Spring — College Celebrations: Bernard

Blessed are those who share flesh consensually

Bernard ferreted around in his deep pockets. He couldn't find a fag.

Damn, his spare tobacco was on his desk. He had rushed over to the Cathedral earlier.

Nothing for it but to attend a final security meeting and liaise between the diocese and government surveillance for the VIPs attending the community celebration mass today.

Christ — a fag first.

He botted a fag from one of the security guys, Murray, who was having his quick smoke, too, before heading inside.

Mutual craving shared in the moment.

And Murray gave the genial Monsignor a spare for later.

They met Richard in the —Big Brother Zone' — upstairs behind the Organ.

Quality set up; cameras everywhere; no place for a cigarette inside; you would be caught out.

No rooms were off limits either; the cameras were set up in the Vestry, the Cardinal's chamber, and even the Rectory.

Surprising the Monsignor — his office.

Well, it looked like St Mathews Park was the go-to zone; if he scored a lucky college girl fuck today.

It was dull for the rest of the morning.

Monsignor was required to be there. The flower ladies drove him insane, especially Miss Hall and Miss Smith. 

Christ — Patrick owed him one for saving his foreskin over that flashing incident.

" Yes, ladies, they look perfect," was what he said to Miss Hall and Smith while secretly he was thinking — piss off. I need a fag — desperately.

That was when he saw multiple trouble and potential good times, coming up the main steps to the vestibule in the shape of Ms Chastity Palmer, Ms Erica Philips, and Ms Bethany Dwyer.

The blonde, the brunette, and the redhead — or earth, air and fire.

Today may be the last time he saw them together or separately. 

Winter in Rome held a litany of lewd personal tales — damn — he had missed this trio.

Erica was earthy; she knew she needed sex and lots of it.

Still, her feet were on the ground, and she had her own future as a track star and was concerned for others.

Since his diocese return last week, he had heard on the inter-college grapevine how Erica was inclusive of others, like Meredith. 

Beth was angelically flitty like rarefied air. Strange how her pussy lips looked like angel winglets too. A young woman who looked too cute to fuck or sodomise — those were your immediate thoughts on seeing her.

Chas; her body was a mobile life support unit for pussy and likely butt fucking. She fluttered those eyes, crooked her finger or flipped her dress, and you knew you were in. The uncomplicated sexual female. She had virtually a male view of opportunistic sex. Pure fire in male loins and her own.

Even the supposedly non-sexual choir uniform of tartan skirts, long-sleeved white school monogrammed blouses, neck-to-wrist covering, and silly tartan neckties couldn't deflect from flaunting triple sexuality.

These three they had it: the brunette-free hair, the athletic thighs, the height of Erica, Bernard fantasised red lingerie.

Beth, probably light blue or yellow items for her sweet, intimate apparel arrangement; her dumpling-shaped breasts barely contained by the school blouse; her fringe and ponytail, driving him mad with desire as usual. Her butt was still on his agenda, given half a chance.

Never last in his thoughts, though often savoured last, sassy Chassy, whom Bernard thought could be commando under that skirt today or probably something very skimpy and black, with a matching noticeable push-up bra.

The lass with perfect body portfolio management.

Damn — Winter — and the Papacy's secrets — here in Spring were three blossoming young women.

As he observed the college trio arrive, Miss Hall and Miss Smith became background noises. However, the two old ladies continued to address Bernard directly.

Father Patrick stood to the side.

He introduced the girls to Ms H and Ms S. 

Then, he excused himself from the octogenarian pair to talk to the girls.

Off the girls went, organised — though Erica had wandered off — where?

A while later, Patrick was back. He informed the Monsignor that the Vestry had a — Do-not-disturb sign.

Bernard thought, Chastity?

He needed a fag first before again checking with the security guys.

After his smoke, Bernard made his way up the tight spiral stairs and entered the secure zone behind the Organ.

He could see Murray and Richard; they were taking in the screens too intently.

Next, Bernard heard the sounds of male groaning and female sexual moaning — something was riveting — they didn't even notice Bernard behind them.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph — and every Saint the Monsignor knew; the closed-circuit security cameras, then the voices; he knew them well from sex.

