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Message-ID: <63532asstr$1443175802@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: RavensDrkGothic@aol.com
Full-name: RavensDrkGothic
Subject: {ASSM} A Sister's Visit Home
Lines: 639
Date: Fri, 25 Sep 2015 06:10:02 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d



 
  
 
A Sister's Visit Home
 
    
    The nostalgia strong as the  familiar sites blurr along the railroad 
tracks.  Slowly reciting the  names of each stop, moving quickly closer to 
home.  The New Hamburg Train  Station, the parking lot full of cars, belonging 
to commuters to the city of  New York.  A deep breath of regret as the train 
whistle blows as it  passes the various roads along the river, announcing 
it's passage.   Looking out the window, the stone quarry, then the marina and 
the slowing of  the train, passing the cemetary, the rows of new and old 
stones mixing.   Slowing more as it passes alongside of old building on the 
outskirts of  Poughkeepsie.  Mostly unused and decaying into ruin.  Then the 
sight  of the river again on the right, and the new Condos and Restaurant 
above to  the right.  The old and new mixing, a sort of death and  rebirth. 
    The train clicking clacking to a  stop, the train station much 
unchanged since the last visit.  A parking  deck and the old grimy steel structures 
and dirty brick depot.  Exiting  with the passengers unto the siding and 
then climbing slowly up the stairs to  the collonade and into the old musty 
terminal.  So unchanged through the  years.  Just a wide open room to pass 
through, the echo of the passengers  as they meet loved ones, reverberating off 
the gloomy walls.
    The bright sunlight as you exit the  doors making one blink.  A line of 
taxis waiting to take the passengers  to their destinations.  "Taxi 
sister?"  The very conservatively  dressed woman, waves off the drivers and moves 
in quick pace along the  street.  Feeling good to stretch her long legs after 
the long train  ride.  It is early yet in the afternoon and a nice bright 
sunny spring  day.  The sound of her low heels a steady beat as she strides 
to the  intersection.  Looking right, the gleam of the Hudson River, looking 
so  wide and majestic.  The passenger bridge and then the old railroad  
bridge, now a walkway across the river, both filled with different modes of  
traffic. Thinking to herself that she will walk it this trip.
    Looking down to her watch, and then  deciding that she has time.  Her 
brother won't be home from work for a  number of hours.  Turning left up the 
hill of Main Street.  Her  legs taking the incline quite easily, at least to 
begin with.  Walking is  like second nature and here there is not the 
bustle and noises and smells and  congestion of the City.  An occasional nod of a 
head to the people  she passes.  A small soft smile on her face.  Seeing 
the looks and  knowing that they wonder!  Feeling a bit winded as she reaches 
the hub of  Poughkeepsie.  The intersection of Main and Market Streets.   
Smiling.  Do all cities have these same streets?  At least the  smaller ones.  
Turning right and heading down Market, pass the Courthouse  and then the 
Bardovan Theater.  Remembering some shows that she saw their  as a kid.  Long 
ago it seems.  So long ago.  Feeling a little  tightness in her legs as she 
move from Market Street to South Avenue.   The Library a place to hide away 
and be whoever and whatever you wanted.   So many days and evening, buried 
in a book.  Being that person who  experienced so much, made a difference.   
Then passed the  Fountain.  Not rememberng what it was called the small 
triangular  park.  The water spurting into the air in all directions.  The  
slight breeze carrying the moisture in a gentle spray to her light grey skirt  
and vest.  Dotting it with small circles of moisture.  The drops  soothing on 
the now warm cheeks.  Cannons posted on each corner of the  park, from some 
past war. 
    Oh why does there have to be  violence, thinking how her thoughts have 
changed as she has aged.   Laughing to herself.  Aged!  Forty, well that is 
aged to the young  students she teaches.  Just coming of age, maturing into 
a world of such  strife and stress.  The slight breeze blowing a wisp of 
hair.   Tucking it back in place and flapping her arms slightly.  Feeling a bit 
 of moisture in the armpits of her blouse. 
    Walking a more leisurely pace south  and to the edge of the City.  The 
houses along the street, old and  large.  Some in disrepair and others 
looking new refurbished.    Stepping into a small maze of cross roads.  The sound 
of traffic louder  as the overpass of Route 9, whizzing with a continuous 
stream of cars.   Feeling a slight ache in her legs, as she spots the wrought 
iron fence.   Quickening her pace and then slowing quickly.  Remembering 
that in her  small bag was her only change of clothing.  Shifting the bag to 
her right  arm and stepping out again.  Wishing that she had had some place 
to leave  it temporarily. 
    The serenity of the view, the row  after row of stones, amongst the 
trees and neatly manicured lawns, calming her  as she walks up to the wrought 
iron gate.  Welcoming all to the Rural  Cemetary.  Maybe not most people's 
first choice; but it has been over a  year since she stood in here.  Wending 
her way past the gatehouse and  then down paths deeper into the quite 
landscape.  The roads paved and her  heels the only sound besides that of a bird 
call.  No one in sight as she  moves to an all too familiar part of this 
cemetery. 
    Walking over to an old water  fountain.  Depressing the metal button 
and almost surprised as a small  spray of water rises to her lowered lips.  
