Feature Writer: Jacqueline Jillinghoff /
Feature Title: THE SAINT AGNES PASSION 3 /
Story Codes: Mf, f/f, F/f, Drunk/Drugged, FF, FDom, Spanking, Oriental, First, WS, Voyeurism /
Copyright: © 2013 by Jacqueline Jillinghoff
Synopsis: Catholic school does something to a girl / It is Holy Week at Saint Agnes Academy, and Kristen, a freshman, is struggling to keep a lid on her most sinful thoughts. Sister Patrice, her religion instructor, discovers her weakness, and together they find a way to confront temptation /
The Saint Agnes Passion
Chapter 3
For the moment, she was Sister Kristen. All it took was a pretend veil she had made by laying a pillowcase across her crown and tucking the corners behind her neck. She looked at herself in her dresser mirror. Her hands were folded in prayer, with her fingertips touching her chin, and her sharp breasts peeked around her forearms. Except for the veil and her gold cross, she was naked.
“Sister Patrice,” she said, “I’m ready for my test.”
She crossed herself with her right hand and with the fingers of her left combed the soft curls of her public hair. The flesh below was cool and dry, but there it was, the rubbery bead that would keep her out of the convent if she couldn’t control herself.
It didn’t overwhelm her the way it did when Sister grabbed it in the classroom, but it felt good to rub it, and she quickly grew moist. The goo seem to come from nowhere, flooding the gully that opened between her legs. She dipped in her finger in and smeared the stuff around, tenderly, and the heavenly feelings returned. She pushed the finger far inside herself, the way Sister had.
Out in the living room, she had the radio on. It was tuned to the classical station her mother liked, and the music was pretty, with strings that died away in slow-moving waves. After a pause, a clarinet burbled, and a deep-voiced woman began to sing:
Wir geniessen die himmlischen Freuden,
drum tun wir die Irdischen meiden.
Kristen didn’t understand, of course, but something childlike in the melody made her check herself. Don’t give in, it seemed to say, and you’ll stay clean.
She stopped rubbing, but she didn’t take her hand away. She made up her mind to teeter on the edge, between innocence and sin, for as long as she could. This time she would pass the test.
The woman went on singing. The twitching eased, but Kristen pushed her finger in higher and circled that delicious spot with her thumb, climbing again to a millimeter below the peak. She breathed through her mouth in shallow gulps, keeping as still as she could. Any sudden movement now would set her off.
“There,” she said. “Stop.”
It was as though she had jumped off a swing at its highest point and was hanging in mid-air. But she didn’t fall. She defied gravity, floating unnaturally, the playground sand below her.
“Ah … ah.”
She smiled in triumph, but as she began to withdraw her finger, it slid across the center of her pleasure — lightly, but in just the wrong way. Gravity took over, and she fell.
“Shit, here it comes!”
No use. No use. Resistance failed for the second time that afternoon. Her hands sprang to life, one jiggering the swollen bump in her pussy, one clutching her breast. A sound like a salivating animal rose from her crotch, and that delicious tightness crushed her in its fist. Sister Kristen watched herself come in the mirror.
“My God!” she murmured. “My God!”
Why have you forsaken me? But there was no earthly way to stop. The wicked thing had to run its course, which it finally did. Kristen fell back on her bed. Her hand lay still between her legs. She turned her head and nuzzled a pillow, panting stupidly.
It must be a strange life the nuns led, praying all day and then playing with themselves, trying to be strong. Maybe they all failed, and maybe failure was just a way to remind themselves that God forgives everything.
Next thing she knew, the guy on the radio was telling everyone to give blood. She had missed him saying what the music was. She couldn’t remember how it ended, either.
“Darn,” she said, “what was that?”
She made herself get up, and, after a moment to steady herself as the blood rushed from her head, she went in and turned off the stereo. It was fun to stand there with no clothes on. A warm breeze came through the open windows, along with the sounds of boys playing hockey in the street —sticks clicking and scraping on the asphalt, voices calling to one another. She grinned at the thought that they didn’t know she was naked.
Then suddenly she was frightened they did know, somehow, because the hockey noises stopped and an obscene chorus began. The boys whistled. They made exaggerating kissing sounds. One shouted, “Hey, girl, suck on my stick!”
Kristen scrambled back into her bedroom. She tore the pillowcase from her head. Her gym shorts and undershirt lay on the floor. She was fumbling into them when the doorbell rang, and she understood what the commotion outside was really about.
Suzie had arrived.
