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From: rache696@yahoo.com (Rache)
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NNTP-Posting-Date: Mon, 23 Aug 2004 01:48:16 +0000 (UTC)
Subject: {ASSM} Second Chance (F/f, mast, rom, nun, religion)
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Date: Mon, 23 Aug 2004 08:10:04 -0400
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Story Codes: F/f, mast, rom, nun, religion


Copyright 2004 Rachael P. Ross all rights reserved. May be reposted
and/or archived to FREE adult access provided my name, email
rache696@yahoo.com and this notice are included in the message text.
All characters and events are fictional and no resemblance to actual
persons or events is intended.

This story was made first available at the incredible web site
http://www.nunsploitation.net/ I heartily recommend it to anyone who
enjoys this story!!

=-=-=

Second Chance
Fiction by Rachael Ross

Sister Mary knelt quietly in the chapel of St. Agnes of Rome, working
the beads of her rosary between nimble fingers while her lips moved
soundlessly in devoted prayer. I watched her silently from the
confessional in which I hid. The door was open a crack and I sat with
my head tilted slightly so I wouldn't have to squint. It was very
quiet in the chapel, as it always is, and so was I, fearful that even
the beating of my heart would give away my presence. Try as I might I
couldn't slow that rapid pulse, instead I brought my knees up to my
chest and hugged them, hoping the position might muffle the awful
sound.

And it was awful, I know. I was supposed to be in class, studying
geometry with Sister Rose, but I didn't love Sister Rose. I was only
in love with Sister Mary, and that I knew, was a sin.

I was forgetting to breathe and I nearly lost my balance when my body
remembered for me and I let out a sudden whoosh of pent-up air. It
sounded very loud in the tiny enclosed confines of the confessional,
but Sister Mary didn't move. I pinched the skin behind my knee, a
little punishment to remind me not to be so stupid.

It was warm in the confessional and a very small but very comforting
draft wafted through the narrow opening. My skirt was spread open,
sliding down to bunch around my hips when I'd lifted my legs. It made
me shiver with the sudden realization of the heat growing between my
legs. I thought of moving, of tucking my skirt down between my thighs
and covering myself, but I didn't. Perhaps I was afraid I'd make a
sound, but more likely I enjoyed that feeling, and something else too.
The light falling through that crack in the door fell between my legs
as well and I wondered if Sister Mary turned her head just a fraction
to the left... Would she see me through that tiny window? Would she
spot the candlelight reflected in my eyes? Would she see the creamy
interiors of my thighs? Would Sister Mary notice the small patch of
white cotton, the only thing separating my most intimate place from
her gaze?

The thought made me dizzy and I bit my lower lip gently, chewing on it
with nervous instinct. The heat in my tummy was growing, little
butterfly wings tickling me from the inside. I felt my nipples itchy,
growing hard and sensitive at the thought of Sister Mary catching my
espionage. I pulled my knees tighter so that they pressed against my
breasts and in so doing pulled the already tight fabric of my panties
a barest fraction tighter into the puffy contours of my sex. I wanted
to moan then, just to give myself some release, but I held it back. I
turned my head downward and pressed my teeth against my kneecap,
fighting the urge with distraction.

But it wasn't enough and I knew it. I kept my mouth on the hard
smoothness of my knee and looked up through the dark veil of my bangs.
Sister Mary, so perfect and beautiful, still sitting, watched
unknowing as she prayed. How many boyfriends had she had I wondered
for the hundredth time. She was only 22, having just taken her vows
this past summer. Barely 6 years older than me. She had high
cheekbones, silky auburn hair, and deep blue eyes. I watched with
awful frustration as she finished her prayers and quietly left. I
breathed a sigh of relief and closed the door and closed my eyes. I
brought my hand to the outline of my sex, rubbing it gently at first,
tracing a finger up and down the growing dampness.

 I imagined Sister Mary holding me, kissing me and I slipped my
fingers inside the leg band of my panties. I moaned softly at the
direct contact as I worked my fingers against my lips, prying and
pulling and reaching finally into the humid depths of my desire. My
little clit burned and I slid my other hand inside the waistband so I
could rub it lightly with my fingertips. I was going to cum, always so
quickly thinking of her. I pushed a finger between the swollen
slippery folds until I felt the barrier of my hymen. My finger was as
deep as I could push it and that was just enough to let me know I was
still a virgin. I came as I pictured Sister Mary's long fingers taking
it from me, changing me forever with her touch. I spasmed and rocked
and shook with glorious ecstasy, feeling my delicate walls clutching
at my fingers and aching for more.

