Elder Dalton knew he should be carrying his head high as a newly ordained member of the Order. It was a great honor andachievement, something most other missionaries would never know. Still, he felt himself overwhelmed by all of what had happened to him. In a few short months, he’d gone from a having a completely provincial and stunted concept of sex and sexuality to now being at the beck and call of the higher priesthood, handsome, powerful older man whose appetites are beyond what he could even conceive. He wanted to make them proud and uphold his oaths and promises, but the scared missionary boy inside him was still very much a part of his being. He thought this would go away after his ordination, but it seemed to only complicate things more. What more would be asked of him? How would he handle it? Was he ready? The test came when he was next called to the temple. He’d gotten comfortable with the idea of meeting with President Lee and Brother Hart, but he had no idea who he’d be meeting with next. As he made his way into the temple, he was brought back into the basement where a tall, masked figured waited for him. Who was this? Elder Dalton wasn’t familiar with the strange, but was immediately impressed by his stature. He was a full foot taller than him, making him feel even more like the scared, nervous boy he tried to fight off showing. The boy had no idea who President Olsen was or his role in the Order, but he’d been well trained to not ask questions, not to disobey, and to focus on serving the men he was presented to. The giant man stepped toward him, immediately breaking from the dark surroundings into the dim candle light. He pressed the boy’s body against his feeling his crotch make contact with the small of the boy’s back. He loved that feeling: the feeling of being superior, bigger, stronger, in control. Elder Dalton wanted to speak up, find out who this man was and what he wanted him to do, but he remained docile and submissive to his gestures. President Olsen stood behind him, running his hands over his body, putting his hand right down the boy’s pants, feeling inside at his genitals. He owned him instantly, and Elder Dalton knew this. President Olsen made quick work of disrobing the boy of his clothes. Within seconds, his big, strong hands pulled off his tie, unbuttoned his shirt, even lifted up his garments to get a feel for the boy’s smooth, flat body. In the candlelight, his alabaster skin glowed amber, exposed to the secretive candle light and the quiet giant’s concealed eyes. He wanted to be good for him. Despite his nerves and his fears, he knew it was important that he make his superior happy. As Olsen’s hands surveyed his increasingly naked body, the tall man placed on just under the boy’s jaw, holding him tightly against his long torso. The other hand moved under the sheer fabric of the garments, feeling around once more at its prized property. The boy felt like he was in some kind of cage, but the only trapping was the man’s fingers and palm. His heart raced and his eyes went wide, trying to anticipate was what to come and how he should respond. The dark mask in the dark room looked nefarious, but his touch was more seductive. The strange man didn’t want to hurt him… he wanted to possess him. “Very nice,” Olsen muttered to himself, feeling the boy’s body and genitals. Elder Dalton took a of relief and of pleasure. He was pleased. This was good. President Olsen continued to remove the boy’s clothes, stripping him out of his pants and garments. The young boy then stood clothed in nothing more than orange light, flickering delicately over his smooth body. Olsen took the boy and placed him on top of an altar by the where the candles were placed. Elder Dalton saw it’s satiny, shiny surface as he came in. It reminded him of his inspection before. And his Second Anointing. Indeed, he’d often presented his body for the delectation of his superiors. He knew this would be similar, but now, felt the sense of duty that came with ordination. Dalton got on all fours, presenting his buttocks up to his giant, waiting with bated for something to happen next. To his surprise, the next sensation that came to him was that of oil dripping onto his spine. The liquid was soft as it spread over his skin, calming and familiar. It was followed by the wide hands of President Olsen, rubbing the oil into his body, spreading over his back, arms, legs, and even down to his privates. Olsen handled Dalton’s balls delicately, seeing them shine up from his touch, becoming more aroused with each stray contact. The boy’s cock hung heavy beneath them, weighing his groin down as it responded with swelling and erection. President Olsen took his long thumb and ran it over the boy’s hole, feeling it’s tight, smooth knot take the excess oil from his hand. It pulsated with desire, seeming to communicate a hunger and eagerness beyond even what Dalton himself was capable of expressing. The missionary boy was constantly battling his fears and his anxieties and lack of knowledge before saying what he wanted; his hole, however, was quick to say “please.” Elder Dalton stretched his arms out, bracing himself for the unknown acts that would be performed on him. He held his as President Olsen rolled up his sleeves, knowing this signal to mean that whatever was going to happen was about to happen. As he looked into the darkness, he focused on the candles’ glow, trusting in the Order and its mission. Suddenly, he felt a cold, foreign object press up against his hole. He thought it might be glass or metal, some smooth, hard material that was formed into a bulbous shape. President Olsen pushed against him gently, but firmly, building up more and more pressure with each second. Dalton gripped onto the edge of the altar, feeling the skin surrounding the object pulse as it took on more of the hard tool’s pressure. It hurt. Not piercing or cutting, but a painful pushing of his tight sphincter. His hole was still a little worn from previous use, and he’d not had the time to fully recover from Bishop Hart’s epic fucking. “Relax,” Olsen whispered. “Let it in.” Elder Dalton tried to listen to the older man’s words, meditating on them and trying hard to make his body obey. Instinctively, he found himself pushing away from it, moving his body with the pressure forward, trying to lighten the intensity of the penetration. Seeing this, President Olsen took his free hand and pulled the boy back toward him by the base of his cock. With the boy’s balls palmed and his fingers wrapped around the root, Olsen lead him back like it was leash. He twisted the dildo with his other hand, letting the boy’s hole feel its surface, its size, its girth. Just as Elder Dalton doubted his capability, he felt the familiar pop of the object slipping inside him. Suddenly, he felt the fullness of it hitting against his prostate and holding his hole open wide. He did it. He took it. He did what he was asked. The accomplishment strangely turned him on, knowing that despite his naivete and youth, he could do what was asked and do it well. President Olsen watched as the glass object slipped inside his young catamite. The visual of the tight hole stretching and absorbing it turned him on like nothing else. He pulled at it, seeing the boy’s tiny hole react and respond by moving and stretching and tightening. He knew the only thing left was to feel that same talent and adaptability on him and his cock… an object bigger and harder than even the glass that the boy held inside

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