Introducing Chas, Beth and Erica in and out of their jammies

A cigarette before sex always calmed Monsignor Bernard's mind. 

It was a chill, clear evening as he looked up, the moon waxing crescent. Frost was certain. As he looked down, the mush of late autumn leaves was rusty and soggy under his feet. However, his regular glance was through the sparse trees to the secured wooden door in the ivy-covered wall that opened onto the cloister of the diocese all-girls boarding college for refined young ladies or, as their parents hoped, virginal incarceration. It was nearly nine as he glanced at his watch.

It was a confession that had led to this evening. Not his own, Bernard had ceased to grapple with his own conscience, unlike Jacob, who wasted a whole night wrestling with an angel. Jacob had left unattended two horny wives and two equally unrequited servants for lesbian mischief. He always wanted to include that in a Sunday sermon. He couldn't currently find a way to work it, even with a morality angle.

Confession by senior college girls: the highlight of Bernard's week. They were young but not so innocent. 

What they considered a sin, Bernard thought, was life education. Still, he played by the rules when it was required if they suited him. He listened intently, drawing out quickly the libidinous and smutty details that often gave him a high in the confessional. 

The college chapel was a nineteenth-century, tasteful Romanesque revival at the northern end of the cloister. It had been constructed by faith in a series of serene, uncomplicated arches and plain windows that diffused an unearthly light for those who trusted the unseen to assuage their bodies. Bernard was a convert to human touch or a cigarette in the interim, either infinitely more rewarding for alleviating self-doubt. He never had any uncertainty at the point of orgasm. 

The actual confessional inside the chapel was crafted with a devotion Bernard now lacked. It was entirely constructed of striking ornate oak. The dividing grille was an elaborate lattice of mini crucifixes.

Bernard remembered last week's confessionals as he took a lingering drag on his unfiltered fag. He recalled clearly 'his senior' about to graduate, pristine angels when in choir harmony, with their pure virginal hearts but slutty thoughts seated in a row with legs crossed, waiting to confess all.

Trapped in their demure tartan skirts, white blouses buttoned to the collar and tightly cuffed at their wrists. Sweet young bodies denied their natural flaunting tease of attraction by a rigorous century-old rule book that imprisoned breasts and soft thighs in unflattering, unappealing and deliberately unattractive clothes. Traditional old-school blazers and white gloves added to the impersonal uniformity. However, their lively, sneaky, devilish eyes always gave them away, along with their whispered, privately revealed litany of salacious, perceived sins.

The three senior students he was now waiting for floated lazily through his mind as the smoke rings he was practising, whiling away inconsequential minutes because the rest of the night was his. 

He recalled their confessions. First, sweet, seductive Erica, the sports captain, tried vainly to channel her excessive energy into individual excellence or boisterous team pursuits. She had recently been crowned National under nineteen hurdles champion. Bernard was going to see how far Erica could stretch those legs. 

Erica, he recalled, had begun her confession with the sign of the cross, then garbled out, "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and the Holy Spirit. My last confession was two weeks ago. I missed last week because of the National championships."

"What have to confess, my child," said Bernard. Child, my arse. She was eighteen, nubile and ready.

"Monsignor, I have touched myself repeatedly, too many times to recall the numbers. I was so excited after winning the title. I came twice with the shower jet. Plus, I had impure thoughts concerning the under-twenty-one National weightlifting team."

There was that natural sincerity in her voice. The brunette never made anything up. Reality was way ahead of online written erotica, for which Bernard was developing a penchant.

"Three Hail Marys, purchase two candles and in future recite your rosary — after —sorry — before temptation."

"Thank you, Monsignor."

Next was the seemingly demure, modest and meek-faced but hormone-raging Bethany, the angelic lead voice of the choir—a rare coloratura Soprano destined for the International Opera scene. Bernard desired to find out what sexual note the blonde would hit with an intense orgasm.

Bethany began her confession with the sign of the cross and then whispered, "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and the Holy Spirit. My last confession was last week."

"What have to confess, my child," said Bernard. She was two months beyond eighteen. She had a woman's needs, thought Bernard.

"Monsignor, forgive me; I took one of my penance candles to self-pleasure this week. I committed the graver sin of sharing a bed with Chastity Palmer, who fingered my vagina and anus; oh, forgive me."

Bernard wanted to dispense a vibrator, but it was the usual Hail Marys, and there were no candles this week.

Finally, the inappropriately named Chastity Palmer, close to nineteen, was on the other side of the grille; the chaste in her name had disappeared long ago. However, she was the college's linguist in more than one way. The vixen spoke several languages and was learning three more.