I slipped out of the chapel, pausing briefly to run my hand across the
spot Sister Mary had sat for nearly an hour while I watched. My
fingers were still damp and sticky with my juices. I imagined Sister
Mary's spot was still warm as I left a thin trail of wetness on the
smooth dark wood. I knew she'd sit in that same spot next week, she
always did, and that made me smile as I genuflected and made my
escape.

There were a lot of rumors about Sister Mary; that she had been
engaged to a man who'd died in a war. That she'd grown up on the
streets, been a prostitute and worse, until she'd found the Church and
devoted herself to God. But my favorite rumor was that Sister Mary was
a lesbian. That she had given up all men and taken her vows of
chastity so that she could devote herself to the girl's of the St.
Agnes Academy.

I prayed that it was true. Ever since the first day she'd arrived I'd
prayed that she would love me as I loved her. I asked God, timidly at
first, making little hints and using words with hidden meanings, but
later I was bolder. I'd sit in my pew for Sunday Mass, sometimes
directly behind Sister Mary, and I would close my eyes and just smell
her. And then I would pray to God to let her love me, to kiss me and
hold me. I would beseech Him to guide her hands to my body, touching
me and exploring me with His blessing. I asked for a sign, for a
signal that He had heard me, but I never saw one.

I began to touch myself in Sister Mary's stead. In the beginning, only
at night, when the other girls were asleep and I could close my eyes
and imagine that those were Sister Mary's fingers traveling across my
skin. That she was the one rubbing her thumb across my nipple, her
palm pressing to my belly. Lower, I'd whisper, and she did. Sister
Mary would touch my sex, virgin as her namesake and eager for her
love. My first orgasm was at Sister Mary's touch, though she'd never
know.

Sister Mary taught us English and I began to love it. I wrote down
every word she said and I wanted to impress her with my intelligence,
with my diligence. I was always the first to raise my hand when she
asked a question. She would smile when she called on me and at first I
could barely stand it. I would flush and I couldn't look at her. I
would rise from my seat and the words would come out as an awkward
whisper. I felt like everyone knew. I felt like Sister Mary knew. That
she could see how desperate I was to be close to her, to please her.
Some of the other girls began calling me teacher's pet, and Sister
Rachael. I got in an argument one day in the cafeteria and the other
girl called me a lesbian. You cannot imagine the look of terror on my
face, not that I might be one, but rather that someone might actually
know that I was.

I ran from the lunchroom, taking the stairs 2 at a time and running
down the hall until I was safe in my room. I cried, pressing my face
against my pillow and sobbing. Why? I asked God. Why did he have to
make me this way? Why did he give me these feelings for Sister Mary if
they were wrong? And if they're not wrong, why didn't he give them to
Sister Mary? Why why why?

There was a knock at my door and my heart stopped. Was it Sister Mary?
Did God finally hear me? Did he send her to me to explain? To comfort
me? To finally make me happy after so many long months of confusion
and guilt? I had so many hopes right then and they were lost
completely when I heard Sister Rose through the door asking if I was
okay. I took off my crucifix and looked at it before throwing it into
the waste basket beside my desk. God had missed his chance.

But later, I reclaimed it. I unlocked my door and walked past the
other girls, not caring that my eyes were puffy and red. Not caring
that my lower lip was trembling. I was so close to losing it again,
but I wouldn't, not this time. I remembered that God helps those who
help themselves, it was a basic tenet of St. Agnes Academy and I'd
forgotten it. I walked to the chapel, carrying my small gold cross on
its thin gold chain. It had been in the garbage can and I truly felt
guilty for doing that. I cupped some holy water from the small basin
near the entrance and washed my crucifix carefully. I kissed it and
slipped it around my neck, pulling my disheveled blouse out so that it
would nestle near the tops of my breasts, just above my heart.

I was about to leave when Sister Mary entered the chapel carrying her
bible and rosary. I glanced at her and realized there were so many
things wrong. I was a mess, my uniform wrinkled, my eyes, my hair, and
worse, what that other girl had said about me and my childish
reaction. It had to be all over the school. I was surprised Father
Thomas, our principal, hadn't sent for me yet, but I knew he would in
due time. I felt alone and guilty and ashamed and the reason was
standing but a few feet away.

I couldn't look at her and I bowed my head, wishing she would just go
sit down and let me leave. But she didn't, she blocked the entry with
her body, the sunlight streaming through the open door behind her. Her
shadow reached to me and when I looked down I could see it beneath my
feet.