Kristen pulled her top into place as she walked back through the living room. It was a ribbed tank that molded itself to her tummy and the inward curve of her waist and turned her solid nipples into lumps of sugar. As provocative as she felt, though, she could never match Suzie, who was standing at the front door in a black leather halter and black ankle boots. Her denim cut-offs were stuffed into her crotch and rode high in the back, giving the boys a generous view of her behind. They glared at her from the street and clutched their big sticks, white-knuckled with lust.
“Don’t say hi or nothin’,” one of them shouted. “Chink whore!”
Without turning around, Suzie raised her right hand, pointing a single finger toward heaven.
“Why do you dress like that?” Kristen asked, opening the screen door.
“Gives them a look at what they’re never gonna get,” Suzie said.
She was carrying a black canvas bag, which she dropped beside the sofa as she began to toe off her boots. Even her socks were sexy: black and sheer, with vertical black ribs and lace around the tops. She took a black kit from her bag.
“Let’s do this,” she said.
Kristen sat on the sofa and pushed out the coffee table. Suzie knelt in front her and unsnapped the kit, which bristled with clippers, files, emery boards and bottles of polish arranged in square holes. She rested Kristen’s heel on her naked thigh, and as she knelt, her shorts dug deeper into the V between her legs.
“Are you even wearing underwear?” Kristen asked.
“What for?” Suzie said. “You’re not, either.”
Looking up from the floor, she could see right up Kristen’s gym shorts.
“I’m inside. You take chances.”
“So what?”
“Didn’t it piss you off when that kid called you a whore?”
“It pissed me off more that he called me a Chink — Ugh! You let your nails go.”
She dug an emery board under the down-turned corner of the nail on Kristen’s big toe. Kristen settled back on the couch, luxuriating in the professional attention, the skill Suzie had learned in her mother’s salon, and the dull rasping that sent muffled tremors up her shin. The left cup of Suzie’s halter slackened as she leaned forward, lost in concentration. Kristen could see the rounded border of her nipple, rising like a black moon. Her conscience pricked her: She was no better than those horny boys outside.
“So what did Patrice do to you?” she asked.
“She dragged me down to see Father White.”
“Oh God! Did he look up your skirt?”
“He gave me his ‘brazen whore’ speech.”
“He’s such a perv.”
“He’s not the only one.”
Kristen said nothing.
“What did Patrice do with you?” Suzie persisted.
“She told me you’re a bad influence.”
“And?”
“What?”
“Did you like it when she felt you up?”
Kristen snapped her foot away.
“How’d you know?”
Suzie calmly took hold of Kristen’s heel again and went back to work.
“She came back, and White heard her confession.”
“In front of you?”
“She didn’t know I was there.”
“How could she not know you were there?”
“I was under the desk.”
“Ohhh-K?”
“Hiding.”
“Why?”
“If you have to know, I was going down on him.”
“What’s that mean?”
“I was giving him a BJ.”
“What’s that mean?”
“I was sucking his cock.”
“No freaking way!”
“Hold still!”
“You lie!”
“Don’t believe me. She comes barging in, all wound up, and she told White she put her hand down your panties.”
“Nooooo.”
“She said she has a thing for you.”
“Uh uh!”
“She said she’s been resisting you all year. She loves you!”
“No! No! No!”
“We must bear witness to the truth: Patty’s a hot lez.”
“Stop!”
“You should totally do it with her.”
Kristen got quiet.
“You like her, don’t you?” Suzie said.
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Kris — you a lez?”
“Oh, God, I don’t know!”
“You know, if you are, you can’t be Catholic anymore.”
“Why not?”
“Because God hates fags. White calls it ‘an objective disorder.’ You do anything like that, you go straight to hell.”
“All he thinks about is sex.”
“All anybody thinks about is sex. And you didn’t answer my question.”
“What.”
“Did you like it?”
Tight-lipped, Kristen nodded. Slowly. Three times.
“Awesome,” Suzie said.
“But it’s bad.”
“They just say that to scare you. What kind of polish you want? I got deep purple. Hot pink. Cherry red.”
“Just clear.”
“You are so boring. I know: Glitter. It’ll get Patrice all hot and bothered when she sucks your toes.”
“Stah – ahp!”
“Don’t fight it, girl.”
Kristen’s toenails sparkled like the Pearly Gates when the Para-Transit van pulled up in front of the house, scattering the hockey players once and for all. The hydraulic lift hissed over the throb of the engine. That was Kristen’s signal. She sprang from the couch and locked the screen door open while the bus driver unfastened the latches on the lift platform. Each had their allotted role in the homecoming ritual.