Chastity was a cunning linguist who shared her talented tongue around the dorm at night, creating damp patches of liquid delight as she whispered obscenities in tongues to get her quarry into the zone.

The redhead was beyond confession, and her penance was preordained; every week, it was organising a new assignation. 

 Chastity began with, "Okay, Bernie, my cigarettes and my flask of vodka first."

"In the secret compartment by the alter, as usual, there is a vibrator as an extra treat."

"Okay; what do you want me to plan for this week?"

She was irritatingly popping gum. 

"The infirmary as usual," said Bernard, "let me in by the cloister door at nine and invite Bethany and Erica. They have the immediate needs, and keep your hands off them till Thursday night."

Bernard stubbed his cigarette, grounding it under his heavy black boot. It was nine. Chastity was always punctual. The priory tower bell pealed for nine. Punctuality was one of the rare helpful life values instilled by a private religious education.

This assignation was timed to coincide with the sister's regular Thursday evening vigil for the less fortunate; Bernard was on his own mission to assist the sexually needy. A vocation in life is a true calling. 

He watched as the heavy wooden door in the wall opened.

"Ah, Chastity; are we organised?"

It was always a slight letdown if Chastity failed to lure the nominated target. Still, regularly fucking Chastity was preferable to abstinence. The lass was sexually divine.

"Yes, but I want an extra pack of Vodka cruisers next week, no questions asked."

"Consider it done." 

They were halfway across the cloister and on their way to the infirmary.

A sneaky, careful walk through the lower floor of the school building had them there. The infirmary was never used at night and was rarely used during the day. The girls preferred the dorm if they had a headache or period pain, real or feigned, to avoid assessment tasks.

Inside the infirmary, Bernard's eyes were immediately focused on the girls legs. Then, the delight of silky skimpy pj's on nubiles. Lustrous, shiny, freshly shaved legs. A sweet coiled waterfall braid of brunette hair on Erica. The ever-classic ponytail and cute fringe on blonde Bethany. Yes, and then beside the pair, the edgy, modern cut of the fiery red hair, the sassy Chastity. 

Bernard got his hipflask out, filled with sickly rum and coke, not his taste, but the standard stripper of inhibitions formula for the flighty, capricious, impulsive young woman. 

The three girls were making short work of the contents. Bernard was unconcerned as he produced a second metal flask with a similar deliberate high alcohol content masked by saccharine. 

They were giggly and heading quickly to loose. Their legs were wiggling, and their toes were flexing. Chastity would choose the moment. She always orchestrated it so disarmingly, like it was an accident.

There it was: her nipple slipped, then her entire breast. Pert and softly rounded, demanding attention, Bernard always thought of buttermilk and the nipples of Venus every time this happened.

As affectionately known by her intimates, Chas had undone too many buttons on her school blouse. Her red bra was a beacon to delve deeper. 

No need to probe. The redhead let her nipple pop over her bra cup.

A shocked 'oh my' from Erica, her eyes were staring. Bethany was already caressing and tweaking what she had only recently felt in the dark. Chastity was guiding Erica's hand onto her other now exposed breast. Bernard was relaxed as the ménage got underway. 

Chastity had Erica's and Bethany's tops open and was exploring two sets of breasts at once. Greedy girls thought Bernard as two young nubiles were working in tandem on Chastity's breasts, now with soft lips. There was a flurried blur of wet, mushy nibbling of nipples, which was followed by a deft regular flicking as the sweet pink treasures that nipples are responded tenderly. As nipples flexed in rigid anticipation of each nimble lick from an adoring, eager tongue, they glistened in youth's full firmness.

Chastity was shockingly uninhibited, mused Bernard. So caught up in their eager discoveries were the two novices that they had forgotten the aged male presence in the room, mature male, would be putting it politely, exactly how Bernard liked it in the early stages of growing passion.

The uninhibited stage was his. He could watch and wait as the tempo increased, and watching was pleasurable. He was enjoying three tongues probing, melting, and moulding into each other simultaneously. Here was the pagan power of Eros unbridled. 

Chasity Palmer's school skirt slipped to the floor. Too easily.

It was all delight appraising then as the quality sleek white buttocks of Chastity squirmed out of her silky tap pants drawers. Two separate hands from different girls were fingering her snatch, Bernard filling in the current unseen sight with previous images of Chastity's fleshy quim. Her labia to the Monsignor was inimitable in their nautical association, a memory from his younger prevocational sailing days. 

Her right lip was shaped like a billowing full spinnaker, wide, oh so wide, and the left flap was a sharp angular jib. 

