Grant Ducati Bottoms For Father Eddie Patrick

Reverend Patrick and Grant collide in a confessional-turned-trap where innocence is devoured by authority. Patrick, a predator in vestments, spots Grant’s guilt the moment he kneels—his voice trembling, his sins unspooling into the dim, wood-paneled chamber. Patrick’s questions twist confession into seduction, his hand guiding Grant’s trembling fingers to the priest’s thick, veined shaft. “Confess with your mouth,” Patrick murmurs, his breath hot against Grant’s ear, until the altar boy’s lips stretch around the reverend’s uncut head.

The sin isn’t just the cock—it’s the hunger in Grant’s eyes as he swallows, the way Patrick’s grip tightens, forcing him deeper. By the time Patrick drags him onto the confessional bench, lubing his tight ass with sanctified oil, the boy’s protests are gone. The reverend’s cock pistons into him, a sermon of flesh and power, as Grant’s moans drown out the rosary beads clacking on the floor.