The water cool and  refreshing.  Wetting the warm dry lips.   Looking around,  
almost guiltily the woman reaches into her handbag and pulls out a small 
linen  handkerchief.  Dampening it with the water, again looking to see that 
no  one is in sight, she dabs at the opening of her blouse.  The moist water  
touching the small triangle of skin, exposed by the opening of her top  
button.  Then slowly undoing the next button.  And dabs at a wider  piece of 
bare flesh.  The deep breath of relief and then pushing back a  few wisps of 
damp hair, as she slowly moves the damp cloth over her  face.
    Pulling her blouse from her skirt  and lifting it to move some air 
underneath.  Then doing the same with her  skirt.  Lifting it and waving it to 
get some movement of air between her  legs.  Chastising herself for having 
walked quickly and worked up a  sweat.  No.  Not sweat.  Perspiration.  Ladies 
don't  sweat.  All the same, her blouse has dark  spots in her armpit  
area.  And she can feel the dampness around her waist and around the leg  holes 
of her panties.  Wishing that she had dressed differently; but she  had come 
straight from work with the early release.  Not wanting to miss  the train.
    Rearranging her attire.   Thinking how it could have been much, much 
worse.  What she would have  had to wear if she was a teacher when she was 
young.  Wishing she had a  mirror, how vain, but a mirror is nice.  From so 
many days of dressing,  and standing in front of her classes, her image deeper 
ingrained in her  mind. 
    The light gray skirt falling to  below her knees.  The crisp white 
button blouse, not tight, top  button open; but at least not much worry of her 
form distracting or  attracting the looks of others.  The matching gray vest. 
 buttoned  in front.  The pantyhose, like a hair shirt of old, so very  
uncomfortable.  However required. Black to match the low black  heels.  A white 
cotton brassiere.  Not a frill at all on it.   And smiling secretly, teal 
bikini panties.  Wondering what would happen  if anyone knew.  Another pair 
of non standard issue panties in her small  bag.  And completing the 
ensemble, a short gray veil, falling to the  middle of her back.  Not sure what 
annoyed most, the veil or the  pantyhose.  The heavy multi-layered habits of the 
past a thing of the  past, except for the die hards. 
    Reaching to her chest, fingers  touching the silver cross hanging in 
front of her blouse.  The tall dark  haired woman, standing as she wonders 
what decided her on this path.  A  quick refreshing sip of water and then 
walking bag in hand to the well known  stones.  Marking the graves of her 
parents, grandmother, uncles and  cousin.  All in close proximity.  Moving from one 
to another.   Kneeling, lifting her skirt, feeling the soft crush of the 
grass against her  knees.  A short prayer, remembered moments.  Then moving to 
the  next. 
    Kneeling and praying beside the  grave of her father and mother.  A 
jumble of thoughts in her head.   The sound of laughter and loud talking, 
causing her to lift her head.   Seeing a band of youths moving across the green.  
Climbing the gentle  slope from the river and the monument area known as 
"lover's leap."   Looking at them as the move carefree.  A group not unlike 
the students in  her class.  A mixture of races and sexes.  A couple of black 
boy, a  hispanic, a black girl and a white girl.  Smiling as she sees them  
approach closer.  The clothes so revealing for the girls and for the  boys, 
seeming to have been bought 5 sizes too large so they could grow into  them. 
    Sister Mary Patrice's smile slowly  leaving her face as she sees the 
black bandannas with the white spots.   Shaking her head wearily at the sign 
of gang membership.  Even here,  seventy miles from NYC, the gangs have taken 
root.  Following them as she  watches them move even with her to the side.
    "Hey, what you looking at", the  white girl yells as she meets the 
nun's gaze.  Flushing as she  realizes she had been rudely staring, shaking her 
head and lowering it to  resume her meditation.  
    "Hey, I am talking to you.   What you looking at?"  Trying to ignore 
them as she continues to pray, a  warm flush on her cheeks.
    The group veers to where Sister  Patrice is kneeling.  "Talking to you 
girl.  Oh, sorry  sister,"  the sneer negating her apology.  Finally looking 
 up an turning to the group, "I am sorry, I did not mean to upset  you."
    "Upset us.  You think you are  so holy, you are just another old dried 
up bitch,"  The hispanic  boy, trying to calm the girl.  "Leave her alone, 
she is a  nun."
    "Fuck her."  Sister  Patrice begins to stand up and the girl steps 
forward.  "Stay on  your knees, old bitch.  That is what you do best."  Hand 
pushing  Patrice back to her knees.
    Feeling a trace of fear now, as the  girl stands alongside of her.  The 
fingers of her hand digging  into the nun's shoulder.  Sister Patrice 
feeling a weakness in  her legs.  Having had confrontations before with her 
students; but never  having one physically touch her, not sure how to deal with 
this.    Looking up, seeing the others gathered in a semi-circle around  her.
    "Look at me,"  the girls hand  closing on the nun's chin, lifting her 
head.  The fingers squeezing tight  on the soft flesh, bruising it as the 
fingernails scratch the soft skin.   Looking around at the group Sister Patrice 
feeling tears in her eyes from the  pain.  Her hand reaching to pull the 
girl's away; but grabbed by the  black girl.  The black girl kneeling behind 
her pulling her hand behind  her as the white continues to squeeze her chin.  
"You think you are so  holy, so much better than us.  You are a dried up 
old prune."   Releasing the nun's face and slapping across it with her hand.  
