by Selena Kitt
“Yes,” I confessed with a little cry. “But it's wrong.”
He listened only to my assent, kissing my neck, working his way down my collarbone. My bikini top was still on, but my areola, pale pink and puffy, was exposed. Miles looked at it. Then he reached out a finger to touch it. I felt my nipple pucker, my pussy throb. Then he leaned down and kissed it. Just the half-oval of my areola. Then he licked it, and I jumped like he’d shocked me.
“You're such a sweet flower,” he whispered. Then he reached back and untied the string, pulling my top down completely. My breasts had never seen the sun—not since I’d had them, at any rate. I hadn’t been topless outside since I was in diapers.
I moved to cover myself, but Miles grabbed my wrists, shaking his head, eyes level with mine. What he wanted was in his eyes, and the heat of it traveled through me in an instant. I felt myself trembling, a cool breeze blowing against my nipples, making them instant erect. They went from pink and puffy to hard and pursed as Miles looked at them.
I struggled a little, trying to free my hands, but his grip tightened as he leaned in to lick one of my aching nipples. His tongue danced around the areola and then teased the bud. I’d never felt anything so good in my whole life. I watched him in wonder, forgetting about escape, amazed how, every time his tongue passed over my nipples, I felt that pulsing tug between my thighs, as if the nerve endings were directly connected.
I squirmed when he bit down, gently pulling on it. After one had been tongued and tasted, he repeated this with the other nipple. I started begging him. Please stop. I can’t take it. No more. But he didn’t stop. Then I started begging him for forgiveness. Or maybe I was asking God. I want this. Oh God, help me. I’m so sorry. I can’t… we can’t… please… oh that feels so… God!
His fingers kneaded my bikini bottoms. Right between my legs. And I wanted him to. I moved my hips with him as he tongued my nipple. And when he drew my hand to his crotch, I grasped his length through his wet swim trunks, and he started moving too, that same rhythm. My body seemed to know what to do, what it wanted.
I knew what I wanted, even as I whispered that I didn’t. I wanted him to fuck me. I wanted him inside me. I wanted him inside me—all over me. I wanted him to baptize me with his seed.
In my perfect world, that’s what I wanted.
But my sinning heart knew that it wasn’t a perfect world. It was a fallen world, ruled by lustful, greedy men. Fallen from the grace of God. Far afield from the light of Our Lady.
And then I looked down and saw Miles on his knees, worshipping me.
He squeezed my breasts, his head buried between my legs. He didn't take off my bikini bottoms, but he nuzzled and gnawed at the fabric. He chewed with gleeful abandon. My pussy was so wet. The possibility that Miles might taste the pussy juices leaking through my bikini bottoms both horrified and delighted me.
I heard sounds down there, but didn't know what to make of them. When I opened my eyes, I saw Miles's swim trunks dangling from one ankle while he jerked off. For years I imagined what his cock actually looked like with all the teenage lust of a high school girl.
Then I saw it, hard and magnificent. His body was perfection, his cock long and thick, rising up from a sandy nest of hair like a serpent, ready to strike. I couldn’t look away. This wasn’t my fantasy, or some white-hot dream I’d wake up from shaking and throbbing all over. I was trapped in the jaws of real life with real sensations.
Do I want to escape this? I remembered thinking that. Or do I want give into this?
Jesus Christ, hear my prayer.
I only heard the waves in the pool and Miles's mad masturbatory frenzy. He was licking my pussy through my bikini and jerking himself into oblivion. And I was lost to it, lost in it.
“Oh yeah, I'm going to come!” His head came up, licking his lips, and then he stood and walked over to me, his cock pumping in his closed fist.
“What are you? Don't!” I gasped, unable to look at anything but the blur of his hand moving up and down his hard cock.
He wanted to come on my face, but my hand blocked him. Instead I felt the first hot splash across my naked breasts. My nipples received sticky ropes of the stuff, and my pussy ached as if it, too, had been christened.
“No!” I said. A little late.
I stood up, pushed Miles away in disgust, and leapt into the pool. I wanted to clean myself off, come up new, all my sins washed away. But after reading Macbeth in high school, I knew there were some stains I couldn't ever get rid of.
I swam over to the opposite edge of the pool. Miles followed, this time completely nude. He took me into his arms, and I let him. He pressed himself up against me. I could feel his cock getting hard again. It rubbed against my stomach. It wouldn’t leave me alone.
And I didn’t want it—him—to…
“Fuck off!” I shouted.
I dashed from the pool on the verge of tears. My emotions overwhelmed me. I loved him, I hated him, I wanted to fuck him—I'd go to Hell for him…
“Clarice.” My name in his mouth. A caress.
He walked out of the pool, water sleeting of his body, over his erect cock.
You're an undisciplined satyr, I thought, unable to look away. If we actually do fuck, I'll be pregnant in no time.
During that summer, pregnancy loomed over my head like an apocalyptic disaster.
