Autumn — The Retreat: Gardening Crew

All in — love-in

Bernard had a very early fag alone in the longue in front of the fire.

He was up before six a.m. There was a heavy frost. Fuck smoking outside. He hadn't slept well. Despite his cynicism about institutionalising anything, he deeply compassionated humans in need.

He knew he would likely be called upon today for more counselling following yesterday's early morning accident at the local mill. He made himself a coffee in the kitchen and organised pancakes for breakfast, a final-day treat.

Bernard needed to get the girls' cloistered', Sister Agatha's term, not his, by late evening.

The phone rang; he was already mentally Jesuit-prepared.

It was a curve ball. The bishop's secretary was effusive for having called so early and then indicated it was the prelate himself on the advice of the Cardinal, who insisted it was Bernard who organised the cover-up.

Monsignor Bernard was requested to chair the diocese council emergency meeting at 9.30 today. Father Patrick O'Flaniggan had exposed himself late yesterday afternoon when drunk in St Mathew's Park behind the Cathedral. Confronted by two shocked widowed octogenarians who had been committed flower arrangers for the Cathedral for a long time. The spinster's platonic companions — Miss Hall and Miss Smith. Bernard had to leave immediately for the close to three-hour drive back.

Patrick, Patrick — thought Bernard— a true local saint of the church; maybe a flasher but a heart of charity and solicitude when the drink was controlled. Bernard suspected Patrick was fully committed to the faith and celibate for life. He was already shaping his friend's defence: innocently wiggling his penis to clear the last drips after an unexpected need to relieve himself — failing kidneys, ladies.

The aged spinsters would understand incontinence.

Miss Hall and Miss Smith would be introduced to the Cardinal on Celebration Day Mass, and they were a shoo-in for the highly sought-after foyer floral display on the day.

Damnation: Did they really need Bernard at the meeting?

He realised yes.

He would take tea with the ladies, smoothing the scene away forever while complimenting their actually disdainful pumpkin scones.

Bernard heard the exercise bike whirring softly from the gym.

Erica was up. The athlete's training regime.

He quickly told her he was required back in the city. He would arrange pick-up for the girls late in the afternoon. He probably wouldn't make it back. They were to help Mrs Roberts tidy up the Retreat later in the afternoon when she got here.

Also, they were to sign Virginity pledges, which Bernard handed to Erica. No nonsense — seriously — they would show them to Sister Agatha tonight and then take them home to their parents at the end of the term.

Erica doubled over the exercise bike and nearly collapsed from laughing.

Bernard suspected this was going to happen.

The brunette's mirth had nothing to do with lost virginity.

"Chastity Pledge," Erica got out between uncontrolled amusement.

Bernard beamed too, "Well, that's what they are called, though Erica, don't pledge yourself totally uncommitted to — Chastity!"

Considering the total weight of Bernard's emphasis, Erica's face gave that reflective look of the athlete's mind at work.

She would process Bernard's thoughts more fully later.

Bernard moved on quickly with: "Erica pancakes for breakfast. I've mixed the batter. Have fun, be good, be really good today, okay," and the Monsignor was gone.

Erica heard the hum of the Range Rover until the purr was lost down the driveway.

Pancakes with honey and lemon for breakfast. Three formal signatures on Chastity Pledges. They all understood this game, and if you make the rules, you won't lose.

By about eight, the girls wore jeans and the school's sports rugby top. This was the minimally acceptable dress for Sister Agatha.

They were about to tidy up when they heard vehicles crunch on the gravel area outside the maintenance shed, which is located back from the kitchen.

Together, they looked out the kitchen window. Two Utes and one flat tray. Five men in heavy-duty boots and jackets overlaid with yellow high-visibility vests. They were set for serious work.

All the girls saw was serious manpower.

They watched for a few minutes as there was a genuine loud buzz of trimming, lopping, green waste removal and manicuring. Hell, the guys were busy — unaware the Retreat had guests.

Erica and Chas were already teasing Beth over her interest in an adorable butt on a young blonde guy bending over, clearing fallen limbs along the bush line of the rear grassed area.

"Well, let's offer them Coffee for a start," smirked Chastity.

Erica carried the tray with five steaming mugs of hot refreshment out the backdoor.

Bethany carried her smile.

Chastity just carried the female sex.

