A young plumber fills multiple cracks and gets his pipe drained
Bernard was so relaxed on Thursday morning; he had a smoke with breakfast.
Erica said "Disgusting habit."
Bethany was indifferent, and Chastity shared a few puffs.
The Monsignor puffed stress-free; who knew what ribald entertainment was on the agenda for the late afternoon?
There was a roaring fire, porridge, and coffee — except for Erica and her fruit juice.
Bernard's highlight, probably just beating the intoxication of the morning drag ritual, was the scanty Pj's parade. The beauty of meagre, insufficient girly coverings and loose chemise. The joy of youth too, how their cute tits didn't freeze in the early frost of the last days of autumn.
Bethany and Chastity, as usual, nudged and sidled up to each other with feline stealth and slink, craving and creating opportunities for indecent accidental touch.
Bernard was about to pander to a relaxed whim and have that second fag, when the phone rang. It wasn't even eight o'clock.
The girls noticed Monsignor's demeanour change. His posture and manner were suddenly solemn, yet his eyes indicated compassion. The call ended.
He informed the girls directly and devoid of emotion. However, his eyes held that there had been a serious accident at the local sawmill, and trauma counsellors were required immediately. He would be absent until evening.
He was in Jesuit mode, as he designated Erica to be left in charge. They needed to complete their assignments before lunch, engage in preparation for events next week, including sports and language competitions, and only then have a break together.
Erica assured him they would be okay. The girls saw Bernard leave down the driveway in the Diocese Range Rover.
They were cleaning the kitchen when the phone rang again just after eight.
It was Mrs Roberts. She had forgotten to tell Monsignor that Saul Mathews, the local plumber, would be at the Retreat about nine to replace the shower head in the fourth bathroom.
The only technically off-limits area to any guests was the Cardinal's annex of the Retreat, which contained his bedroom, ensuite, and private study.
Chastity had taken the call and informed Mrs Roberts that the plumber would be — "cared for."
With a broad grin, she told Bethany and Erica, "Girls, we have hot-bod male company in one hour; let's shave those legs, apply makeup, do our hair, and get undressed."
It's surprising how much fem-scaping can occur in under an hour.
They say women, especially young women, take forever to get ready. There is nothing like inducement to spur preparation when lust is involved. Bethany braided Erica's brunette locks while Chastity plucked two stray feral follicles, blighting Beth's cute eyebrows.
Chas ran some gel through her hair, which was saucily and salaciously ready.
They did slow down with the shaving. They didn't want any unsightly nicks or impatient roughness to leave a rash or, even worse, a few stray stubbly bits, especially around their own or their friend's narcissistic, self-absorbed, preeny, pampered, girly bits.
Bethany took a fair while applying the lather to Chastity's compelling coochie region and fingering her labia; she was in a delicious rapture as she pushed Chas's flaps to the side, shaving away tiny emerging red spot fire pubes from her best friend's pussy.
She was so, so careful trimming the little red forest remaining above Chastity's itty clitty. She asked to kiss around her companion's sweet mound and rub her cheek over the puffy labial zone to confirm her talented, silky, smooth shaving routine.
The redhead gave her blessing for some brief mushy touching.
It was Chastity who had the dexterity and the skill to shave around Erica's pleats, perineum and anus. Well, you never knew with Erica what she was going to present close-up to a male, how far she was going to spread or what hole would receive a treat in the heat of an unguarded sexual moment.
Christ, thought Chastity, a woman, had to get two fucking holes looking their best.
Erica was Ms Gillette on all their legs: so, fucking fast, so awesomely precise with her sweeps to produce total smoothness defined. Moisturiser was later applied liberally to each other's breasts and tenderly around pouty excited labia. Then, the fem-sprays went into over-pressurisation, in the confidence of creating a smell to attract.
There was a brief overpowering heady mist of —Tropical Rain — and —Paradise Splash — in Chastity's room.
