An arse tighter than a fem-dom leash
After Chastity, Erica, and Bethany were assigned separate rooms at The Retreat, Monsignor Bernard stepped outside for his pre-dinner smoking ritual.
It was chilly. The autumn wind cut to the bone.
His late-night fag he had already decided would be indoors. They would need a fire even with the close body warmth he had planned, along with the explosive heat generated by nubile passion unleased.
He stubbed his butt carefully with his boot by the edge of the garden near the bush bordering the back of the Retreat and made his way indoors.
Chastity's language skills included an interest in international cuisine. Sometimes, the cards fell into place, thought Bernard.
The Retreat was well-provisioned and clean, thanks to the local housekeeper, Mrs Roberts, who had just been sent on her way. She would be required again on Friday when they would be leaving. She was a trusting soul and had asked the Monsignor for a simple blessing before going.
With the assistance of Erica and Bethany, Chastity had satay chicken, rice, and seasoned stir-fried vegetables on the table in a reasonable amount of time.
Bernard, whose authority gave him a cellar key, brought up a quality Chardonnay. He wasn't sure what the frolicsome Bethany would try.
The coltish Erica would have to be coaxed off the water, and the frisky Chastity would gulp down any alcoholic beverage that was provided.
It only took an open bottle to get them started; by the end of dinner, Bernard had made a second trip to the cellar for an additional bottle of wine.
Seeing Erica relax her strict regime with a couple of glasses was gratifying. After a couple of glasses, Bethany and Chastity fondled and stroked each other's hair. Then, their caresses had moved to their mutual breasts by the time the second bottle was half empty.
They had moved beyond pampering to groping between each other's legs under the table as the bottle of red was polished off. Petting was a beautiful word when applied to touching genitals, thought Bernard.
These two were delicately and purposefully engaged with each other's wet secret flesh.
Erica wasn't missing out; Bernard had sidled up to the unattached hurdler and guided her willing hand to stroke his cavity prober into shape.
"Chastity, you and Bethany wash up and make full of the kitchen. I want you in your rooms at 10.30 sharp. Erica and I will check out the gym; goodnight."
The tall brunette applauded the state-of-the-art, rarely used gym equipment. It included a quality exercise bike, treadmill, bench press, multi-station, rowing machine, jump ropes, gym mats, and dumbbells.
"This is a great set-up, Monsignor. Thank you. I can maintain peak fitness and prepare for the All-College Championships next week."
"Get changed into your training gear and report back here in ten minutes, okay."
"Yes, Monsignor," and she hurried off.
Bernard mused that Erica was bouncy, eager, alive, and energetic. What a delight to fuck soon.
Bernard lit up in the gym. His after-dinner fag.
No one to tell him off; thank Christ.
Erica was back; the lithe creature had three-quarter tight-fitting black pants that accentuated her athleticism; her taut thighs, her firm, so flawlessly shaped butt and a light pink sophomore sports bra, her muscle tone in her arms, sexy, she was a perfect regime.
She knew her weights and went left and right with the correct shaping and toning bells.
This was a serious iron workout, and Bernard felt a slight twinge of unfit shame.
Erica understood her figure, she understood her athlete's body, and she understood fucking base sexual need.
She had moved on the mat for stretches and squats. This was sexy, even without the sex. It was a body-in-body delight. She was toning her stomach and thighs with stretch exercises on the bench press.
Bernard had had enough of the preliminaries.
He knew how he was going to burn a few calories.
He was beside her.
Cassock raised, with his meat hanging near her mouth.
She wasn't shocked.
Erica stopped her routine and engaged in a more basic one.
She worked head up fast.
This girl was all go, reflexes trained to the starter's gun. Give her a direction, and there will be no stopping her.
Stop her — that was the last thought in Bernard's mind.
He had given her his head, and she was using hers; nature was right; two heads are better than one, a cockhead and a nubile's head.
Bernard was straddling Erica, and she took his member deep in her mouth from across her face, and his balls slapped regularly against her soft cheek. He twisted her long brunette hair through his fingers.
She was working up speed now, pumping cock like pumping iron. She paused only momentarily to take in the entire rod, licking deftly under the glans several times as she took in his purple-headed love truncheon.
She was a true champion and was showing her absolute finesse and class.
Erica's staying power, no gagging, no pausing for breath, a cock sucking machine, lip-smacking and lip-shaping delight.
Enough thought, Bernard, or that will be it; it will be over for me.
There was no resistance as her three-quarter pants were lowered along with red frilly knickers.
Chastity had provided the details from the brunette encounter at the roadhouse, stating that Erica was currently sporting shaved perfection. Even the expected holds the unexpected with youthful lust; her genitals demanded attention in their own right, as genitals always do.
Bernard took them in from a previously unseen angle, and the mystery was there; it always is. Two fleshy pleats were seen from above, Erica's hood guiding his eyes down to the flesh folded back upon itself.
He parted her pleats, and they spread like an accordion, fanning out her sex, her womanhood. He eased Erica sideways on the press, and she instinctively spread her legs.
She was spread-eagled. So supple, it was no trouble for her to hold the full splits, her open pussy now on show, wholly exposed, naturally gaped.
Bernard's tongue did the total tantalising tease.
Licking, sucking, and nibbling each pleat in turn.
Leaving her clit like the anchor on the relay for an explosive fast finish. Erica's fingers had drifted into fill the pleasure she couldn't wait for, so Bernard got his tongue there for her.