The sound  of the flesh meeting loud in the quiet cemetery. 
    The cry of pain from the kneeling  nun, loud against the cries of the 
startled birds.  Tears welling quickly  in her eyes.  The sting of the slap 
hot against her cheek.  Arms  pulled behind her tight, holding her in the 
vice grip of the black girl.   Helpless on her knees.
    The members of the gang looking  down at the middle aged woman.  The 
nun, looking like a supplicant on her  knees.  The white girl.  Middle height 
and build.  Wearing a  short skirt and halter top.  Her full cleavage 
bursting at the top.   Nipples poking at the fabric as she grabs a hand full of 
hair, entwining her  fingers as she pulls the veil askew from Patrice's head.  
The flesh of  the scalp pulled tight as her head tilts upward.  Looking at 
the sky and  the lowering face of the girl.  Then as the sun is blotted from 
her eyes,  Sister Patrice feels the lips of the girl touching hers, wet as 
the tongue  pushes into her mouth.  Surprise at the sudden intrusion, too 
late to  keep the tongue from her mouth and tongue.  The girl simulating a 
fucking  motions as her tongue moves between the nun's lips. Then pulling her  
tongue clear, licking the nun's face.  Coating her with the girl's  saliva.
    Standing the white girl indicates  for the other to raise the nun up, 
leveraging her with the arms extended  behind her.  Sister Patrice standing 
bend forward, arms painfully twisted  behind.  Helpless. hair wildly blowing 
in the gently breeze, glasses  sitting crooked on her face.  Tears and 
saliva coating her cheeks.   One cheek red and swollen from the slap.  Looking 
around at the girl and  then the young men, who silently have watched the 
exchange so  far.
    Moving forward the girl folds her  fingers into a fist and slams it 
into the nun's belly, forcing the wind with  an audible sound from her lungs.  
Then another punch to her belly, the  buckling of the nun's legs.  The 
hispanic youth and one of the blacks,  moving forward to grab her arms, holding 
her unsteadily between them.   The sister choking and spitting gasping for 
air.  Voicelessly her lips  work, her mind blanking in disbelief.  The black 
girl, pulling the  sister's black hair, holding her head up as the white girl 
again and again  slaps the now red hot and swollen cheeks.
    Limply Sister Patrice hangs,  feeling the girl's hand reaching forward 
and grabbing at his vest.,  the  two buttons savagely pulled from the 
eyelets.  Then the girl grabbing the  front of the white blouse, her fingers 
pulling the buttons free of the slender  threads.  The second pull opening the 
front of the blouse, exposing the  white cotton bra and the surprisingly flat 
belly of the older  woman. 
    "Did they cut your breasts off when  you became a nun."  The girl 
grabbing at the two small cups of the  bra.  Fingers pinching at the small but 
firm breasts.  Nails biting  into the soft flesh, painful even through the 
layer of material.  Moving  closer and reaching behind the nun, the girls 
fingers deftly undoing the snaps  nails digging into the woman's back, scrapping 
the skin as they come around  front, pulling the open bra up and exposing 
the small breasts.  The one  black boy producing a knife and cutting the 
shoulder straps quickly.  The  small white foundation garment, a flutter of 
broken white at the nun's  feet. 
    Standing between the youths, the  nun feels the girl's hands again 
reaching forward and moving to her  breasts.  The fingers soft and knowingly  
stroking the nipples,  making them swell in spite of the struggles by the nun. 
 Fully  distending, the nipple stick out obscenely from her chest.  Long 
and  erect, small finger tips in size.  The areolas dark circles the size  of 
silver dollars.  A soft moan from the nun as the fingertips  work around and 
over the swollen and sensitvie nipples.  Laughter from  the black man 
watching with the knife in his hand.  "No tits but big ass  nips on you momma."
    The girl leaning in and lowering  her head, her lips sucking on the 
nipple.  Lips drawing the turgid flesh  into her mouth.  The soft roundness 
sucked against her lips and then  expelled.  Then doing the same for the other 
nipple.  The sister  twisting unsuccessfully, as she moans softly.  Her face 
swollen where the  slaps have reddened the cheeks.  "You aren't such a holy 
woman  now are you bitch?  Your nipples swell just like mine when some one 
sucks  on them."
    A quick dart of the hand and the  girl lifts the nun's skirt, her hand 
reaching to the sister's  crotch.  Cupping the rounded mound, feeling the 
heat of the woman as her  hand massages the pantyhose.  Then pulling the skirt 
higher, inserting  her other hand into the waistband, pulling them down in 
front as her hand  touches the bikini panties.  Laughing as she pulls the 
pantyhose  doen below the nun's ass cheeks.  Fingers reaching to undo the thin 
black  leather belt looped in the skirt and then the button and zipper of 
the  skirt.  Opening it and pushing it down the long legs of the tall older  
woman. 
    Sister Patrice's face, aflame with  shame as she stands in front of the 
gang members.  Her breasts  exposed, hard nipples sticking from her chest.  
Her skirt hanging  from her calves in a puddle of gray.  Pantyhose a black 
and around her  upper thighs, exposing the teal bikini panties above.  A 
small wet spot  showing in the lower front of her light colored undergarment.
    "Looky, sister momma is a bit  of a slut.  Nice ass for fucking."  The 
black youth rubbing the  front of his baggy pants suggestively.