It was bees to the honey pot. The guys were around the girls, and the girls were around the guys. There were introductions and explanations all around.

The local contracted work crew was here for the seasonal clean-up.

The girls studying at the Retreat.

Their chaperon? Called away. They were being collected later. Mrs Roberts would be here later, too.

Beth was already flirting with young Mr Oscar Devine, formally only identified as cute butted blonde in the distance, a local lad, just eighteen. Beth, too, was eighteen.

Eighteen plus eighteen was going to equal hot lust after lunch.

Erica, like Chastity, knew how to handle more than one man at a time in conversation; what both girls hadn't had yet was more than one man in them at a time.

Post-lunch sex was going to change that.

Chastity was chatting up the boss, 'Bluey', Harry Jones.

Did she have a thing for older men?

No, probably men in authority.

Bluey just saw young pussy, no strings attached; he could fill that work order.

Chastity was doubling teasing with young Adam, nineteen and obviously overly sexually confident. Chastity would get him seeing; that real woman dominated when it came to group explosive explicit sex and suspected he would need instructions when it came to her clit.

Erica had the only guy taller than herself in her sights. Even at twenty, he had that rugged outdoor weathered look, dark eyes and big hands.

She was hoping for a big dick, too, one that understood her butthole etiquette.

Lance, what a cute name, like a spear, a butt bayonet, she hoped.

Joel Norris; quieter, shy, married, with two kids, hanging off the conversation, but taking in Erica's small breasts. Well, we all have different likes. It was his lucky day to make twin acquaintanceships with Erica's fruity, peachy chest morsels.

The girls kept a sneaky eye on the crew for the rest of the morning. They eventually had to break for lunch in the maintenance shed.

They were a fit, competent, hard-driven crew. The back area was finished by one.

Geez, they better not start on the front straight away.

No, they were in the shed for lunch.

"Oh, fuck this," said Bethany — she headed out the door.

Well, that put paid to Chastity's usual leadership.

"Come on," said Erica.

And that's how it started.

Chastity, for once, was trailing behind the other two.

Fine — when it came to the deed, Chastity was and would be as usual; prima, stellar and sexual team diva. Though Erica would give her a run for her title today.

It was a warm afternoon for the last day of autumn. A late change was expected.

Beth was all warmth as she sidled up to Oscar.

She nudged him. She got her hand on his thigh as she sat next to him on a tool chest.

His ham sandwich went somewhere down; gravity was still operating.

His cock went up, even though trapped in his pants, as Bethany went the opening gambit, sure winner, French kiss. 

Oscar's practical mind was lost in pussy clout. Beth's hand had his zip down, and his happy penis released. Her other hand guided Oscar's hand under her bra.

Oscar had moved from the junior league to the major league without training.

He had only ever kissed his aunt's stepdaughter on the cheek — if that counted. He was an all-points bulletin alert virgin.

However, he was a wanking expert, and that helped because otherwise, his load would have been wasted here and now, just on the outside of his pants.

Lance saw Oscar's trouser snake greet the sunshine.

'What the fuck,' went through his mind.

This wasn't in response to the scene unfolding across the workshop, but it was to his own butt being massaged by Erica.

He turned and nearly got his tongue ripped out, and his hands were guided very quickly onto butt-cheeked jeans.

A firm and small arse outside his memory's comprehension, the local broad Watson sisters had seriously skewered his understanding of fem-arse.

Chastity shared Bluey's fag while she massaged up his meat.

Bluey enjoyed the personal sensation and the broader sex show — an old pervert at heart.

Chastity got Adam over to her other side, unzipped him, handed Bluey back his fag and worked Adam's cock up; firmly up; in her mouth; and all the while kept the hand job going on Bluey.

Joel was hanging back, but that was only until Erica had her top off.

She invited him by name to share a breast.

Hell, a girl had two.

There were times when breasts simply demanded two men.

Erica liked the dual attention. Her breasts were in new territory and were super hard and alert.

Joel was fawning all over her left bud and her peachy-curved girliness. Lance's tongue was having fun, too.

Erica wriggled down her jeans, a skilled girl, given their tightness.

Lance had his robust, rugged finger in her butthole.

Erica could pick butt men, it seemed.

Given that the local big girls, the Watson sisters by the river, were his only reference to detailed female anatomy, Lance was close to full addiction to big love, handled, cuddly girls.

