Spanko as arousal, playful submission for euphoric gratification!
Bernard enjoyed his cigarette after lunch. The girls had kept to their study discipline again this morning.
This Wednesday morning had gone exceptionally well. Sister Agatha had phoned to say both Erica Philips and Bethany Dwyer's fathers had sent outrageously substantial cheques to the St Anne's building fund, based on the knowledge the college was helping their daughters excel in their chosen fields and were shaping them as good future virginal Catholic wives.
Bernard did a full perimeter walk of the Retreat; this was his domain, at least today. Totally interruption-free. He gave into temptation and had a second fag as he covered the side boundary with the now bare deciduous trees, the ground a carpet of yellow, brownish-red and orange-tinged leaves, before his boots made crunching contact with gravel, as he strolled down and back up the sweeping driveway of gums.
He realised he was psyching himself up for the afternoon with Ms Chastity Palmer, the sassy fetching — Siren — dual scholarship student, often feisty, definitely complex, probably because of her background.
She was — sui generis — a foundling, growing up in the care of the nuns, who provided her Christian name. Her surname, nominated by the school board of directors. Yet now; likely dux of the college and the most manipulative brazen hussy he had ever had the good fortune to stumble upon.
He remembered the first time he had encountered the redhead at the start of this year. He had agreed to help the diocese, as usual, by instructing a religious-themed sex education class at St Anne's at short notice due to the illness of the arranged presenter.
The redhead dominated the classroom even before he heard her speak. She commanded natural attention. She was an out-and-out flirt; she knew every flippant man-capturing move.
Thank Christ, thought Bernard, she was over eighteen.
He had received a class register with the students' names, ages, parental contacts, etc.
His eyes met Ms Palmer's; they recognised kindred shrewd souls.
He observed her, watched her scrutinise him. His by-the-book guidance about abstinence and marriage didn't fool this perceptive lass. She sensed he sensed; they both were players with religion, education, and the intimate game — manipulators in the carnal realm — carpe diem — actually meaning pluck the day — as their sexual motto.
Though she was young, her strident inner thoughts escaped at times, unlike Bernard's mature equivocation.
His Jesuit training.
To close the presentation and for the senior girls to demonstrate their commitment to chastity, abstinence and sex only in marriage, they were each given a biblical concordance to find a passage to read to their peers in turn.
The passage to express their understanding of how the bible would guide their sexual choices into the future.
What Bernard got back was the tripe he had dished up, endless St Paul, sex as sin outside of male-female nuptials.
However, not Ms Palmer; she was last, yes; often the best is last, and she read from — The Song of Songs —
How beautiful are your sandaled feet, princess! The curves of your thighs are like jewellery, the handiwork of a master. Your navel is a rounded bowl; it never lacks mixed wine — Your waist is a mound of wheat surrounded by lilies. Your breasts are like two fawns, twins of a gazelle —
She had a whole class of senior girls who had been on the cusp of believing in abstinence because of Bernard's abilities as a Jesuit; however, they were now in Chasity's palm, near sexual swooning.
She read with both verve and passion.
She had time in her deliberate evocative pauses to run her tongue over her lips, just for the Monsignor, before she continued —
Your head crowns you like Mount Carmel, the hair of your head like purple cloth— a king could be held captive in your tresses. How beautiful you are and how pleasant, my love, with such delights! Your stature is like a palm tree; your breasts are clusters of fruit. I said, "I will climb the palm tree and take hold of its fruit."
Her hand ever so lightly brushed across her white school blouse, at her nipples, just for him.
The Monsignor realised this lass could lead anyone into the garden of earthy delights as she literally gave Bernard and the class a mental orgasm.
He was sure she knew both carnal and spiritual ecstasy and combined them.
The duality of her understanding, her climax, looked real; it was on her face; her lips and cheeks suddenly naturally flushed; her pupils in dilation; her smile to die for; surely, she was clenching her own inner pussy muscles as she concluded her reading thought Bernard.
Her 'coming' made him picture Bernini's — Ecstasy of St Teresa — but not spiritually.
