Spring — College Celebrations: Chastity

The redhead is overbooked!

Chastity was enjoying a puff on a cigarette.

She smoked in the dorm ablutions as there were no smoke detectors. It was early, and no one else was up.

The redhead needed a calming fag before her big day began. Multiple awards to collect in the morning at the final school assembly: she was, as expected, the valedictorian of St Anne's.

She had the Bible Reading at the Cathedral Mass this afternoon—the Beatitudes—and would take her public speaking seriously. Her student speech in reply to Sister Agatha at the formal dinner last night was sassy and tongue-in-cheek, but she acknowledged good teaching.

Beth came into the open-plan bathrooms. Her PJ top was open, her pinkish pointed nipples more awake than yawning Beth herself. This was just standard college girls' bathroom entry if you had breasts to flaunt and put them on parade. Chastity loved these two warm dumplings and would miss them. 

It was all happening so fast now. Beth had been invited by a performance interview to attend the National Conservatorium, the top scholarship secured; Erica was off to the National Institute of Sport and training for the World Under Twenty-one Championships next year; and Chas herself, The National University, dual scholarship, to study, Political Science and Languages.

Beth's nostrils took in the smoke before her eyes fully opened. Then she gave her broad smile.

Chastity, her sweet friend, had a cigarette in her hand — on the central bench — naked.

"Honey, I wasn't expecting you. I was about to have a shower," stated the redhead.

Then Chas was thinking — girls, get them started, train them up in the dorms and with Bernard, and they took liberties — because Beth was already fondling her favourite breasts, apart from her own. 

Chas moved on from her smoke quickly.

Breast play, what a way to start the day! A fondle, then the sweep of an open hand across a nipple, the caress over the stomach, briefly tantalising the navel. Followed by their tongues searching, their lips trembled against each other so soft, pliable and giving, giving more than flesh, giving more than a memory of pleasurable friendship. It was the aching, pleasurable searing of self to self in a moment. They both knew the poignancy of the day, tears to Beth's eyes.

Maybe they wouldn't get to do this again, ever.

Chastity held Beth's face between her hands.

Beth noticed and would never forget the cute freckles, which were so light but evenly distributed, a few on each side of the bridge of Chas's nose.

Not perfectly distributed, but that was Chas. 

Her college bestie was human unpredictability; she urged you to step out of yourself and explore yourself deeper — to share your body.

"It's okay, sweetie," Chastity told Bethany, her face between her hands, "we have now; maybe we will have now again another day;" her hands glided down Beth's body and under skimpy pj's and touched her friends' labia.

Her friend's fairy wings, already moist and parted, glistened in the glade between her thighs. Anticipation of gentle delight stemming the tears but not stemming the pleasure drive. It was dominant now. It would hold and direct the scene, pleasure before loss, always.

Hand over hand, both of the blonde's hands over Chastity's girly pleats, Beth guiding her girlfriend's hand; maybe for the last time ever; who knew?

They had promised a reunion around Christmas, but life had a way of splitting perfect pairings like shucking a pearl from its oyster.

This was ultimately tenderness, tender unlike the Chas she knew, yet the Chas she knew, the Chas, picked the pleasure mood of the moment.

It was tender, so affectionate of genitals and self. It was what Beth needed; the gentle. Chas was touching Beth, like the first time she had felt herself.

The first soft, feathery, unsure tip of a finger on a yielding expanse of flesh, feel it give back pleasure from such a limited, tentative touch, touch by an open spread hand, sensing the whole area, just sensing genitals beneath an open palm, gliding and sliding the open hand over all, instantly pleasurable, instantly responsive, instantly in a relationship, then the wetness, then the bump.

The pleasure gift is so intensely pleasurable. The bump explored; a little bud of rigid flesh, hidden between your legs, never hidden again, sought and sought for delight with self and others, you rub around and on it, it delivers, it will consistently deliver, the sensational flood of self-delight and its culminating release.

Eventually, both girls narrowed their focus to the spot.

The female pleasure spot.

Work the spot. 

The dot with the lot.

The peripherals were great for the build-up. Never ignore the whole and focus on the details; history could help with sex.

So could economics; this was simple supply and demand, supply the pussy to a willing finger, tongue or cock, and it would demand.