    "Is that right sister?  Do you  fuck the priests?  You have tits like a 
boy.  They bend you over and  fuck you in the ass."  The white girl's  
words deriding the half  naked woman.  Shaking with fear and humiliation, the 
nun struggles weakly  in the grasp of the men as the girls reaches for the 
woman's panties.   Kicking out with her legs, striking the girls in the hip.  
Then the girl  slams her fists again into the woman's stomach.  A wretch of 
sound and a  drool of spittle as a weak scream of pain passes her lips.  
Hanging again  limply as the girl pulls the small patch of pale blue down the 
woman's  hips.  Exposing the slightly rounded mound and the hairless flesh, 
the  distinct lips, full and pouty.  A trace of moisture, whether, sweat, or  
pee or lubrication visible along the slit.
    The girl's middle finger tracing  and pushing back the walls of the 
outer labia, pressing between the lips of  the virgin woman.  Recovering her 
senses, the woman struggles but to no  avail as the finger pushes deeper into 
the woman.  Probing her tunnel,  feeling the warmth and wetness.  Not able 
to back away as the black girl  is pressed against her ass cheek.  The finger 
joined by another, now  sawing against the woman's lips, slowly fucking the 
swollen labia.  The  harsh breathing of the nun, a soft moan and the soft 
sound of wet sucking  breaking the silence.
    "You are a slut, like all women,  nothing special sister.  Maybe you 
won't be so judgmental when we are  through."  The nun surprised by the word 
from the young woman.  But  then again, trying to move her mind apart from 
her body.  Separating body  and spirit.  The girl pulling her wet fingers from 
the oriface and  bringing them to the nun's lips.  Rubbing them against the 
lips and  nose.  Then licking the fingers as the nun watches.  "Tastes like 
ho  to me boys.  Ante up and we can have some fun." 
    As the black girl pulls the woman's  head back hard.  The young men 
roughly pull the blouse from her arms,  throwing her backwards to lie on the 
grass.  Then the tough white girl  grabs at the pantyhose as the other black 
man lifts of Sister Patrice's ass,  sliding the panties and hose off of her 
long legs.  Kicking again  helplessly as the black girl and one man grab an 
arm and pulls them to the to  form the top of an "X".  The other girl and and 
hispanic man grab at her  legs, holding them at the ankles, forming the 
lower half of the "X".   Raising the legs slightly.  Taking the knife in hand 
the man slices the  pantyhose down the middle, then taking the damp bikini 
panties, stuffs them  into the nun's mouth as she tries to scream.  Pinching 
her nose to make  her open for air, then tying the veil around her head to 
hold the panties in  place.
    Tears slide back and forth on her  cheeks as her head moves  helplessly 
side to side, the only part  able to move.  The soft grass tickles her ass 
and inner thighs, as her  hips move in slow rotation.  Her lower body is 
spread wide.  The fat  outer lips swollen and spread, ridges to outline the 
soft pink inner  lips.  The glistening opening and the inviting oval of her 
virgin  hole.
    As the nun looks up, she sees the  one black youth undoing his pants, 
letting them slide down below his knees,  around his ankles, pushing his 
boxers down to expose the organ that was  bulging the front.  Looking around the 
lonely cemetery, making sure no  one is in sight, he drops to his knees 
between Sister Patrice's legs, then  lowers himself over her body, his black 
organ swaying in front of him.   His face lowering in front of Patrice's and 
then his black cock, hard and  swollen, touches her inner thigh.  The hot 
flesh scalding her body as she  jerks with the contact.  Pushing with his feet 
his body undulates higher  the head of the shaft touching her belly and then 
as he lifts with his knees,  the cock quickly filling the opening of her 
pussy.  The head pushing  slowly into her body.  Her thighs try to close her 
hole, but her legs are  spread too wide. 
    The thick mushroom head, pushes her  tunnel open, the flesh allowing 
the velvety flesh to slide into the warm wet  tunnel.  Soft expulsions of 
sound from behind her gag the only sound  other then the squishing of wet flesh 
as it slides deeper into the virgin  womb.  A gasp and then a tear of pain 
and the cock pushes deeper.   She can feel the coarse hair of the pubes as 
his body is joined to  hers.   The feeling of fullness as her tunnel 
accommodates the long  thick black cock.  The muscles of her thighs tensing as she 
feeling  the cock pushing into her, as she has never felt before.  The big  
smile of triumph as the young man arches his hips to push the length into  
her.  His swollen sack lodged against the bottom of her slit.   The fat nuts 
filled with jism.
    Then the man raises and the cock  slides out along the warm hole.  The 
flesh closing the opening as her  pulls back.  Then he slams his hips 
forward again, pounding against  the fat lips, filling the pussy with his thick 
organ.  Withdrawing  again and again slowly and then fucking hard deep into 
her pussy.  Her  ass pressed hard to the grass, grating slowly against the 
small stones  beneath.  Not able to withdraw from her body, Sister Patrice 
feels each  hard stroke of the black rod, sliding along her pussy.   Barely able 
 to catch her breath as he slams into her for another  stroke. 