He wanted this Chastity carnally as she song-like finished —
Come, my love, let's go to the field; let's spend the night among the henna blossoms. Let's go early to the vineyards; let's see if the vine has budded, if the blossom has opened, if the pomegranates are in bloom. There I will give you my love —
Sometimes, you are saved by the bell.
There could have been a lesbian orgy in the classroom otherwise, plus Bernard himself only focussed on one nubile.
Strange, he thought; the hold, the desire for only one, in the moment.
The bell resurfaced the Jesuit, and the students, under his deft instructions, all packed up and left orderly, including last, but definitely not least, a butt-shimming Ms Chastity Palmer.
Of course, Bernard offered to complete the series of six sex education lessons at St Anne's College when the presenter arranged was permanently unavailable.
He was also asked if he could grapple with senior girl confession before chapel Mass.
Sister Agatha felt Father Patrick wasn't stern enough with potential wayward moral compasses.
Of course, Bernard volunteered.
Who wouldn't want to hear the confession of a Chastity Palmer?
Their first confessional meeting was a tryst of like minds. They both liked the mental chicanery of life, the duplicity you get from words if you use them well, and manipulating others.
Christ, she confessed, deliberately; to startle the Monsignor, she had the whole senior dorm of a Catholic girl's college on the pill.
Bernard wasn't sure who was twisting whom as their lewd but mutually gratifying web of sexual lust involving Chasity and other senior college girls developed.
Chastity had the verve, the sprightliness and the audacity; the daring over self-confidence and a sixth sense of coiled latent human carnality that could be exposed in everyone she approached. She seemingly could initiate sex successfully with anyone.
Coming back up the Retreat driveway, Bernard barely suppressed a smirk, recalling the College principal in the roadhouse toilets, the boldness, and the impudence of Chas, and to get Erica and Bethany, lustfully and obscenely participating.
Where was sex with Chastity taking Bernard, or Chastity, for that matter? Probably just from fucking uncommitted promiscuousness today to a gangbang tomorrow.
But in the coming instance, both Chastity and Bernard could well; just fuck, and then fuck again.
Chastity liked sex; free of attachment, sex as sex.
Bernard was ready for that, too, and set off for the Retreat library.
Ms Palmer was no prickteaser; she was the open coquette of history, the wanton tramp of nooks, alcoves and secluded dark rooms infrequently used; she knew them all.
They were a helpful part of her erotic playground. It was the old cloakroom at St Anne's where her fire crotch of starling red pubes was first thrust into Bernard's amazed face. He was bewitched by her marine labia, her spinnaker and jib, which he kept returning to like a sailor who has to return to the sea or that woman in an exotic port; he just has to. Sexual attraction to another is often beyond any rational explanation.
The feline minx, Ms Palmer, was spread out, reclining on the library chaise lounge.
It was antique, rich burgundy leather.
Chastity was the modern, savvy, redheaded female. One leg stretched fully with her attractive thigh and calf curving gracefully in harmony with the back of the chaise.
Otherwise, the girl and the furniture had nothing in common except exquisite taste. Her pleated green skirt was maddening Bernard's senses into a riot of lust. He would have ripped it off; if that had been necessary to access her coochie.
"Five feet two, eyes true blue, completely yours to undo," in a trite lilting faked French accent lazily formed by Chastity's sweet, sweet lips.
She was thankfully gum free for this encounter.
One leg bent up and deliberately wide, revealing all—white, tight, scanty, lacey underwear.
How did she stretch the fabric so tight across her labia, exposing her alluring lips like a reversed embossed impression, her dazzling, seductive sails of flesh?
Bernard took in next; her sassy shock of red-gelled hair; it always surprised; it drew you; like a whore under a streetlight.
She was reading or pretending to read. She was wound up, both inwards and outwards, ready to give and receive flesh.
Her flesh.
Then to partake of flesh as carnal delight.
"Saving the best for last, as usual, Bernie," she said as she put her book down.
It was Proust in French.
Bernard mused she was probably deep into a spicy part.
"I think you know what's coming first today," firmly from Bernard.
Her tongue rimmed her sweet, soft bow-shaped lips.
The sylph was a heretic, her life's direction under the wing of Eros, not some Virgin or Saint on a stained-glass window.