This was also geography — crevices to explore.

Biology was the given; learnt.

Longer to understand for Beth but not Chas; the psychology that is, sex applied, knowing how and when to take, chancing the moment for all.

And, of course, sex was language, especially for Chas. The dirty talk but the whispers of belonging, the promises of tenderness, and the hopes expressed for next time.

Still, especially for Beth, sex was music, the rhythm and the cadence of desire.

What more are we designed for than to receive and dispense pleasure at the moment, the spoiling of self in sexual heat and the indulgence dispersed to another.

Then, touching together, brought together by touch, sustained in touch, delays the parting.

 "Play with yourself for me, just once more for me," said Chas.

"Like this," responded Beth.

She opened her legs on the bench and generously spat a dribble of drool between them.

The glob of spit hit in a wad below her navel and then ran in a steady trickle down to her clithood. Her fingers did the rest, taking her own wetness to join her slits moisture, her crinkled fairy winglets of pink delight glistening for Chas alone.

Her middle and index finger stroked upwards, arching back her clit hood, exposing her erect bud; for Chas.

Chastity joined Beth on the bench and spread herself for her friend. Playing with her wet sails, too. Then, circulating her fingertips across her clithood. Building sensitivity to the very centre of her sensitiveness. Masturbation as an act of pleasure in another's eyes; mutual masturbation is foreplay, as in, see, this is me; this is what I like; you can have it, but only after I tease myself.

Chas knew there was more.

Beth did, too.

The more was Beth's tongue and Chas's.

Chas moved herself up and sat over her sweet girlfriend's face. Beth was licking as soon as Chas was in range. Chastity had recently let her fire crotch pubes blaze into a spread. Beth liked it; she had to pry a bit to draw out the hidden labial sails.

"Oh yeah…mmm…mmm…more…mmm," as Chas pressed down with her pubic region and out with her thighs, and Beth pressed up and in with her tongue and out with her hands inside Chas's thighs, stretching out thighs to extend her tongue's pleasure within.

It was exquisite.

It was delicate.

It was intense cunnilingus, the word appropriate for its length; it was the eating-out savour; it was the licking of her girlfriend's inner sweet, viscous gravy of genuine evolutionary internal feminine lube.

Chas knew what they both needed.

Her hands swept Beth into the sixty-nine. This was for them. This was here; this was for their pussies. The moment demanded mutual licking, and it was subtle, fragilely nuanced from initial touching, the petting of long know friendship, but one in which neither would ever tire of the fleshy folds of personal exposed delight, given before and given again, here and now.

Chas spread Beth's arse cheeks poised just above her face.

Beth had more pubic fuzz today, shaping her winglets of flesh in a womanly way. An actual fecund, more profound human expression of self.

The sweet 'mmm' from Beth came as Chas rimmed her cute anus.

Then her hands spread her butt cheeks to expose the hood, her friend's clit, to rub; to rub; until it was super sensitive and only tongue could assuage its final peaking need.

Beth's tongue, too, had found Chas's clit and was working it to a frenzy; licking, licking, smitten by pussy flesh and Chas's growing 'mmm's' of overflowing pleasure, which would flood out soon.

Chas again altered their position to tease Beth, the long tease, and make what could be their finale last.

She encouraged Beth to a trib.

Beth understood, but it hadn't been her before.

Chas initiated it. 

Their tribbing started for Bethany like two fighting kites, dancing around each other, unable to effectively bridge the gap. It was ungainly, their sweet slashes of flesh not meeting, until Chas orchestrated the arrangement; the slutty duality; as, with her legs between Beth's, her flappy wet spinnaker and jib; hit Beth's sea of moisture, her damp labia and accelerated delightful mayhem. 

The redhead's pleats were slinking smoothly across Beth's girly pinks, spreading moist desire and stealing into Beth's pleasure.

Beth's endearing angel winglets were smothered in a fleshy wet lustre; her silky skin strips glossed into satiny skin flaps. Their pussies were masturbating each other in a genuinely incomparable trib.

It was sensation overload, a wet, mushy delight for the pair, as two sets of lips glazed, both coated by their girlfriend's wetness, became joined dew. Four lips were sticky and lapping and eddying into each other's folds. Their combined pussy lips were pulpy and soft, sloppy and squashing, puddling liquid together.