An accidental pregnancy would be something I couldn't explain. Although I wouldn't have to, since the inevitable fact of getting disowned would solve that problem. Maybe the convent would be the best thing for me.
All I lacked was the bedrock of faith.
As much as I'd like to remember our poolside shenanigans as a one-time thing, it wasn't true. A force greater than our rational minds drew us together—our bodies magnetized by a primal lust. We threw caution to the wind and disregarded the technicality of our kinship—even if we weren’t technically blood-related.
The glamour of taboo made it hotter. I also created a witty rationalization for our messing around. When the time came to enter the convent, I would expiate these sins in a monumental act of confession. I would beat myself with leather whips in the moonlight and conduct other acts of mortification.
Faith would cleanse me.
During that summer, we established our routine. I read and prepared myself for the convent during the week. On the weekends, Miles would stay at home and we would play. I thought of our games as those like Adam and Eve played before the Fall. Naked and alive, comfortable in our unadorned bodies, reaching the summit of ecstasy in a mutually agreed upon artificial paradise.
Late one night, Miles brought home a couple porn DVDs. We sat naked in his room and masturbated in front of each other. I loved watching him come. He held his cock tight and angled his cockhead on to his stomach. Pearly streams of cum would inevitably erupt from his long hard instrument. After I came—almost immediately after he did, sent flying over the edge by his display—he would pull me over to hold me and even let me lick him clean.
“I want to be inside you,” he would whisper while I diligently cleaned his torso.
On a different night, he set up an inflatable pool in the upstairs gym. He wore his underwear and I wore a sports bra and panties. We emptied a couple bottles of baby oil on our bodies. I could see his cock pulse after the baby oil made his underwear transparent.
“Nice camel toe,” he said.
“Fuck you,” I replied.
“Then that would be a first time.”
We both stepped into the pool and attempted a grappling hold he taught me from wrestling. The baby oil didn't help our sense of balance. Miles slipped, dragging me to the floor. He writhed and wriggled, but I held fast to his arms. Then he broke free.
One arm wrapped around my stomach and another around one of my legs. I jerked to break away. His hard abs rubbed against my thighs. My hand searched frantically for his underwear.
He worked one hand up towards my sports bra. His fingers started to push it up. I screamed when
he pinched my nipple.
“No fair! No pinching!” I yelped.
I yanked his underwear down and gripped his stone hard cock. I began to pump it, feeling the pulsating throb beneath all the baby oil. Working my pelvis, I placed it underneath my pussy and started to buck.
Hot and sweaty, I threw off my sports bra. Miles turned me around and his mouth worked on my erect nipples. He licked and sucked them. While he enjoyed the fruits of my body, I humped against his dick and jerked him off.
His strength finally got the better of me and I found myself under his muscular frame. His stiff rod smacked my tits and I massaged him until he released jets of cum across my stomach.
“Want a re-match?” I asked.
“Let me catch my breath,” he said, spent and exhausted.
We had more days like that—lazy and naked, figuring out new ways to make each other come while avoiding any possibility of penetration. I saw the look in his eyes—crazed, greedy, lustful. I could imagine him seeing me as a business transaction. A forbidden merger that would yield undreamed of wealth and pleasure. But I wouldn't give it to him.
By the time the leaves started to change color, I was on a train bound for Kansas and his internship had ended. Behind the walls of the convent, Miles faced a total communication blackout. He couldn't contact me if he tried.
In my austere cell, I spent my days praying and fasting. In the chapel, I celebrated Mass and sang hymns. Our own perverted legend became replaced by the legends of saints, martyrs, popes, and bishops. But the more I filled my head and kept my hands busy, the more I knew it was all a ruse and a distraction.
One can't fill the abyss of doubt with busy work and bumper sticker optimism.
Am I losing faith or am I just coming to realize—I never had it to begin with?
I only had to mention that fateful summer to see how it made Miles hard. He tried to hide it, but the wine made him uninhibited. He leaned back and spread his legs, letting me see the stiff rod beneath his jeans.
“I've missed you so much,” I said, not even bothering to hide my lust. “I went to the convent because my desire for you scared me. Not a day goes by that I don't regret my decision to leave you. What we did, what I want to do…I know it’s a sin before God. You know what we did as well as I do.”
He nodded slowly.
“I'm still a virgin. Technically.”
“Technically,” he echoed softly.
“But Miles…” I swallowed, my head swimming with alcohol, my heart beating hard in my chest. “I can’t stop it anymore. I can’t resist. I know it’s wrong—but I can’t…”
That magnet, drawing me in again. I slid off the sofa and knelt before him, penitent. Beaten. Broken. I bowed my head, feeling his hand brush my hair—just my bangs visible under my wimple. I lowered my head to his lap, the erotic throb of his cock against my flushed cheek through the denim. He didn’t move to touch me, didn’t say anything. He waited, and I watched the rise and fall of his chest with his breath, knowing that this was my test.
Then with a precise care, I unzipped his jeans and scooped out his erect cock.