Complimenting and suggestive of her autonomous being, her alluring mind and her wild sexual creativity were her inviting lips; bubble gum or no gum, the instance she wet them deliberately in front of you, the pushy pouty perfection made you crave her pussy.
They were lips that more than mimicked genitalia; they devastatingly set you lurching without moral care at rapid speed towards her pussy; and if her stance, her look, and her curled finger drew you out in a room of men, sex with Chastity was your lottery win of life.
You would, when it was over, always thank God and remember your neediness and only relief that you had sex with her, held at the front of memory for the whole remainder of your fucking life.
You would start at the lips and end at those lips, but she would allow the full access tour to her whole body in between.
Nothing was denied, and nothing was held back either.
Bernard realised she was right; he was saving and savouring her.
He was distracted like any male by new fresh, tempting pussy, and it was awesomely amazing in this initially random trio that emerged from confessional heat.
Beth was that sweet, frustrated woman you just had to lay. Erica's anal perfection was accidentally discovered and possibly addictive.
Chastity had it on display, and you wanted it. Kept wanting it.
One deep, sensual French kiss — shared.
She then bent over the edge of the chaise and wriggled her pleated green butt. Chastity knew a spanking was coming; she knew Bernard's modus operandi, her left cheek first.
"Who's been naughty at school?"
Thwack!
Bernard's broad open hand was across her pert left buttock, still protected by her skirt and panties.
A trinity of equally generous slaps followed, administering desirable discomfort to young Ms Palmer.
Her backside seared a bit as her pussy got appetisingly moist.
"Repeat after me, I'm a bad, bad girl."
"I'm a bad…ah…bad...ah …ah … girl," the slap and reaction added to Bernard's enjoyment and Chastity's engagement.
"Who's been drinking and fornicating at school?"
Chastity held the delicious moment before Bernard's hand came down. The words already making her randy.
Thwack!
It was Bernard's expansive hand striking her soft yet untouched right buttock, then purposefully slowing the pace, so the ache ran through her, mounting in shocked delight.
Several rapid smacks.
Her petite arse squirmed.
She was ecstatic in the mix of a slight throb and tingling bliss.
"Repeat after me; I am a wicked …wicked girl."
"I'm… oh…ah…a wicked…ah…wicked…oh...ah…girl."
The smacks made her splash her words in a lush babble.
"Who's being teasing Bethany's soft arse with a dildo…shameful hussy?"
The Monsignor now had her skirt hitched indecorously high over her back. Chastity couldn't wait for more dirty talk; Bernard couldn't wait to get her lacey panties down. Bernard took in the pinkish marks as he continued to slap her buttocks. Chastity was biting her lip in a combination of delight and smarting.
"Repeat after me; I am a slutty, slutty girl."
"Oh ...I am a slutty…oh… oh… ah ...very…very…ah… slutty girl."
The slaps jagged the pitch of her voice.
"Who orchestrated an orgy of fingers and tongues on an unsuspecting principal in a public toilet, without my permission," and her panties were stretched across her white thighs, her buttocks exposed.
Bernard paused. It was too pretty a bum to smack.
Yet he knew he must…smack…smack…smack… went his hand, joined by the smack…smack…smack …of Chastity's lips.
Her arse was stinging.
Yet, her tongue was trembling with satisfaction.
"Repeat after me; take me up the arse now, in my arse now."
"My arse… yes...yes…please…please…now."
Still one last thwack, and Chastity finally said, "Ouch."
She rolled over. Legs deliberately opened. Panties on the floor.
It was her turn to direct Bernard's hands elsewhere. Monsignor couldn't resist.
No man could resist this billowing invitation. Her labial spinnaker was unfurled; her jib was wet and sticky. Chastity was infectious; she kept growing on Bernard like his smoking, pleasurable but dangerous.
She had a patch of bright orange pubes above her clithood. He ran his fingers through them. He eased her hood up and exposed her chic little clit; it was alert and ready for touch. Small, but it packed the full punch of delight.
Lick it, and Chastity was off in self-possessive delirium, the nympho state of being. Bernard knew she liked the clit focus. Hard and tense, the tongue flicking till she burst. Her legs spread further apart, stretching away from herself.
Bernard held the flick under the bud, the licking upwards, pushing her clit up and away. He knew this was the pattern — she had told him.