“Thank you Simon,” Kristen’s mom said, and she rolled up the front walk and the wooden ramp that covered the steps. Her right hand, bent sharply at the wrist, held the joystick forward.
“You girls have a nice night,” the driver called, with a nod at Kristen.
She kissed her mother on the mouth. Then she stood aside, and her mother trundled into the living room, over the plastic runway that protected the carpet.
“Hello, Suzie,” she said.
“Hey, Wendy.”
It jarred Kristen every time she heard Suzie call her mom by her first name. Wendy Lamb was a young woman, not yet forty, with angelic skin and a broad smile, and her daughter had been made in her image. They shared the same slender body, the same finely boned face, and the same fine, teak-colored hair worn loosely to the shoulders.
She halted in the middle of the room. Kristen came from closing the door and plopped a foot in her unfeeling lap.
“See what Suzie did?” she asked.
Wendy held Kristen’s her foot in her good left hand, nearly toppling her into Suzie’s arms.
“Beautiful! Can you do me, hon?”
“Sure,” Suzie said.
“How much?”
“Thirty for both.”
“You get more than that, don’t you?”
“You get the friends discount.”
“After dinner,” Wendy said. “You girls are probably famished. Shall we order out?”
Kristen put her foot down, and nearly fell again.
“Are you all right?” Wendy asked.
“She’s goofy from the nail polish,” Suzie said.
They had Indian, from the one place that delivered. The kitchen was off the living room, and they sat at a round table barely big enough for the three of them. Suzie ate the way she talked: aggressively. She had the lamb. Kristen turned up her nose at the consumption of an animal. She made a point of ordering the spiced chickpeas and cauliflower. Wendy compromised. She ordered the red chicken.
It wasn’t quite dark yet and already she was in her night things — green pajamas with a tartan robe and slippers. It’s easier than changing twice, she had said.
“At first I thought it would scare people off,” she told Suzie, who was curious about how Wendy managed. “Part of being a counselor is putting people at ease. The last thing you want is for them to feel self-conscious, especially when they already have so much on their minds with the cancer. But once I start talking, they realize it’s about them, and they don’t seem to notice. Or they’re too polite to say anything.”
It all came back: Staying Aunt Beth’s while her parents drove off for some grownup time, the news of the tire that had bounced from the back of the pickup on the turnpike and hit the windshield, leaving her mother a widow and a cripple. The relief — and the guilt — she hadn’t been with them. The move to the smaller house with only one floor. And now, Kristen realized, there was something else to be sad about: did Mom have any feeling down there? Could she ever again experience the pleasure Kristen had given herself, the pleasure she must have felt with Dad? She never mentioned it, but why would she?
“You know you’re supposed to fast during Lent,” Kristen said, changing the subject.
“That’s only Fridays,” Suzie said. “Have some lamb.”
“Don’t tease her,” Wendy said.
She put down her fork and picked up a piece of the hot, puffy bread. It was too big for her to handle. Kristen tore it in half for her.
“Does it cause trouble at school?” Wendy asked. “Do they have anything you’ll eat other than pizza and fries?”
“They have some good stuff — salads and veggie wraps. One of my teachers says its better for you.”
“Sister Patrice,” Suzie said. “Kristen’s favorite teacher.”
Kristen gave her a look.
“Is she really?” Wendy asked.
When Kristen didn’t respond, her mother went on.
“How are you getting along with that other one, Sister St. Augustine?”
“Fine,” Kristen said.
“Auggie hates her,” Suzie said.
Another look. The girl was determined to spill all of Kristen’s secrets, one at a time.
“What did you do now?” Wendy said.
“She told Auggie she was wrong.”
“She was wrong,” Kristen said.
“What about?”
“You brought it up,” Kristen said. “You tell her.”
“We were talking about infinity.”
“Oh, yes, Krissie’s favorite topic,” Wendy said.
“And Auggie asked for examples of infinite shit. Stuff. And one girl said the number of atoms in the universe, and Auggie said right, and tell her what you said, Kris.”
“That it wasn’t true.”
“And Auggie said it was, and K. would not give in. And it wasn’t even like a real argument. They just went back and forth. It was like ‘finite’ — ‘infinite’ — ‘finite’ — ‘infinite.’ It was fantastic. Nobody ever talks back to Auggie.”
“And who won?” Wendy asked.
“Auggie got the last word, but Krissie kind of looked down and shook her head.”