Geez, they were focused. They still had fifteen minutes to confirm lingerie selection: presented to each other's critical eye — lacey knickers and camisoles were flung out for appraisal from the depths of their travel bags.
Saul, the plumber, wasn't in a hurry. This was his only booked job today, on his return from a five-week, all-male hydro project site in the highlands. The biggest hurdle at the Retreat was Mrs Roberts, the gossip, the proffered second scone and another, then another, bloody cup of tea. He was twenty-five and single.
Worse, he had no regular girlfriend and lived in a rural township devoid of eligible women—nearly empty of eligible females, to be precise. He had a good business, his dad's, since his retirement. He'd tried dating agencies but couldn't get a city girl to go to the country.
His dad kept suggesting one of the Watson sisters.
Seriously, they were built like country outhouses, rectangular and rough. True, they were twenty and twenty-two, respectively, but they were often mistaken by out-of-towners as butch lesbians.
Rumour and gossip were always true in a small place; the Brown brothers at the local sawmill, built like tanks and packed inside their trousers, at least according to their own drunken bar talk, were dogging the Watson sisters regularly by the riverbank.
Well, according to old Clarey, who fished the river with a boatload of stubbies.
Saul hadn't even scored a yummy mummy on a call out, what always happens to plumbers, in the odd silly plumbing porn scene he'd laughed over.
Fuck, this community was either religiously closed widows or the Watsons girl's open country roadshow, though he hadn't been there. He had some standards but wished they would slip.
He found himself momentarily, coming up the long drive of framing gums to the Retreat, thinking maybe there existed a hot, wayward, young nun here today.
He got politically correct; there was no such thing.
Christ, Sister Margret was the youngest he'd seen around here, and she was on the better side of forty and still a virgin, no doubt.
Sometimes, wayward, randy thoughts are actually a sexual turn-off, not a turn-on.
He left his daydreams behind himself as he parked at the rear of The Retreat and knocked on the kitchen door. Tradesman's entrance — expecting Mrs Roberts in her apron, varicose veined legs, rolled half stockings and hair net.
Lovely sweet, caring woman, the model grandmother — no one's idea of a desperate shag.
The door opened, and Saul said, "Fuck me."
Chastity said: "Yes; Fuck me and fuck — this and this."
Saul was chaperoned into the longue room by a bevy of skimpily clad-girls.
He was in front of a roaring open fire.
He dropped his tool bag but his own private tool was upstanding.
Greeting his unbelieving eyes through the doorway had been, yes: he counted them, one, two, and three; jaw-dropping, cock raising, stunningly beautiful young women; his cock registered they were not nuns well before his brain did.
They were drop-dead gorgeous, and he may have fainted in blissful delight if they hadn't kept him moving inside.
It's incredible how much your eye, brain and cock process together.
The brunette was his height; she was ravishing, waiting to be ravished. White camisole and white lace panties, her athletic tone, fantastic, but toned for screwing, was all that passed through Saul's mind.
The strawberry blonde was slightly shorter, with blue eyes under a fringe and ponytail. So innocent, shyly smiling like a virgin before her first fuck: well, the thought crossed Saul's mind. Though he'd never fucked a virgin, surely this was one. Dumpling breasts looked to escape her pink cammie, and he was sure she had irresistible folds of flesh behind her equally rose-coloured skimpy undies.
However, it was the redhead, bodacious and brassy, flashy and exuding brazen immediate opportunity, a sex brat who had to be fucked, along with a whole flood of crass thoughts that crowded Saul's mind; he had to fuck the redhead.
There is something about black lace and wrangers, pocket-sized skinny females at five-two. Saul was about to find out the pleasurable truth of this fact.
They had Saul seated on the red leather curving lounge between them. Erica wanted his cock inside her before his pants were even off. Bethany wanted both cock and pussy and breast action and everything she couldn't yet think of. Only Chastity knew it had to slow down before the poor guy lost his gravy inside his pants.
Chastity allocated his body. She introduced Erica to his expectant mouth. Bethany to his surprised chest. Leaving his penis to herself; for a short while.