And there was the squelching sound as lips tack together, a pucker suck sound as they slither apart.

Then the rubbing, the rubbing together dominated; the friction of combined girly bits; the bliss hit; the bliss held; the bliss sought — its crescendo of release.

There has been touch, so much touching, the pleasure circulated through touch, touch defining pleasure, now pleasure needs no refinement; pleasure leads to no more teasing; pleasure has to be tunnelled: winglets and sails released from the insanely delicious pleasure of tribbing.

 It can only be orgasm to be orgasm. Chas and Beth look into each other's eyes; they hold their bodies close, arms wrapped, legs frenzied as they drive lips and clits to smack and splatter the accumulated viscosity of two.

Their eyes lock briefly; they will share mutual climaxes.

"Ugh, Ugh," from the blonde.

"Ooh! Ooh!" from the redhead.

Chas just ahead; but they overlap.

Her orgasm races through Chastity like coloured streamers fluttering in the wind. Sensation unravels like ribbons, out, fully unravelling, then stretched out; so far, so far, then curling back in. Then again, rolling out.

The redhead experiences a series of stunning soul-felt wayward stabs of delight.

Then, she was entirely calm. 

Beth shut her eyes.

Her orgasm was an internal aurora borealis, light shards, then splayed like pure light. She feels both heavy and light.

She embraces the pulses of delight; they are intense. Then, they become more intense. It gradually becomes fluffy, then fuzzy, and progressively, the blonde is sensationally replete.

They showered together as only intimate post-orgasmic girlfriends could do, enjoying their youth and savouring the moment. It was, after all, Spring, and this was their time; they were both under twenty. To reminisce, to remember, to draw on memory was decades away.

Back to the dorms.

Time doesn't wait — even for youth.

The task: to put on their daggy St Anne's choir uniforms. At least the tartan skirts were above the knee, the full blouses though to the neck and sleeve and then the matching tartan neckties joined at the top button, surely designed to make it difficult for males to get a quick handful of boobs.

Still the underwear; there lay the real woman, the male guide to his chances if he could just get a glimpse.

Chastity, of course, tarty confidence had hidden; for the moment, her satin black push-up bra, well assessment management is a skill, and her call girl black crotchless panties; her intentions were evident.

Guys only needed their eyes looking up if they were behind her on the stairs or looking down if they were seated opposite her.

The trio of Chastity, Erica, and Bethany arrived at the Cathedral by 1:30 p.m.

The community mass was at 3:00 p.m.

Beth had her musical solo to prepare. Chas was required for a final run-through of her Bible reading and then choir rehearsal.

In the flurry of activity, she hoped she wouldn't be missed if she got preoccupied.

Erica had a general choir warm-up later. She was skittish and frisky but needed something to do and was just tagging along early.

The trio saw Bernard from a distance in the vestibule, with two old ladies fussing over flowers. They had missed the Monsignor through Winter. He had been called to Rome. Jesuits doing Jesuit secret cabal business!

Today, back in town, he had been given the duty of overseeing the Spring Mass, a gigantic affair, because of the joint celebration of one hundred years of Catholic girls' education at St Anne's and one hundred and fifty years at St Xavier's.

There would be boundless business wheelers and dealers, political leaders, makers, and shakers, and VIPs in attendance at St David's. 

The girls were in the vestibule.

Bernard introduced them to the two geriatric women, Miss Hall and Miss Smith. Then it clicked with Erica, the two old dearies who had seen Father Patrick flash.

Erica whispered this to Chas and Beth.

Bernard was caught between wanting time with the trio and a litany of details for the day, which he still had to check on. 

He excused himself from the platonic spinsters and briefly engaged with the college girls.

The Monsignor said — and all the girls smiled at this — they could catch up after mass.

Bethany said she needed somewhere for her solo practice.

Bernard suggested the Cardinal's chambers, as he shouldn't be here yet. With this organised, he thought the unoccupied Erica would be better kept occupied and that she could assist with the VIP seating cards.

However, to his and Beth's and the redhead's surprise, the brunette had already wandered off.

The Monsignor was drawn away by a man who approached him in a suit. He had to hastily direct Chastity towards Father Patrick O'Flaniggan of whispered flasher fame; in reality, he was a polite, effusive mouse of a man — to find a place for her to practice her Bible reading for the service.