“Nevertheless, it moves,” Wendy said.
“But I was right,” Kristen said. “I read it in Cosmos.”
“Cosmo?” Suzie said.
“Cosmos, ” Kristen said. “They figured it out. You divide the mass of the known universe by the mass of the proton. It’s a finite number.”
“She brought the book in the next day to show her,” Suzie said, “but Auggie told her the discussion was over.”
“It’s amazing you learn anything in that woman’s class,” Wendy said.
“She’s all right with what she knows,” Kristen said.
Wendy and Suzie glanced at one another as Suzie stuffed her mouth with the bread. Wendy placed her hand on Kristen’s forearm.
“And what is the number?” she asked.
“Ten to the eightieth power!”
“Your mom is so cool,” Suzie said, brushing her long black hair.
They were in Kristen’s room, getting ready for bed. Kristen lay with her head propped on her pillow, her knees up and her big astronomy book open on her thighs. She twirled a strand of her hair absent-mindedly while she leafed through the chapter on nebulas. The multicolored strands of gas — green, red, yellow, white — formed ragged holes in space, like cosmic vaginas blown open by stellar orgasms.
Tonight, everything reminded her of sex.
She was dressed for sleep, in a pair of pajama shorts covered in pink rosebuds. She still had on the tight sleeveless undershirt. She had changed her shorts in the bathroom, but Suzie, unashamed and uninhibited, had stripped in front of her and was brushing her hair nude. She was half-turned away, her hair hanging off one shoulder as she brushed. Kristen’s admiration was divided between the mysteries of space and of Suzie’s golden back and bottom. At that moment, in the far darkened corner of the room, she could have been a painting, an exotic oriental at her toilette.
“It freaks me out when you ask her about her wheelchair,” Kristen said.
“She doesn’t mind.”
“But I do. It was a hard time. I don’t like to think about it.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s OK.”
“Wendy says one of the reasons we’re friends is that neither one of us has a dad.”
“You never told me what happened to yours.”
“Who gives a shit?”
Suzie turned toward her, and Kristen saw the yellow spot, like some sort of skin disease, above the shadow of her hairless slit. In the dimness across the room, she couldn’t tell what it was.
“Did you hurt yourself?” she asked.
“What?”
Kristen pointed.
“It’s a tattoo.”
“How’d you get a tattoo down there?”
“It’s just a rub on. I told White it was real.”
“Why?”
“He gets off on that kind of crap.”
“Let’s see.”
Suzie came around and stood beside the bed. The butterfly came into focus in the lamplight. So did everything else.
“Cool,” Kristen said. “You got any more?”
“A whole pack. We could put a snake on your tit.”
“No, an angel.”
Invitingly, Suzie separated her outer lips. Her own pleasure point, glistening and red, poked out its head like a worm. She picked at it with one finger, studying Kristen’s reactions. Maybe she was trying to turn her on, or maybe she was just testing to see if Kristen really was a lez. Whatever the motivation, Kristen felt herself failing again. The worm’s head was bigger than hers, fatter. Did that mean it felt more?
“Sister Patrice asked me if you and I ever had a lesbian experience,” she said.
“We should,” Suzie said. “If you’re gonna get blamed for something, you might as well do it.”
“You serious?”
“And if you’re gonna do Patrice, you need practice.”
Suzie’s eyes shone black in the light. Kristen reached out, palm up, and slid her hand into the damp slot between Suzie’s legs. Suzie bent her knees and clenched her butt and rocked, humping Kristen’s fingers.
“That’s nice,” she said.
Kristen laid her book aside. There would be no more reading tonight. Suzie jumped on top of her, straddling her hips. Her face came down and they kissed. Suzie’s lips were fuller than Sister’s, but not as soft. Weird! Kristen had never been kissed before today, and now she was making comparisons. She smiled around her searching tongue.
“What’s funny?” Suzie asked.
“Nothing. This is nice.”
She decided she liked kissing girls.
Reaching around, she grabbed Suzie’s ass in both hands. Suzie worked her arms behind Kristen’s back, and they rolled over one another, coming to rest on a diagonal across the bed. The book dug into Suzie’s back. She knocked it onto the floor.
“Shh! You’ll wake up mom.”
“So? It’s not like she can come in here and catch us.”
It was tasteless, but it was funny. Laughing, they kissed harder. Kristen squeezed one of Suzie’s tiny tits. Suzie put a hand down the back of Kristen’s shorts, grabbing her butt. That made her think of Sister Patrice, too — everybody wanted a piece of her.
