BROTHERS & SISTERS by (c) Hamilton Joyce.     MF Ff Mm Fm Mf
A Nun, a Priest and two teenagers.

Two Schools

Mother Superior smiled. 'Well, that's the final item on our agenda, Father 
Anselm. I must say I've found this meeting so very useful.' She smiled as she 
looked across the coffee table at his heavy, muscular body.There was, 
however, something about him that suggested  a runner rather than a boxer. 
Those shoulders suggested a wiry strength, and she expected his legs would be 
good. About forty-five, she guessed, young for Head of a major school. But so 
was she at forty-three! She liked the way his face creased sometimes into a 
broad smile, though he was without wrinkles. She could imagine his wide 
shoulders and hard, tiny buttocks under all that clerical black cloth. Strange 
how that sombre clothing was intended to dull down any sexuality,  to disguise 
the priest's masculinity. And yet, for her, there was nothing more exciting.  
She wondered if he had lots of body hair. He looked as if he might.

'Yes. I'm amazed our predecessors didn't meet. It's strange with St Botolph's 
and St Mary and Martha's next door to each other, and, indeed, sharing the 
same faith and values. The two schools have so much in common. It was 
fortunate we were both promoted to Principal at the same time, Sister Francis. 
'

'I think we have earned a celebratory drink. The Convent has a magnificent 
cellar...but it may be too early for a claret. I thought a chablis.' She smiled as 
she rose, and he thought she was quite, quite lovely. Clear complexion, and a 
wisp of blonde hair escaping from her black wimple. As she opened the bottle, 
holding it between her knees and leaning towards him, he could see the shape 
of her thighs and hips through the thin white cloth of her habit, and, yes, the 
tips of her pointed nipples. How strange to see a nun straining to release the 
cork. Perhaps he should offer. But no, the cork was released with a fruity pop. 
He shifted some papers onto his lap to disguise the erection that unexpectedly 
embarrassed him.

She noticed it too, and was not in the slightest embarrassed. When she passed 
him his glass she arranged it so he would have to move those papers, allowing 
her to savour the full strength of his hard-on, making its tent in the heavy, 
black, clerical cloth. She felt a tingling between her legs...it really was far too 
long since she'd had a man pay her the compliment of becoming aroused. Too 
few men in her life, she thought.

He savoured the wine. A connoisseur, she thought. 'Not only a good cellar. 
Wonderful pictures. Is that a Modigliani?'

'Indeed yes. He presented two to the Convent in person. Selfishly, I keep both 
of them for myself.' She saw him looking round the room. 'No. The other one 
is in my bedroom.' She rose. 'I'll show you.'

She was standing in the open door by the time he had put his tall-stemmed 
glass down and crossed the room to join her. The elongated figure of The 
Madonna was hung over her bedhead. He gazed at it over her shoulder, her 
back to him. 'Magnificent!' he murmured. But she immediately realised it was 
not the picture he was referring to. 'Magnificent! So strong and yet so 
feminine.' Suddenly she felt two strong arms around her, pulling her back onto 
him, and felt his lips on her neck, lifting her wimple and kissing her. 
Impulsively, she pressed harder backwards, and ground her buttocks into the 
erection she could feel so clearly despite all the layers of clerical garb. In that 
moment, both knew Father Anselm's daring had been rewarded, and that the 
unspoken sexual tension of the last hour would bear fruit: they would make 
love. A hand moved up from her belly to grasp a breast. She gasped. Roughly, 
he turned her round, and his lips were on hers.

He lifted her and carried her to the bed. Her arms round his neck pulled him 
down with her as he laid her on her back. In the same movement he put his 
hand up under her white robes, and ran it up her legs. Her thighs were bare of 
any stockings on this warm, summer's day. Up, and into her crotch. She wore 
old-fashioned knickers, of some harsh cotton cloth. But the legs were wide-
cut, and his hand slipped inside them. He grasped her whole pudenda in his 
palm, and then sought out her clit with his index finger. She was wet and 
slippery. At the moment his finger found her nub, her hand was under his 
black skirts, and grasping his cock. Silent, their lips met again, and he felt her 
tongue force its way into his mouth.

The Madonna looked down at them, enigmatic. Beneath it a crucified plaster 
Christ was silent witness to their writhing.

There was no need to wait. He pulled her skirts up, rumpling them over her 
belly. Her legs were slender and very white. The gap up the side of her ugly 
knickers was wide enough, and as he lay on top of her he slipped his cock up 
to her cunt, till his knob pressed hard against her. Down half an inch, and it 
slid into her. She gave a gasp, but her belly rose to meet his as he drove down 
and into her. Her legs crossed behind his back, and they started a crazy, 
uncontrolled fuck. Her wimple had slipped off her forehead, and a larger tress 
of long, blonde hair escaped. Her eyes shut, in ecstasy, he thought she looked 
very beautiful. Her cunt was tight, but slippery. His cock was, annoyingly, 
scraping against the harsh edge of her religious knickers with each thrust, and 
this was spoiling his pleasure. He reached between them and tore the crotch 
away. The scraping stopped, and it was pure delight.

He forgot even to feel her tits in the excitement of fucking this nun. He had 
watched the nuns' purposeful and calm comings and goings in the 
neighbourhood of the two schools for many years, and they had often figured 
in his masturbation fantasies. Especially this one, the trim-figured blonde with 
milk-white skin. Would her cunt hair prove to  be ginger or blonde, he 
wondered? Many of the blonde boys he'd seen (and had!) had ginger pubic 
hair...but he particularly liked the blonde ones. He had imagined having her all 
ways, her cunt, her mouth, her arse...even between her hard little tits. 
Cornering her against the stone wall and forcing her to her knees, his cock to 
her lips. Shagging her in her mouth, one hand grasping a handful of wimple 
and blonde hair. With these fantasies, he was suddenly scared he would not be 
able to delay until she had come. Then he found he need not have worried 
because he felt, saw and heard her coming beneath him. Their bodies crashed 
together, and arms pulled tighter. 'Sweet Jesus. Ah! Sweet Jesus!' He could 
feel her cunt contracting and relaxing over and again, and she milked the cum 
from him, a spurt for each thrust, a spurt for each of her spasms.

