Brother Strang was a very tall man, probably about a solid foot taller than Elder Xanders. His face was that of a viking’s: hard and somewhat rakish, with a long, bushy beard that hung from his chin and over the knot of his tie. Despite his otherwise rough disposition, his hair was impeccably combed and parted, his clothes were as white as the room, and he stood with unimpeachable authority and power.
Xanders stood still beside him, following his few spoken instructions carefully. Brother Strang took a small amount of oil in his hands and began to anoint the young boy’s body. As he spoke, the words of the ritual put Xanders into a kind of erotic trance, intensified by the older man’s gentle, invasive touches over his his already sensitive skin.
As Strang ran his hands across the boy’s chest, Xanders let out a fluttered breath. Strang heard this and paused only for second before continuing to the boy’s stomach, legs, and loins. Xanders did his best to contain his expressions, not wanting to appear to enjoy this too much. His body, however, betrayed his will as each point of contact between fingers and flesh shot sparks directly to his crotch.
Seeing the boy’s rising excitement, Brother Strang kneeled down in front of the boy’s genitals. Taking the Xanders’ testicles in his hand, he cupped his penis and began to lightly stroke his aroused shaft. Xanders looked down, watching at the man’s actions. Strang looked up and caught his eye. Elder Xanders could see a dark look in the man’s face: scary, but still exciting. Something in the way this man looked at him made him feel less like an anointed missionary and more like a rabbit being seen by a hungry wolf.
Brother Strang stood up, rising high above the tiny missionary, and, without warning, took the boy’s butt into his hands, pulled him forward, and kissed him passionately. A part of Xanders wanted to run, frightened and timid like that rabbit. But a bigger part wanted to be devoured.
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