She fell onto her back, and Suzie pulled the shorts off. Then she crawled over her, hovering above her on all fours, her hair spilling over Kristen’s head and shoulders. It was fun, like playing cave.
Suzie came down again, lying flat on top of her. Her thigh went between Kristen’s legs. She ground it into Kristen’s cunt. Kristen pushed back, crooking her knee against Suzie’s weight, and Suzie humped her, slathering Kristen’s thigh with pussy juice.
They necked and necked, tossing about the bed, desperately seeking the best position to get off on each other. They discovered it, finally, when they broke off kissing and flung themselves apart, their heads pointed toward opposite corners of the bed, their legs locked in a scissor grip. Kristen raised her ass and pushed. Her joy button caught on something solid, and she rocked herself against it. Suzie pushed back. They rattled their bare butts, mashing their pussies together. Propelled by their exertions, the bed crawled away from the wall.
Kristen gazed across Suzie’s body. Her little tits stood up in the lamplight like hills at the end of a long plain, capped with dark moss. Between them was her upturned chin, and her mouth, foreshortened to an oval, wide with speechless pleasure. She didn’t seem to know what to do with her hands. They floated on either side of her head, the fingers crooked and stiff, like bare branches. She drew in a shivering breath, held it, and blew it out again in a trembling moan. Kristen knew what she was feeling, because she’d felt it twice that afternoon, and in a few seconds, she felt it again.
Amazing — so many ways to make your cunt feel good.
They lay quiet a long while. One of them would shift her hips, and their pussies would meld again, briefly. It was warm and slimy and comforting, the way a baby must feel, Kristen imagined, when, still bloody from the womb, its mother held it against her breast for the first time.
“You ever do that before?” Kristen asked finally. Her voice sounded far away, dreamy.
“I’ve never done anything with a girl,” Suzie said.
“You like it?”
“It was all right.”
“You bitch!”
They giggled, and the tenderness was over. They disentangled themselves. Suzie had brought some skimpy nightclothes, but she let them lie. She got under the covers naked. Kristen kept her shirt on, but she didn’t bother to look for her shorts. She turned out the light. They curled up on their sides like plastic spoons. Kristen, much taller, took the outside, folding her legs under Suzie’s ass, grasping her to her chest. She nuzzled her fragrant hair. Suzie turned her head back a last time. They pecked awkwardly, but Kristen could barely hold her head up. She fell asleep in the middle of a silent Hail Mary.
A bear grunted in the forest. It got in her face with its open mouth and wet black nose, but it didn’t show its teeth. It wasn’t going to bite her. It wanted her to pet it. She caressed the blunt horn that grew illogically from its head. It grunted again, and Kristen opened her eyes.
She was alone. The hand that had patted the bear’s head was resting on Suzie’s vacant pillow. The night air had turned chilly, and her naked butt, uncovered, was cold. She twisted around and read the clock on her nightstand: 2:37.
Suzie had probably gone to the bathroom, or the kitchen. Kristen grinned at the thought of her friend padding through the house naked. She turned onto her back, pulling the covers up, and was warming her ass on the mattress when she heard the grunt again. This time it was more like a scream.
“Mom?” she called.
She was across the hall in an instant, not thinking she was naked from the waist down. The bedroom door was closed, but if mom had fallen —
“Are you all right?” she said.
And she wished she was still dreaming.
There was a narrow skylight in the sloped ceiling, and the first full moon of spring filled the room with a silver-blue glow. Beads of moonlight glinted on the polished railing of her mother’s bed. Mom’s pajama top was unbuttoned, pushed to the sides, her nipples blood-dark on her ghost-white boobs. Her shriveled legs hung open in a diamond shape, and her bush, a featureless shadow, was split at its lowest point by Suzie’s shiny nose. Mom looked at her with pleading eyes. She said nothing. There was nothing she could say. It was up to Kristen to pass judgment.
“It’s OK,” the girl said at last. “It’s OK.”
Suzie’s eyes wrinkled at her over Wendy’s crotch. She was smiling with her mouth full of pussy, as if she knew what Kristen was thinking — Mom can feel down there. It’s a miracle.
Suzie, curled up like a brown egg, went back to licking and sucking. Mom closed her eyes. She tilted her chin toward the ceiling, sinking her head into her pillow. Her breasts rose and fell, and she smiled with an otherworldly bliss. Kristen had not seen her so happy since the accident.
She made up her mind right then she would do anything Sister Patrice wanted.
THE END OF CHAPTER THREE