    Opening her eyes, as she feels the  soft fingers of the black girl, 
massaging her left breast.  The sensation  of pleasure making her unable to 
mentally remove herself from the scene.   The tickling pleasure making her try 
to arch her back to the fingers.   Concentrating on the fingers and not the 
hard cock pounding her as she feels a  difference in the man fucking her 
body.  His body stopping for a moment  in his hard in and slow out motion.  Now 
his strokes are hard and fast in  and out.  Then the feeling as his stomach 
presses on her, feeling the  tensing as his cock expands deep in her pussy. 
 Then the expulsion of his  seed into her virgin womb.  Jets of thick 
stringy cum filling her tunnel  and womb, coating it with slimey juice.    A  
couple of  more hard strokes and then he pulls free.  Cum still hanging from 
his  cock as he kneels between her legs.  Still joining the black man and the  
older woman for a moment with a long strand of cum.
    Sister Patrice laying helpless, as  she feels the moisture between her 
thighs as the cum slips from her  lips.  Pushing with her insides, trying to 
push all the seed from her  body.  Jerking uselessly trying to expel the 
lively sperm.  Watching  as the black man and the hispanic exchange places.  
The dripping cock  still hanging semi hard from the belly of the black man.  
His ball sack  hanging loosely, drained for the moment.
    The hispanic youth pulls his pants  down from his legs, exposing the 
soft tan skin of his body.  Almost  smooth and female in aspic.  The cock 
pulsing from between his legs,  belying the fact that he might be female.  
Looking transfixed as he  kneels also between her legs, his hand reaching for the 
shaft and holding it  as he shoves it at the slick wet hole.  The cock 
sliding in easily.   Hard quick strokes as he slides in and out of the warm 
hole.  Moving a  hand between, to finger the nub of the hidden clit.  Sure 
pressures cause  Sister Patrice to gasp at the sensation of his fingers on her 
clit.  The  nub becoming hard and visible.   The strokes not as  uncomfortable 
as those of the first man, but still her body trying to close  her 
womanhood from the rape.  Her thighs strained and cramping as she  feels the man 
pull his hand free and knows that he is about to dump his shoot  his jism into 
her body.  Mixing his cum with the first man, coating again  the opening to 
her womb and pushing the seed through the opening.  Laying  helpless, not 
trying to think, trying to remove herself from the  cemetery.  But again 
feeling and knowing that he has filled her body with  his seed.  As he pulls out, 
he kneels stroking his cock, letting the last  few drops fall slowly in 
long thin strands onto her belly.  More juices  leaking from the opening of her 
pussy.
    The young white girl, sliding  forward and scooping up a handful of 
gooey juices and kneeling beside the  prostrate nun.  Pinching her nose shut 
and then forcing the juices into  her mouth, into her wadded panties.  Feeding 
the string white globules of  cum into her mouth, then wiping her hand over 
Sister Mary Patrice's  face.  Her eyes closed tightly, trying to wish away 
the taste in her  mouth, the scum dripping slowly down her throat.  The 
sticky jism coating  her face.  Another handful rubbed over her hard aching 
nipples, using the  juices as lubrication.  The fingers gently pulling on the 
sensitive  nubs.  Causing the nun to moan into the sopping material of her 
soiled  clothing.  Moaning from pleasure not pain.  Her mind numb to the  
soreness of her tunnel and labia.  Her mind focused on the pleasure  sensations 
as the fingers massage around the swollen nipples.
    "Dis my turn with the old  lady."  The black girl standing up and 
opeing her tight jeans.   Sliding them down her muscular legs.  Undoing the side 
ties of her thong  and slipping it off, revealing the shiny dark skin.  The 
thick curls  covering her mons.  A glistening of moisture through the dark 
forest,  outlining her fat lips and the shiny slit between.  The second black 
man,  shifting as  Patrice lies recumbent, docile as they move around her  
body.  The black girl kneeling behind her, as the black man slides his  
pants down his legs.  Skinny black legs, long and muscular, all  three.  His 
cock bobbing as he kneels, then reaches for Sister Patrice's  ankles, grabbing 
them and bring them together as he pulls them up, bending her  body at the 
waist, legs straight up in the air. 
    The other two men grabbing and arm  and holding them stretched.  The 
black girl looks down with a leer.   "You may be a nasty faced bitch right now 
holy sister; but you are my nasty  faced bitch."  Leaning down she undoes 
the veil from around her mouth and  pulls the slimey panties from her mouth.  
Then sliding forward on her  knees, she settles her body over the nun's 
face.  "Listen girl, you bite  me and I will smother you to death."  Then 
setlling her dark thighs over  the sides of the sister's head, her fat puffy 
labia pressing down on the face  of the woman.  The coarse hair, rubbing against 
the burning cheeks of her  face.
    Grabbing Sister Patrice's legs, the  black girl pulls them back, 
separating them so the a leg and arm are held by  the men on either side.  The 
lean black man, reaches down with his  fingers and pokes at the sore entrance 
to the formerly virgin pussy.  His  fingers moving around in the hole, 
coating them with the cum from the previous  men.  Then taking his finger and 
rubbing it around the small wrinkled  hole of the nun's ass.  Smiling wickedly 
as he gloats,"now I will know  how a man of the cloth feels."  The others 
laughing at his joke.   His cock pressing against the ring of rubbery flesh.  
The head pushing on  it as he leans his weight forward.  The seemingly 
slender cock, pushing  at the hole and then popping into the virgin hole.  One 
that not even  Sister Patrice's fingers have found on occasion. 
