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From: anais ninja <anais_ninja@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Exile - Chapter Seven - Discipline (Ff mf Mm MMf teen mast oral)
Date: Fri,  7 Feb 2003 21:10:05 -0500
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Exile
 
(c) 2003  Anais Ninja  anais_ninja@hotmail.com 
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/anais_ninja/index.html 

 
Note:  This is my story.  The names and details have been changed to
protect the privacy of those involved.  Some of this account has
been reconstructed from memory, but most of it has been based on a
journal I kept during these years. 
 
This is a sequel to _Wanderings_, which can be found on my asstr-mirror.org
site: 
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/anais_ninja/wander/index.html 


 

Chapter Seven - Discipline (Ff mf Mm MMf teen mast oral)



When I woke up, Manny and Billy were both gone.  Chris was lying
next to me, snuggled against my back.  The sun was just coming up,
filling the room with an orange glow.  I rolled over and kissed
Chris on his forehead, gently waking him up by caressing his angelic
face.  He opened his eyes and smiled up at me.

After he helped me drag the mattress back onto the bed, I sent him
back to his room and went back to sleep until the sound of footsteps
in the hall and doors opening and closing -- the usual sounds of the
shelter waking up in the morning -- roused me from my slumber.

Breakfast was different that morning.  Something had changed.  As I
sat down to eat with Billy, Manny, and Chris, other boys would greet
me with a cheerful "Hi, Annie," or "Good morning Annie.  I barely
knew any of their names, and wondered why the ice had suddenly been
broken. 

Since it was Saturday, there were no classes, just chores to be
done.  After breakfast, I went downstairs to the laundry room in the
basement where a pile of dirty clothes awaited me.  Sister Katherine
was there, doing some of her own clothes.  I quietly closed the door
behind me and came up behind her, slipping my hands around her waist
and gently pulled aside the back of her wimple, kissing the nape of
her neck. 

"Annie," she gasped.  "Someone might see us."

"It's okay, the door's closed," I said.  She turned around in my
arms and kissed me on the lips, her hands on my hips, pulling me
closer to her.

"I missed you," she whispered.  "I thought about you all week."

"I missed you, too," I said.  "Can I see you later?"

"I have to start lunch.  Maybe this afternoon."

"Okay," I said, kissing her soft lips again.  "Until then?"

"Annie, I..."  She wanted to say something but stopped.

"Shhhh...I know," I said.  "I know."  We kissed again and then she 
started to leave.

"Sister?" I asked her, just as she put her hand on the doorknob.

"Yes, Annie?"

"Could you unlock the storage room for me?  I need to mend a few 
things."  One of the straps on my chemise was coming off, probably
from that night when I'd slept with Billy, and the little pink dress
Father Ken had given me, the one that was way too small, had begun
to split at the seams.

"Of course, Annie," she said.  "I'll do that right now.  Just lock
it up when you're through.

"Thank you," I said.  She smiled and left the laundry room.  I put a
load into the washer and went back upstairs to my room to get the 
clothes I needed to mend.

I was about to head back downstairs when I had a naughty thought.  I
was looking forward to using the old sewing machine again and feel
the delicious tension that would form between my legs from using the
foot treadle.  I reached under my bed, inside the boxspring where I
hid things, and pulled out the little vibrator I'd bought earlier
that week.  Wrapping my clothes around it, I headed back down to the
basement.  Sister Katherine had already unlocked the storage room,
and I went inside after I checked on the load of laundry.

There was a new batch of clothes on the donation pile, and I dug
through it for a while, looking for girls' and women's items. 
Except for a lace-edged nylon half slip, it was all boys' clothes. 
I hiked up my long peasant skirt and tried on the slip.  It was a
little loose around the waist, but I could easily take that in.  I
draped it over the chair behind the sewing machine and unwrapped the
little vibrator from within the chemise and the pink sundress.

Lying down on the donated clothes pile, I hiked my skirt up again
and pulled my panties down around my thighs.  Parting my labia with
one hand, I brought the tip of the vibrator up to my lips with the
other, licking the pink rubber glans until it glistened.  Then I
slowly inserted it into my cunny, which was moist with anticipation,
slowly sliding it in until only the knurled knob at the end was
exposed.  I pulled my panties back up, sat down behind the sewing
machine, and began to work on the loose strap on my chemise.

As I began to work the treadle, the rubber phallus inside me
accentuated the delicious friction I felt each time my thighs
pressed together.  Repairing the strap went too quickly, so I
decided to reinforce the other strap, just in case.  I had to pause
when I was done, in order to replace the spool of brown thread with
a spool of pink, but as I mended the side seams of the little pink
sundress the wonderful feeling returned.

All that was left was the slip, and after finding some cream colored
thread that matched the ivory nylon, I reached into my panties and 
twisted the knob at the end of the vibrator, its gentle purring
sending waves of pleasure through my belly.  By the time I'd
finished altering the waistband of the slip, I was tantalizingly
close to coming.  I wanted to finish myself off right then and
there, but I had another load of laundry to take care of before
lunch.  Getting up from the sewing machine, I hoisted my skirt and
lowered my panties, turning the vibrator off and removing it.  The
top edge of the rubber glans dragged over that sensitive spot on the
roof of my vaginal walls, making me shudder as I pulled the phallus
out of my pussy.  It glistened with my juices in the dim light of
the storage room.  I gave it a little lick, just a taste, and wiped
it off with the crotch of my panties before I pulled them back up my
thighs. 

Wrapping the vibrator in my camisole, I left the storage space to go
attend to the next load of dirty clothes.  It took just a few
minutes to transfer the last load to the dryer and put a new load
into the washing machine.  This batch was all boys' underwear,
t-shirts, and socks, a pungent pile that seemed more like compost
than laundry.  For a moment I thought about tying a scented dryer
sheet to my face like a surgical mask, but I just held my breath and
loaded the washer, adding as much detergent as I could.

I still had to try on the slip I altered, so I headed back to the 
storage room.  I wanted to dig through the donation pile, too,
hoping to find the rest of the clothes that I'd brought with me from
Maine, a Miami Dolphins t-shirt that used to be Del's and a pair of
panties from a set that Julia had bought me during one of her trips
to Boston.  I opened the steel-clad door.

Sister Katherine was standing next to the sewing machine, my
vibrator in her hand, her expression frozen in a combination of
surprise and lust.  The tip of the rubber penis was barely an inch
from her nose, as if she'd been sniffing it when I walked into the
room. 

"Anne!"

"Sister?"

"Where ever did you get this thing?" she said, trying to sound 
authoritative but too flustered to keep her voice from cracking.

"I bought it, Sister.  At a bookstore downtown.  I'm sorry," I said,
feeling my shame burning on my face.  It wasn't that I was ashamed
of myself for owning a sex toy.  I was ashamed that Sister Katherine
saw it, that she'd think less of me, that I needed something she
couldn't give me.  It was a tangible representation of my sexuality,
of my needs.  Her needs were still buried within her, a secret life
with no physical record, just a series of stolen kisses and quick
embraces, not even a wet spot on a bed sheet until a week ago.

"Annie," she said, her composure back again, her face wearing the
same neutral mask I'd seen before we slept together.  Just a little
over an hour ago, she seemed to be on the verge of confessing her
love for me.  Now she seemed a million miles away.