They lay, joined, for several minutes, neither daring to say a word, neither 
daring to break the spell. Finally he withdrew his prick...no longer 
rampant....'It's hot', he said, and sitting up pulled his black hassock over his 
head.

She giggled.

'???'

'Well you look funny naked, but with black socks and shiny shoes. Naked, but 
lovely.' She leaned over and kissed his shoulder, the nearest part to her.

He pulled shoes and socks off and threw them on the floor. 'I'll get that wine.'

She watched as he walked to the door. She had almost forgotten what a naked 
man looked like, and what effect it could have on her body. She took in his 
broad shoulders, tiny little bottom, and strong, but not over-muscular legs. She 
was so glad he was hairy. Giving his buttocks that sense of mystery.

When he came back, carrying two glasses and the bottle, she was waiting for 
him naked.

The wine was soon finished as they chatted, and he put the two glasses on the 
bedside table.
'You've got the body of a young girl.'

'We have a good gym and I work out a lot. She giggled, momentarily with the 
expression of a teenage girl as well. 'And what do you particularly like, Father 
Anselm?'

He leaned over her. 'Well, Sister Francis, you've a lovely face with your 
beautiful blonde hair.' He leaned over and kissed her. 'And I love the way 
your blue eyes glitter while your face is so calm. But most of all your 
breasts...so round and firm, and these, standing up, stretching outwards.' He 
was licking her breast and rolling a nipple between finger and thumb. 'These 
must be the same as when you were sixteen. And your belly so flat, and your 
bottom , so round and so firm.'

'Like my tits!' She giggled at the vulgar word. 'You know, Father Anselm, as 
you walked towards the door just now, I watched you and felt a thrill right 
from here,' she placed his hand on her breast, 'to here,' and she pulled it down 
to her cunt, where he rested it. 'I like your broad shoulders and tiny waist and 
bottom...strong, and muscular. I like muscles, and I'm so glad you're hairy. 
And especially this...so strong and proud.' She grasped his prick. 'Look, it's 
standing to attention for me again.'

He parted her cunt lips with his finger and thumb. 'And this is so pretty. I love 
your golden curls with the pink beneath them, and your little nub peeping 
shyly out between. I could kiss it it's so lovely. In fact I will.' He almost 
bounced on the bed as he moved so his face was against her belly. She gasped 
as he lightly kissed her clitoris, and he felt her press her cunt firmer against his 
mouth, and then her hands in his hair pressing his face into her crotch. He 
wasn't kissing now. Rather licking and sucking the length of her slit.

His cock was pressed onto her face as they lay, and she tentatively licked the 
knob and shaft. She heard his muffled groan. The knob was big, but she got 
her lips around it...The smell of cunt upon his prick was so very familiar to 
her, but the shape and feel of his cock in her mouth was so strange. So soft on 
the outside, and yet like steel within. The feel of his tongue on her clitoris, and 
his fingers as they parted her cuntlips and played within her cunt, all this was 
so familiar to her over the years...so many girls and nuns, but so different the 
harshness of his chin against her tender thighs, and the strength in buttocks as 
she grasped him with both hands.

The feel of her mouth on his cock was equally familiar to Father Anselm...how 
many hundreds, thousands of times had he been sucked off? Yet the feel of her 
cunt beneath his lips was so strange to him. And her body, as smooth as the 
smoothest of the boys he took to his bed, but rounder and softer.

How he had lusted after her, watching her tripping across the yard. Black 
habits in winter, and white in summer. Imagining her long, slim legs under that 
harsh cloth. Wondering whether the stories told about the nuns and their 
teenage schoolgirls were true. How he envied Father Adelbert who heard their 
confessions. Did they lust after priests, just as he lusted after the nuns? 
Sometimes, satisfying himself with a willing young Brother, or with one of his 
charges, he would fantasise it was a nun sucking him...him sucking her.

But, she thought, he wasn't sucking her as well as some of her little girls did!

He found he was being rolled over on his back, and the nun was now astride 
him, her cunt grinding down into his face. It was as if she was raping his face, 
her cunt and clit raking him up and down from his chin to his forehead. He 
could feel her juices covering him, smothering him. 'That's more like it,' she 
thought, and returned to sucking him. She was getting the knack of it and 
found she was able to take nearly all of his cock in her mouth as he thrust 
upwards at her. She found she was getting close to coming.

He now had a finger in her cunt, fucking her in and out, round and round, 
while his mouth and tongue concentrated on her clit. He could feel her 
excitement rising as she fucked him harder and faster, and then realised she 
was coming. Suddenly he felt the urgency of his own orgasm. He wanted to 
tell her he was coming. He had known boys who didn't want cum in their 
mouths. But he knew it would be cruel to break off sucking to speak just as 
she was coming. So he let her have the full first spurt in her mouth. He needn't 
have worried. She gobbled still faster, the suction of her cheeks even stronger, 
as she swallowed spurt after spurt of cum, coinciding with the last of her 
spasms.

Minutes later, lying beside her and combing her blonde tresses with his 
fingers. 'You know, I'd not slept with a woman for twenty years, since I was a 
student. '

'And you gave me twenty years' worth of sperm.' She giggled. 'But plenty of 
boys I suppose? And the other Brothers.'

'Oh yes, plenty. About half of the staff are willing partners, but mostly I go for 
the boys. Only the pretty ones! I coach the football team, and what with the 
clubroom, and the showers, I get plenty of opportunity to seduce any I fancy. 
Not that they need seducing...they know what it's about, and are quite proud of 
getting the Coach!'

'I only ever had one man...and that was a lifetime ago as well.'

'Tell me.' He was combing his fingers through her blonde pubic hair.

'You'll be shocked. It was my elder brother.'

'Oh! My poor dear.'

'No, I really loved him. And we slept together for nearly two years. Till I was 
fifteen and he was eighteen. And then he went to the War...and didn't come 
back. That's when I joined the Nunnery, and finished up as a teaching nun.'