    As the cock penetrates, the sister,  raises her body involunatrily 
trying to escape the most uncomfortable feeling  she has every felt.  Her face 
pressing against the musky scented  hole of the black girl.  The wet moisture 
and scent filling her nostrils,  her mouth gagging as the fat lips push on 
hers.  The  wet ring, did  not lube the cock very well as it pushes in dry, 
inches sinking into the dark  hole.  "Bitch," the man exclaiming in pain as 
his dick is scrapped raw by  the lack of moisture.  Pulling free, he drips 
globs of spit on the little  round hole.  Using a finger to push the moisture 
into  the oriface.  The spincter muscle grabbing his finger.  Trying  to 
twinkle her ass hole closed; but the finger keeps it open, as he curls his  
knuckle.   Again pulling free, his cock head pushes at the opening  and slide 
in much easier.  The cock sliding deep into her bowels as the  man lifts on 
his knees and leans into the the spread crotch of the  woman.  Burying the 
the cock deep in her hole twitching his hips as it  lies deep in the virgin 
bowel.  The muscle closing and opening on the  base of his shaft.  His full 
sacked nuts, hanging against the bottom of  her backbone.  Then rising up, 
her starts doing push up in a steady  rhythm into her ass.  Fucking the tight 
hole. Feeling it lossening as he  continues to pump in a quick exercise. 
    The black girl, humping her hips  into the woman's face, sliding her 
slit across the bridge of the nose and then  the mouth and chin.  Rubbing her 
thick lips on the woman's face.   Her juices pressing into the flesh of the 
girl.  The scent strong and  pungent.  The thick curly hairs causing brush 
burn on the woman's face,  abrading the already swollen cheeks.  "Lick me 
bitch."  The muffled  words repeated twice and a third time as Patrice lies 
spread open.  "I  said lick my you white trash cunt."  The words shouted as the 
nun lies  fighting to breathe.  Her chest pumping raggedly as her mouth and 
nose  grab hurried gulps of air.  The black girl, leans over, grinding her 
hips  into the woman.  Her hand slaps clumsily at the sore pussy of the  
sister.  Smacking loud against the flesh, but only weakly in  affect.  Then the 
girl reaches forward and grabs a swollen labia with her  fingers, pulling 
and twisting on it savagely.  The reaction immediate as  Sister Mary Patrice 
jerks to escape.  Still her tongue stays in her mouth  as she fights for 
air.  Then a pinch onher clit, the nails digging deep  on the oh so sensitive 
pearl.  A muffled scream, gagged by the dripping  juices of the black girl.  
Sister Patrice's tongue slides up from her  flattened lips and licks along 
the moving slit of the black girl.......a groan  of pleasure from the girl as 
she lifts for a moment, then settles again on the  nun's face.
    The lean black youth, grunting with  exertion as he feels his nuts 
tighten and spurts sprays of thick cum into the  nun's ass.  The cheeks of his 
ass squeezing as another and another spurt  of seed fills her hole.  Pulling 
out from the nun's dirt hole, he slap  the black girls hand and shoves the 
semi-hard cock into the nun's pussy.   Her still slick walls, washing the 
soil from his cock.  Standing and  pulling up his pants.  "That is what I call 
a fine piece of ass.   Not many white virgin asses anymore."  Patting his 
groin as he stands  looking down at the black girl riding the older woman's  
face. 
    The white girl is sitting on a  granite stone, watching the area.  
Looking down occasionally at the  circle of rape.  Finally the black girl, 
grunts and rubs her cunt hard  against the almost swooning woman.  Rubbing her 
own clit furiously as she  moans her legs tensing in her cum......head bowed 
and eyes closed as her  spasms subside.  Finally rising, uncovering the slick 
red face.  The  brush burn leaving the skin raw.
    Lying there eyes closed Sister Mary  Patrice, naked except for the 
silver cross dangling to the side of her  neck.  Her body coated with assorted 
juices.  Her asshole  gapping. Pussy lips swollen and red.  Strings of cum 
hanging from  her labia.  A low murmur and shaking of her body the only sounds 
that she  is conscious.  Hands laying out to the sides and legs open and  
apart.
    "Look at you now sister.   Would your god want a whore like you?"  No 
answer from the woman.   Gathering up the nun's broken attire.  The white 
girl led the others  dragging the woman through  the grass to  a section of the 
grounds  far from buildings and pathways.
    Smiling as she leads them over to a  gravesite.  "You sister will pay 
for our sins."  You will pray for  us, won't you Sister Mary Patrice."  The 
girl reading the name from the  drivers license in the wallet.  Taking the 
cash from the billfold and a  credit card, dropping it on the ground and 
looking around in the small handbag  not finding anything interesting or of 
value.  The woman lying slumped in  the grass where they dropped her.  "Wake up 
old lady.  I will wake  you up."  Walking to the woman and turning her over 
face up in the grass,  the white girl looks down at the bruising woman.  Then 
moving to stand  over her head, the girl pulls up her short skirt and pulls 
her thong to the  side.  Squatting she lets loose a dribble and then a 
stream of piss onto  the face and chest of the woman.  The woman's eyes flutter 
open to be  sprayed with more moisture.  One of the men whipping out his 
semi hard  cock and arches a stream of piss unto her belly and nasty cunt.
