Sister Marie-Clare

Sister Marie-Clare wasn’t a proper nun…well, ok, she was, but she hadn’t gone the ‘full penguin’ yet meaning she hadn’t taken her final vows, but she was way further advanced than a mere postulant. 

We always imagined her to be something like Maria in the Sound of Music….slightly rebellious and always getting into trouble. For example, sometimes at lunchtime, she would hitch her habit up and play football with us on the field. She had gorgeous legs, and, dirty little bitches that we were, we often chatted conspiratorially about whether she had ever had a man between those thighs, or if/how often she masturbated. Back then, everything was about sex….it hasn’t changed much for me! 

Sometimes, flushed from her kick-about with the football, she would flop down on the grass with my little panty-flashing group. We had to hastily change the subject (sex) to something we thought a nun might be able to talk about. When we saw Sister Marie-Clare on the field, we designated one of us to be the ‘designated driver’…the one who would keep an eye on her and if she came out way, to suddenly say something off topic. We took the cue, and by the time she sat down, we were just a group of five or six girls talking about something normal. 

Sometimes, her habit, still tucked up into her belt, we might even get a flash of her undies. What type of undies does a nun wear anyway? I was half expecting to see a metal chastity belt, or something horrid like knee-length bloomers, but surprisingly, she wore panties much like ours….well, she would hardly be wearing a red, open-crotch thong, now, would she? 

More often than not, I’d drop out of the conversation and just let Miss Brain rove over this young sister, and see what I could discern…or imagine her doing. But one day….I wasn’t paying enough attention to what Miss Brain was doing. I didn’t intervene when she reached for my speech controls, and blurted out, “So….this chastity thing. It must hurt, surely? I mean, none of us are designed to be asexual.” 

The silence that descended on our group was tangible. I had breached the rules, and the other girls were glaring at me. This could easily cost us a week of ‘scrubbing the virgin’ (cleaning the statue of Our Lady in the forecourt with tooth brushes) or a week of praying the rosary in the chapel on that hard, sharp floor. The silence just hung there for ages. 

“You’re right. It does hurt…at first. And it’s not always something I could keep to.” (Wait, what? She went out and got laid? No! Surely not!) “But it is something I’ve learned to live with. I still have the same thoughts, sometimes divine, sometimes profane, but I’ve learned to manage them.” 

Phew…we were off the hook, but Miss Brain wasn’t done. Even though the thin ice upon which she walked was over very deep water, my mouth opened again. “So you still have sexual thoughts? I thought nuns didn’t have that kind of thing.” Sister Marie Clare chuckled. “Oh hunny, we’re human you know.” (Some of you fucking aren’t) “I’m in my late 20s, I’ve always known this was my calling, and well, as a young woman, of course I get sexual thoughts. They’re perfectly normal. We all have them.”

The image of the ancient, wizened Sister Assumpta flicked through my head an made me shudder. No! Not her….never. 

Sister Marie Clare then gave us the standard company line of ‘giving her chastity to God, and ‘fighting the devil’s temptation’, blah blah fucking blah. The topic changed and I withdrew from the field of combat by adopting the wise position of keeping my fucking mouth shut, 

But as they chatted on, Miss Brain re-ran the conversation. “…..it’s not always something I could keep to.” Obviously she wasn’t running out of the convent and getting fucked, so there was only one other option remaining. Sister Marie Clare masturbated in her early days as a nun! I fucking knew it! I lay back on my elbows, my feet crossed (which allowed me to exert a little pressure on my clit by tensing my thigh muscles) and looked at this attractive woman. It was easy to remove her habit in my mind. For her height, she didn’t seem to have very big boobs…at best a ‘B”, so removing her bra was easy for my fertile imagination too. 

I could picture her in her cell at night, especially the fiercely hot, sultry nights we get round here from time to time. Lying on her cot, maybe right on top…even a sheet is too much sometimes. Perhaps she is naked….desperately trying to sleep, and going over Bible stories in her mind in an effort to distract herself from the feelings her body is giving her. She’s covered in a fine sheen of sweat, naturally, but she knows the wetness between her legs isn’t all sweat, and the tenseness in her boobs isn’t helping. She thinks of the Gospels, surely the least sexual writings in the Bible, but her mind betrays her, and soon she is thinking of the whore of Babylon, riding on the back of the beast. 