Father O'Flaniggan was busy, too. Still, he thought — Chastity would be better off practising in the vestry than using the pulpit.

He told her the VIP's security detail would be very distracting as they rechecked the Cathedral and the general surveillance they had already set up.

Chas didn't really care one way or the other.

She had a task—to read — The Beatitudes — the caring, meaningful core of Christianity—and she was OK with that.

She had her rarely-opened personal Bible in her hand.

She headed for the supposed solitude and focus of the vestry.

This Bible had been given to her by the sisters on her fifth birthday.

Chas wanted a doll like all the term boarders in her dorm, the girls who went home to family during school holidays.

The young redhead was left alone to explore every disused room of the vast campus. Her favourite room was one often shared — the library — which opened her mind to the world and languages.

In time, her body too, as she discovered the storeroom off the library, housing for 'research purposes' only, the banned books.

Here were her favourites as she grew — Lady Chatterley — The Second Sex — Madame Bovary— Lolita!

Here began her lifestyle education.

However, in the now of the Cathedral, Chas needed space.

As she sought it, she thought Christianity was for sinners. Chas felt no sin, only life.

Yeah — The Beatitudes — were okay; they extolled the positive of self to others, not that your flesh is rotten and corrupt and you are doomed unless you could stomach crucifixion, that St Paul misogynist and a God who delighted in destroying sexual exploration in Sodom and Gomorrah.

Enough — thought Chas — focus on the task at hand. 

The tasks for both her hands multiplied quickly as she opened the door and entered the vestry.

Chas took in three men. They were in Italian-cut suits, patent leather shoes, and quality fashionable ties. They were the power types who owned a national cabinet room.

Well —  she thought — we had three senior government ministers here.

Chas read their event name tags.

Two of them, St Xavier's old scholars, were practising their addresses. Chas had seen their mugshots in the school's honour's hall.

Here were three middle-aged men, from head to toe, looking pretty good for their age; well in clothes, naked would tell if they kept a personal fitness regime.

All early forties, all upwardly politically mobile, and all pissing in each other's pockets to get one of them the top job in an election or two.

And yes, rumoured quiet mistresses on the side while having it both ways with those loyal bitchy political wives.

All were voted for by dickhead constituents who only recognised their family generational political names. Including an army of pensioners out there who still called them all by their father's names.

Still, the cameras would be on them today; this was a photo and TV opportunity day, so be present, appear to be community-minded and share the celebration.

"Double booked," said Chastity; and for such tricky political double-speak arseholes; they were unsure in the presence of sassy seeping sexuality.

It only took one finger curling through her hair, two eyes flirting and three zips down, and her tongue a lickin' cock, plural, and one door locked behind her.

But not before hanging out the sign; previously on the inside; and two breasts shaped by a lacey push-up bra and three cocks being massaged up; one in each hand and one in her mouth; as Chas was already on her knees.

Chas was definitely into a double booking; actually, she was coping with a triple.

Father Patrick O'Flaniggan remembered the VIPs.

He headed for the vestry, but all he saw was A DO NOT DISTURB sign on the door. 

He had remembered his recent instruction to the redhead. Then he scratched his head and thought smart girl; she found what she needed.

Inside the vestry, fingers were under her bra, tweaking her nipples and then pushing her breasts over the top.

Squeezed up and out. Insolently demanding attention and getting it instantly.

There were hands and tongues and nearly cock to spare at the moment. One of the dirty buggers made straight for her balloon knot with his index finger under her tartan college skirt, surprised at the crotchless entry provided but digging deep anyway.

Two wet fingers were in her rapidly moist slit.

Fuck she felt hot.

Chas still felt partly in control.

Uniforms and men, the lure of undisciplined action, potential copious random filthy sex acts, where some sort of external uniform order was meant to exist. There were inside a church!

There was a French kiss to the left and to her right. The redhead's tartan skirt was off, bringing into view her crotchless black panties and the pieces of fleshy delight between them and her tempting tuff of fire-crotch pubes.

Future political careers and current mistresses; three mature men forgot about yesterday and tomorrow; the present was fuckin' beautiful in the vestry.