    Still not focused but alert the  girl has the men drag the woman over 
to a cross monument.  "You will so  mirror the life of your god girl."  
Posing her against the rough texture  of the granite stone.  Backed braced 
against the stone,as she kneels, one  leg to either side.  Raising her arms and 
tying them with each section of  the ruined black pantyhose to the cross 
members.  Then taking her bra and  pulling her ankles together behind the cross, 
tying them tightly  together.
    "We are almost done with you old  holy bitch."  The nun, the 
illustrious Sister Mary Patrice, kneeling, her  knees grinding into the rough edges of 
the monument.  Hung on the cross,  arms outstretched and legs tied behind 
the cross.  Her breasts standing  full, nipples hard and aching.   Her labia 
stretched and gapping as  her pink hole is exposed, thin strings of cum 
still hanging from the  inner lips. 
    The woman, looking at the  girl.  Wondering what she had done to 
trigger this hate.  Wondering  what "almost done" meant.  Shaking as her mind 
thinks of being murdered  ignominiously in a cemetery.  Her vow of chastity, 
severed in  every possible way.  The girl bend down to the rumpled pile of  
clothing.  Vest and blouse, gray skirt.  And grabbing the wasitband  of the 
skirt, slides the thin belt from the loops.  "Gag her."  One  man quickly 
taking the panties and veil and again filling her mouth and  securing the gag.
    Stepping to the side, the girl  swings the belt with the small buckle 
in a clumsy arch, striking the side of  the nun's thigh.  The belt buckle 
digging a nasty felt into the  leg.  Trying again, the girl strikes more 
soundly on the leg.  the  small pin breaking the skin and causing a drop of blood. 
 Then perfecting  her swing, the girl wails away on the nuns upper thighs.  
The soft flesh  a welter of bruised and reddening welts.  Occasionally a 
drop of red  where the buckle broke skin.  The members of the gang quietly 
cheering on  the girl.  The nun twisting and turning as best to escape the pain 
of the  small belt.  Groans and moans the only sounds issuing from her 
gagged  mouth.  A trickle of piss runs down her legs as she is helpless.   Her 
body now coated in a sheen of sweat, as the beating with the belt has  moved 
up over her belly and mound.  the Sounds of the belt and skin loud  in the 
air.  The wicked buckle welting the smooth flesh, then moving  higher, 
slapping savagely against the small breasts and swollen nipples.   The upper body 
now a mottling of colors red and white. 
    Faintly briefly, head lolling, the  girl reaches into the carry bag and 
pulls out a pair of clean panties.   "Piss on them," as she hands them to 
one of the men.  Dropping them to  the ground the man pulls out his semi hard 
cock and lets a stream of water  puddle around the soaking panties.  The 
white girl picking them up and  wadding them in her fist, squeezes the piss 
onto the womans face.   Letting some of it drip into her mouth.  The urine 
compress dabbing the  face till the woman revives.  Then dropping the acidic 
smelling garment  and wiping her hand on the woman.
    Stepping back once again, swinging  the belt savagely again.  The belt 
buckle catching at the expose opening  to the woman's pussy.  Her body 
arching with the pain.  Again and  again the belt buckle striking against the 
swollen lips or the exposed  walls.  Her clit, half hooded finding the pain of 
the buckle.  The  woman finally pulling on her bindings, as her hips roll 
forward and her thighs  tense body spasming with an orgasm.  The woman not 
believing as her body  fills with pleasure, wanting the tip of the belt to 
again touch her  clit.  HIps continuing to arch, humping at the air, as the 
woman rest the  belt against the swollen pearl.  The gang laughing, roaring at 
the woman  helpless as she gives the girl her cum. 
    As the woman and the rest of the  youths watch, the young white girl, 
licks the belt buckle, tasting the juices  of the woman on it.  "Damn.  You 
have made me so fucking  horny."  The black youth pulling out his hard cock, 
waving it  and  then stepping up to the woman.  Pulling her gag aside and 
the wad of  material from her mouth.  He shoves his hard cock into her mouth.  
 Fucking it hard, "suck ho."  Sister Patrice feeling her dry mouth full  
and her throat raw as the man pounds into her lips.  The cock gaging and  
choking her as it slides in deep, filling her throat.  Eyes watering as  her 
head is banged against the back of the cross.  Finally holding the  base of his 
cock and lifting his nut sack with his hand, he empties a hot  splash of 
seed into the woman's throat.  Another jet of cum and then  pulling out, 
splattering her face with the sticky fluid. Taking the belt  and wrapping the top 
of the stone, belting her neck to the  upright. 
    The girl shaking her head as she  goes through the bad and empties the 
clothes on the ground.  Taking the  knife from the one black youth, she jabs 
it again and again into the  clothes. ripping jagged holes.  Then turning 
to the woman.  A  look of fear, opening Sister Patrice's eyes, as the girl 
presses the tip of  the knife against her breast.  A pinprick of red appearing 
immediately,  forming a drop of bright red blood.  Turning to the gang  
members,  "I have drawn blood."  Then slowly moving the knife to the  nun's 
soft belly.  The blade moving quickly, scratching across  the flesh.  The lines 
thin and red as they well with an outline of  blood.  The words crudely 
formed on the flesh just above the woman's  labia.      "SISTA  HO" "CUnT.     
Wiping the knife clean across the  woman's slit, the blood mixing with the 
other juices.