Chastity's voice, moany deliciously loud, then the screen — Chastity's arse being plugged in the Vestry — her gob being deep throated at the same time and her breasts manhandled by; no, yes; three government ministers.

This was beyond covering up or control, and then it got worse.

On another screen, Beth was backed up to the Cardinal's desk, having her cute arsehole licked; acapella highs of delight echoing around the Organ from the Chambers, courtesy of the most sensitive sound recorders; and on top of that — there was Beth's virgin arse going down almost before Bernard's eyes.

And Erica was a blur of head jobs and hand jobs, along a line of wanking choir boys, most missing their lower uniforms.

Dear God; you can put out a spot fire; but you can't put out three flaming sex infernos at once — SHIT, SHIT, SHIT.

 "This is being taped," Bernard knew it was, as Murray nodded.

Then Murray looked back behind Bernard.

The Monsignor tried to listen to Richard but knew Murray wanted his attention too as he tapped his shoulder.

"It's okay; we will erase it; but fuck me, man; what do they teach girls; at all girls' colleges these days," from a flabbergasted Richard; whose eyes were caught between Bernard and the screens.

Bernard turned to take in Murray's concern.

Still, it was too late. He half-heard Richard half-finish his comments, his voice overlapping with a familiar female one behind him.

The Monsignor spun.

"Would you like some refreshments, gentleman?" followed by an extended shocked pause.

Then, Sister Margret repeated the signs of the cross with: "Oh my, oh, in heaven's name," as Sister Rosemary, accompanied by Sister Margret, started to back off. 

Sister Rosemary crossed herself, fighting off what must be Lucifer's work. Here were Beelzebub's handmaidens of sin.

Having seen their potential in the gym shower once, Sister Margret was doubly shocked.

These girls were the harlots of Satan; they had deceitfully signed Chastity pledges. 

Sister Rosemary was stepping backwards, getting closer to Sister Margret.

Both women crowding and squeezing next to each other, only moments from cowering in disbelief, maybe fainting, maybe even screaming and running away for God's help.

Bernard felt there was no way out of this.

It would take a — miracle.

The Jesuit in him took control; it would be a human solution.

Keep two nuns' bodies way in front of their moral minds — fuck their brains out — make them so horny — get them filthy slutty hot, and active. Implicate them, the co-conspiracy model.

Jesus! Mrs Roberts at the Retreat.

A sea of sin- if you sin- it might as well be big!

It was the hottest sex of the security guys' lives; behind the organ, in the Cathedral, with all the security tapes still running, their moans and groans mixing with the ones in the Vestry, the Rectory and the chambers.

Fuck any polite foreplay.

There was no time to warm the nuns up; it was ribald action or straight to hell.

It was really hotter sex than usual; well, this was nuns, virgin middle-aged women, on the fast pluck and heading for a rapid deflowering.

Fuck; everyone was going down; the scandal; instant defrocking; or goal or; fuck; there was a camera behind the organ filming them too!

Screw the nuns, or all get screwed — they chose to try the nuns.

When you are planning on the desperate, caught-out sexual move like Bernard, he knew it was his duty to take the plainer nun first.

French kiss them and grope, and hope — to Christ — it was reciprocated or fuck, it would be all over.

Sister Margret was taken aback but didn't move.

She instantly liked tongue contact; it was good, a hand on her buttocks; better; the hand headed under her bulky dress was way more interesting. It was moving fast and trying to touch her forbidden zone. 

She was a nun; she had no other name personally for down there.

She knew the devil's words but couldn't bring herself to use them about her own body, not yet.

Sister Rosemary felt a crowd of hardness, Bernard close, and then Murray dominated her vision.

The security agent took his lead from Bernard — fuck or flight!

He chose — fuck!

Bernard hit Sister Margret's pantyhose; hell, he felt around; sweet Jesus, thank you; a slight ladder; he ripped it open.

The startling rip excited the nun.

Sister Margret went," Oh, my."

Bernard was down on his knees; it was too late for a prayer; it was kissing the pussy god or —

Damnation, he thought, as he hit; fucking tight white hugging cottontails.