There was nothing to say. He kissed her, and as he fondled her, felt her clit 
hardening, and her nipples too. 'I expect you have had some of the girls?'

'And some of the other nuns too, like you. Someone said all women are half 
lesbian, and I think that's true.'  

'What do you girls do together? I'm quite ignorant of these things.'

She giggled. 'I don't believe you! You're teasing, just to hear me tell you. 
Well we suck each other...like we just did. Only we usually take much longer 
than we just did. I was so excited.  And we fuck too. Look in the bedside 
cabinet.'

He pulled out a long pink, double dildo, and a strap-on, a black plastic cock 
with leather and velcro straps. He held it towards her. '??????'

'It goes like this.' She placed it against her cunt and held it there, without 
fastening it. 'And then I can fuck almost as well as you do.'

He thought a moment. Dare he? Yes he dare! 'Would you like to fuck me, 
Sister Francis?'

This time she laughed. 'I'd love too, Father Anselm. Do you like it kneeling? 
Or on your back? Or how?' 

I'm afraid twice is enough for me for the time being, my dear. But next time 
we can meet, yes, yes and yes.' He laughed. 'All of them.'


The Convent of Mary & Martha

Mother Superior had been watching Maeve Helliwell all that first term. She 
was a delightfully out-going girl...all giggles and half-suggested sexuality. And 
yet she was almost sure that Maeve hadn't yet found any 'special friend' 
among her classmates. That would come. All the girls went through a series of 
lesbian affaires...even the un-pretty ones. And no-one could find Maeve 
anything but ravishingly, heart-stoppingly beautiful. 

The Nun and the student shared one passion at least. Both were keen 
gymnasts. And this was the route the Nun used to develop a second shared 
interest!

The Nun had been doing her mat exercises, and the blonde student stopped to 
watch the spectacular series of cartwheels that concluded them. Dressed in 
black, suitably for a Mother Superior, but perhaps not so suitably the figure-
hugging shiny lycra hid little of her form. Maeve felt a sudden excitement as 
she saw nipples sharply outlined, and a bead of sweat in the cleavage of her 
small, firm breasts. Her Mother Superior was panting and breathless after her 
exercise, but seemed to radiate joy.

Maeve was so pleased to share the gym with her favourite teacher. How she 
wished she were still in Sister Francis' class. She so used to look forward to 
her lessons, and, secretly, in the privacy of her own cot, it was Sister Francis 
she imagined caressing her, feeling her, rubbing her, penetrating her with her 
fingers...or even tongue. She had once confessed these fantasies to Father  
Feelan, who confessed her class.....but he had told her they were perfectly 
normal impulses, and as long as they stayed fantasies, she had no need to 
confess them. Since then, she had indulged her love for Sister Francis every 
time she played with herself. Because of the gym, she knew the shapeliness of 
her body, under those sombre robes....and how her hair shone , under the 
wimple. Since Sister Francis had become Mother Superior, she did not have 
the added pleasure of daily contact in class. Seeing her idol here in the gym, 
she felt that warmth and wetness between her legs...tingling and demanding.

Maeve, on her parallel  bars, made a handstand, tried to open her legs, lost it, 
and with a clumsy recovery was standing beside the nun, herself breathless 
now. Her bosom rose and fell under her shiny lycra, green as opposed to black. 
Sister Francis found her, as usual, completely entrancing, and was aware of a 
warmth between her own legs, and a tightness in her own breast.

'Practise that on the mat first, Maeve. Here, I'll stand by you in case.'

The girl bent forward, arching away from Sister Francis. As her hands touched 
the ground, Her teenage buttocks were tight beneath the lycra. Sister Francis 
smiled as she found herself unconsciously licking her lips. Slowly, controlled, 
the girl raised her legs in the air, completing her handstand. Now she opened 
her legs, slowly widening them until she was in a complete 'splits'. The nun 
could have leaned over and placed a kiss on the wide-stretched cunt, scarcely 
hidden under the slick fabric. She could see the surprisingly plump lips. And, 
yes, a special delight for her, the merest wisp of blond hair had escaped from 
her costume.  And, yes, there was a dark mark of damp arousal there, too. A 
darker green than the rest.

The girl closed her legs, and slowly returned to her feet.  The nun, under the 
guise of supporting her final movements, grasped her firmly round the waist, 
holding her for just a second more than necessary. She was pleased by the 
sudden questioning look that passed over the blonde teenager's face.

'We both need a shower!' 

Maeve felt her heart flutter. She had heard older girls whisper about Sister 
Francis and her  'little friends'. Could she have been chosen too. Oh! She did 
hope so. She could feel her clitty all tingly, and longed to rub it as they walked 
together towards the showers.

The showers were empty, as they would be at this time of the day.  You could 
see from the ceiling that at one time there had been shower curtains to give 
some privacy. But Sister Francis' predecessor as Mother Superior had had 
them removed as 'encouraging a guilty prurience among the girls.' Sister 
Francis was only too aware of the real reason...she too loved to indulge in 
supervising the girls showering, watching those nascent breasts and slim, 
adolescent legs. However, it would have been useful for what she had in mind 
now to have been able to draw a curtain round a stall. Never mind! She'd just 
have to take the risk. It would add an extra level of excitement, she thought, as 
she quickly slipped out of her black lycra.

'Let me help!' Young Maeve was having difficulty pulling her green lycra 
costume up over her head. Her tits had grown a bit fuller since she had got it, 
Sister Francis imagined. And now it had caught underneath them. Helpfully, 
The naked nun lifted the fabric, her hand like shoehorns, resting on the firm 
breasts, levering the fabric upwards. For balance her naked thigh pressed 
against the girl's. Maeve giggled, 'Thanks! That's better.'