    Looking around at the ground  and  seeing the credit card laying there, 
the girl picks it up.   Showing it to the nun.  "No way that I could be you 
Sista Mary HO."   Taking the card, she inserts it into the nun's cunt.  
Smiling as she  leans forward and kisses the sister's left cheek.  Then spits 
into her  face, saliva running down her chin.  Turning away the gang follow's 
the  big black youth into the woods.
    Sister Mary Patrice, laying hanging  weakly on her cross for a few 
minutes, mind thoughtless as she tries to  collect herself.  Her body a mass of 
pains.  Just shifting slightly  causing lights to flash in her head.  The 
pounding starting as her mind  comes back to life.  Moving her hand and arms, 
trying to wriggle free of  a binding any binding.  Chest pumping as the 
tight belt constricts her  throat.  Trying to pull air to her aching lungs.  
Sweat beading her  body as the afternoon sun strikes against her flesh.  
Burning the already  red skin.  Her body so hot and now clammy with the sweat.  
Her ass  cheeks rubbing roughly against the coarse stone as she moves her left 
arm,  twisting and turning it and finally pulling it free from the binding  
pantyhose.  Quickly moving her hand to her neck, trying to reach the  
buckle of the belt.  Finding it is behind the stone, as she inhales and  pulls 
the belt around front.  Undoing the buckle and taking deep gulps of  air.  
Then trying to undo her other arm.  Giving up and reaching  behind and finally 
untying her ankles, now able to reach the arm.   Sliding to the ground, and 
laying there for a long hour.  The sun slowly  sinking behind the trees.  
Her skin fevered as feels around.  Not  noting any broken bones, or obvious 
permanent physical injuries.  Sucking  in her stomach and looking at the 
crudely written words.  The red words  in scabbed blood on her body.  Thinking 
that maybe that is what she is  now.
    Reaching between her legs and  pulling the credit card from her bruised 
cunt.  Sticky with the scum of  her hole.  Them absently adjusting the 
cross to hang between her  breasts.  Aching with every touch of her body.  
Looking down at her  nipples, hard and distended.  Touching them and the ache 
more pleasure  then pain.  Sobbing as she picks up assorted pieces of clothing. 
  Each one with multiple holes and tears.  Then reaching to the pile that  
she wore this morning as she boarded the train.  Wiping the smudged white  
blouse.  Pulling it onto her arms and finding one button still remaining,  
the bottom one, other then the one at the neck.  Then reaching down and  
sliding the gray vest over her arms.  Knotting the blouse at the bottom  and then 
buttoning the vest over the small knot.  If she had much  cleavage it all 
would be showing, but seeing only stripes of red from the belt  buckle, 
starting to mottle in spot to a black and blue and purple.   Yellow to come 
tomorrow most likely.  Standing up and trying to balance  as she steps into her 
skirt.   Pulling it up her bare legs and  zipping and buttoning it.  Sliding 
her belt throught  the  loops.  Remembering the pain of the belt as it 
snapped again and again  striking the tender parts of her body.  Shivering at the 
 sensation.
    Rounding up the misc. articles of  clothing and packing them ungently 
into her day bag.  Even the piss  stained panties.  Finally putting on her 
heels and walking unsteadily  among the rows of crosses.  The cemetery now and 
endless maze of  stones.  Each one waiting to trip her up.  Slowly wending 
wearily to  the path and then out to the tall wrough iron gates.  The 
evening light  beginning to fail as the sun dips down on the other side of the 
river behind  the mountains.  The trek long and hard and now the street light 
begin to  turn on as the darkness shrouds the row of houses.  Back past the 
park  and library and then along Market Street to Main.  Walking drunkedly 
down  the steep hill towards the rail station.  A couple of shouted comments,  
but no one directly interrupting her movement.  Walking to the closed  
ticket booth and finding a schedule and looking at the clock.  Quickly  moving 
to the collanade and the ticket machine.  Punching in the  information 
correctly on the third try.  Walking with painful steps down  to the waiting area 
and sitting wearily on a bench.  Almost collasping as  the pain set into the 
ravaged body.  Dozing and waking startled as the  train has pulled forward 
and is boarding. 
    Finding an almost empty car and a  seat in the corner.  Eyes closed 
wishing for an aspirin maybe two or  three.  Moving my body slowly in the dull 
light of the car.  Feeling  it swaying drunkedly as it starts up, the 
clicking of the wheels slow and then  picking up speed.  Swaying with the motion, 
feeling my thighs moving  stickily under my skirt.  The lips fat and swollen 
more then is  natural.  Nipples hard and rubbing against the white blouse.  
The  smell of my body of pain and fear and sex and arousal.   Unbelieving  
as I tentatively touch under my skirt, pulling it above my knees.   Feeling 
the coating of moisture as I probe my swollen labia.  Not piss or  the old 
crusted juices, but a fresh coating of lubrication.  Legs  squeezing on my 
finger, trapping it in my lap.
    Riding home to the city, to my  gangsta students.  Never even having 
told my brother that I was up for a  visit.  Knowing that I might have hung on 
that cross for a long time with  no one searching.  Knowing that I wouldn't 
tell him of my attempted  visit.  Knowing I will tell no one of this day.  
It will remain with  me, feeding me with fear and pain and arousal as I 
relive it in my  mind.
 
 
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