Miles let out a little sigh as I closed my eyes and put my mouth around it. My tongue remembered him, rolling around the head, sliding down the shaft. Miles slid his jeans and boxers down, giving me more access as yanked them all the way off.
I marveled at his body. During our separation, he’d worked to sharpen and harden muscles, giving him the appearance of polished marble. He could have been a Baroque statue, a mythical figure fighting off harpies or enemy soldiers. I wondered if he’d sunk himself into work—and his workouts—the way I’d tried to lose myself in the Lord.
At least his efforts hadn’t been in vain. He was like a god as he stood, his strong arms lifting me from the floor. Then he bent me over the couch, lifting my habit and pulling it up.
“So nuns do wear panties.”
I looked back, seeing Miles smirk at he looked at my plain, white cotton underwear.
“I always wondered.”
“You were thinking about my panties?” I bit my lip when he yanked them down to my knees.
“I haven’t stopped thinking about them,” he confessed, cupping my flesh, the blonde fuzz there curling around his fingers. “Or you.”
I moaned when he parted that sea with his index finger, rubbing up and down my slit.
“Please. Miles.” I licked my lips, looking back at him through half-closed eyes. “Put it in me. I want to feel you inside me.”
“It’s going to hurt.” His winced like it might hurt him too, as he positioned himself, cock poised at my virgin entrance. “Give me your hands.”
I had to rest my cheek against the arm of the chair to reach my hands back. He grabbed my wrists, holding them behind my back, using my body as leverage as he pushed inside. I gave a loud cry when he slid inside me, trembling all over.
“You bled a little.” Miles started sliding out, but I didn’t want that, so I pressed back toward him, settling my bottom against his pelvis. “Washed in the blood of my little lamb…”
“Please.” I swallowed, everything between my legs throbbing, on fire. I didn’t know now where he began and I ended.
“Tell me, Clarice.”
I’d been Sister Sarah so long I’d forgotten how much I loved hearing him say my name.
“Tell me what you want.”
“I want you…” I whispered, feeling tears stinging my eyes. My confession. My secret confession. “Oh Miles, I love you, I always have. Please! I want you, please, please! Won’t you fuck me?”
“Yes, sweet sister.” He let go my wrists, hands moving to my hips under the heavy weight of my habit. “I’m going to fuck you so hard you see God.”
Oh God.
“Yes!” I cried as he began to move. We were slotted together like we’d always been meant to be. And I wished I hadn’t waited so long to taste this forbidden fruit.
He gave me a bit of him at a time, teasing me, short strokes following by long ones, keeping me—literally—on my toes. My whole body shook with the force of my wanting. I couldn’t hold myself up anymore—my knees gave way. Miles was there, holding me, kissing my cheek as he sat on the sofa, pulling me into his lap.
“I want to see you.” He lifted my habit, his big hands moving up my thighs. “Please, Clarice.”
And so I bared myself to him, this man, my god. The thick, heavy weight of my habit came off, over my head.
“No bra.” Miles smiled at that as I divested myself of my wimple and veil. “Oh Clarice, your hair…”
He touched it, like spun gold, spilling over my shoulders.
“You’re an angel.” He pulled me to him and kissed me, his tongue stroking the roof of my mouth just like he had that first day. My body knew his kisses, knew just what it wanted, as it always had. I kissed him, deep and hard, as I placed myself upon his mighty rod.
It felt extraordinary. Despite my reluctance, he knew I wasn't ignorant in the ways of pleasure. My undulations came naturally as I rocked in a primal rhythm on top of him.
“It's been too long, Clarice.” Miles stayed hungry, famished to taste my skin and lick my body. His tongue found its way to my nipples, sending sweet pulses of pleasure between my legs. His hands roamed, exploring every inch of me as I ground my pelvis against his, my motions jerky, slightly awkward, the objectification of pure lust.
“Still.” He held my hips, stopping the roll of them. “Be still.”
“Be still…” I smiled. “And know God?”
“Yes.”
And thanks to Miles, I did. He balanced me above him, fingers gripping my ass, as he proceeded to pound my cunt with furious glee from underneath. I didn't know when it would end. I heard moans. Then I realized those guttural sounds were coming from me. Our bodies meshed together and brought us back to that forbidden Eden, our utopia of step-sibling blissfulness.
He fed on my breasts. He licked one nipple and then held it in his mouth. When he pulled back, I moaned. An
d then he let it snap away. One after another. First one breast and then the other. Again and again for what seemed like ages. Whenever he had one of my nipples in his mouth, I detected increased throbs from his heroic cock.
We created our own momentum, my undulations working against his, until our bodies seemed like crashing waves. I imagined us trapped on a deserted island, naked and alone. We spent our days fucking and swimming and tanning. He would feed me coconut and pour it on my body where he would lap it up, a depraved parody of the Eucharist.
Our lips met again, for kisses more feverish and drunken than ever before. Desire intoxicated us both. The years apart had tempered that lustful iron into a bright steel.