Bernard spat hard; spat again, spat the frickin trinity; this was true missionary work to save himself and the girls.

He clenched the wet spot his spittle created, and with his teeth, he ripped a gash in her cottontails; then, with his hands on both sides of the small tear, he gripped her panties and tore them both ways. He shredded her underwear into two dangling flaps — the Jesuit finally believed in miracles.

So, too, did the nun, it seemed — "Oh Christ," said Sister Margret.

"Fuck," said Bernard; then the cynical hardened Jesuit thought there was actually a God, as the virgin nun's beautiful oyster labia were dangling free, with a fluid smear and a pink bullet-headed shiny clit already self-exposed and fuckin hairy beyond a forest. 

Here was fem-bush revealed like humans were still copulating up in the evolutionary trees. 

Wow — thick, wispy, splayed pubes, tangled and dark.

Bernard fanned everything out and got his tongue to work.

Sister Margret hadn't reached conscious control; she was rapt, diving within her own disintegrating control, her passionate self-exposed being. Her will was fragmented by self-desire.

Bernard flicked faster than Sister Margret could have ever reacted to any youthful blasphemy incautiously uttered in her maths class. He knew the assignment: to keep her mind behind her body.

Sister Margret knew the obscenities, but only to punish them; however, now she used them because they were herself, her decades of self-genital shame, gone forever: her previously untouched for life, private bits swept up, slick licked by the Monsignor.

She was in euphoric excitement, a new world of touch.

She realised — she should have joined those three sluts and their dildo in the gym shower back in autumn; instead of walking away. My God — she had walked away touching her rosary — walk away, never again — walk into sex, yes — seek it — how quickly we can change.

"Oh God, Oh God; that's good; more; give me more; fucking more;" she was profligate, descending into debauched desire very quickly. 

Shards of pleasure rose repeatedly between her own legs and her eyes, and her mind took in Chas's explosive captured desire on a screen, a cock in her arse, another in her pussy and a third mouth.

"Ugh! Ugh!" moaned the good Sister.

Suddenly Margret wanted multiple cocks too. 

Murray took in the crisis with his security surveillance reaction danger assessment training kicking in automatically.

No, he didn't reach for his gun; he went: assess, react, control.

Fuck though the Monsignor was fast; what did Jesuits learn to react so fast; the secret pricks. 

Bernard was a blur of French tongue action and foraging fingers.

Murray was impressed. He had sensed the man's skill earlier in the day; he could do any job and control any situation, and the proof was here.

Murray didn't hesitate once Bernard moved. A woman is a woman, but Bernard was generous. He had left the relatively younger one for Murray. His nun had scorching eyes. They were darting blue, taking in raunchy sounds and sights on the screens.

Then, the sensation of maleness filled the space around her, her eyes enlarging in excitement before and as it happened.

The gap was imperceptible, only just there; sensation always just ahead of her mind, like the lure, the hare, the lust of the greyhound.

Today, the greyhound would win; her eyes darted straight into Murray's committed browns.

His tongue hit hers at speed.

Then the surprise; hers was seeking his; tongue tips collided as his hands unbuttoned her full dark habit to the waist; he was faster here compared to his reaction time when reloading his gun in a firefight.

There is nothing like urgent focus.

He dropped her habit to her waist and confronted a fucking singlet over her bra. He ripped it down, copying the Bernard technique.

She went, "Oh Christ, "but held her position probably because the wall was behind her now.

Murray was tearing through everything. Her bra burst open, too, and two jugs emerged in bountifulness.

The actual sin had been hiding these and never sharing them; they were awesome melons. Murray felt the weight of a breast, in turn, the true weight of two breasts — lifting them together.

The 'mmm' of delight from Sister Rosemary indicated his complete control.

Fuck; he glanced; over towards Bernard; the Monsignor's tongue was covered in pubes.

'Mmm' again as he fondled her breasts, and Murray realised Richard was under her skirt; her pantyhose and white cotton standard undies were now around her shins.

Control is all; however, Rosemary wasn't wavering; she hit overdrive of her own.