"Sister, I'm sorry," I repeated, looking down at my feet.

Sister Katherine took three brisk steps over to me and held the
vibrator in my face, glaring at me.  I never knew brown eyes could
look so cold. 

"Show me how you abuse yourself with this...this thing," she said.

"Sister, I..."

"Show me."

We looked at each other for a moment and then I took the vibrator
from her, stepping out of my skirt and lying down on the pile. 
Sister Katherine came closer and stood over me, watching as I
twisted the base of the vibe, making it purr in my hand, and began
to rub it over my the crotch of my panties, pressing it against my
cotton-clad cleft. 

"I wanted to look at your pretty nightgown, and I
found...that...wrapped in it," Sister Katherine said, watching as I
rubbed the vibrator over my mound.

"But Sister..."  Normally, the vibrations would have me squirming,
but the icy feeling in my stomach seemed to block anything
pleasurable.  Besides, I was on the verge of tears.

"Take those off," she said, pointing to my panties.  "Show me how
you gratify yourself."

The edge of lust was back in her voice when she said that, and I 
suddenly remembered the time that I asked Julia to tie me to the
bed, to dominate me.  It was the night we read "The Story of O"
together, the night we lugged that old trunk filled with corsets and
restraints up from her basement, the night she held me on the edge
of my climax for so long that when I did come I passed out cold. 
Julia had to revive me with old fashioned smelling salts, and she'd
admitted that she was about to call an ambulance for me.

That's when it clicked.  Even though Julia hadn't said a word from
the time she cuffed the restraints around my wrists and ankles and 
blindfolded me until after she revived me, she'd probably sound just
like Sister Katherine did right now; her face would have had the
same stern visage.

The icy ball in my stomach began to melt as I realized that I wasn't
being punished, not for real, at least.  Sister Katherine wanted me
to submit to her.  Underneath that spare grey dress she was wearing,
somewhere between her legs, a fire was burning, the same heat I now
felt between my legs.  I put the vibrator aside and began to pull my
panties down my thighs, feeling her eyes on my cleft.  I pulled my
panties off of my legs, letting them dangle from my ankle, parted my
thighs, and picked up the purring vibrator again.

"Show me your sex," Sister Katherine ordered.  I reached down and
parted my lips, letting her see the moisture that was beginning to
flow.  I licked the tip of the vibe and brought it down to my
flower, running it up over my clit and down to the entrance of my
hole.  As the tip penetrated me, I arched my back and gasped, the
feelings I'd had while using the sewing machine returning tenfold. 
As the purring shaft disappeared inside me, I began to circle my
clit with a wet fingertip, teasing my little button, never touching
it directly. 

Sister Katherine stood at my feet, her hands on her hips as she
watched me plunge the vibrator into my hungry hole and pull it out,
only to push the glistening shaft back inside.  I pulled up my
sweater, taking my finger off my clit and bringing it up to my
nipple, circling it as I had with my pearl and then pinching it,
letting a brief bit of pain mix with the pleasure.

"You will wear a bra at all times while you are living here," Sister
Katherine said.  "Is that understood?"

"Yes, Sister...I'm sorry...," I moaned.  I pinched my nipple again
as my climax began to approach, partially to punish myself for
letting my breasts go unharnessed, partially to delay my release for
a minute or two.  I pinched my other nipple for good measure and
then returned to my clit, tracing a circle around it with my
fingertip. 

I began to fuck myself faster, pumping the vibrator in and out of my
hole, and touching my clit directly for the first time since I
pulled my panties down for Sister Katherine.  The fire began to
build in my belly, the heat radiating through my body and down my
limbs.  I let out a series of little gasps and my legs began to
quiver as my climax approached.  Sister Katherine stood like a
statue between my feet, staring at me as I began to shudder.  I
thought about the night we spent together, her small breasts and
bony hips, her hairy bush, her ruby lips, her swollen clit, how she
bit her lip when she came, the taste of blood when we kissed.  Her
arms around me, the smell of her shampoo.  And then I came.

I closed my eyes, not to pretend that she wasn't there, but because
I wanted to see the stars again, the bright sparkles on a deep blue
field.  I was not disappointed.  My fingers danced over my clit as I
thrust the vibrator deep inside me, the purring of the toy almost
visible behind my eyelids, a great explosion of concentric circles
of gold and silver on a blood red background.  I felt a spasm of
pleasure between my legs that expanded, a wave that traveled through
my pelvis, my belly, my thighs, curling my toes and nearly
paralyzing my hands.  When I stopped fingering my clit and plunging
myself with the vibrator, the colors faded to a greyish brown and
then black.  My thighs relaxed, my bottom unclenched.  I let out a
deep breath and slowly pulled the vibrator from my pussy, twisting
the base and stopping its gentle purring.  I lay on the pile of
clothes, spent, exhausted. 

I opened my eyes again.  Sister Katherine was still standing there, 
still looking at me with her face set in a mask.  At that moment I 
wanted nothing more than to see her face soften, to have her lie
with me, to hold me, hug me, kiss me, to tell me that I was a good
girl.  To tell me that she loved me.

"Sister Katherine...," I whispered, unable to put my desires into
words.  She looked at me for a second and turned on her heel,
walking out of the storage room and slamming the door behind her. 
That cold feeling in the pit of my stomach returned.

"Sister!" I called out after her.  Only the stone walls of the room 
heard me.

"Sister," I whispered again.  And then the tears started.  I lay
there on the pile of clothes, sobbing into an old, smelly t-shirt
someone had donated.  I hadn't realized the depth of my feelings for
her.  I wanted her to love me; maybe I wanted to love her, too.

I let the tears flow, letting it all out, weeping for my sad little 
Chris, for Julia, for Ramon, for Paco and Del, even for old Father
John and his lost Tommy, weeping for all the pain and sorrow in the
world.  I wept until no more tears would flow.

Somehow, I summoned the energy to pull my panties up and put my
skirt back on.  I folded my clothes, the chemise, the dress, the
slip I still hadn't tried on, and slipped the vibrator into the
bundle, leaving the storage room and locking it behind me.  The last
load of laundry wasn't done yet, so I headed upstairs to put my
things away and lie down on my bed for a while.

A while turned out to be a couple of hours, as I fell asleep while I
was just resting my eyes.  I hurried back downstairs and managed to
finish doing the laundry just before dinner was served.  Sitting
next to Billy and Manny, I ate my dinner without saying a word. 
Manny looked at me strangely, as if he thought I was mad at him
about something.  I tried to smile.

After dinner, I was heading back upstairs when I heard someone
running up the stairs after me.  I stopped and turned to look.  It
was Manny. 

"Annie," he said, sounding somewhat out of breath.  "Annie, what's 
wrong?"

"I...I really can't tell you," I said.  I didn't want to tell him
about Sister Katherine and I.

"C'mon, Annie," he said, moving closer, wrapping his hands around my
waist.

"It's not you, Manny," I said, leaning my head on his shoulder. 
Sharing an embrace in the hallway was sort of dangerous, but I
needed the closeness.

"Father Ken?  Did he...?"

"No, no, it's nothing like that," I said, kissing him on the chin. 
"I'm okay, really."

"You sure?"