She wanted something from sex, she asked. Amazing at the edge to nineteen.
Chas was approaching the point where it felt, under Bernard, that she would break apart, a fragment in the fireworks of orgasm. He held the pressure. She writhed under him. It was so intense for her. Her orgasm came like a fired bullet. It was a projectile of rapid focus, shooting from her clit, the initial shattering impact fully clitoral, localised but beyond normal expectation.
"Ooh, my! Ooh! Ooh!"
She articulated the softest sigh… fuck it was good…then it came...she came…like a volley of bullets fired from a semi-automatic; abrupt, intense, rushing through her internal self.
"Orrgh!"
Chastity felt intense hard contractions in her vagina. She self-detonated. Then her legs crumpled in; her hands went in over her pussy, and she could take no more. The redhead had to let the weakening waves pulsate like a fading star; she had to let it finish. The zeal of passion for self — dominated.
Fuck she felt good.
Quickly, though, she was ready for more—the energy of youth.
Bernard had time to reflect. Ms Palmer was the epitome of Blake's —Energy is eternal delight.
Delighted in herself and ready for more delight—endless delight.
She was then sucking cock like she hadn't been near one for months.
Chas spat and slurped in lewd and smutty pleasure. She massaged his pecker so she could dirty-talk him.
"Bernard likes this, doesn't he. I'm your toy. I like cock. I'm going to suck your balls; tease your nuts; kiss your balls; maybe kiss your arse, but you will need to plead for that."
And she was back under his balls, spreading them, holding his scrotum down towards his perineum and licking upwards on tight, silky flesh. His ball bag was being fem-handled. His arse was occasionally rimmed as a treat.
His love nuts were in love with Chastity's tongue. Her hand was stroking skilfully from shaft to glans. A true genital multitasker. She gobbled his nuts and was fully ready for his cock inside her.
She held her pussy open on the chaise. Legs pointing to the ceiling. Bernard noticed her lime green knee-high socks fully for the first time this afternoon.
He went to penetrate her.
He was aiming for her arse to surprise her; however, Chastity struck first.
She was quick to change the entertainment.
This was sexual manoeuvring faster than television channel surfing.
She got his advancing cock, between her out-stretched feet, rubbing it between her green socks.
Bernard nearly 'came', caught by the sexually unexpected as the adrenaline hit of new delight impacted, and his eyes took it all in. His cock was then processing this, and his mind was already urging him to revisit this, even before this tease was finished.
It was different, and different is always welcome in sex. There was the slightly coarse in it, the fabric catching his glans a bit roughly. It was though unusual pressure; it was an unusual hold, with her toes wriggling and sending corrugations of pleasure along Bernard's nearly bursting male thickness.
He took in her tuft of red pubes; they were signalling an emergency — Chastity was ready.
Ms Palmer's private but inviting sexual invitation calling card has been sent and received. Then, momentarily, eye contact occurred, and it was devastatingly intense.
Bernard was heated. He went for her arse.
She was ready — always!
Chas flexed, and he was in.
He knows he has to be super dirty. It is the only option. Find a way to keep pushing her limits. Chastity wants to know; she wants to grow in experience. He knows she will look elsewhere fast—probably too soon. Bernard concentrates on taking the moment and giving her more than she expects.
He makes the decision; it is consciously made.
He goes quickly and repeatedly, arse to pussy, arse to pussy.
He saw the shocked, stunned and startled look on her face.
Followed by the joy — the joy — as the dual pleasure hits and holds.
One hole gaped; another orifice filled.
One hole savouring pleasure just received, another cavity accepting delivery of pleasure; twofold.
Chastity was trapped happily in two types of slutty pleasure, anal and vaginal; in nearly the exact moment, she would have to experience a double penetration; it was now predetermined.
The wanton trollop of bacchanalian pagan mischief would have dominated any fucking Roman orgy, and one day, no doubt she will subjugate every male desire in one of those private gangbang fuckfest weekends held in a tasteful historical setting of a grand colonial residence.
Chastity felt the pleasure centred on two locations, which was unreal; she focused on it and took it all in.