Murray's zip was down, his own hard organ was out, and she was stroking it, finding her rhythm with his stick.

She saw Erica on a screen, sucking a member; right along its length, and it disappearing and then reappearing.

She went down and took Murray's cock head.

Looking over her, he realised that she had seen the security screen. A brunette taking a line of head, a redhead was being doubled, but what a cute arse, and there was the fucking Cardinal pumping a blonde with a ponytail, cracking open her butt.

Then Murray looked down and saw Rosemary's lips, fulsome sucking like an instant pro, the hunger of twenty lost years exposed. She was cock hungry, man-starving and sex famished. She had a cock and was engaged happily for the present instance.

Fuck what Erica was doing. She needed a stiffy of her own.

Murray wanted those tits, though; so heavy, yet so soft; he guided her up a bit and rubbed his cock over both her nipples.

She naturally understood the rest; taking his cockhead and sliding it across her nipples and breasts, plus Murray educated her; guiding her to a titty fuck.

While Richard was now initiating her into the pleasure of a randy finger fucking from behind.

Bernard had Margret's legs spread over a chair arm; this was primal human pussy waiting — so furry — but the guiding fleshy slices of pink flesh showed the way — right through the middle.

Bernard went in steady, aware of middle-aged virginal joy.

She was wet, wide, and it was pleasantly easy. She was wriggling her arse, thrashing her legs and moaning louder than the combined efforts of the three girls on the screens.

"Orrgh! Aah! Ooh! Aah!"

Rosemary copied her fellow Sister, spread her legs across a chair, and her sex lips were fanned out like the Ace of Spaces, beautifully inviting.

It was intense and needy at the same time.

Richard, then Murray, taking turns dipping the wick. Her legs were so wide the puck, sucking of trapped air and lubricated moisture, added to the sense of excess joy. 

It was, for a while, nearly in sync, side by side fucking, and the two nuns were able to reach across and kiss each other as they received the blessed cock and awaited their baptisms in sperm.

Bernard had time to take in the row of screens; thank Christ Beth had finished and Chastity too.

Only Erica was somewhere kneeling, surrounded in a bukkake haze.

The brunette looked stunningly beautiful, though, showered in sperm like it was her girly destiny.

Thrust after lingering hard thrust into the two nun's pussies, they were eager, happy girls.

The score, sin zero, lust infinity.

The guys were close to flagging, even though they were teamed to try and match Rosemary's libido and growing sexual ego.

She was untamed now.

Bernard just kept his pace with Margret while watching for Erica's slutty sultry exit from the Vestry.

An external camera caught her exchange with Patrick.

Beth had left the Cardinal for choir practice.

It appeared Chas was collecting phone numbers and ministerial cards. Ever opportunistic, she left, removing the do-not-disturb sign.

The girls were finished.

Bernard sprayed Margret's bushy mound, and her legs flexed in delight. Then she realised where she was and how she must have looked.

But she relaxed and smiled.

Richard gave Sister Rosemary a cream pie, and Murray gave her a decent mouthful of cum. 

It was over behind the Organ.

Minutes count; they were only decent when Sister Agatha came up the stairs looking for her fellow nuns.

"Sisters, the girls are assembled for their final choir practice; no time for a chat — my — what a hawk eye set up," and the principal ran her eye across the screens.

She smiled; everyone was behaving, even those St Xavier boys were singing under Father Donovan's supervision at a safe distance from her girls.

The torn pantyhose and ripped undies in a bin caught her eye as they went to choir practice.

Strange — then — likely some skank secretarial harlot the other day!

None of her chaste girls were here.

So, the community celebrated the end of the college senior year and decades of education for boys and girls. 

Beth sang her solo like an angel. Her inner calm coursed through the entire assembled community. It was a feel-good moment.

Beth felt great and shared it with the world through her voice. 

Erica, in the back row of the choir, kept catching the television camera's coverage roving eye; she looked straight out of an Impressionist masterpiece.

Serene with self and others.

No wonder — she had serviced fifteen cocks in an afternoon. 