"I'm okay," I repeated.  "Maybe I'll see you later."  I kissed him 
again, this time on the lips, and pulled away from his arms, heading
up to my room.  Normally, I'd be eager to crawl into bed with Manny,
but I needed to be alone for a while, to write in my journal and
sort out my feelings.

I did just that, filling two pages in my notebook.  It felt good to 
write it all down, almost cathartic.  Afterwards, I smoked some of
my pot and took my last Valium.  I'd have to get some more from
Father Ken.  In a pleasant haze, I lay on my bed and thought about
Sister Katherine, imagining her in a full-length black nuns' habit
instead of the utilitarian grey dress and wimple she always wore,
making the sign of the cross and then embracing me, drawing me into
the deep folds of her long garment, enveloping me, pulling me
inside.  I imagined her naked underneath, our breasts pressing
together, her soft lips on mine. 

I snapped out of my reverie, put my shoes back on, and went
downstairs.  The boys were all watching sports in the common room. 
I walked past them and stood in front of Sister Katherine's door,
hesitating just as I was about to knock.  A muffled cry came from
behind the door, something between pain and pleasure.  The bed
squeaked once and then there was silence.  I was about to leave when
I heard another sound, a painful moan.  I knocked on the door, once,
then twice. 

"Hold on," I heard a voice call out.  "Who is it?"

"Sister?  It's Annie," I said.  "I can come back later if..."

The door opened.  Sister Katherine stood there, her hair a mess, one
hand inside her bathrobe and the other crossed over her breasts,
holding the robe closed.  She had a pained expression on her face
and her cheeks were drained of color.

"Sister!  What happened?  What's wrong?" I asked, closing the door 
behind me.  I took her by the arm and led her back to her bed.  She
sat down slowly, her robe opening as she settled on to the edge of
the bed.  Sister Katherine was holding a bloody wad of tissues
between her legs. 

"Your period?" I asked, putting my hand on her forehead to see if
she had a fever.  That whole toxic shock syndrome thing had been in
the news a year or so earlier, and that was the first thing that
came to my mind.  Her skin was cool, almost clammy.

"No, no...I...I tried to...," she stammered, looking over at
something in the middle of her bed.  It was a container of
deodorant, the kind that came in a long, round pump dispenser that
sort of looked like a vibrator or something.  The brand had a cutesy
name like "Tingle", and it sort of made you wonder exactly what they
were selling.  The pearlescent plastic container had a streak of
fresh blood on the bulbous cap.

"I tried to do...what you did this afternoon...with that...thing," 
Sister Katherine said, her tears flowing now.  I held her in my
arms, rocking her like I rocked Chris when he cried, kissing the
salty trails that crossed her cheeks.  Reaching for more tissues, I
gently dried her eyes and kissed her.

"It hurts?"

"Yes," she whispered.  She reached for the box of tissues, pulling
out about a dozen and wadding them up, replacing the blood-soaked
tissues between her legs.

"I'll be right back," I said, giving her another kiss before heading
upstairs to my room.  I grabbed my last Dilaudid and stopped off in
the bathroom to get a towel and a wet washcloth before returning to
Sister Katherine's room.  She was lying on her back, still holding
the wad of tissues to her bleeding sex.  I put down the towel and
washcloth and broke the pill in half with my thumbnail, giving her
one of the pieces. 

"Take this," I said.  "You'll feel better."

"What is it?" she asked.

"Just a painkiller.  Just half.  Take it," I urged.  She accepted
the piece from me and washed it down with a sip of water.  As she
lay back on the bed and closed her eyes, I took the other half,
washing it down with just my own saliva.  Then I sat next to her on
the bed and gently pulled her hand from between her legs.

"Let me see," I whispered.  "How bad is it?"  The bleeding from her
torn hymen had stopped, but her labia and pubic hair were matted
with blood.  I gently cleaned her with the wet washcloth and dried
her with the towel.  The pill must have just started to kick in, and
by the time I was finished cleaning her bloody pussy her pained
expression had vanished, replaced by a faint smile.  I scooted up in
bed and lay next to her, kissing her cheek and watching the color
return to her face. 

"Still hurt?" I asked her.

"No, it's nice now," she said.  "Good pill."  Sister Katherine
sounded almost drunk.  She looked to me like the type of person who
never drank or took a drug in her life.  That half of a Dilaudid
must have hit her hard.

"That look on your face," she said.  "I wanted to feel that.  Would
you use it on me?  That thing?"  She still couldn't say the word
"vibrator". 

"Not now, not tonight," I said.  "Let it heal.  A few days."

"I was compulsive when I was younger," Sister Katherine confessed. 
"I masturbated all the time, everywhere, even in public.  It
embarrassed my family so.  Sometimes I wonder if that's why my
button is so big." 

I lay down next to her, gently rubbing her tummy, listening to her
talk about her childhood, her adolescence, her years in the
seminary.  Sister Katherine's speech began to get slower, her
sentenced began to trail off into just phrases, fragments, words.

"Make love...Annie...kiss," she whispered, looking up at me, her
eyes welling up with tears again.  I kissed her soft lips, her lazy
tongue meeting mine as my hand roamed up from her belly, cupping her
small breasts.  She began to softly moan as I brought one of her
nipples to my lips, gently circling it with my tongue, making it
stiffen and crinkle. 

"Annie...love...I love...," she moaned, as my lips traveled lower,
over her belly and stopping at the top of her unruly bush.  I looked
up at her for a moment.  She looked back at me and nodded, her
fingers trailing through my hair, a look of hunger in her
heavily-lidded eyes.  I pulled the towel away from her sex and
parted her thighs, kissing one and then the other as I curled
between them. 

"Annie...this afternoon...I'm sorry...so sorry," Sister Katherine 
whispered.

"Shhh...," I replied, kissing her sex, dipping my tongue between her
labia.  The iron taste of blood lingered within her cleft, a
reminder of a hurt that pills and wet washcloths couldn't banish. 
With my soft, wet, warm tongue, I began to wash away her pain.

"Annie...I...ungh!"  Sister Katherine winced just as my tongue made 
contact with her swollen clit, her body tensing and her pelvis
twisting as I touched her sensitive button.

"Did that hurt?" I asked.

"No, no, keep going," she said, emerging from her haze for a moment
only to retreat again, her body and limbs relaxing once more, a deep
sigh passing her lips.  I licked a circle around her clit, brushing
against the underside with my tongue, making her shudder anew.  As I
ravished her tender bud, Sister Katherine began to breathe heavily,
her hands slowly moving to her breasts, touching them as if for the
first time, kneading, squeezing.  I sucked my lips around her clit
as if it was the tip of a little cock, lashing it with my tongue,
making her gasp, tense, relax, tense, gasp again, and finally cry
out, a low, keening moan as her bottom rose off of the bed.  Her
thighs quivered as she pressed against my lips, urging me to help
her climb her summit of pleasure.  I cupped her bottom in my hands
and assaulted her sex with lips and tongue until she could take no
more. 

"Annie..." she gasped as she settled back on the bed.  "Annie..."

"Shhh..." I whispered, giving her pussy a last tender kiss and 
withdrawing from between her thighs.  "Close your eyes..."  I laid
down next to her, pulling her blanket up and over her, tucking her
in as I kissed her cool forehead.