He had enjoyed one butt hole in the dark by the river, and given it was tighter than either of the Watson girl's cunts, he had preferred it.

His finger had easily entered one of the Ms Watson girl's balloon holes — here though — man-oh-man; this Erica was tight — goddamn tight. Beautifully tight.

Lance kept working his finger, and she was squirming — a good combination.

Finger probing meeting girly need for sensational probing.

Bethany had virginal Oscar's pants off, and her panties scattered too. It was youthful eagerness, keen basic enthusiasm for offered cock and offered pussy.

Oscar was transfixed by pussy. Ask him any question at this moment of his life; the answer would be pussy; ask him a name, and he would respond; pussy.

Beth was straddling the lad on the toolbox, being sweet to start; he was actually bigger than Bernard, her major cock reference point and his depth was exciting her, and his girth was filling her.

A happy young woman in the moment.

Oscar was getting the virgin boy's perfect first pussy. Shaved delight, copious wetness, clenching enveloping and two cute dumpling breasts bouncing up and down in rhythm with her riding.

Bluey, the old perv, finished his fag first.

He took in Adam's dilating eyes as Chastity took his throbbing sausage, the whole length, skilfully, deep throat. Bluey was impressed.

He knew Oscar was a virgin, and as he looked over, he could see this young white butt spread and pussy wrapped around a big cock.

Lucky fucker, thought Bluey, not about the sex, but the size of the Oscar's cock. 

Chastity was never disappointed in cock; she could make use of anything male.

She got Bluey to remove her jeans and panties. Their threesome was on an old garden seat.

Bluey saw the fire-crotch and the billowing labial invitation and was in, trousers still on.

He was a meat and potatoes man, at the table and in bed.

No nonsense, no backdoor crap, men fucked pussy. He was fucking her hard, long and indecently deep. His rough hands groping her breasts under her rugby top was a strange turn-on for Chastity.

She was taking Adam's pecker in her gob from over her head. She wasn't a contortionist, but she was giving it a damn good try.

She was getting plenty of his head and focusing on the glans.

Adam, who had never had a head job of this quality, was enjoying his cock, really enjoying his cock. It was strange watching his cock and his boss's cock.

His old boss was grunting and groaning as he pumped pussy at the other end of this girl's body. He momentarily looked around before he lost himself in Chastity's sweet lips wrapped around his cock and his own wood being treated like royalty.

Though he caught a glance of Lance, his mate, who was poking a girl's starfish.

And fuck, he could tell both Lance and the girl were ecstatic. He lost them as he looked at his own pleasure master, the redhead. She was wild, just as we dream a girl will be.

Lance was in Erica's back door. Fuck, her arse was tight. Tighter than a lid, you couldn't get off a jar. He was jamming into her, and she was continually moaning. He saw her glossy pleated labia wobble, but he was held. Butt ruled for this boy. She kept a tighter grip on him than Mrs Roberts did on the Retreat accounts, and boy was she tight with money. Lance saw Erica's arse push in and then pucker out with his cock.

Pushed in, wrinkled out, contracted in and gathered out.

Fuck, it was beautiful to watch.

Fuck, it was beautiful to butt fuck the perfect arse on a gorgeous young woman.

Erica had Joel happy in her mouth. She had two cocks at once, so did Chastity.

Equal first.

And Beth was sweet and had a lovely kid.

Life is neat, but sometimes it can be unpacked fast.

Mrs Roberts got the complete eyeful of her life from the kitchen window. Her mind processed a whirlwind of biblical sermon slatterns; Salome, Jezebel, The Whore of Babylon.

She couldn't believe her eyes. She thought such wickedness on earth couldn't exist in her backyard; it was Sodom and Gomorrah reborn before her.

Trembling, she reached for the phone — thinking, where in God's name was the Monsignor?

Where was he when you needed him?

Then she realised the accident on the radio news. The girl's guardian angel was away, and it had created a devil's playground.

She was punching numbers; she would insist Sister Agatha get here immediately.

One number to go when a hand-held hers from behind.

The phone was down.

Betty Roberts recognised the ring on the hand. It was Monsignor.

He didn't speak; he nudged her with his body to the kitchen sink. Her buttocks heaved back. Her body overrode her brain. He had her saggy breasts flopping over her bra, her dress hitched up, and her granny bloomers around her knees.