Chastity's functional girly tube of personal desire self-lubed. 

Christ, she was sizzling, searing for these three pricks, and she was determined they were all going into her together.

Her pert breasts, soufflé soft, were fully exposed.

Some random hand had removed her bra.

Chas paused; took stock; the guys were naked, no suits now; all power transferred to their cocks.

Fuck the future direction of the entire nation in the instance.

Chastity was standing naked; crotchless panties are technically naked. The three guys' cocks were all erect.

She was thinking fast and manipulating pecker fast. With one in each hand and one to spare; she was on the settee; and as she had hoped, the third cock had found her mouth automatically.

The redhead gave this third pecker the VIP treatment; well, that was appropriate.

Then one of the nation's leaders was groping her tits, and another was fingering her pussy. Her legs were spread out and up.

Chas was then lying back with a cock in her slut appliance.

One minister hitting the jackpot early.

There was another minister in her mouth, his body leaning over her face. Chas's hand, though, extended to her left, working the shaft of the third cock.

Suddenly, experienced hands are everywhere; over Chastity's breasts, through the redhead's hair and others stretching her legs so far out and up, really out and up, indecently wide and high.

Chastity tried to keep control; she moved, and they moved.

Ms Palmer was dogged from behind; there was a cock in sync with her mushy girly world.

Her mouth and lips, though, were like a second pussy; reaching out for the cock before her face.

She gobbled it in.

She had the double in.

Her body was a line from opening to opening; she was filled both ways. Pushed into from a southerly direction. Shoved into from a northerly direction. She was an open-ended chute for sex. Her pussy leaked a squelch of fluid, her mouth a sluice of drool. 

The three men then moved her; they moved too.

One under, one over, one above.

It was Ms Chastity's Palmers — OMG moment — except she was airtight and couldn't articulate a frickin thing; she felt everything, though, felt cock everywhere in her.

Her youthful arse was jostled into, deep and fast.

Since Bernard's double dipped at the Retreat in Autumn, Chas has always wanted this.

Here it was in the Spring, penis puckered pleasure pampering her pale pink starfish, more male meat deep in her mushy nookie, and her lips locked happily around another cock.

The pleasure was amped to the indescribable as hands pawed everywhere else over her body. The redhead's breasts were not ignored, hands grabbing both her breasts greedily and fingertips tweaking her nipple tips somehow.

Chas was valiant; she initiated a new move, and the guys sensed her unique qualities.

She wanted it all standing up.

A different cock was pumping into her slashed slit — ready spread; another cock, was filling, wriggling around in her now relaxed arsehole and a guy; standing on the settee; managed to squeeze his cock into Chastity's face.

Very considerate, filling her last available orifice.

The redhead felt two cocks so close to meeting in her two lower holes. They were pushing so intensely that it seemed to her the small gap between her arse and pussy would be pounded into oblivion.

Chastity was sexually fearless, but she was near fucked brainless.

She was a virtual living sex doll.

In a blink, there was a different cock in her arse. She was on the settee again, this time though her feet were resting on the thighs beneath her, then she pushed up higher, dragging the cock in her arse up with her and at the same time anchored the cock in her pussy; in a delectable skin dredge; allowing it to rummage her inner and outer sensitivity. 

This was double-penetration at its supreme height. 

The redhead, for instance, was embracing her darker side. Her mouth was again gummy and saliva tacky with the additional cock available.

Ms Palmer took in all the stabs of pleasure everywhere in her.

They built like scattered embers in spot fires fanning to a wildfire.

"Ugh! Ugh!" she moaned, catching a rare breath.

She only had spit, not to quench the flame but to add to her bodily escalation.

The wranger dribbled a massive dollop of saliva; it was sent by herself; down the front of her body, it nested in fire-crotch pubes; then channelled both sides of her labia from her clit cowl.

The guy in her arse, mesmerised by the redhead's dazzling spittle display, added to it; he bulls-eyed her gash and arse, currently double-booked; he though spat repeatedly with generous excitement everywhere between her legs.

Her spit, his spit, they combined; then they blended with her newly escaped pussy juices.

The liqueurs of sex washed together over Chas's perineum, which was caught between carnal paradise and heated bodily heaven.

The redhead's arse was in bliss; her cunt was in ecstasy.

