the moment it was difficult to speak coherently. "A few left, but two stayed to challenge him..OH!" A warm wetness enveloped him, sucking slightly on his heated flesh. He arched off of his chair, but strong hands dug into his hips and held him down.

"They..they started to, oh God..to wrestle one another for a little while, but one, the red-head gave up. Trunks and the blonde guy then took some of the oil that they put on me earlier and coated their fingers. Then…"He rolled his head back panting as the suction increased, "Then they put their fingers inside the red-head…they kept moving in and out until finally they put on some rubbers and took turns with him. The blonde guy must not have liked to share because he moved around to the red-heads mouth and made him suck him off."

He heard a muffled moan from beneath him, but as he was told to ignore it, he went on.

"When they were done with the red head, Trunks and the blonde went at each other, but of course Trunks won and he then did the same thing to the blonde as the redhead. I..I liked watching them, but I don't know why. I like girls, or I think I do." He blushed further at the admission. "I wanted to join in, but I didn't…at least not like that." He was very close now and it became harder and harder to speak.

"By the time Trunks was done with his friend," a breathy moan, "I was going insane, so when Trunks let me loose…I j-jumped on him. I let him know that I didn't want, yesss,"

Moaning, he arched off of his seat into the mouth that was sucking the `sin' from him, he heard an echoing moan. He couldn't believe it. He was getting his first blow job from a priest. Not only a priest, but Yamcha. A hand squeezing his thigh, urging him to continue, but he was so, so close. Gritting his teeth, his hands balled into fists, he attempted to speak;

"I didn't…I didn't want anything…in me, and Trunks was okay with that. So we wrestled around…oh God… for a second and Trunks grabbed…he grabbed both of our pricks and…." He couldn't hold back, "jacked us off." The memory of that encounter sent him spiraling. Letting out a shout, his back arched and three hot shots of his seed spurted down the throat that surrounded him. The suction continued for a moment, and then his wet prick was released. He shivered as the cool air in the room hit wet prick, but he was quickly tucked back into his pants which were re-fastened, his belt re-done.

"You did well, my son," came a voice hovering over him, thick with lust, "But we're not quite done yet. I have swallowed your sin, but now it must be nullified. And sins of pleasure can only be cleansed through pain." He heard a chair scrape back and the rustle of fabric. "You will hear many things, but you must keep the blindfold on, no matter what."

Goten nodded.

He heard the sound of a drawer open and shut and the sound of more clothing being pushed around. Finally, he heard the slap of bare feet walk to the back of the room. A low murmur of Latin chanting reached his ears, but it was the *SNAP* and cry of pain that caused him to jump.

The sound repeated several times before, curiosity burning, he reached up and pushed the blind fold up a fraction to take a peek. However, he would have to turn around to see anything and he was unsure which direction the priest was facing. Luckily for him, the extra chair the Father had been sitting in had a steel back, making a damn fine reflective surface. He waited for the next *SNAP* and pushed the chair slightly with his feet until it was lined up with the priest.

His jaw dropped in shock at what he saw. Yamcha's face wasn't the only thing that was scarred, lines upon lines of ugly red grooves crisscrossed the man's naked back and he looked to be adding to them. He was kneeling completely nude before the crucifix hanging on the wall, his back to Goten. While he couldn't see the Father's face, he appeared to be praying, but that wasn't what interested him. Gripped in his left hand was a funny looking whip, a cat-o-nine tails, if he wasn't mistaken. He'd seen one in a horror movie a few years back, but this was no movie. Yamcha was flogging himself. The skin tore open easily before the vicious snap of the tails. Thin trails of blood seeped from the wounds and snaked down his back, looking like a macabre road map of the city. The youth couldn't believe what he was seeing, and then his eyes traveled down and his body stiffened utterly stunned.

Yamcha's other hand seemed to be also well occupied. Again, Goten couldn't see it, because it was in the priest's lap, but the jerking movements of the wrist left no doubt in the demi-saiyan's mind what he was doing. The priest's litany was suddenly disrupted by a heavy moan and he shifted. Goten's eyes widened even further. He now saw the reason for Yamcha's limp. A spiked belt called a cilice was wrapped tightly around the Father's thigh, the barbs of which were imbedded deep in his skin. What kind of sick freak is he!? Goten wondered frantically just as the priest arched and came with a cry all over the wall.