Chastity was little Ms Perfect, reading the Beatitudes — her needs were satisfied for the moment — words may help others quench their needs — the tranquil, committed face of this young woman did not deceive the few in the know —and smart enough to know how to build her public faced future too.

The trio all took the communion wafer without a pang of guilt.

Life was for young women; it was theirs to command, seek, and live.

Blessed are those who embrace their own and others' flesh and share it consensually.

At the end of the mass, there was time for Erica and Beth with their attending parents, who were so proud of their daughters' public efforts. They were effusive in shaking Bernard's hand, who had guided their daughters in Autumn to Chastity pledges.

Chastity was holding her own, being congratulated by a group of VIPs for being Dux of St Anne's or for her reading — thought Sister Agatha.

The principal couldn't find Sister Rosemary or Sister Margret when it was time to supervise getting the girls back to school, past those leering St Xavier boys.

Sister Agatha eventually led them back herself.

She wasn't surprised by the way college boys looked at Erica. She was tall and striking. What those letches from St Xavier's didn't know, as Agatha did — quite smugly as she passed them — was Erica's personal Chastity pledge. She was safe till marriage.

Genitals, unlike humans, don't discriminate; they aren't fussy or choosey at the moment. They don't put down or disparage others. They just fucking embrace it and get on with it.

They are the beatitudes of self-embracing; they embrace the human in us and humanise us to each other.

Sisters Rosemary and Margret were embracing and exploring each other. Their bushy flappy shame hidden for years now embraced by each other — just embraced — a fully naked random act of sexual opportunity taken openly, as it should be, like but what doesn't often exist enough but should around all of us —random acts of human goodness and sharing clothed and unclothed.

The season of opportunity should be permanent.

The two sisters had gone to see Bernard about the surveillance tapes in his office.

He wasn't there.

They actually wanted a copy of themselves for themselves.

Naughty nuns.

That copy would only be in memory, held in memory of the participants because Richard and Murray deleted every segment in the nation's interests.

There was no Bernard in his office; the two nuns accidentally touched — just the brush as they left his office — and it was enough.

They craved touch from slight touch, and it blossomed openly, uninhibited by sin and became random fondling and their first chance lesbian genital caresses happened, as they were both fully naked. The pair shut the door and stayed in his office.

Bernard had headed for St Anne's College.

He wanted to give the trio a parting gift.

No, not sex, a gift. 

He had thought about this through Winter.

Spring, the end of their college life, provided one last opportunity to gift them. Surprisingly, he had to find them separately across the St Anne's campus.

He gave Beth a St Cecilia pendant; she would be fine moderated by her music.

She cuddled the Monsignor like she hugged her grandpa.

He gave a St Sebastian chain to Erica; her sport could balance her life yet.

The brunette gave the Jesuit — a high five.

It was a Magdalen medallion necklace, though, for Chastity —and only she would decide at any moment the direction of this token and her rich gifts to sex and life. 

She asked the Monseigneur to bend a bit; she kissed his forehead — and smirked away.

St Anne's without the trio.

Bernard was in the shadow of the cloister.

It was Spring. Autumn nights and the beginning of the trio of delight seemed so far back. He knew he had to release them but would miss everything about them. Yes, the sex because we are sexual beings designed for pleasure in the moment, orgasm seeking in the moment.

Yet held longer in time by association, the associations made beyond bodies frenzied in the minutes of copulation are the ripples through the time that is our life.

His best life memories were added to and salient — like the pitch of Beth's highest singing note today, the truth and depth in the beatitudes read by a striking Chastity, and Erica's inclusion of the 'out' girls like Meredith in her own free-time college exercise and diet program, plus extra-body activities, no doubt.

The trio were, though, all young women designed to embrace sex. What a momentous eighteenth year of life for them all.

Bernard found an alcove off the cloister and lit up a fag.

This is it; it is finished, and the girls will go their way into the world. 

Screw this — he lit up — inside the school —

The promise of sexual opportunity would be forever associated with the craving for this extra drag because twittering and pushing into each other's chests as they strolled across the cloister were Briony Davies and Marsha Steele.

Yes, next year will take care of itself — Bernard already knew this as the nicotine heightened his joy — of watching two pert arses — until they disappeared.