Her mind flicks back, perhaps, to her teenage years and the times she went horse riding. She remembers the sticky feeling in her panties, and soon, in her mind, she is the whore of Babylon. Her hand drifts between her legs and they spread on their own volition to accommodate her exploring fingers. I picture her bathed in moonlight from the tiny window in her cell, her body writhing as she pleasures herself. She drags her pillow to her mouth and bites down on it hard as she cums. Her back arches off the bed, and her tiny cell is transfused with the scent of both her sweat and her sex. 

Of course she feels terribly guilty afterwards. Not only because of what she has done, but also because as a novice, she must confess her sin in front of the other sisters. She remembers the time that she did this and tried to keep it a secret. The Abbess slowly drew it out of her and there, in the chapel, on her knees, she confessed to having masturbated. The other nuns looked down on her with hypocritical pity….as if they didn’t do exactly the same! She is told to distract herself. To get out of bed…to pray for the Lord to deliver her from the jaws of sin. 

But it doesn’t stop her. Night after night, the feeling is just too powerful to resist. Sometimes, she hears other nuns confessing this sin, and she is learning, slowly, what to say to convince the Abbess that she is getting on top of her carnal desires. 

She isn’t though. She masturbates most nights. Sometimes her thoughts are purely about the feelings she is getting, but sometimes they range further afield…like to that time when she had a sticky encounter with a boy at her high school prom. She didn’t let him get his hand into her panties, but he did make her cum. She tried hard not to show it, but maybe he knew. She remembers the feeling of his cock as he showed her how to wank him off, and the way his semen spurted out when he came. 

Once they went further. Sometimes she remembers that one time. She was 17, and it was that same boy in that same car. They had moved to the backseat and this time, she had let him take her panties right off. He has smelled them and said, “Oh wow…your cunt smells amazing.” She thought she should be repelled by both his actions and his words, but instead….no….she felt a sharp stab of pure eroticism lance through her. They began making out. She felt his hands on her bare breasts. Bare? When did he take her bra off? When did she allow him to unbutton her top? 

She felt him between her legs, and his cock against her sex. Why was she so wet? Had he cum already? Was it his wetness or hers? She remembers how she tried to bring her legs closer together only to be prevented by his lean, muscular body. Instead of feeling scared that she couldn’t close her legs, the resistance actually turned her on more. Oh, and when did he get naked too? How did that happen? 

She felt his lips on hers, his hand on her breast, and movement between her legs. Then a sharp stab of pain, but it was only brief. And then, oh yes, and then……that glorious feeling of being filled for the first time ever. She felt him moving in and out, and her hips rising and falling to meet his thrusts. She felt the pace quicken….his hot breath in her ear…..then there was a female voice. She heard it quite clearly, “Fuck me faster….bang into me harder.” It sounded like her voice, but surely not. Then he had asked if he could cum inside her. She remembered that that was all she wanted in the world. She came, followed closely by him. 

Oh, it was a mess afterwards. She felt him leaking out of her and into her panties for a long time, and she certainly couldn’t let her mum see these undies. 

And all these memories course through her mind as, yet again, she masturbates to orgasm in her cell. 

I am pulled from my reverie as I notice everyone getting up….including Sister Marie Clare who treats me to an eyeful right up her habit to her crotch. She untucks her habit from her belt and is once more the sedate nun/teacher. She goes off to break up a fight, and my group turn on me. “What the fuck were you thinking…asking her that? You could have landed us all in the shit!” They’re right, of course and I accept their castigations with good grace. 

As we walk back to the school building I realise just how wet fantasising about this young nun has got me. So I duck into the restroom. Ten minutes later and I’m feeling much better. Oh I know I’ll be leaking girl cum into my undies all afternoon, but hey, that’s life, right?