He wanted out of here, and he wanted out of here now! But he could not tear his eyes away from the kneeling man. He found it morbidly fascinating, and slightly erotic. Which disturbed him terribly, but he watched on as the priest continued to slice himself open again and again. But his intrigue was cut short when, unexpectedly, the priest rose to his feet. Quickly pulling the blindfold down, he slumped back in his chair.

A few moments passed in silence and Goten was beginning to feel tendrils of panic creep over him when he abruptly heard a voice in his ear,

"You have now been cleansed. Do not speak of this to anyone. Leave this room silently. I will guide you to the threshold, walk five steps before taking off the blindfold. Place it on the floor and leave the church."

Goten stiffened at the chill tone but nodded. A arm guided him to the door, he heard it unlock but and the door handle jostled only a moment before the sound ceased.

The teen felt something thin and smooth pressed into his hand; it was his notebook.

"I have signed this for you. Inside you will find my contact information. I urge you to use it, not only for this project, but for yourself. I think you could learn a lot from us, my son, and do well by it." There was a pause and he felt the pressure on his arm increase, "You wondered why I have changed so much; it is because I have found salvation within these walls. I was once a foolish, sinful, vain man who cared for nothing but himself. I hit bottom, and went to the most foulest of places to try to restore my soul. But I saw the light. I educated myself and came here, and now my life is truly blessed." The hand moved up to squeeze his shoulder, "I don't want you to go through the same trials that I did before finding the true way. Please consider what I have said."

Another nod.

"Goten, while I meant what I said about being careful around 17, there are others whom you know whose wicked paths are much, much more dangerous than your professor's," he intoned in a grave whisper. "I know you need to find a third religion to write about, but promise me that you will not go looking for it at Capsule Corporation."

Goten opened his mouth in question, but a hand was swiftly placed upon it.

"Shh! Remember, silence." The voice grew urgent, "You must promise me, Goten, for it is imperative to the very safety of your soul that you stay away from Bulma and Vegeta on this matter. Do you promise me?."

A wary look crossed his face but he nodded again.

"Excellent," the older man clipped, his voice normal once more, "You would be a bright and shining addition to our fold, but for now, my son, go. I hope to hear from you soon in the near future."

Not fucking likely, Goten thought as he was guided out of the room. Once he heard the door close behind him he instantly ripped off the blindfold and threw it to the floor, not bothering with the five steps he was supposed to take. He wanted to get the fuck out of this creepy ass place a.s.a.p. and he wasn't going to waste a second.

As he sprinted up the steps he wondered frantically what in the hell was up with Trunks' parents and why Yamcha was so paranoid about them. He could not comprehend what could be the cause of such terrible dread. But then he considered what had just happened to him in the priest's study. His dark eyes narrowed angrily.

Though he had been warned against it, perhaps a visit to Capsule Corporation was just what he needed to put things in perspective.

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Okay, I admit there wasn't as much action in this chapter as the last, but this is basically building up to ch 4, which will be the most debauched bit of trash I have ever endeavored to write.

Also, before you mention it, I know Yamcha as a priest of a traditionalist Roman Catholic church is a stretch, but I didn't want to use an OC character. I needed someone in the Z gang to fill the role, and Yamcha was the closest to fit the bill due to his tunnel vision. I may touch on this more in the next chapter.

Below are some boring legalities, feel free to ignore them.

For those who nit-pick, Note: Smut and depravity aside; while I have some knowledge and experience with the other pathways that will be touched on in this fic, I have never attended a Catholic service. As such, this is based purely on research and nay say. As this is the only Christian pathway, I've mixed in a few other factions of Christianity that I have experienced to round it out, so please withhold the quibbling if it isn't exactly right or if something sounds too Protestant. I did the same in Ch 2 by mixing in other RHP/MHP factions other than Wicca, as I will do the same with Ch 4.

Reality check, Note: Obviously a lot of this is made-up (or at least I hope so) as it is indeed a piece of fanfiction. Yamcha's behavior is not typical to the Catholic Church or Christian pathway, (at least none of the ones I've attended or witnessed). No disrespect was intended to the actual pathway(s).

Should be obvious, but in case it's not, Note: While writing naughty stories is fun, let it be known that I, in no way, shape, or form support sexual misconduct or abuse on children, or anyone who doesn't give their full and sound consent.

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