Chastity could barely suppress murmurs of delight escaping her soft, moist lips.

"Mmmhhh! Mmmhhh!"

The self-indulgence tramp was enjoying four hands now, some plying her fleshy sails and others her buttermilk melons randomly. Her stalking hands were active, lowering the last skerrick of sham silky pj's decency to Erica's and Bethany's ankles. Where they both carelessly kicked their pj's bottoms away like parading in your birthday suit in the infirmary was as natural as Lady Godiva suddenly undertaking weekly rides through Coventry. 

"Monsignor, your appraisal, please, "said Chastity as she lined the girls up for inspection.

Bernard was impressed with Chastity's effort. He decided to double the Vodka recently demanded by this impudent trollop. 

 Greeting his seasoned, experienced, hardened, worldly eyes was a refreshing tonic to his jaded, cynical mind: three heart-shaped trimmed pubic mounds. 

Bethany, even cropped, was a true blonde, irrefutable like papal infallibility. Erica's trimmed black pubes like dark cocoa against soft white chocolate skin. Chastity like a bitch on heat, the strumpet with her fire crotch, it's usual, but even more startling red, as today; it was shaped as the third pubic heart, a valentine for the taking.

"Thank you, girls. Please turn and bend over." 

There is no sense of control above and beyond giving nubile orders, which they instantaneously obey.

Chastity took the lead, and her obedient acolytes in the fellowship of St Bernard's lustful secret order did likewise.

The deference to authoritative discipline installed by private religious education sometimes alarmed Bernard. 

Somewhere in about twenty- or twenty-five years, they would all send their daughters to this prestigious and highly respected institution; they would have fond memories of the college, and so would their daughters. 

He spread their legs quickly. Chastity's sweet treat was a given. Her sails, viewed from below her arse crack, were primed naturally for man meat. Erica, a true athlete and a potential ballerina with this exquisite pose, had her left leg up like straddling a hurdle, gaping both her pussy, which was spread liked the creased pleats of a skirt and her delicate anus ring radiating out like a dahlia in full bloom. Meanwhile, the angelic Bethany had fairy-soft petaled labia in a glistening pinkish rose hue layered in intricate folds like elaborate origami. 

Bernard never ceased to wonder at the surprise provoked by the touch of another. Confession told Bernard they knew their pussies in intimate self-loving detail. Yet they went into moaning rapturous apocalyptic revelations of self at a man's adroit tender first touch. The self-indulgence pleasure principle accepts both crass and polite manipulations, cravingly responsive to the repeated desired touches as cascades of pleasure flowed and were constructed in their neighbouring orifices that could be stage-managed jointly. 

"Haah! Haah!" cooed Beth like a voice training exercise.

"Auugh! Ooh!" moaned Erica like straddling a hurdle.

Bernard thought if you sinned, make it worthwhile. 

The fingers of his left hand were working in a partnership, pleasuring Bethany's virgin arse and succulent damp pussy. The two fingers in her cunt indicated she required a fat cock, not a thin candle here. Monsignor's right hand was generously finger fucking Erica; her meaty pleats saturated like a summer skirt in the rain.

He understood the theology of the trinity well, three in one and knew how to do it. He bent his face, and his tongue splattered saliva like heaving ocean waves over Chastity's labial sails. The red-haired devil's fingers; joined the party, teasing her clit. 

"Orrgh, yeah! Ooh, yes! Ooh!"

Bernard knew from constant practice the wonders of multitasking. Erica had the athletes-controlled breathing, but it was rapidly entering a deep, low sexual pant; "aah, aah… aah."

Chastity's tone was a notch up, repeating her selfish "mmm, mmm."

But tonight, it was in harmony because Bethany was a capella; hell, if she got any louder, the sisters would investigate.

It was undoubtedly the finger in her virginal chocolate freckle along with the generous two in her snatch that was creating a perfect pussy purring pitch, the sweetest — "Oohh yes…Oohh yes… Oohh more."

Bernard reflected, but for only a moment, he may have missed his true calling as a female choir conductor. 

He realised it was time to send his pilgrim of lust, his firm staff of comfort, into the valley of shadows between three sets of quivering, anticipating leaking thighs. 

"Chastity, sit on Bethany's face for a while; otherwise, it's back to the dorm for both of you." 

Chastity was instantly face-sitting, Bethany's tongue was slurping and sucking, and her fingers were alternating between rapid fucking and lingering stretching. 

Bernard's cock was prodding obscenely deep into Erica's tight athletic twat. She had that fastened supple stretching to clenching with absolutely no cunt slack; she was sphincter tight in her muff hole.