"Annie..." she said, closing her eyes.  I snuggled up against her
and listened to her breathing get slower and slower until she was
asleep. 

Before I left her, I cleaned the blood off of the bullet-shaped 
deodorant container.  It was about the length and girth of Ramon's
cock, smooth and cold where his had been veiny and warm.  I thought
about taking it upstairs with me, wondering whether I'd feel him
inside me again.  Then I changed my mind, put it down, and had one
last look at Sister Katherine before I left.

I didn't want to feel a cold plastic phallus inside me.  I knew
where I could get the real thing.  Quietly closing the door behind
me, I headed upstairs, back to my room, where I put in my diaphragm
before heading back downstairs to the common room.

Manny was sitting with a couple of other boys his age, sipping soda
pop and watching the Celtics play ball on television.  I sat down
next to him and took a sip from his can.

"You okay?" he whispered.  A priest I'd never seen before, seated
across the room, looked over at us and scowled.

"Yeah.  I'm fine," I whispered back.  "Could we get out of here?"

"Where?"

"Anywhere.  Your room?"

"I dunno," he said.  "Father Kevin's been looking at me all night." 
He made a subtle gesture across the room towards the priest, who
glanced over again.  Manny and I sat together, side by side but
barely touching, and watched the game.  I wanted to feel his arm
around me, but there was no way we could do that right here.

During a time out, when the station cut from the game to a
commercial, Father Kevin got up and headed in the direction of the
bathroom.  I looked over at Manny.

"Let's go," he said.  We hustled out of the common room and went 
upstairs, heading for his room.  Once inside, we immediately shed
all of our clothes and jumped into bed, holding each other while our
lips met.  I reached for Manny's hardness, stroking it, aching to
feel him inside me.  Dispensing with foreplay, I rolled over on my
back and pulled Manny on top of me, parting my thighs and guiding
his beautiful cock towards my lips.

There was a sharp knocking at the door.  We froze.

"Manny?  Manny?  Are you in there?" came a voice from outside.

"Oh, shit.  It's Father Kevin," Manny hissed.

"What are we going to do?" I whispered.  My heart was pounding, a 
thumping that seemed to block out all other sounds.

"Hide!" Manny said.  "Hide under the bed.  Quick."  He rolled off of
me. 

"Manny?  Are you okay?" Father Kevin called out.  As the doorknob
began to turn, I scooted off of the bed, gathering my clothes from
the floor and sliding underneath the bed frame, pressing against the
far wall and trying to look like a dustbunny.  I could see the door
opening, black shoes and black trousers coming closer to the bed.

"Manny?  Are you all right?" Father Kevin asked again.

"I'm okay," he replied.  "Just a bit of a stomach ache.  I thought
I'd lie down for a while."  The bedsprings creaked above me as
Father Kevin sat down on the edge of the bed, making it sag
ominously.  It was then that I noticed my panties, still where I'd
left them, in the middle of the floor next to Manny's shirt and
trousers. 

"Let me feel your forehead," Father Kevin said.  The bed sagged in a
new direction, nearly crushing me.  "You feel cool.  Your stomach,
you say?" 

"Yes, Father."

"Let me rub it for you," the priest said.  I could hear the rustle
of blankets and the bed began to creak in a regular pattern as
Father Kevin caressed Manny's belly.  "That feel better?"

"Yes, Father," Manny replied in a flat voice.  Then the creaking 
stopped.

"Manny?  What's that on the floor?"

"What's what?"

"These," Father Kevin said.  From under the bed, I could see him
lean forward and scoop my cotton panties up from the floor with his
finger.  "Are these yours?

"Um...yeah...," Manny said.  "Mine."  I could hear the blanket being
pulled away.

"Put them on," Father Kevin commanded.  The bed moved above me and I
heard the snap of elastic as Manny pulled them up over his hips, 
probably stretching them out for good.  Father Kevin sat down on the
bed again.

"Do you like wearing these?" he asked.

"Yeah," Manny said, sheepishly.  The bed began to rock slightly.

"Does that feel good?" the priest asked.

"Mmm."

The rocking went on for a while and then Father Kevin stood up.  I
heard the clink of a belt buckle and the buzz of a zipper, and then
his trousers pooled around his feet as he stood facing the bed.  No
words were exchanged.  It seemed that Manny knew what he was
supposed to do.  I heard lips smacking, slurping over something. 
Father Kevin began to rock on his feet.

I closed my eyes and wished I could have blocked my ears.  I didn't
have to see to know what was taking place.  Every so often, Father
Kevin would grunt and the bed would begin to rock harder as his legs
hit the mattress with each thrust into Manny's mouth.  And as
quickly as it started, it stopped, with a grunt and a slurp, Manny's
wet coughing making the bed squeak again.

There were no more words.  Father Kevin reached down and pulled his 
trousers back up, fastened them, and left.  As his steps receded
down the hall, I slid out from under the bed.

Manny was lying with his face to the wall, half-curled, still
wearing my panties, silent.  I climbed back into bed and snuggled up
to him, putting my arms around him and kissing the nape of his neck.

"Manny, I'm sorry," I whispered.  "The panties..."  He didn't reply;
he just shrugged his shoulders.

"Manny...Manny..."  I tried to get him to roll over, but he
resisted. 

"Manny.  Talk to me," I pleaded.  He rolled over, his eyes moist
with tears.  I hugged him again, kissed him on his forehead, his
chin, his nose.  When I tried to kiss him on the lips, he turned his
head away. 

"You'll taste him," he whispered.  "On my mouth..."

"I don't care.  Kiss me."  He was right.  I could taste Father
Kevin's spunk on his lips, but that didn't stop me.  I wanted him to
taste me instead.  I licked his lips and sucked his tongue like a
cock.  His hard cock pressed against my thigh, and I reached down to
stroke it through the panties.

"They do feel good, don't they?" I cooed, squeezing his
cotton-covered balls.  Manny finally smiled and chuckled, rolling on
his back and quickly pulling the panties off.

"Fuck these," he laughed, playfully throwing them at me.

"Quick thinking back there," I said.  "It could have been worse.  He
could have looked under the bed."

"Yeah, that would have sucked.  You owe me one, though."

"You'll get what you want," I said, tugging at his shoulder and
pulling him on top of me.  I reached for his hardness, gently
stroking it and guiding it between my legs.

"Where were we?" I said.  "Oh, right."  I pressed the tip of his
cock between my lips, feeling it sink into me.  Manny hovered over
me, supporting his weight on his elbows and knees, finally settling
on top of me as his shaft disappeared between my legs.

"Sweet pussy," he whispered as he started to thrust.

"Nice and slow," I cooed.  "Make it last."  Manny pulled the covers
over us and we began to couple, slowly, quietly, stopping each time
the bed made too much noise.  The danger of the situation compounded
the delicious friction I felt as his shaft slid in and out of my
sex.  I ran my hands over his back, his bottom, feeling his muscles
tense and relax beneath his smooth skin.  When I came it was like
torture to keep from crying out.  Manny locked his lips against mine
when I began to moan, holding me tightly in his arms as his hips
rocked and rotated, slowly pumping my hungry pussy with his manhood.
 As the waves of pleasure receded, it was his turn to come, his
lovely cock spasming inside me as I clenched around it, twitching
with every spurt of semen.  I wrapped my limbs around him, wanting
him to stay inside me forever. 