Mrs Roberts mouthed, "Oh Lord, yes."

This surprised herself and the Monsignor, but neither stopped the pressing into and back.

Mrs Betty Roberts's mind travelled in a nano back twenty-five years; the last time she had had sex was in the months before her sweetheart Davey had passed away.

However, she was re-learning fast; the equipment never wears out, never gets rusty, and even at her age, close to sixty; throw in the thrill of unexpected excitement; she had never been dogged ever or had sex anywhere except in the dark, under the sheets and in a bed.

Betty was suddenly wildly receptive, surprised by herself and her sex needs, taking in the man piece from behind her and her wide eyes now unexpectedly seduced and kinkily engaged in the feral sexuality of the girls in the workshed.

She suddenly understood her long-suppressed sexual need. She remembered her youthful rutting with her Davey like they were bunnies under the sheets.

Bernard was straight in, pumping away in flabby buttocks, thanking God for fucking massive dollops of lube. His usual anal prep package, but glazed over his penis today, and it was managing very well inside Mrs Roberts.

Her efforts to suppress growing groans of pleasure were actually pushing Bernard's cock deeper into the community's favourite grandmother.

What we do to save the moment!

Bernard had to be careful here. He was nearly enjoying this.

He took a look out the window, too. As he took in the scene, especially Erica's arse getting it; he pumped faster into Mrs Roberts; and as Betty Roberts took in the shed scene; especially; Chastity's with two cocks at her mouth; her own buttocks flexed back more; pressing harder onto the Monsignor's pubic region.

In the shed, Adam came first, lost it and sprayed all over Chastity's face. She was licking it in and milking dry poor Adam's cock.

Bluey was pumping like a genuine stayer, but when he took in Chastity's stretched wet labia framing his cock, once too often, he couldn't hold it either. The dirty bugger joined Adam at her mouth.

Chastity was all wriggly with excitement.

She had two cocks at her mouth; she tried to take both at once, squeezing Adam's head in, too, as Bluey shot directly in her mouth. 

Bluey's warm, wet, willing wad confronted Chastity's wild, uninhibited carnality.

Adam was fucking shocked that his cock was squeezed in next to his bosses. 

Still, the girl had a great mouth.

She had a great pussy too.

Chas directed Adam's head down between her legs. He licked away like there was no tomorrow. Well, there would be no opportunity like this tomorrow.

The older bloke, Bluey, relaxed post-coital, rolled his own and watched the rest of the action in the shed like a sex stage show, the letch, as he puffed away.

Chastity would have the last drag when Adam got the spikes of pleasure out of her clit. She was pointing out the button of delight to him and filling him with what needed to happen between her flaps and under her hood. A true sex educator based on the self-interest model.

Erica's arse was having a really long love affair with Lance's cock.

Joel had lost it a while ago. He had a bean sprout, tasty sperm, and good protein, proving that Erica's athlete's mind was still working. She gave Joel her titties to fondle. Joel was delighted. 

Lance just kept doing it right. Arse and cock were like an engaged pair, Erica's chocolate freckle and his tackle. It was a duo of delight and fulsome desire, arse and pecker, in love with each other.

A match made in a shed.

Erica got her fingers rubbing furiously between her glossy pleats and felt her orgasm shaping. Lance ground into her butt, still tight, so tight.

Erica's orgasm came like a stone skipping across the water. Skimming through and over her flesh, plop, plop, plop, delightful paroxysms piled on delightful spasms, she was self-lanced.

Lance, in turn, let his cum spray all over her rear cheeks, gluey, creamy cum, glistening on buttery soft buttocks.

Beth's boy was the champion at his first outing. She had given Oscar the ride of his life. He would insist every girl he had in the future take a turn on top.

The pair were so sweet; it was nearly not rude watching two young'uns embracing sex.

Pleasure defined by pleasure refined.

Finding the tempo of two at the moment. These two had it. 

Beth's:" Oh...Shit...OH…SHIT…Oh…Fuck… I'm cumming," could have destroyed the virgin's dream to start sex.

Oscar was nearly overwhelmed, confronting an aggressive, base girly intense orgasm at the start of his cock's long career.

Luckily, he thought — shit, I'm okay at this, and then promptly lost his load anyway, splattering in jerks inside and around her love canyon.