Never had something so fully unseemly felt so utterly true to self.

She thought — You are Chastity; say it to yourself, Chastity, as you embrace two cocks in your body.

A third still filling your mouth.

Concentrate, girl, take it deep; clench your arse and cunts muscles.

Enjoy your act of absolute pleasurable sexual will. These cocks have to explode in you or out of you; maybe your face, perhaps one in your arse, and another one on your chest.

Oh, the choices of delight; too unmanageable…

It wasn't manageable because her mind could only groan in imminent release; her mouth was a hole of groans; between sucking off cock.

The slut of pleasure looked down between her own legs; she arched in lithe control; she was young.

Chas had endless dirty energy; she knew she could hold the goddamn ungainly position she was so enjoying, near frickin' endlessly.

She thought for a moment — you are lucky; then realised — no, never; you make your own moments like these — yes, they are random opportunity, but you were intent on double crafted pleasure; it just happened today as a trinity.

Ms Chastity Palmer decided to give up.

She let them take her where they willed.

She was dogged. 

Well, double dogged.

A guy under her; she was riding his cock hard and fast, but her starfish was spread and speared again. Her mouth was full again.

Chas thought — fuck; it's good — then; — why always those words?

Because it's fuckin' good; so fuckin good.

It's the words we have, all we have, yet this is more.

It was the best.

It was Chastity as Chastity; mark II, no Chastity, mark III.

One minister repositioned her.

She gladly embraced the unexpected. She is upside down, her butt resting on the settee for a moment.

Three guys all taking turns in her, vaginally penetrating her deep from above her, from the settee. Then, one guy has his foot on her neck.

Chas thought — it's like sex and death are the same: constricting.

Then, the other current spare guy's toes and foot are pressing into her cheek.

Her legs then are spread so fucking wide, her body pulled up by a cock and hands.

She is in a fuckin handstand with a cock pressing down into her and her hands pushing her body up.

They now bounce her up.

She was the standing sandwich.

One is behind her, and the other takes her front on, lifting her petite frame, all of 'five two'.

She was held in the flesh between them.

Ms Palmer double piked, imprisoned sexually in double delight.

Absolutely everything about her body bouncing and flouncing in a wild, uncoordinated way but coordinated in pleasure seeking. This was all pleasure, all sex gratification.

Chastity came.

"Oh, sheez! Sweet Jesus! Blessed are the sexually active, for they will cum! Ugh! Oof! Raah! Aah! Aah! Orrghh!"

The redhead orgasmed like she was a Newton's cradle.

Pleasure and release hit from both her holes.

There was a joyous pleasure synergy in her arse, pussy and mouth; a smashing through of self; an extended whole arc of total glee; then it reverberated from her three centres of intensified flesh: her butt clenching penis mould, her elastic pussy cock framer and her schlong sculpting lips of lust.

Still, Ms Chastity Palmer, like all wanton nubiles, knew it wasn't over ultimately till there was cum.

She was born to be cum drenched.

Chas lived to be cum soaked.

Well, the redhead got it all.

It was a sperm party. A surfeit of jizz, a huge triple ejaculation splash, a spreading, splatter and spray; the full shower and cover of a girl.

A burst and spurt time, gentlemen, and they were upstanding; they delivered schlong gravy to her sweet awaiting mouth, to her arsehole crack and her satiated, pleased coochie.

A young woman's body soaked in jizz custard, drenched in Cupid's sauce, sozzled in a male release.

Sex, heady drenching sex, lewd splaying and taking by bodies; three middle-aged randy males, one heated young wrangler, the vestry, all Chastity's orifices; the parts; the sum of her parts conjoined. 

All heaven — if left behind closed doors — hell — if it is ever exposed. Such is life.

Chas felt smoking hot!

After seeing the vestry's — do not disturb sign — Father Patrick returned to tell Bernard.

The Monsignor thought — where is Chastity then?

Surely not, though, who knew?

He went round the side of the Cathedral for a quick fag.

He would then make his way up the narrow stairs behind the organ, where the security surveillance team for the day, given all the VIPs present, was set up.

Bernard knew they had put a camera in the vestry today. There were monitors everywhere. He would spot the redhead, wherever she was and what she was doing.

The little minx better not be smoking!