Eventually, he slipped out and rolled off of me.  Manny reached
across me to turn out the light.

"Thank you," I whispered, snuggling up against him.

"Annie..." he started to say.  Then he kissed me.

"Thank you," he whispered.


                                  * * *


He was having a nightmare.  That's what woke me up.  

It took a moment for me to remember where I was.  Manny's bed, 
moonlight, clothes on the floor, Manny grunting something in his
sleep, a tension in his shoulders.  I wondered what he was dreaming
about, what imaginary peril he was in.  Perhaps it was Father Kevin,
whose earlier visit had interrupted our lovemaking.

Manny had an alarm clock, a rare luxury in a place where none of the
doors had locks, not even the bathroom.  It was only 2AM.  I thought
about just going back to sleep in Manny's bed, but his room was more
centrally located than mine, and someone could easily notice me
leaving in the morning.  I gathered my clothes from the floor and
got dressed, giving Manny a gentle kiss before slipping out of the
room and back to my own.

Sunday was a frigid day, an icy wind whipping through our clothes as
we were marched to the cathedral for Mass.  It was cold inside, too,
and I sat in a pew, huddled in my coat, as I watched the congregants
take communion.  Sister Katherine was with us, and I tried to catch
her eye but couldn't.  It wasn't until afterwards, when we were
walking back to the shelter that I could even get near her.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"Yes," she whispered.  And that was it.  When we reached the
shelter, she disappeared into the kitchen to prepare Sunday supper. 
I went up to my room to hang up my coat and ran into Billy in the
hallway. 

"Hey, I got some more hash.  Wanna smoke after supper?" he asked.

"Yeah, that would be great," I said.  We agreed to meet in my room
after we ate supper.

I was sitting between Billy and Manny, having just finished my meal,
when Father Ken approached and leaned over to whisper something to
me. 

"Annie, could I see you in my office when you're done," he said.

"Yes, Father," I said.  I looked over at Billy; he seemed
disappointed. 

"I'll come by later," I whispered to him before getting up from the 
table.  I bussed my tray and headed upstairs.  Something in Father
Ken's voice made me think that I should put in my diaphragm.

I knocked on the door to Father Ken's office, hearing him beckon me 
inside.  He was seated behind his desk, sipping a drink.  Seated in
one of the chairs across from him was an older man in a blue suit,
maybe in his fifties, greyish hair that used to be red at some
distant time in history.  He turned in his chair, making the ice in
his drink rattle as he watched me enter the room and sit down in the
chair next to him. 

"Anne, this is Mr. O'Hare.  Fred, Anne," Father Ken said,
introducing us.  Fred extended his hand and I took it.  "Mr. O'Hare
is one of the shelter's most generous donors, Anne."

"Pleased to meet you," I said.

"The pleasure is mine," he replied, settling back into his seat and 
taking a sip of his drink.

"Would you like something, Anne?" Father Ken asked.  I wanted a
Valium more than anything at that moment, but I couldn't ask for it
in front of this stranger.

"Something to drink, please," I said.  Father Ken smiled and reached
into the mini-fridge next to his desk for a soda.  He opened it and 
poured some into the glass he'd been drinking from, the glass that
had about an inch of bourbon in it.  He passed it to me and pulled
another glass from his desk, into which he poured some more bourbon
for himself.  I took a sip of the potent drink he'd mixed for me and
began to relax. 

"Mr. O'Hare has a proposition for you, Anne.  He's offering to
sponsor your First Communion.  You can become a member of the
Church," Father Ken said.  I looked over at Mr. O'Hare and he smiled
at me. 

"I...I don't know what to say," I said.  "Thank you, I guess."  I
had only a vague idea of what First Communion was.  The first step
to becoming a nun?

"You do want to join the Church," Mr. O'Hare said.

"I guess so," I said.  I'd never met this person before, and I began
to wonder what he wanted in return.

"Would you like to take some time and think it over, Anne?" Father
Ken asked.

"Yes, I would, thank you," I said.

"Would you like to see your dress?" Mr. O'Hare said, pointing to a
small round table that graced the corner of Father Ken's office, a
table like a sidewalk cafe would have, with two wooden chairs on
either side, something Father Ken used when he counseled his
charges, a more intimate setting than across a wooden desk.  There
were two boxes, large and small, and a shopping bag bearing the
brand of a small dress shop in Dorchester.

"Dress?" I asked.

"Communion dress," Mr. O'Hare said.  "A lovely one.  Take a peek." 
I took another sip of my drink and placed it on Father Ken's desk
before getting up to look at the clothing this strange man had
brought.  I poked through the shopping bag first: a lace-trimmed
full slip, a bra, a package of tights, lace-edged white socks, and a
pair of white satin panties with ruffles on the front and back,
something that a six-year- old might wear to a party or some other
special occasion.  Then I opened the small box.  Inside, wrapped in
tissue, was a pair of black patent leather maryjanes.  I put the
shoes aside and opened the big box, folding back the petals of
wrapping paper. 

The dress was a lacy white number, satin and crinoline, puffy
sleeves, decorated with faux pearls.  I held it up against my body;
it looked to be close to my size, just a bit small.

"I had it handmade for you," Mr. O'Hare said.  "Father Ken gave me
your size."

Father Ken hardly knew my size, having guessed at it when he bought
me that trashy lingerie.  Still holding the dress against me, I
turned to model it for Mr. O'Hare.

"You look lovely," he said.  It looked ridiculous, like something a
doll would wear.  If I had been on the fence about taking communion,
the thought of being seen in public in this awful dress decided the
matter for good.

"Thank you," I said, turning to put away the dress.

"Try it on, Anne," Father Ken said.  "Let's see how you look."

"Try it on?" I asked.  In front of Mr. O'Hare?

"Yes, try it on," Father Ken said, sitting back in his chair and
taking another sip of his drink.  The look in his eyes all but said
"...and put on a little show for us."

"Yes, Father," I said, putting the dress down so I could take off my
clothes.  Unbuttoning my blouse and stepping out of my skirt, I
picked up the dress and unzipped the back.

"Anne, try on all the things Mr. O'Hare has brought," Father Ken
said, just as I was about to step into the dress.

"All of it?" I asked.

"Yes, all of it," he replied.  I put the dress down again and opened
up the shopping bag, first pulling out the lacy little bra.  It was
a size too small, but I struggled it on, feeling it constrict my
chest as I closed the front clasp.  As Father Ken and Mr. O'Hare
watched, I pulled off my cotton panties and put on the ruffled pair,
pulling them up my thighs and straightening up.  I could see Mr.
O'Hare squeezing his crotch as he watched me, his pale blue eyes
fixed on an area between my neck and my knees.

He broke off his stare when I pulled the slip over my head,
adjusting the straps as the hem settled around my thighs.  I
examined the package of opaque white tights.  They were much too
small; I would have torn them to shreds just trying to put them on. 
I put them aside and sat down to don the lacy ankle socks.  These
were nearly as frilly as the white dress.

After I stepped into the dress and put on the maryjanes, I walked
over to Mr. O'Hare and turned around.

"Could you zip me up, please?" I asked him.  I felt a trembling hand
tug at the zipper and then another hand in the small of my back to
keep the dress from riding up.  The dress was tight around my waist
and chest, and the lacy hem of my slip peeked out from under the
crinoline froth. 