Valhalla — came to Saul's mind as Erica's tongue caught him in full passion.
He caught her name in his ear, but her tongue was then darting furiously with eroticised slippery pleasure through his mouth, across his lips, under his own tongue, across his cheeks, then waited for reciprocity; he gave her back what she had given.
He felt her delight as she came again with her tongue, speedily but controlled. She had to be a fucking athlete as she combined tempo and dash in his mouth.
She was juicily lingering, tip to tongue tip. Then a full French kiss seared into memory, hot lips, hot body, hot minded girl.
Valhalla — first impression was spot on, she was a — Valkyrie — and he wanted more.
Their mouths became joint suctioning apparatus, she sucked his tongue like it was his penis, and he treated her tongue tip like he would her clit. He moved on to her neck. She nibbled his ear. Then, it was frenzied tongues in mutual mouths all over again.
Saul's chest, at the same time, was in virginal territory and seemingly under virginal touch. The sweet blonde nubile whispered in his other ear as he caught the name Erica; she was Bethany.
His mind was simultaneously processing three erogenous experiences: his chest, mouth, and happy sac.
His firmness and chest hair patch were pampered by two soft cheeks and a sliding, gliding, wet tongue.
His nipples were scratched by sexily unbearably long nails.
It was the gooddam moment when beauty and the beast were really true; hardness was defined by softness, body hair contrasting with smoothness, and maleness and femaleness blended in their oppositeness together.
He held Bethany's cheek momentarily as she paused to hear his beating heart.
Sensual sensitivity for two, caught between fleshly locked lips and the carnality of petting.
Chastity was playing with Saul's scrotal happy sac, nibbling on his nut pouch, and checking out his family jewel box. She had sufficient to work with and was never disappointed. All meat swords had potential.
She was licking his dangling duo, watching occasionally as they tightened upwards. Saul was blissfully aware of the satin touch on silky scrotum flesh, balls, and tongue joined in delight. When Chastity started taking head, he couldn't focus on the blurs of pleasure that were localised in his mouth and across his chest.
He was male; the penis stole all pleasure focus into its greedy head. Bethany and Erica gave up. They sat and watched the Chastity head show. She took his penis shallowly, just holding the tip with her lips. She knew the pleasure point, the spot under the tip giving trills of building delight like her clit. She licked her tongue around and under his head. Beth and Erica saw Saul's eyes dilate and close with wonderous pleasure and observed the deep male groan escape his tense lips. The redhead's fingers were teasing his soft sac, and then she cupped her hand for the lightest, sensually uplifting squeeze.
Then, stroking his shaft while she teased and teased his so sensitive, thickened head.
Chastity knew when a pecker just had to have pussy; fingers, hands, tongue and lips left as foreplay. Only pussy can release the throb of pure, sustained maleness. Or Erica's butt.
What happened next stayed with Saul for his whole life.
The girls sat next to each other on the lounge and invited Saul to remove their underclothes.
Nothing else.
They spread their legs: legs up, legs high, legs split by pussy. Saul nearly hesitated: was this right?
His cock wasn't getting moral.
It went right in, right to pussy, shaved delight, right in front of it.
Bethany was in the middle.
Saul's flute split the musician's legs. Her fairy-winged labia currently defines his understanding of skin and sex. His candy man got her sweetest treat.
Beth moaned, "Aah! Aah!"
Saul groaned, "Ugh! Ugh!"
He took in his cock pumping into her holding cavity. He watched, too, amazed, as the other two girls were playing with themselves, watching him pump their friend.
Excitement builds from the entirely unexpected in sex.
He pumped the cute-faced blonde rapidly. Till Chastity was up, momentarily redirecting his stud muscle into the spread glistening pleats of Erica.
Christ, he had gone from cock bliss to cock heaven.
This was stiff meets snug.
Boy, was she tight but wet.
His stiffy went harder; well, it felt like it had hardened to a veined crimson-headed crowbar.