Beth and Oscar then watched 'the juices of love' dribble out intermittently and settle on her labial fairy winglets.

So cute.

Bernard was humping a granny like she was a filly.

Mrs Betty R was receiving like a cat on heat.

Sex was sensational for self when unexpected. Betty had a gentle, tingly pleasure hit. As she peaked, she understood the three young girls were participating in a tableau of unmeasured, unbridled desire.

There was too much flesh in the shed — a sense overload.

Where to look — so we go into self, take for self, be self.

Mrs Roberts held it all in, too.

Erica held it in her clit and arse.

Beth let it swirl around her wet coochie and then into her mind and Oscar's eyes.

Chastity savoured it in and out, like all the males in the shed. She took in the mayhem of orgiastic pleasures in a shed, spread out around the space as random as spilled semen, richly happy as per usual with her sexual self but all out of self now — because it was over.

Everyone had work to do — thought Chas — Mrs Roberts- would be here soon.

Bernard, too, shot his load, the gentlest of his life, into Betty Roberts. Aware that a potential career-ruining day bouncing uncontrollably like nubile sex was salvaged by granny sex. 

Ask Bluey, Lance, Joel, Oscar or Adam what they expected from the day, any day at the Retreat, and it would have been: work, not group sex.

Bernard summed it up better in his mind as he dropped his cassock; there is the known, the unknown, the expected, the unexpected. The garden was known; the expected was nuns in habits and priests in cassocks circulating the garden, arms folded, or touching rosaries in complementation of the divine and its mysterious guidance.

The unexpected; three nymphs in the shed and a grandmother in the kitchen — well fuck me — and they all were.

There was a flurry of work in the front garden and driveway late into the afternoon.

A Bluey contract remains business.

The girls changed all the linen and helped Mrs Roberts vacuum and dust when they came back inside.

Only Chastity caught the musky whiff in the kitchen.

Surely not Bernard, and if so, why?

She processed it.

OMG, was it that close to all coming undone?

Well, done, Bernard.

Chastity realised that while she was Queen of the pleasure principle, Bernard was the Emperor of sexual improvisation.

Mrs Roberts hugged the girls as they left and told them to be good: " Find a boyfriend and marry young; find the romance."

In reality, all the Monsignor's fadoodling had done — Mrs R was back in her polite self — sex was never mentioned in well-bred company; was to centre again and reinvigorate her eternal love for Davey.

She would visit his grave tomorrow with fresh flowers, and she would remember the seasons of their time together with added layers of intimacy going forward in her life.

The Monsignor knew, too, where her heart lay and spent several minutes with her alone praying before joining the girls in the Range Rover out in front of the Retreat.

The drive back was uneventful. The girls were fucked out, to put it impolitely. The roadhouse toilet and the roadhouse, thank God, deliberated Bernard, were empty of customers when they had a brief return stop.

When they got back to St Anne's, Sister Agatha was shown their chastity pledges. She was close to tears, for the three girls — saved purity.

The girls went happily upstairs, contented to be back with all their friends, up to the dorms, and slept soundly, their minds meandering dreamily, savouring their smutty day.

It was very late into the evening when Bernard returned to the Rectory. Through the window, there was the first flurry of light snow.

Christ, it was technically the last day of autumn.

Bernard thought fuck this and got up on his desk and removed the smoke alarm battery, and lit his smoke.

He put his boots up on the desk. He thought about the upcoming Cardinal's visit for prize presentation day, the community mass and the college formal dinner for the leaving senior students; who knew what opportunities awaited in dark alcoves, the vestry or the belfry or perhaps behind the Cathedral Organ: as he carefully crafted his rollie.

He was enjoying a well-deserved durry inside the Rectory.

He wondered about his lucky decision to go back immediately to the Retreat after Patrick's dick was sorted out — a misdemeanour.

Bernard had wanted a last ménage with the girls and got Mrs Roberts instead. Who knew who or where their next fuck in life; and that counted married couples; and where it was going to be; the kitchen sink; the shed, or…?

God, each drag was good.

Then: beeping…beeping … fucking beeping …from where?

Then, the continual full detector alarm in the hallway.

Bernard had left his office door open. It was always open — unless he was with a girl. 

Fuck it, he thought; he left his boots up and took another puff.