"How's that fit?" Mr. O'Hare asked.  I turned around and saw that
his hands were back in his lap, discreetly squeezing his bulge.

"It's a little small, sir," I said.

"You can have that altered, right Fred?" Father Ken said.

"Of course," he replied.  "It's handmade.  Friend of my wife's."

"Anne, you should thank Fred for his generous gift," Father Ken
said. 

"Thank you, sir," I said.

"You're welcome, missy," Mr. O'Hare replied.  "Ken?" he asked the 
priest, who was taking a sip of his drink.

"Right.  Anne?" Father Ken said, tilting his head in the direction
of his guest.

"Yes, Father?"

"Thank him," he said, tilting his head again, a subtle gesture that
took a moment to sink in.  I looked at Mr. O'Hare.  He uncrossed his
legs and unzipped his trousers.  Thank him.

"Yes, Father," I said, hiking up the dress and kneeling between Mr. 
O'Hare's legs.  He was a big man, stocky but tall, even sitting
down.  He pulled his tie out of the way, giving me access to his
belt buckle and zipper.  I undid his pants, reaching into his boxers
to fish out his hardness.  He was a big man down there, too, bigger
than just about anyone I'd ever seen, and he wasn't even fully hard
yet.  As I began to slide his foreskin up and down over his shaft,
he stiffened, his bulbous purple glans swelling to the size of a
small plum. 

Mr. O'Hare looked down at me with an expression of anticipation, as
if this was the first time he'd ever had his cock sucked.  His grin
widened when my lips made contact with his organ, my tongue swirling
over his fat cockhead, my hands sliding down his shaft, pulling his
foreskin taut.  I had to open my mouth as wide as I could to
accommodate him, and there was so much of his flesh in my mouth that
I could hardly use my tongue.  My lips sunk lower and lower on his
fat penis until I could take no more; fully two thirds remained.

As I began to suck his swollen tool, Mr. O'Hare's hands tightened
around the armrests of the chair, his big thighs tensing up every
time my head bobbed in his lap.  My fingers danced around his shaft,
pleasuring the parts of him my mouth could not reach.  I closed my
eyes and listened to the sound of his heavy breathing, a tie being
loosened, a collar button undone, the clink of ice in a glass.

Mr. O'Hare leaned over and unzipped the back of my dress as I sucked
him.  The tightness in my chest subsided a bit and I could breathe 
deeply again.

"Let's get this off so we don't make a mess," he said, tugging at
one of the puffy cap sleeves.  I released his cock from my mouth
with a loud "slurp" and stood up, shrugging the dress from my
shoulders and stepping out of it.  I carefully folded it and
replaced it in the box. 

"The slip, too," Father Ken said.  I could tell by the motion of his
hand under the desk that he was stroking himself as he watched me
suck his guest's penis.  I pulled the nylon slip over my head and
folded it as well, and then removed the lacy bra, returning to my
spot between Mr. O'Hare's legs dressed only in the ruffled panties,
shoes and socks. 

As I took his cock in my mouth again, Mr. O'Hare reached down to
feel my breasts, cupping them with his huge hands, fat thumbs
flicking my nipples.  I wondered if he was going to want to fuck me
as well, and whether I'd be able to take this big organ inside me. 
It was just then that Mr. O'Hare began to come, without warning, no
grunt, no words, not even a twitch until after he began filling my
mouth with his hot semen.  It seemed to go on forever, thick ropy
jets of sperm shooting from his fat cockhead.  I swallowed,
suppressed a cough, swallowed some more, and had to pull his cock
from my mouth to keep from choking on his load.  A thick stream of
cum began to drip down his pole, but I managed to lick it up before
it could stain the front of his trousers. 

"Very good, very good," Mr. O'Hare said, letting out a deep,
contented sigh and taking a sip of his drink.  "My wife never does
this." 

"Anne is a good girl," Father Ken said, pouring another inch of
bourbon into his glass.

"Yes, a good girl," Mr. O'Hare agreed.

"Would you like some privacy now?" Father Ken asked.

"No, no, that won't be necessary," Mr. O'Hare said.  He pulled me up
from between his legs and on to his lap, spreading my legs with his
so I ended up straddling him, the crotch of my ruffled panties
rubbing against his now-flaccid penis.  I felt it stir against my
cleft, and I knew that he wasn't going to settle for just a blowjob.
 Mr. O'Hare held my ruffled bottom in his big hands, squeezing my
cheeks and pressing my crotch against his organ.  He held me like
that for a while, my head resting on his broad shoulder, my arms
wrapped around his neck, while he sipped his drink and made small
talk with Father Ken.  As they discussed the previous year's
donations and certain items in the upcoming budget, I felt Mr.
O'Hare's cock begin to harden again, slowly, steadily, twitching
slightly every time he squeezed my buns. 

"Are you sure you wouldn't prefer to be alone?" Father Ken asked
again, seeing Mr. O'Hare rhythmically squeezing my bottom and
pressing my crotch against his.

"Thanks but no," Mr. O'Hare said.  "I'd like it if you watched. 
Join in, even.  I'm not going to be using all of her holes at once."
 I lifted my head from his shoulder and looked at him when I heard
that last part.  He gave my bottom another squeeze and smiled at me.
 "Ready, missy?" he asked.

"Clear off your desk, willya Ken?" he said even before I could
answer him.  As Father Ken moved papers and folders to the side, Mr.
O'Hare stood up, still holding me by the bottom, and sat me down on
the edge of the desk.

"Lie back, missy," Mr. O'Hare said.  As I lay back on the desk, my
legs dangling over the edge, he removed his suit jacket and laid it
on his chair, undid his tie, unbuttoned his shirt, and let his
trousers fall around his ankles.  After taking a sip of his drink,
he reached for the waistband of my ruffled panties, tugging at them.
 I lifted my bottom slightly and he pulled them down my thighs, all
the way down to my ankles.  His cock was fully hard now, still moist
from my lips. 

"Take her arms, Ken," Mr. O'Hare said as he pulled my thighs apart. 
Father Ken stood up, his semi-hard cock dangling from his fly, and 
pulled my arms back, holding my wrists.  His penis was only inches
away from my face.  I turned my attention back to Mr. O'Hare, who
grabbed my thighs and pulled my sex closer to his hardness, rubbing
his shaft over my hairless cleft.  I wanted to spread my legs wider
to accommodate him, but the panties kept my ankles together,
pressing my inner thighs against Mr. O'Hare's legs.

Mr. O'Hare guided the bulbous tip of his cock between my lips,
pressing inward until his glans penetrated my slit.  I winced and
tried to move away; I just wasn't wet enough and it really hurt, but
I bit my lips and tried not to cry or scream.

"Does that hurt?" Father Ken asked.  I nodded.  But rather than stop
his guest from going any further, Father Ken reached into his desk
and pulled out a tube of lubricant, handing it to Mr. O'Hare, who
squirted some on his shaft and over my labia.  He spread it over his
cock and used his glans to spread the lube that was dripping down my
cleft, and then he tried to enter me again, forcing the tip of his
penis inside my slit.  He gripped my thighs with his strong hands as
he pushed his thick shaft into my sex.  It still hurt, but not as
much as before. 