"Would you like to talk, Rachael?" she asked me in a soft voice. 

I had no answer I could give. Of course I do, I wanted to scream. Yes!
Yes! But I was afraid even the smallest nod would give my true
feelings away. I felt hope surge in my breast and reached up to press
my fingers to the still damp crucifix beneath my blouse. I finally
nodded my head as the door swung quietly shut behind her.

Sister Mary touched me, ever so lightly on my shoulder, and guided me
so that we were walking down the center aisle of the chapel. The
statue of St Agnes of Rome watched us from the left, and our Lord
Jesus from the right. We walked close together, side by side down that
narrow path, until Sister Mary stopped 3 pews from the front and began
to genuflect. I did the same, making the sign of the cross in time
with her.

She sat down and patted the hard wood beside her softly with a smile.
It suddenly seemed wildly inappropriate and I gave her a grudging
smile of my own, sitting where she indicated so that my bare knee was
almost touching the soft ink of her robe. We sat there for a moment in
silence before she finally turned to look at me.

"I've heard about what happened Rachael, I'm so sorry. Father Thomas
has had a long talk with Cynthia. I think she will want to apologize
to you tomorrow." She kept looking at me and I was looking down,
wondering what she wanted me to say. After a long pause Sister Mary
asked me, "Do you think you'll be able to accept it?"

I nodded slowly, "I don't know." I whispered, and I glanced upward
quickly to see her reaction. It wasn't much of an answer I knew. "I
guess so." I added finally.

Sister Mary put her hand on my knee, squeezing me gently and I took a
sharp breath, my body going tense for just a split second, but it was
enough. Sister Mary moved her hand a fraction back and forth,
caressing me gently. "Do you know what Cynthia meant when she called
you a..." She paused, "Well, when she said that word?"

I nodded again, saying it for her in a low voice. "Lesbian." I was
watching her hand move on my bare skin, mesmerized by it.

"Yes, a lesbian." Sister Mary's voice was soft and seemed to rise and
fall in time with her fingers, which would give me the slightest
squeeze as if punctuating the moment. "Do you know what that word
means?" She repeated and I tore my gaze from her hands up to Sister
Mary's face.

I searched her deep blue eyes with my own and nodded slowly,
swallowing and finally saying, "It's when a girl loves another girl."
My heart was pounding in my chest and I licked my lips, holding my
hands still in my lap. I felt a strand of hair had fallen to the
corner of my eye and I resisted the urge to brush it away. I couldn't
move, I was so frightened of what was happening. I was even more
afraid that what I thought was happening wasn't. A wave of doubt
rushed through me and I felt a sudden urge to run away.

Sister Mary reached with her other hand and brushed the bit of stray
hair from my face, her fingers lingered as she rested her elbow on the
back of the pew. She'd shifted slightly, so that she faced me instead
of the alter, and her hand traveled slightly further up my thigh until
it reached the hem of my plaid skirt.

"Yes." She breathed softly. "It's when two women love each other and
want to share that love in a very special way." Sister Mary slid her
hand beneath my skirt, staring into my eyes and leaning closer. Her
other hand curled in my hair and held my head as her breath touched my
ear. "Are we lesbians Rachael?"

"Yesssss..." I hissed and melted against her. Sister Mary pulled me to
her breast and wrapped both arms around my shoulders while I clutched
tightly to her waist. I was weeping softly and she kissed the top of
my head, shushing me and making a small easy rocking motion. We stayed
like that a long while until I finally sat upright and Sister Mary
wiped at my eyes with her thumbs, smiling at me and cradling my face
in her hands. "I love you so much," I whispered.

"Let's say a small prayer and then we'll go to my room, ok?" Sister
Mary's voice was soft and gentle and I nodded quickly with a smile and
a sniffle. I'd never felt happier in my life. I pulled out my crucifix
and held it tightly between my hands as we kneeled. Sister Mary said
the prayer quietly, so quietly I had to lean close to hear the words
she was saying to God, but they were in Latin I finally realized, my
worst subject.

When she was done, Sister Mary took my hand and squeezed it, smiling
at me. "It's alright," she whispered, "God understands."

She didn't need to tell me, I thought happily. I fingered my cross as
we left, holding her hand and eternally grateful that I'd given God a
second chance.

=-=-= 

The End
rache696@yahoo.com

(C)Rachael Ross May 28 2003

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