He would have to test drive the more sealed balloon knot soon.

Her wetness and his thickness were taking her down the track to orgasm faster than an Olympic medal run.

It was clear she had orgasmed hard with a long, "Aah yes …. Aah yes…Oh my god."

Two sweet tears trickled down her face, one from each eye and her femcum oozed gently around the edges of her pussy, and then meandered in streaky wetness down her right thigh.

The urge to jab into and then poke a decent few thrusts into Erica's single eye now dominated Bernard's immediate desire; it was the only dry spot on her sweaty, flushed post, orgasmic, lithe frame.

Always prepared, his scouting days helped here, as did deep pockets in his black cassock; he squirted a generous amount of lubricant onto his fingers and started to massage his way gently into the tightest of tight holes. It was truly tighter than the proverbial waterproof duck's arse. It was so virginally tight, but Erica's mind was loosening to the experience fast, some cute 'ahs' escaping unevenly.

It was time to shape her crack with hard meat. 

Bernard engaged years of experience for this most memorable of buttholes. Tensely stretched and firmly wrapped, yet pliant, only just yielding, remaining tight like a rigorous athlete training schedule. Her puckered flesh was drawn out snugly as his penis moved out and slightly away, and then her flesh pushed in with his penis to be greeted by the 'ah' of carnal delight.

The close constriction of mutual skin dominated the seeming sealing of bodies, focussed on one arse, one penis, but two minds. Erica's pleasurable, beyond pleasurable puckered starfish remained tighter than a photo finish at a world championship.

Bernard felt like a medal winner, 'Christ, this was good', his only blasphemy for the evening flitting through his mind as he realised it was a dead heat of pleasure as Erica released a trinity of 'ahs'.

Bernard had a duty of care to share the love, so grudgingly, he released his penis from unadulterated heightened delight.

Still holding his boner well, impossible not to with instantly easily accessible pussy at cock level, Bernard had Bethany bending over the bench and tag-teamed Erica's pucker for some lick-smacking teasing to Chastity.

Bernard nearly came too early as he viewed petal pink perfection, but the rose petal folds of flesh in deep Persian pink deserved a spray of male pearl droplets. Bethany's butt cheeks were the framing vase, complimenting her hourglass petite hips.

Someone had to christen her coochie. Luck was with Bernard. 

He set a slow rhythm like warm-ups at choir practice. It was clear Bethany was enjoying this, starting with a few basic contralto grunts of pleasure but hitting the high notes fast as Bernard's love muscle hit indecent depths.

She was addicted to the 'Oohh,' but her keen enthusiasm for more delight started a series of; "Oooh fuck…faster…oooh fuck me… deeper." 

Bethany was a quick learner. Bernard held her thin waist, which was now filthy deep, pounding against her quivering buttocks hard with each massive thrust. She hit her highest orgasmic note, the one Bernard hoped to hear, singularly shrill, opera star perfect — "Oooh!" — luckily, as the tower bell rang for ten o'clock. 

Bernard wanted to see his cum spread on Bethany's glistening, sticky pink petals. When a pleasure fixation fixates, well, it's got to be fixed.

Bernard held his load to swelling capacity, then withdrew and cascades of dribbling jerky male juice sprayed in a deliberately confined area. 

Her pussy was the true pearly gates; heaven was open and glowing between a young woman's legs. Then wafting like the heady dispensed incense from a crucible in a cathedral, the musky scent of Erica's pleasure hole joined in as Chastity brought Erica's clit, to her second climax of the evening. 

"Auugh!"

Erica, Bernard was sure, as he relaxed after his release, that she would medal at the Olympics in future years. The weightlifting team would leave the media in stupefied ignorance as to their surprise medal failure and lethargy, having been taken out in pairs or, God forbid, the developing thought; one goddamn Roman-sized gangbang initiated by Erica's insatiable needs off the track.

He had to kiss the sweet blonde Beth on the cheeks as she got back into her jammies.

Chastity told Erica and Bethany to head upstairs to the dorms. The infirmary door clicked quietly shut behind them. 

Sex shouldn't be a business, thought Bernard; still, there was the after because they were in a college: "Chastity, tidy up as usual and remember your prayers and include me for your weekly treats; good evening."

Chastity just smiled as Bernard left the room.

The Monsignor was swiftly through the school corridors and across the open ground to the wall.

As he closed the weathered oak door in the wall, brushing through the ivy, the crunch of autumn leaves indicated a very heavy frost.

Bernard only paused to light up.

A cigarette after sex he had always known cleared the mind.