Saul was caught, trapped in an overpowering mind-centred possessiveness of repeated pleasured penis strokes of euphoria.
Erica didn't want to share, but she was a true team player—the girl with willpower. She gave Saul to Chastity. The redheaded siren was holding her petite shard of rigid hardness between her fingers.
"Lick it, please."
Saul was licking and flicking her nub. He could feel her tense with pleasure. He just had to lap and suck her one extraordinarily large passion flap, a lip unusually wide, the other angling off in its own direction.
Her labia were, he realised quickly, double suckers, and he had them both between his lips.
Then he couldn't wait.
His dick needed to be in her, and he gave Chastity his ramming fuck stick. She felt the pleasure of his fuck rod. She felt cock with lewd delight, as she knew it had so very recently visited her two friends' cute smooth, freshly shaved coochies.
Saul wasn't sure whether he was meant to stay and spray in the fire crotch, revisit the pleats, or lick the fairy wings. Chastity got him back to her impatient clit. She held his head down.
He understood; he was destined to lick them all to a fucking orgasm.
The thought of this intensified his tongue action harder and firmer onto Chastity's super sensitive little bead. She came with splintering, shattering spasms of pleasure. Her highly spread legs wriggling, then collapsing.
"Uhh, yes! Right there! Yes there! Uhh! Uhh!"
He was pausing to take in her replete eyes, but Beth already had her hands on his head and got him diving between her thighs. He covered her whole pussy and sucked: sucked hard, like trying to suck her pussy off. Bethany was delirious with thigh-shaking joy. Then Saul pressed his tongue into her cute slit, pushing into her like his tongue was searching for a permanent home.
He knew he had her on cloud nine as she moaned: "Suck out my pussy; lick into me deeper."
Well, if a girl asks, she gets it.
Beth had learnt this from Chas. The next three minutes were a closed world for two. Pleasure creation and pleasure correlated. Saul licked like he was pelting down a waterslide; she was so slickly wet where his salvia had pooled with her flow of glistening cum. It was a knee tremble for Beth.
Her full climax coincided with a strange new genital surprise, a gush of warm fem liquid seeping out of her; onto the couch.
"Ooh, uuh! Oooh! Shheez! Oooh!"
"Oh beautiful, "said Chastity, who gathered the gush up on two of her fingers, then gave it — well-fed it back into Bethany — who marvelled at her own body and its capacity for new wondrous happiness in sex.
Erica collected the dregs and gave Saul his first taste of fem-liquid.
Ah, so patient was Erica.
The girl who wanted it all. Her clit teased. Cock spurting rapidly in her gob. Her pleats separated by heated meat.
But her arse won.
She knew she should be fairer to her aching pussy.
But her arse craved more.
Saul saw the glistening, tightly flexing sphincter at eye level. Well, she had backed in over his face. She half turned, and her eyes said — fuck my arse.
He took in her whole gorgeous rump, a caboose framing her cute rear trap door. Her puckered starfish was flexed and ready. Just where had this girl's fingers played while he was busy between Chas's and Beth's legs. There was hesitation.
He had never been here.
Never been invited.
Here, though, was the perfect invitation.
Saul worried about hurting her.
How were you gentle with this?
How did you take a bit of the ring?
Damn it — I'm a generational bona fide tradesman; they always come through the backdoor.
The backdoor was open, and he went in.
She flexed; he was in — well in — the tightness, the sheer delicious tightness, kept hitting home.
Fuck, his cock felt great.
She was bum-delicious — a grip tighter than his best double wrench.
Saul wanted to cum in her arse. His cock needed to cum in her arse; he believed he was about to cum in Erica's arse.
Chastity had his pulsating pecker in hand. Just holding it for a second or two.
What? Triple denial?
No, Chas was waiting for Erica to turn around.
Hell, three college girls all on their knees, ready to receive a spray of cum, their communion of the hour, from a now ragingly erect but usually unseen trouser god.
Chastity worked the shaft till its involuntary flex.
She directed the spray.
Jizz straight across Erica's stretched waiting tongue.