Her pussy was spread by cock; her arse was plugged by the same cock. Before it spikes, there is the delicious moment of knowing its arrival. Another orgasm is coming; she wants it.
She expects it.
The redhead feels it rising.
She can't know precisely when it will hit, but it will soon.
"Ooh! Ooh! Hngh! Hngh! Ooh! Ooh!"
So, she fingers her own clit as Bernard keeps jabbing her arse, then prodding her pussy.
He can't sustain the pleasure mounting in his cock. It's too intense even for his broad carnal experiences. This won't be a marathon fuck session. But it will be the peak of joint pleasure for them both in their couplings — till now.
She moaned loudly: "OOH …AAHHH!"
Bernard was still speed rotating between her two exposed chambers, her butt hole confining like the slit opening of a peek show booth and her exquisite cunt; Chastity's slutty partner to his furious cock, holding them together, tighter than a crotch rope in a bondage dungeon.
Chas has no control as she cums.
Ms Palmer is a clitoral orgasm girl; she wants to cum, she needs to cum, and she will cum; that is Chastity; that is life.
Whether there was a trinity in heaven, the pragmatist in the redhead left that one or three to Bernard's Jesuitical reservation. Chastity believed in her earthy trinity of the moment; she was all woman and more: as her kitten hole, her starfish hole and her whole cherry pip clit; combined for — WOW.
It began like a feather tickly sensation, fluttering to a tingling at the tip of her clitoris. It held, then spread slightly around her thighs and groin, then rapidly, so rapidly centring, like her whole self was sucked into her clit, her pussy and her butt.
"Oh my fucking GOD," from the Wranger.
Her pussy contracts.
Her arse spasms.
"Uugghh!"
Her bodily delight rushed away at speed, like letting go of everything. It ricocheted back, everywhere in self, deep inside self.
It was a releasing of self, dissolving in the pleasure of self, as pleasure spikes repeatedly slid up through her womb and chest.
So intense in the first few ripples, to the point of sublime pleasure.
Her climax, each spike was held momentarily, and then the next spike collided with the first and shit; Chastity felt A1.
The joy held in focus alone, only fucking pleasure; she loses self, her name, her central being in the moment, becoming intensely surreal.
Her head empties except for complete, utter euphoric release.
Chastity is bodily sensation alone, a physical absolute delight, as softer, lighter waves continue.
She still demands them all, but they dwindle and meander away in feathery lightness.
She feels weak and helpless yet totally powerful as a woman.
The sensation floats loosely everywhere.
Her conscious self tries to capture and hold the feeling, but it's past already; it's just a pleasant sensation wafting — aimlessly.
Yet, Chastity became heightened — aware of everything.
Firstly, her over-sensitive clit, next the leather of the chaise sticking to her butt, then her own fem juice dripping around her perineum and finally, her semen-warm cunt starting to relax, post orgasm.
Ms Chastity Palmer, through it all, caught flashes of Bernard's eyes; she greeted his orgasm joining hers, the jerky swathes of jizz shooting into her.
Her eyes now linger over his still hard manpower, covered in their joint liquid smear of selves.
She sees his post-coital pleasure.
He came strongly, with satisfaction in his eyes. Her partner appeared even more vital. Bernard is the man of the moment.
They end it where they started, a concluding French kiss.
Post-coital Chastity's preference is to read.
Bernard plays with her thighs and calves leisurely and softly.
Her mind holds the sex; she is replete for the moment reading in French, Proust — The Prisoner.
At the same time, she treats herself to a lollipop taken from her pocket.
"What part are you re-reading?" inquired Bernard as he took another post-coital drag.
He really shouldn't be smoking in front of her.
"Albertine has just hinted she wants it up her arse…her pot broken," she sniggers.
She lewdly takes a cock sucking slurp on her lollipop.
The pop is bright green, like her socks.
Her face looks young, yet her eyes generate assured maturity.
Her DNA was undoubtedly generated in the biblical cities of the plains. She is pagan.
Bernard takes another long drag of his cigarette.
He has broken all the rules, and now, what difference does it make as he breaks another—one he never wished to break.
"One shared puff, pretty please," weddles Chastity.
Bernard holds the cigarette in his fingers whilst Chastity sucks deeply.