As Mr. O'Hare began to thrust, slowly pulling his huge member out
and pushing it back in, I felt Father Ken relax his hold on one of
my wrists.  I heard him stroke himself a couple of times, and then
he moved closer and laid his hard cock on my face with the bottom of
his glans resting on my lips.  He took my wrist in his hand again
and looked down at me with an expectant expression.  I knew what he
wanted, and I parted my lips and began to lick the underside of his
cock as he watched his guest try to split me in half with his penis.

With my arms and legs restrained, I could barely move, not even my
hips.  My poor little pussy stretched to accommodate Mr. O'Hare's
big tool, and once I got past the initial pain I had to admit that
it wasn't all that unpleasant, though I'd have enjoyed it more if I
was a little wetter; Mr. O'Hare didn't seem to appreciate the value
of foreplay.  Then again, he probably saw me as a whore, communion
dress or no communion dress.  Whores are supposed to be ready,
always. 

Mr. O'Hare began to fuck me harder, faster, moving my body back and 
forth over Father Ken's desk as he plugged me with his thick cock.  
Father Ken's desk blotter slid under me as the tall man pumped my
pussy, making the priest's cock slide up and down across my lips.  I
merely had to stick out my tongue to lick his shaft.  Then Father
Ken moved slightly to the side and a bit closer, angling his cock
into my mouth.  I took him between my lips and tried to lift my head
from the desk to suck him, but all I could do was swirl my tongue
over his glans, tasting a drip of precum that had formed on the tip.

Father Ken began to move his hips, rhythmically pushing his cock in
and out of my mouth.  I tightened my lips around his shaft and
sucked him as Mr. O'Hare pounded my pussy.  Two hard cocks,
assaulting me from both ends, two sets of hands restraining me,
holding me down on top of the desk.  I kept telling myself that
Father Ken would never let this man hurt me, that he liked his sex a
little rough.  I didn't mind it a little rough.  I liked it when
Brad fucked me like an animal during that weekend he stayed with me
and Julia last summer.  I loved it when he held my arms behind my
back and plowed my pussy from behind.  But this was a more than a
little rough sex, especially when Mr. O'Hare went deep, almost
hitting my diaphragm and stretching my cunny even wider with his
root.  I almost bit Father Ken's hard cock, and I had to tighten my
lips around it even more to keep from scratching him with my teeth.

"Ease up, Fred.  She's still a little girl," Father Ken said.  He
let go of one of my wrists and began to caress my cheek, still
rocking his hips back and forth and fucking my face.  Mr. O'Hare
pulled back, just using the tip of his cock to pump my little pussy.

"She's a tight one, Ken," he said.  "What a fine little whore you
have here."

I felt my cheeks redden when he called me a whore.  Even though the 
bulbous head of Mr. O'Hare's cock was beginning to feel pretty good
as it rubbed across that sensitive spot in my cunny, all of the
enjoyment drained out of me like an unstopped bathtub.  I just lay
there, passively, letting the two men use my body for their
pleasure. 

This time I felt Mr. O'Hare's cock twitch before he came, right
after he let out a satisfied groan.  He spurted once inside me and
then immediately pulled out of my pussy, yanking his big tool as he
spread the rest of his seed over my belly and thighs.

"Shit, I came inside her a little," he said, giving his prick a last
long stroke before reaching for his drink.

"Don't worry about it," Father Ken said.  "It's taken care of."

"It is?  Good, because I can't afford another problem like that last
girl," Mr. O'Hare said.  "Cost me a pretty penny."  He stuffed his 
softening cock back inside me, just letting it rest in my aching
pussy.  "You like that, missy?" he asked me.  I couldn't answer: my
mouth was still full of Father Ken's cock.

As Mr. O'Hare's sticky semen dried on my skin, Father Ken gave his
penis one last thrust and pulled it from my mouth.  He began to jerk
off, short, quick strokes like that first night he "examined" me on
his bed.  He gasped softly and began to spurt all over my breasts
and down my belly.  I could feel a rope of his hot sperm crossing a
trail of Mr. O'Hare's cooling cum.

"Another drink, Fred?"  Father Ken asked, reaching down to pull his 
trousers back up.

"Sure," Mr. O'Hare said, stepping back and pulling his soft cock
from my pussy.  I felt a bit of his first squirt begin to drip out
of my tender slit.  I wanted to reach down and feel it, maybe see if
I was bleeding, but I just lay there on the desk while Father Ken
poured another round for himself and his guest.  They continued
talking as if I wasn't there. 

"Wish I had more time," Mr. O'Hare said.  "I sure would love to have
that tight ass.  The wife's waiting for me, though."  I heard the
sound of clothes rustling, a zipper, a belt, a coat.

"Maybe you could take her for a weekend," Father Ken said.  "Up to
your house on the lake."

"You're really digging for another contribution, eh Ken?" Mr. O'Hare
said with a hearty laugh.

"I do what I can, Fred," Father Ken said.  "For the kids," he added.

"Let me think about it, how I can keep it hush hush," Mr. O'Hare
said.  "I'd love to have her for a whole long weekend."

"Well, let me know," Father Ken said.  "She's not going anywhere."

"Thanks, Ken.  I'll give you a call."  I heard the clink of glass as
Mr. O'Hare drained his drink, and then the slap of palms as he shook
Father Ken's hand.  And then he was out the door, the box with the
dress under his arm, heavy footsteps receding down the hallway.  I
laid my head back on the desk, staring at the water stains on the
ceiling tiles.  I heard Father Ken walking into his bedroom and then
he returned with a towel, which he tossed on to my belly.

"Clean up," he said.  I wiped the cooling sperm from my breasts,
belly, and thighs, and then gently blotted my pussy.  Father Ken
could see me wince at the slight pain.

"Still hurt?" he asked.  I nodded my head and began to sit up.

"Stay there.  Let me look at it," Father Ken said, pulling up a
chair and sitting down by my feet.  He leaned forward, between my
thighs, pulling apart my lips with two fingers.  I could feel his
warm breath on my sex.  I thought he was about to lick me, like he'd
done after Father Steve fucked me, scooping up the semen with his
tongue and spreading it over my clit.  But he just pulled his
fingers away and stood up, walking behind his desk and opening a
drawer.  I sat up on his desk, sliding off the edge and stepping out
of the ruffled panties.  As I hunted through my own clothes for my
plain cotton panties I could hear Father Ken opening prescription
pill bottles, tapping a few pills from each into an empty vial.  I
pulled my panties up and went back over to the desk. 

"Here, take one if it still hurts," he said, handing me a small
orange vial.  The prescription label had been partially torn off.  I
looked inside; there was an assortment of pills, Valium, Dilaudid,
and a something I didn't recognize.

"What are the little pink ones?" I asked.

"Something to help you sleep," Father Ken replied, sitting back in
his chair.  I tapped out a Dilaudid and washed it down with the
drink he'd poured me earlier, bourbon and coke, now flat.

"Father?"

"Yes, Anne?"

"I have a favor to ask," I said, putting my blouse and skirt back on
and folding up the underthings that Mr. O'Hare had bought for me. 
The dress had left with him, to be let out by the seamstress who
made it. 

"What would that be, Anne?" he said.