She was breathing heavily now, interspersed with delicate "Aah yes, ahh."
Next, "Oh, my!"
Then just, "Aah…ooh…ahh."
Her brunette locks flowed to the left and right as her body and head started to writhe in pleasure peaking.
Bernard gave her his lust shaft. Erica enveloped the pole of passion. He thought; if an erect cock was placed at the finish line in a world championship, this girl would either smash the world record to get it first or make a false start or not give a fuck in the desire to fuck herself senseless.
Bernard knew how to manipulate for depth and stretch in a pussy with his woman teaser and pleaser.
Erica was spread for depth, and Bernard gave the maximum plunge.
He was deep —deep — as only womanly deep can be.
Erica knew it was yawning deep, yet she was young, so even wide stretched, she had incredible tightness.
She felt the grip of her vaginal walls; she just knew how to hold cock. She luxuriated in his stiff, heavy wood; she wanted to feel impaled, taken, owned, a pleasure slut at the moment.
Self-discipline was for the track; here, it was self-release.
Erica was happy for her pussy to be a mannequin doll to Bernard's meat puppeteer.
Still, as Bernard eased her over, she knew the premier event was ordained to begin.
She held treasured in memory her arsehole being filled in the infirmary. Bernard had it in mind, too.
Erica's tight butthole from the infirmary, he had had to restrain himself to share Bethany that evening.
It was Erica alone tonight in the gym. Her remembered tightness was driving the agenda, a cute hole tighter than his formal starched collars, tighter than the best quality ribbed condom, tighter than the tight arses that banned smoking at St David's.
Bernard lubed her gently; he knew he must — so tight.
Fit and comfort go hand in hand, like a well-fitting glove on slender fingers.
He knew his penis was made for her tightness, and Erica realised too; she knew the carnal fit that was already the two of them from last time.
Erica anticipated the constricting that was loaded with and produced laden pleasure. Her own taut, inflexible flesh would generate lewd, compelling lust and securely define it for two. Her arse was going to be deliberately attentive to the male need for snugness, her pucker like a special secret cubby hole, a cosy nook for cock.
Bernard eased in gently; then Erica relaxed but remained so goddam tight, it nearly wasn't possible.
Her arse held his cock tighter than a femdom's restraining leash.
Anal perfection.
So good that just for a moment, Erica's pussy was jealous of her anus.
The sensation held longer with the first thrust in her butt than the initial thrust earlier into her pussy.
Erica mused; her pussy relaxed to the shape of Bernie's shaft in her cunt, yet; her arse held tight, remained tight, oh it was good, so good, she nearly preferred it.
Why, she wondered?
Was it the darkly forbidden, a taboo of the world her mother hoped didn't exist?
No, it was just self—self as Erica, herself being a woman—that made it so pleasurable. Though maybe it was the base physical—just the tightest delectable pleasure in itself.
Erica was effusively anally dazed and amazed.
Bernard was happily male-rump humping.
Erica was self-constricted in startling personally controlled tightness, engorged man meat deep in her butt. Her back cave had waited patiently vacant — but waited no longer.
Her Cadbury Avenue was about to be flooded with gluey male liquid. Bernard turned Erica's superb arse, shaped by two pert buttocks, into a smudgy semen-smeared tunnel as he came in sweeping waves close to the rimmed edge of her beautifully sculptured balloon knot.
The Monsignor got a rare surprise that momentarily softened a cynical, hardened Jesuit-framed soul.
Erica's unforeseen anally induced mutual orgasm.
So rare.
But theirs.
"Haah! Haah!" like a marathon finishing line pant.
A response even outside Bernard's vast-ranging sexual experiences.
Erica's orgasm caught her by surprise. Was this possible?
Obviously, yes, it was intense too; timed, she realised, nearly as Bernard came in her arse.
She felt his cock muscle tighten, and instinctively, her rectal muscles tightened. It was incredible; it was bliss.
She was anally addicted.
She secretly worshipped the man of the cloth.
He had loomed in his cassock, in her recent fantasies, since the infirmary.
Her body was shaped by her training regime, diet, regular gym workouts, and mental preparation.
She would always savour and have the female lifelong love affair with her gorgeous pleated genitalia. Her pussy would always crave fat, fast, indecently deep cock.
Still, the men who gave her backdoor attention would reap the most sexual rewards. Her sex life was and would remain forever expectantly shaped unexpectedly by the opportunities centred on her sweet, puckered ring.
Erica was efficiently dressed and resting.
Bernard flopped his cassock back, so easy for a male at times, and was having his post-sex fag, while looking around for the earlier butt; it was best to keep Mrs Roberts on your right side.
Well, the guidelines for The Retreat didn't ban smoking inside or on the grounds precisely yet; still, it was unwritten and protocol.
Protocols — don't go there — Bernard, he told himself.
He took another drag, the mindless, safe option.
"Bernard, I'm exhausted," said Erica, "Can I go to sleep now?"
Christ, she was asking permission to leave, to rest; she was replete.
He should have let her go before he lit up.
Bernard swept back a few stray long brunette whisps of hair, kissed her forehead and blessed her softly and sent Erica on her way with only one lustful short sharp slap on her premium butt.
Erica turned and gave her podium-winning smile.
Then, she flitted faster than a tantalising erotic dream out of the gym.
And Bernard left the world of dreams to young women and returned to tobacco.