The water was hot, almost too hot. There is something liberating about a 
rainstorm, Sister Francis thought. 'You know, Maeve, there's something about 
being soaking wet that I find so exhilerating. Would you soap my back, 
please.' The girl, her excitement heightening with the feel of the nun's clear, 
firm flesh under her palms, diligently soaped and massaged. 'Lower, as well, 
please, Maeve.' 'Yes, I could tell you some stories about rainstorms...and I feel 
almost the same under a hot shower.' The girl was now soaping the nun's 
buttocks, though modestly, not in the crack between.

'Oh! Sister Francis. I feel just the same. Please tell me. And would you do my 
back now please.'

The girl's back was tanned. Her golden hair got in the way of Sister Francis' 
massage, but she soon moved her attention to the girl's hips and bottom. 'The 
first time I ever felt the excitement of love was in a rainstorm, my dear.' Her 
fingers were now in the girl's crack, soaping her anus, her cunt, her other hand 
round the front of her, pulling her back, using one firm little breast as a 
convenient handhold. 'Yes, the first time I felt excitement here....' Her finger 
played with the girl's clitoris, rubbing the hard little nub from the bottom to 
the top, as she knew would work. 'Just here. It was with a friend of my 
mother's. We were walking by the river. Midsummer. Suddenly there was a 
thunder-storm. We were soaked. I had a light white cotton dress on...She had a 
sort of chiffon dress...and when she was wet it clung to her. I could see she had 
no bra...and I guessed she had no panties. Anyway, we ran, looking for cover. 
There wasn't any...the trees would have been too dangerous as the lightning 
flashed. ' Her finger was working away at the clit, regularly, rhythmically 
rubbing, twisting, pulling it.

'That's lovely, Sister Francis? Can I....?'

The response. Sister Francis held her hand a moment, and then placed it on her 
own cunt, that had been aching for the teenager to touch her. The girl 
immediately started that thrilling, so-eagerly-awaited masturbation.

'Anyway we were both hopelessly wet, and there was no point now in looking 
for shelter. I remember we looked at each other, bedraggled, hair all lank and 
sodden. And I suddenly laughed, and she laughed too, and we were in each 
others' arms, and she kissed me, and I kissed her, and her hand was on 
me...yes just there...and my hand was on her...and yes, oh yes, yes, we came.' 
At that moment Sister Francis came, and she felt the girl coming, too in her 
arms. They stood under the stinging water, silent, crushed in each others' 
arms.

'That was lovely, Maeve. But I want to show you so much more that we can 
do. ' She reached up and turned the water off. 'We'll dry each other. And then 
go to my rooms. Would you like that, Maeve?'

The girl nodded, in shock still from the violence of her orgasm.

                                         
Conference

They had been very disciplined, and had gone through every item on the 
agenda before she went again to get the usual bottle of chablis. They wouldn't 
be disturbed. The new 'In Conference  Do Not Disturb' notice hung on the 
outer doorknob of the heavy oak door...which was now locked in any case. He 
watched as she strained to open the bottle. Lovely to see her athlete's body 
tense under her thin religious habits. 

'Bit of a tradition, now, the chablis,' he  commented.

'And the rest, I hope!' She giggled, girlish for a middle-aged nun, in wimple 
and deep-skirted white habits. She handed his glass to him, and profited from 
the movement to slip her hand between them and grasp the cock she could see 
outlined under his black wool skirts.' I can see you're ready for the final items 
on the agenda,  Father Anselm.'

They took the bottle and glasses with them to her bedroom this second time, 
and watched each other undress, leisurely, savouring each moment as their 
bodies were revealed to each other. On the bed, they fell immediately into a 
sixty-nine. This was what had been filling their dreams and daytime fantasies 
in the intervening week. She came quickly, and he had great difficulty in 
controlling himself not to come. Especially since he had been abstaining from 
sex, even with that pretty little rascal Jenkins, all week to build up a great head 
of steam for her within his balls...with his scrotum unusually tight around 
them, waiting for the release of an orgasm. But he was, he felt, on a promise.

As she lay beside him, looking at him, with a temporary contented look in her 
eyes, he reached to the drawer in the bedside table and took out the strap-on 
he'd been thinking about all week.

'You really meant it, then?' She giggled, suddenly girlish again.

'I did. I'd love it. Kneeling.'

'Help me.' She could fix the velcro straps that went round her white thighs, 
but he was needed to fasten the buckle behind her waist.  'You'd better 
moisten it!'

She knelt there, the pink, cock-shaped dildo strapped to her, and he knelt 
facing her, licking it till it was slick. He knelt, and discretely applied some 
spittle to his anus.

'You're sure?'

'Please Sister Francis....'.

As he knelt, his hands stretching his buttocks apart, she placed the shining 
plastic knob to his secret hole, and pushed with her hips. It penetrated an inch. 
He groaned. She stopped. Had she hurt him?

'Don't stop! More!' His strong buttocks pressed back towards her. She pushed 
again, and it slipped right in, till her smooth white thighs touched his buttocks 
white and smooth under the wisps of hair,  long strands of wiry black hair in 
the secret place itself. He pulled forward and then crashed back. She knew 
now what he wanted, and started to shag him as if he was one of her little 
girlfriends. And the end of the dildo was working its magic on her clit as well. 
With each collision of her body, it pressed on her and the thrill passed through 
her. She fucked faster, faster, harder, harder. He was groaning, swearing, 
panting, and his bottom wriggled and writhed beneath her. She felt herself 
close to coming again. She reached under him and found his cock still hard. As 
she grasped it, her palm half over the knob of it, she felt him come, and her 
hand was covered in the stickiness she had swallowed the last time they met. 
As the last twitch of his come flowed over her hand, she came, her body 
crashing into his, her dildo filling him.

She collapsed on top of him, and he collapsed from his knees to his belly. The 
cock was still in him and he felt her hard tits pressing into his back.

'I came, too, darling Father Anselm. ' She shifted, and the dildo moved.

'Pull it out everso slowly, gradually, Sister Francis. Yes, like that. I love the 
feel as it slips out....'

She had removed the strap-on and it was lying on the floor beside the bed. She 
suddenly thought she would have to wash it thoroughly before shagging one of 
her girls with it. No, better still get another delivered by her mail-order 
company...very discrete over the years....and use one for arseholes and one for 
cunts.