A gob of cum on cute Beth's cheek but close enough for her tongue to stretch and snatch it in.
Then Chastity took the rest for herself across her two marshmallow chest bunnies. She milked the last dregs in her soft mouth.
Whilst Erica licked his nut bag and Beth, being Beth, well, had to rim his appealing arsehole.
Next, she licked the cum off her best friends' breasts.
There were a few kisses here and there, all over Saul, and there was a collapsed pile of flesh, fanning embers of post-coital smouldering warmth in group relaxation. The youthful assemblage was glowing warmer than the softly burning lounge room fire.
"Hell, it's eleven," Chastity realised.
"Okay, everyone cleans up and gets to work, including you, Saul; lunch is at one, everyone."
Saul worked busily. Tradesmen's focus. Replacing, adjusting, and checking fixtures alone in The Cardinal's off-limits to the girl's wing of the Retreat.
Surprised by no interruptions.
He was daydreaming a bit; he just had to know what the hell was going on in the rest of the Retreat.
He fantasised about a nympho-lesbian shower party.
At about twelve, he had a sneak around the house.
Unbelievably, these three girls — all separate — were writing and reading and focused on study.
It was going to be one hell of a world they dominated.
Lunch was relaxed. Light and flirty, like the club sandwiches and bottled water provided by Chef Erica.
The morning had to be make-believe, a driveway fantasy of Saul's. Yet here they all were. It was innocent around a lunch table, yet it resided in Saul's memory; it was terrific.
The moments of lived life, the combinations we experience, and what we truly know about others when we really know them, when we engage with them sexually.
The three French kisses, affectionately and honestly given — but indicating find your own next fuck — were a nice parting unexpected treat for Saul; as he was ushered through the backdoor.
He was in his van, ready to drive home.
In the kitchen, Erica said, "A very worthwhile morning, a good workout."
Bethany added, "And educational, well, for me and my body."
Chas giggled and said, "It was lush and enjoyably shared."
Just where the fuck was his next fuck coming from — Saul mused as his work van headed off down the long gum-lined driveway.
He didn't know it yet, but it was only an evening away, and he would always have his dog, Charlie, to thank for its occurrence. A dog that was never sick, yet suddenly was, and a new female vet in town.
The mysteries of life-long couples created anywhere —
The girls had serious work to do and got it done.
There was a world of males to conquer, and they would need sharp minds, fit bodies and tight pussies to do it.
Plus, there was genuine comradeship and concern as they all later prepared dinner for Bernard and themselves.
He phoned at five; he would be back by six.
It wasn't melancholic like they all anticipated.
Even as the Jesuit priest could compartmentalise. He relaxed with a couple of wines, and so did the girls.
Chas had earlier gotten them all busy; Erica made a delicious French onion soup. The redhead created a heady wine-infused Boeuf Bourguignon. Hearty and warm for an autumn evening.
Bethany surprised herself and everyone with a fluffy, light chocolate mousse.
Food was shared, and the Monsignor held the young women mentally captive. Not with the pain of his day's counselling, he engaged with quirky, humorous human stories from his vast global experiences.
He knew what was needed for this evening. It was fellowship, not sex, and the girls joined his mood.
He kissed each girl on the cheek once, and they went to bed just after ten.
Bernard thought as they happily skipped away — they might all find balance in the world, more equilibrium than himself. He hoped so.
He took several long drags on a fag before facing bed himself.
The Jesuit wondered if he could sleep.
His cigarette was poorly rolled; his hands were a bit trembly because he couldn't erase the stump of bandages at a man's wrist.
A man with a family, Terry, whom he had comforted in hospital, that had had the day before his hand, it was now mangled beyond reattachment.
He drew the last puff from the stub of his durry and wondered — if we were right to live life only for and at the moment — as it was impossible to see divine reason in this day.
On a lighter note, he hoped the girls' day at The Retreat had been worthwhile and educational before they had shared each other.
He puffed his cigarette to the tarry butt.