"Sister Katherine told me that I have to start wearing a bra all the
time," I said.  After what happened the night before I couldn't be
sure that she was serious, but I couldn't be sure she wasn't.

"That sounds like a good idea," Father Ken said.

"Well, I only have one.  I can't wear it every day, so I need a few 
more," I said.  I'd only brought one with me when I left the foster
home in Maine.  "There were none in the donation pile."

"So you need some money?"

"Yes, and some time to shop."

"Okay, that's no problem," he said, reaching into his desk drawer
and pulling out a bulging envelope.  He pulled out a huge wad of
money and peeled off two hundred dollar bills.  "This enough?"

"Yes, Father.  Thank you, Father."  I took the money and stuffed it
into the pocket of my blouse.

"Keep whatever's left over," he said, smiling, taking another sip of
his drink.  "Oh, and Anne?"

"Yes, Father?"

"Get a few nice things," he said.  "You know what I mean."

"Yes, Father.  Thank you, Father," I repeated.  I started to leave.

"Anne?"

"Yes?"

"Those things fit you, right?" he said, pointing to the shoebox and 
shopping bag on the table in the far corner, the maryjanes and 
underthings that Mr. O'Hare had brought.

"Yes, Father."

"Take them with you, then."

"Yes, Father.  Thank you."  I grabbed them and half bowed as I left
his office.  When I was back in my room, I tossed them under the
bed, not wanting to look at them, much less wear them, especially
those ruffled panties and the lacy ankle socks.  Wearing them made
me feel like a six- year-old at a birthday party who soiled her
pretty dress with ice cream and had to spend the rest of the time in
just her frilly undies.  But I could tell that Mr. O'Hare liked
them, liked to see them on me, liked how they made me look like a
little girl.  He liked pulling them down my thighs; I thought he'd
drool when he did that. 

I stuffed the money Father Ken had given me in the place under the 
boxspring where I hid my pot and my vibrator.  I still had over a 
hundred left over from my trip to the gynecologist earlier that
week.  Pulling out my bag of pot, I grabbed my towel and my
toothbrush and left the room to take a bath and wait for the
Dilaudid to kick in.  As I was brushing my teeth and waiting for the
tub to fill, I remembered that I was supposed to hook up with Billy
before Father Ken had summoned me to his office.  I rinsed out my
mouth, spitting out the traces of Mr. O'Hare's semen that remained,
and left the bathroom, heading for Billy's room.

He was in his usual place, on the bed, doing the usual thing,
reading a comic book.  He looked up, surprised to see me.

"Hey, I'm sorry about earlier," I said.

"No sweat," he replied.  "Father Ken?"

"Yeah, him and another guy.  Take a bath with me, okay?"

"Sure," he said, putting the comic book aside and swinging his legs
off of the bed.

"Got some papers?" I asked.

"Yep."

"Good.  Bring them."  We headed upstairs to the bathroom; the tub
was just half full.  I jammed the end of my toothbrush between the
door and frame, giving us a bit of privacy.  While Billy stuffed a
wet towel under the door and rolled a couple of joints from my bag
of pot, I got undressed and checked the water temperature.  Nice and
warm.  I stepped into the tub, slowly lowering myself into the
water.  Billy saw me wince as I sat down.  I was still tender down
there. 

"Annie?  Are you okay?" he asked as he licked the rolling paper's 
adhesive edge and folded it over the fat joint he'd rolled.

"Yeah, just a little sore," I said.  He lit the end of the joint and
handed it to me.  "Thanks."

The Dilaudid was just taking effect and I tried not to let go of the
joint and drop it in the water.  Billy undressed and took the joint
from my hand, holding it between his lips as he eased into the
bathtub across from me.  The tub was just about full, so he shut off
the faucet.  My head rolled back as I leaned against the back of the
tub. 

"Annie?  You sure you're okay?"

"Yes, sweetie.  He was so big, it hurt.  But I took a pill."  Billy 
looked at me, a worried expression on his face, a look of almost 
brotherly concern.

"Shotgun," he said, leaning forward in the tub.  "Just breathe in." 
He took the joint from his mouth, reversing it so the lit end was
between his lips, and blew, sending a dense stream of smoke from the
damp end.  I sucked it in, thinking how much it looked like a stream
of semen as it disappeared between my lips.  Billy leaned back and
reversed the joint again, taking a big hit as I held the smoke in my
lungs. 

"Thanks," I said, exhaling just as he did, our breath forming a grey
cloud of smoke over the tub.  When we just about finished the joint,
Billy flicked the roach out the window.  I watched the orange dot 
disappear into the blackness of the alley.

I began to soap up my breasts, washing off the stick remnants of
semen that lingered on my chest, but my arms felt like lead.  Billy
leaned forward in the tub and took the soap from me, gently
lathering my breasts and belly.  I leaned forward so he could do my
back, and I noticed that his cock was stiffening as his hands roamed
over my slippery skin.  I reached out with soapy fingers and began
to stroke him.

"Annie, you don't have to...," he said.

"Billy, Billy, Billy.  You're so sweet," I murmured, wasted on the
pot and Dilaudid.  His penis hardened in my hands as I fondled it. 
Billy leaned back in the tub, having finished lathering my back, but
I kept both hands on his cock and balls, cupping his hairless nuts
as I stroked his smooth young boycock.  He leaned forward again to
rinse off my soapy breasts and belly, and his hips began to move,
sliding his penis in and out of my fingers.

"Ow!" I exclaimed, when Billy touched the top of my slit, hitting a
sore spot.

"I'm sorry," he said, pulling back and withdrawing his cock from my 
soapy hands.

"No, no, it's just a little sore," I said.  "Come back..."  I
reached for his cock and balls again, and he began to rock his hips,
his cock dancing between my fingers, his hands back on my breasts
again, gently rinsing them, letting the warm water cascade over my
little boobs, over my puffy nipples.  Billy cupped them lightly,
treasuring them, caressing them.  I felt his hips begin to shudder
and his cock start to twitch in my hands, and then he spurted a
single blob of semen.  It dripped off of the soapy tip of his
boycock and landed in the water.  He leaned back in the tub, pulling
his penis from my slippery hands, and let out a contented sigh.

We smoked the other joint and then got out of the tub when the water
began to cool, drying each other off and getting dressed.  Billy had
to help me a bit; my legs were rubbery from the narcotics and I was
a bit dizzy from the pot.  Billy looked out the door, making sure
the coast was clear before helping me back to my room across the
hall.  He sat me down on the bed and helped me get undressed again,
tucking me in under the blankets before turning to leave.

"Billy...wait...stay...," I said.  I wanted to hold him; I wanted
him to hold me, to take care of me, to kiss me before I fell asleep.
 I reached out for him.

"Are you sure?" Billy said, his freckled brow furrowed with concern.
 I think he was afraid of hurting me, touching a sore spot by
accident. 

"Please," I said, taking his hand and pulling him closer to the bed.
 He got undressed and crawled under the blankets next to me.  I
snuggled against his warm body, threading my hand between his waist
and the mattress to pull him close to me.

"Thanks," I whispered.  Billy kissed my forehead and laid his head
on the pillow next to mine, watching me as I fell asleep.


                                  * * * 
 

(c) 2003  Anais Ninja  anais_ninja@hotmail.com 
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/anais_ninja/index.html

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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