They lay side-by-side, temporarily speechless by the daring of the sexual act 
they had just successfully accomplished.

'I've come all over your lovely silk bedspread. I am so sorry, Sister Francis.'

'I'm happy you came. It'll wash. Though I may leave it for a few days to 
remind me.'

His answer was to embrace her again. She nibbled at his ear, and he heard her 
whispering. He was incredulous...but he had heard it right. 'Father Anselm. I 
want to watch you fuck one of your boys. And then have you watch me enjoy 
him. I've watched them through the window there, on their sports-field for so 
many years.....and wondered.....'

'My dear Sister Francis, of course. Better, I'll find an innocent, seduce him, 
and bring him to you. But you must do the same for me. An innocent girl, 
newly awoken for me....'

'I want one that's tall, and sultry looking. A Mediterranean complexion. And 
not muscular, but handsome. And no hairs on his chest!'

'And I want a cute blonde. Small, small breasts and boyish hips.'

'I'll have chosen your plaything by Saturday, I promise.'

'And I already know exactly the boy for you. It may take a fortnight to corrupt 
him, though.'

                                       
A Letter

He opened the buff envelope. Inside it was another, pink this time. He
recognised the handwriting. Eagerly he opened it. A brief note.

'My Dear Father Anselm. I've found just the girl for you. Apart from 
myself...and only twice, at that, she has no experience of sex. Except of course 
for the solitary pleasures of her own midnight bed. Well, I've shown her how 
to suck...which she does divinely. I have penetrated her with my finger, and 
although she has had no lover, she is not...and was not when I first had 
her...what you would technically call a virgin. I have not used the strap-on you 
enjoyed last week. You will find her juicy and a tight little cunt, without that 
annoying encumbrance of a hymen. And she is eager to give herself to you. I 
have pointed you out to her as you supervised the sports-field last week and 
she finds you (as do I, my darling Father Anselm) a proper man. She 
particularly admires your legs and shoulders! You will love her hard little tits 
and slim hips. At all events here is a photo of her...clipped from her school 
file, so you only see head and shoulders. Her blonde hair is longer now...and 
those pretty titties fill out more of her school blouse than they did when the 
photo was taken.

I have told her to present herself at my rooms at 3..30. So we will have to 
make sure the lesser items on our agenda are over before her 'any other 
business.'

I hope you will have good news about the little mouthful you have promised 
me.

You see how I look after my handsome lover! Your devoted, and increasingly 
randy, Sister Francis.

He looked again at the photo. He could feel a smile cross his lips, and was 
amused to find himself licking his lips in anticipation. He looked at the note 
again...no, it didn't say how old she was...perhaps better not to ask?

                                              
St Botulph's

Yes, he thought, he'd been remiss about finding a little partner for Sister 
Francis. He'd been so keen to conserve his cum for their next meeting that 
he'd stayed away from his 'special little friends', and in any case since she had 
found a completely innocent and unspoiled beauty for him, he should do the 
same for her. He knew exactly the boy!

To be called Alfonso at any English boys' school was a misfortune. Young 
Carminari was as English as any of the boys, but his father was an Italian 
immigrant, and he'd been cursed with his grandfather's baptismal name. He 
was not being bullied, Father Anselm thought, but he seemed to have no real 
friends. One way to stop that would be to make him one of his own 'special 
friends'. They hung together, supported by their own secret, almost masonic 
feeling of shared mysteries...the mysteries of cock and anus.

And he was very pretty, in exactly the way Sister Francis had specified.

Anselm taught Latin and Greek...undemanding work which left him time for 
football and his admin work as Head. Nowadays so few boys did the classics. 
Happily, Alfonso did.

'Carminari, I'm not satisfied this is your own work. It's identical in all respects 
to Jenkins''.

Out of the corner of his eye father Anselm could see Jenkins about to stand up. 
Of course, Jenkins had copied Carminari's. He also saw the quick shake of the 
black-curled head in Jenkins' direction as Alfonso told him not to own up.

'My study at 4 o'clock, Carminari.'

His hard on came even before 3pm! The anticipation of the seduction of this 
pretty boy was almost too much for him. He stopped planning and scheming 
and forced himself to read a particularly boring text, in Latin, on the Roman 
Law pertaining to the draining of marshland, until there was a timid, tentative 
knock on his outer door. 4 o'clock exactly. 

'Come!'

The lad stood in front of his desk. Quite tall. Almost as tall as me, the priest 
thought. 'Relax, boy. I know Jenkins copied from you and not you from him. 
He couldn't do work of that quality...and you can. May I say how admirable I 
find it that you wouldn't let him own up. Loyalty is a quality we associate 
more with our beloved classical age than with this fallen state of ours now.'

He was clearly embarrassed, and said nothing to fill the silence. He shifted 
from one foot to the other nervously, feeling the Father Anselm's eyes 
studying him from head to toe.

'Choir practise? Going to Chapel for practise?' He was doubly beautiful in the 
white, freshly laundered choirboy's surplice that contrasted so well with his 
black, shining, curly locks. And those full, red lips. Father Anselm found 
himself daydreaming.

'I came straight from practise, sir. That's why I'm wearing these. Sorry, sir.'

'Not at all, dear boy. You look quite charming. Yes, quite, quite charming. As 
it happens I was reading a song just as you came in. In the Greek. I wonder if 
your Greek is up to it. Come round this side of the desk, boy, and we'll see. At 
all events it's more interesting than the stuff you do in class.'

Father Anselm was aware of the scent of the boy...freshly scrubbed, soap 
smell, as he stood beside him, peering at the Greek text. He leaned slightly 
sideways in his chair, so the boy's thigh and hips touched his shoulder. The 
boy had to lean over to see, and the weight of his body increased on the 
priest's upper arm. He could feel his cock so hard, a tent in his black skirts, 
still hidden as he sat at the desk.

'Can you get it?'

