No one was quite sure when Princess Micheal had started having sex with the vicar but it was definitely happening when he was still in the sixth form at St. Edmund’s. The former choir boy had always seemed like the sort to get himself into such a jam, but the rumours of real inappropriateness had never been proved and it wasn’t like Michael was the kind of boy to complain about it.

He picked up the nickname, Princess Micheal of Cant, in his teens due to his fine taste and penchant for the princely male form. For the price of a nice meal or a new dress it was well known that access to Michael could be bought by nearly any man willing to pay for it. Bankers and businessmen from across the county knew that Micheal was often available for a bit of bum fun at the local cruising sites: Dukes Meadow or Bleam Woods.

A town boy from the village of Rough Common he had grown into the role of high class rent boy with natural ease. Everyone knew what Micheal was like and that was fine. Micheal loved it. He could be seen parading around town in his new heels and necklace shaking his shapely pear ass at anyone who happened to glance his way. As a student he stayed local and read gender studies at the University of Kent. Some say this was because he didn’t want to move away from his precious vicar while others debated if it had more to do with the handsome young English professor from Chaucer College with whom he was often seen drinking champagne on a Saturday night. Princess Micheal knew that he had no reason to leave Cant. He was receiving everything he needed there.

It was in his first year of university that people started to notice a change in him. Always a bottom heavy femboy, Micheal had started to get noticeably heavier in the rear. Some of his more uncouth friends and johns suggested among themselves that potentially his ass was as flexible as his hole and that actually it was both that were growing wider. His heavy appendage grew softer and rounder, a change that only seemed to make him more popular with the men.

Maybe it was all the champagne and foie-gras? The turducken at the vicarage every Sunday? The high calorie results of a high class life. That’s what his friends put it down to. They would have never guessed that it was all the vicar.

Maybe you already have a stereotypical image of a Church of England parish vicar in your mind? A softly spoken, mild mannered, clean shaven, averagely good-looking man in his mid thirties with a penchant for young big bottomed boys in frocks? Well, you’d be right. That was Colin.

Nobody was quite sure when Colin and Princess Michael first became a thing. Maybe it was too soon and maybe it wasn’t? Who am I to judge? Colin was a good vicar who took care of his choir boys. He certainly took good care of Michael.

They were first seen in public about a year ago, behind the bins out the back of The Goods Shed. Clearly a little bit worse for wear, Michael was full of fresh bakery produce, and now the vicar had his hands all over his buns. The sight of a handsome man in a dog collar with his tongue down the throat of a chubby young femboy might have shocked some people. I took a photo. They made out for a few minutes before the vicar inserted his ring finger in between those plush pillows. Princess Michael hitched his skirt up and made himself available. I watched as the vicar pounded the princess for a good ten minutes or more. As they left they noticed me and I blushed.

“Get a good look did you?” Princess Michael asked me. “Y-yes,” I mumbled. “Well good for you and la-di-da!” He said, as he wiggled his fleshy protuberance and flashed me a glance of his glistening golden ring. That’s how I came up with his nickname. The vicar said nothing.

The next Sunday, after church, they were having cake and tea at the vicarage. That’s when it became apparent that the vicar was feeding him. Eating a whole raspberry sponge cake lacks elegance, even if it is dainty slice after dainty slice. Princess Michael, usually so full of grace, was now just full of cake and ready to be filled again. It was clear that he had developed a tubby little starter belly, a glorious little pot, accentuated by his tight frilly knickers, which Colin removed with aplomb. They made glorious love over the arm of the couch and the vicar thanked God as he released himself into that glorious appendage.

As he left the vicarage, I asked Princess Michael if I could feed him sometime. He told me; “You will have to pay just like everyone else,” and, “how much does a Bishop make anyway?”

I like the cheeky ones.