The boy hesitated.  'It's a love song, sir. She's praising her lover's ...she's 
describing her lover's body. There's some words I don't know....'

'Good. Well done, young Carminari. Well done. Got it in one. Only it's not a 
she, the poet's a he! Apart from that, good. Now, what words don't you know.'

'This one, sir. And this. And I didn't get the last verse at all.'

'The first one is a word for the penis...you know what a penis is? ..Good...it's 
an affectionate word, the sort used between lovers. Which was the other 
word?' The boy leaned over, and again that delightful pressure of his body. 
'Ah. Yes. That is the anus...again an affectionate word of endearment. You 
know what an anus is? Good. Now read that last bit again, and see if you can 
understand it now.'

'I think I can understand the words, sir...but not the meaning. He seems to 
want them to...I hardly dare say, sir.....'

'Spit it out, boy.'

'He seems to want them to put their penises in each others' anuses, sir.'

'Excellent. Now I'll read it aloud to you, and you follow the text as I do. Here, 
come closer. Now imagine I am the writer, and I'm praising your olive-
skinned body, your boyish hips and long legs, yes and your penis and anus too, 
wooing you to make love. Because our classical ancestors believed in that, you 
know. We are often content to masturbate our lovers...you boys would call that 
wanking I think...or perhaps fellate them...you would call that sucking...but the 
Greeks knew that the act of giving the body to a lover, completely and 
unreservedly...yes, that was real love. And mutually very pleasurable, I might 
add. I should sing this...but better perhaps to read. Now, remember, think 
yourself into it.'

As he read, the weight of the boy's body leaning on him increased.  At the end 
he took the boy's hand and placed it under the desk on his black hassock, over 
the erect penis. 'You see what effect love poetry is meant to have?' His arm 
round the boy's buttock as he stood there, he touched the cock he could see 
standing, too, outlined through the thin white cotton of the choirboy hassock. 
'And now, Carminari, we are both obviously ready for some Greek love 
ourselves. There has to be a first time, lovely boy. And this is it.' He rose, 
lifted the boy in his powerful arms, and kissed him on those full lips. The boy 
held onto him, his feet off the ground, and reciprocated with his own searching 
tongue.

He carried him to the door, still kissing, nudged the door open, across the 
room, and onto the large, iron and brass bed. 

Alfonso had known this would happen...half-hoped, half-feared. Jenkins and 
Potter had giggled and warned him to shower and wash his arse, nudging each 
other with knowing looks. He knew about the 'magic circle' of Father 
Anselm's 'special friends', but imagined it had to do with wanking, or perhaps 
sucking. He was excited by this...the other boys had left him alone. He knew 
how they hated and suspected anyone even slightly different. And he was 
cursed with that stupid name, and Italian too. If he pleased Father Anselm he 
would be admitted to their secret games...he scrubbed himself very carefully 
before slipping on his chorister's gown...no vest or pants. But now he 
understood it was to be a much more complete and astounding lovemaking. 
The excitement was still there...his cock stood...but the trepidation had 
increased. He hoped Father Anselm was not too big...and yet half hoped he 
was big.

He lay motionless on the double bed while his Headmaster removed first his 
socks and shoes, and then with a sweeping gesture pulled the black clerical 
robes, all together, up and over his head. The boy gasped. It was huge! It 
pointed direct at him as the smiling priest stood beside the bed. 'Now let's see 
you, young Fons, let's look at yours too.' The bed creaked as he lay beside the 
boy, immediately pulling the white skirts up to his waist, showing a pretty 
little prick, standing for him. 'Lovely, young  Fons.' The priest grasped it, 
leaned over , and took it entire into his mouth. Alfonso had seen boys do 
this...you could hardly avoid seeing it in the dorm sometimes...but had never 
had it done to him. The feeling of warmth, of slippery suction was delicious. 
He groaned and found his hips rising to meet that gobbling mouth as if they 
had a will of their own.

                                          

Later in the School Chapel, while a soprano was practising his solo, Jenkins 
muttered out of the corner of his mouth, his lips scarcely moving. 'Did he?'

Alfonso knew exactly what he meant. 'Oh yes, twice!' He too was careful not 
to let the Choirmaster see him speak.

'And did it hurt?'

'No. And finally it was good.'

'Want some more?'

'Hope so....'

They had to pause to sing their chorus, but as soon as the solo descant bit 
started again, 'Not that. I'm sure he'll want you back. Especially as you 
enjoyed it. Always does. No. With me, I meant, with me.'

'Not half, Jenkins. Love to.'

'After Chapel, then. In the vestry cupboard.'

The two of them lingered while the other choirboys got back into their 
ordinary school uniforms. The vestry cupboard was more a small room, with 
racks and lockers for the various ritual clothes. Jenkins pulled his white 
hassock up over his head, and stood there naked except for his socks and white 
shoes. Alfonso joined him in that happy state.

'Hey, Fons, you're good and hard!'

'You too, Jenks.'

'No kissing and stuff. Just kneel down.'

He knelt on a heap of their discarded clothing and felt Jenkins behind him. 
'Hey, you're still open. Must have given you a good seeing to!'

'Twice, I told you. Get on with it. Or someone'll come.'

'It's ok here. No-one ever comes. We use it quite a lot...here and the old 
cricket pavilion, when it's not the season.' But Alfonso felt his buttocks parted 
by two hands, the knob placed in his anus, and then the slow insertion. He was 
still sensitised from his earlier experiences, and he felt an immediate pleasure. 
This would be as the end of the penis brushed his prostate...though he would 
not yet have learned that. 'Hey! You're still loose, and slippery from old 
Auntie Anselm's cum.' Jenkins was shagging him hard now, and Alfonso was 
reaching down and wanking himself furiously. 'I'm coming!' Jenkins was 
allowing his thighs to crash into the boy's buttocks, careless of the slapping 
sound that must have been audible even beyond the vestry.

'Me too!' And suddenly he felt the cum over his fingers, astounded there was 
still any in him after the priests ministrations.

Then the cock was as suddenly withdrawn. 'Next time, you fuck me. That's 
how we do it. Turn and turn about. And I'll tell the others, so they know 
you're safe.'

'Safe?'

'There's about a dozen of us. But we only fuck with boys who are in on the 
secret...Auntie Anselm's little friends. It's better that way. They'd have to 
chuck you out if any parents found out about it.'

'A dozen! That's good!'

'Not all at once, Fons, you randy little sod....'



                                                                       
St Botulph's

'I'm glad you're with me, sir. I'm so nervous.'

'Of course you are. That's natural, Alfonso.' Father Anselm squeezed his 
shoulder encouragingly. 'Ah that must be Sister Francis now.'

He made the introductions formally, and left them together while he went to 
open the usual bottle.

'Father Anselm tells me you want to fuck a nun?'

He blushed crimson.  She thought him quite delightful, with his curly black 
hair, and full lips. 'I'm being too direct. Come over here and we'll discuss it.'

Father Anselm slipped back in, but did not interrupt their whispered 
conversation. He poured a glass for himself and sat back in his deep easy-
chair. He could just about make out what they were saying.

'I suppose you watch the nuns out of your dormitory window, as they go about 
their business?'

'Well, yes, Sister Francis.'

'And some of them are very pretty?'

'You're the most beautiful, Sister Francis.'

She laughed. 'Flatterer. And you're a very handsome young man. And don't be 
ashamed at wanting to enjoy a nun. I watch the boys on the playing field 
especially, and feel just the same. It's worse in the night, isn't it. I mean, do 
you wake up thinking about it? I do.'

'Oh, Sister....'

She leaned towards him, and kissed him on the lips. As they ground their 
mouths and tongues together she unbuttoned his open-necked shirt, and 
slipped it off his shoulders, till it hung down at his waist. He could feel the 
rough texture of her black habits against his chest, and she could feel his 
erection between them.

'Mmmmm. I expect you've wondered what we wear underneath all this?'

He nodded. Speechless for the moment in the ecstacy of that first kiss.

'Well, feel.' She guided his hand up under the hem of her robes, and felt the 
fingers exploring up her nylon-stockinged leg, and heard him gasp when it 
rested on the naked flesh at the stocking top. 'Higher, Alfonso. Up.' And the 
questing hand slipped up, over the suspender strap, and onto her satin 
knickers. 'Round, Alfonso, round the front.' As his fingers discovered her 
crotch, she undid the belt at his waist, and a few of the trouser-buttons. He 
hardly noticed, so engrossed was he in the hot, damp feel of her there. She 
grasped his naked cock. 'Inside, Alfonso,' she whispered. 'Inside my panties.' 
She had shaved her lips, leaving just a little powder puff of blonde hair over 
her mound, so the boy found slick, smooth, slippery lips fro his fingers to 
paddle in, for the first time.

Father Anselm sipped his drink. This was going very well!

'Have a look, Alfonso. Lift my skirts and peep. But first, let's get rid of all 
this.' She pulled his trousers down to his ankles, slipped his shoes and socks 
off, and then his trousers joined his shirt in a heap beside the settee. Father 
Anselm knew he had chosen well for her as she caressed his belly and chest, 
his cock waving in front of him. Then she leaned over his cock. The only two 
other cocks she had seen, her brother and Father Anselm, were both 
circumcised. This was intact, and fascinated her. She held it and pulled the 
foreskin down. She felt a sudden tenderness when she saw the knob, formerly 
so shy and secret under the foreskin. She leaned over and kissed it.  Alfonso 
did not stop feeling her clit and lips while she sucked on him. Then she tasted 
a drop of cum.

'Please Sister Francis. I'm afraid I'll come.'

'And you haven't even seen me yet. Here.'  What colour do you thing I'm 
wearing?

'Black, like your habits.'

'Correct'. She lifted the hem of her skirt and pulled it up to her waist. Long, 
slim legs in glossy tan-coloured nylons, black suspender belt, and black 
panties. He could see his fingers through the nearly-transparent crotch. 'Pull 
them aside, and look at me.'

'Now, kneel in front of me.' She slipped herself down towards him, so they 
could kiss, him between her thighs. 'Rub your cock there...that's right, pull 
them aside...that's right, up and down.'

Suddenly he felt his knob engulfed in warm wetness, and heard her sigh. 'Aah! 
Now push, Alfonso. Push it in...' And he slipped so easily inside her. Once in, 
though, he felt her grip. 'Now...fuck that nun, like you so wanted.' 

Almost without thought, he was fucking her. Her habits were harsh against his 
naked chest as he hugged her. But her mouth was soft against his, and her 
smooth legs were clasped round his back. How he had wanted to fuck one of 
those nuns...and in their full habits, too.

Later, he could hardly remember this very first time. As he came, he broke off 
kissing her mouth, and looked at her face. It was almost as if she was in pain, 
grimacing, panting, her eyes closed. He knew she must be feeling the pleasure 
he had as he felt his cock pump into her, emptying him. He also knew, from 
'cuntbooks' that circulated at school, that he'd come far too quickly, and was 
afterwards a bit crestfallen. Also he hadn't really played with her body...he 
knew her tits would be so very sexy.

'I came too fast....'

'But it was lovely, wasn't it. And I'm sure we'll do it again. Here, help me 
with these...' She was tugging at her heavy black habits, and as he helped her 
ease the whole bundle over her head he could see her pretty little cunt, and 
then those wonderful firm tits. 'See, you're off again!' She grasped his cock, 
which, indeed was twitching as it hardened. 'But Father Anselm promised  
he'd show me what you men do together.'

'Bed's best for that,' Father Anselm interrupted, and led the small procession 
through into his bedroom.




St Botulph's...Maeve

'I'm so glad you're with me, Sister Francis. I'm so nervous.'

She looked so pure in her white school blouse and grey mini-skirt. So lovely 
with her face innocent of make-up and her long blonde hair loose, shining 
down to her shoulders. Sister Francis kissed her on her brow. 'Of course you 
are, Maeve. But excited, too, my dear?'

'Oh yes.'

'Well knock on the door.'

The gruff instruction 'Come!' told them they should open it themselves. Inside 
they saw Father Anselm sitting in his deep armchair. He was fully clothed, in 
his black clerical robes. But the pretty young boy sitting in his lap was 
completely naked, his arms round the priest's neck. You could see they had 
been kissing...and you could see the boy was excited.

Father Anselm got up, lifting the boy bodily, and standing him beside the 
chair. Smiling he came over to the couple...Sister Francis had closed the door 
behind them. 'Ah!  My favourite nun! And....?'

'Maeve, meet Father Anselm.' She shook his hand demurely and correctly. 
'Sister Francis has told me so much about you Father.'

'Not all my secrets, I hope.' He laughed, a big, boisterous laugh.

'Enough of them to intrigue her,' Sister Francis interrupted. She caught 
Maeve's eye flicker towards the naked boy, still standing apart. She walked 
over to him, and grasped his cock, using it to lead him to the others, 'And this 
handsome young man is Alfonso. Alfonso, meet Maeve.' Maeve was struck by 
the incongruity of formally shaking hands with a naked boy, his hard cock held 
by a nun in her full regalia. She giggled. 'Maeve wants you to fuck her, Father 
Anselm. I've told her how good you are at it...and she wants to try.'
Poor Maeve. Her giggle was  stifled immediately as she blushed at this 
directness.

'Well. You are a very pretty girl, Maeve. But I expect you know that...'

'Come on Maeve. Show the Father how lovely you are.' Sister Francis was 
undoing the girl's white shirt buttons, and in a second she was bare to the 
waist. Alfonso gasped as he saw her perfect breasts. But Sister Francis was 
unclasping the skirt, which fell to her feet, slipping down fine, slender legs. 
Another gasp from the boy as her lovely bottom and the tiny puff of blonde 
hair was revealed.

Father Anselm clasped her to him and kissed her. She felt his hands on her 
bottom, pulling her closer, and could smell his aftershave. Then she realised it 
was incense that had permeated his black cloth. She would never again smell 
incense in the church without remembering that first caress.

She could see Sister Francis was now sitting in Father Anselm's chair, the 
naked Alfonso on her lap. They were kissing...his hand up under her skirts, his 
other hand feeling her breast through the black habits. Her arms were around 
him, one hand cradling his nearly hairless balls, the other running lazily up and 
down the shaft of his prick.

Wordless, she was propelled through the door, and onto the bed. Father 
Anselm was all over her. Hands feeling bosom and bottom, legs intertwining, 
and always his insistent voice murmuring how young, tender and beautiful she 
was. Her heart was racing, and as his fingers rubbed in her slit, teasing her 
clitoris, she felt her lust rising. The mirror had been tilted so she could see 
both of them as they kissed and fondled. He was fully dressed, and she found it 
doubly exciting that a priest...and in his robes too...was doing this to her. She 
couldn't get at his naked flesh, but could feel his heavy, muscled body even 
through the cloth. Then she was on her back, his weight on top of her. In the 
mirror she could now see the backs of his hairy legs, and his bum...covered too 
with a matt of black hair...and could feel his hard cock probing for her. And 
then he was in. She gasped, but her hips made an involuntary rise, driving it in 
further. She felt the force of his hips...and now he was fully embedded. There 
had been no pain...as she had half feared...and now there was an increasing 
pleasure as he withdrew and forced in again.

As she clutched at him, her lips seeking out his own, and his neck he could 
hear her panting 'Daddy, daddy...daddy.' So here was another secret of this 
intriguing young girl. What hidden depths of passion there sometimes is under 
a calm exterior, he thought.

At the bedroom door the other couple watched. He naked, she dressed now 
only in her stockings and suspender belt. How they would have liked to join 
the couple on the bed. But no. It was Maeve's moment, and they watched as 
her pleasure reached its panting, moaning, writhing crescendo, and Father 
Anselm's fucking, which had got faster and harder as his young partner's 
passion increased, now died away to a steady, slow, slipping in and out. 
Marking time as it were.

'I thought you would like me to keep my robes on, my dear. After all, you did 
want to be fucked by a priest...'

'The robes don't make the priest, Father. But you're right. I fantasised about 
being had by a priest in his full regalia...and now whenever I see a priest I'll be 
reminded of my first time. But I'd like to see you naked, Father.'

Scarcely an inch of his body not covered in thick black hair. Only his cock, red 
and angry was spared. She thought his massive body so handsome...so like her 
own daddy's.

She had never seen Sister Francis looking like this. Sexy, stupid suspender belt 
and stockings! She giggled. Sister Francis must have put them on for Alfonso!

'Father Anselm wants to see what we do together Maeve. Let's'. 

The boy one side of them, the man the other, the nun and her plaything sucked 
each other, laying side by side. Content at first just to watch this mystery, 
tongues and fingers, and writhing hips, soon the two males were joining in, 
caressing breasts, fondling bottoms, pressing their own bodies against the 
female flesh. Then Maeve gasped as, again, the priest's cock entered her cunt.  
Alfonso took his cue from that, and slipped his into Sister Francis.

Each woman now had a cock in her, and a tongue on her clit.

Many years later, looking back on it, Maeve found that only a few times in a 
life full of rich and varied sex had she experienced multiple orgasms of that 
intensity, duration and number. Once with two black jazz musicians in 
Harlem, a newly-wed yuppie couple in Chelsea,  a gangbang by teenagers 
twenty years younger than herself on the beach at Brighton. And that was 
about it.

Which is where we shall leave them. Alfonso desperately holding himself 
back...delectable as Sister Francis' buttocks were we can hardly blame him for 
wanting to cum in the hard, slim  arse of his fellow teenager, Maeve. Sister 
Francis in heaven...her tongue on a teenager's clit, with another teenager 
shagging her long and slow. Father Anselm not exactly regretting all those  
years fucking boys, but realising from now on he would spice his diet up with 
the occasional cunt. And Maeve not thinking at all...just losing herself in the 
holy miracle of orgasm after orgasm.