Strap in for a strap-on
Countless, shiny, shaved legs swung along the edge of the stage. They wore white ankle socks, short summer school skirts, an indecorous hint of panty here and there, and not all standard St Anne's white.
All senior college girls in their final year — now drawing to a close. They knew they had it and were ready to fly this coop.
The girls weren't taking in the prep talk by Sister Margret. They were too excited about the first full dress rehearsal getting underway. The fun of girls dressing as boys and flattening their fem bodies and mucking about with fake stubble and sideburns and wearing those pants with a codpiece accentuating the pricks they craved but didn't have — secretly their favourite plaything along with their coochies.
The cohort was still a bit peeved that their Principal, Sister Agatha, hadn't agreed to the production, including the boys from St Xavier's.
Sister Agatha didn't understand the workings of a cock in her still fifty-four-year-old virginal body. Still, she understood temptation and wasn't providing it in her school.
Monsignor Bernard had initially been reluctant to get involved ...even though it meant a nubile eye feast or even the opportunity for more...he doubted though anything could top last year's trinity of pleasure ...athletic brunette Erica, angelic blonde Beth or sassy redheaded Chastity...all at once in the infirmary.
Sister Agatha, the principal, had reluctantly roped him in, though the prospect was stirring his loins: college girls dressed as boys, girls playing boys in Twelfth Night, girls just playing with girls, and girls playing with girls dressed as boys. His mind was wandering.
Sister Margret was only focussing on the literary canon and drama assessments...If only she had told the girls how rough and dirty Shakespeare is in nearly every scene. Then they would perform...then the Monsignor realised the randy nubile peaches could get too uninhibited...then he thought...sounds good...
Bernard had agreed to be the stage director and manage the unruly senior pack backstage at this late stage in production as Sister Rosemary had taken the theatre expression literally — and broken a leg falling off the edge of the stage.
Monsignor was tired; he had arrived late for this full-dress rehearsal as the diocese administration was getting him down. He needed a fag, too, in the immediate instance. The costume room would do — in five — when Sister Margret finished her prattle.
The girls were excitedly moving off—finally—to change, do their makeup, and get the show rolling.
Sister Hazel caught Bernard before he could sneak away for his drag. She wanted the backstage props checked.
Nothing worse than an over-enthusiastic nun except one with their pants down and legs up thought Bernard.
Sister Hazel rambled on and on. No wonder she couldn't get a man considered the Monsignor.
He deflected her with a few randomly selected backstage crew and was off seeking that costume nooky for a fag.
God, in the good old days, it was just so easy. His pipe was a part of the corridors and cloister as the parade of swaggering senior butts sauntered around the place.
It takes both a lot and very little to imagine a nubile naked — thought Bernard as he sought the Costume Room.
The little being cute rumps spread and the focus of your pecker drilling. The lot ...just what mysteries lay hidden...refined, flimsy, lipettes, pouty crumpled flesh...the curve of a camel toe...hiding delectable tightness...buttholes to finger...and whether they squirmed with new knowledge or put their finger in your butt...fully understanding the pleasure...ah the infinite variety of the world under fem-panties.
Bernard was in the costume room, door shut behind me, and no interest in a durry — as on a pile of costumes were two partly naked girls — one eating the other out.
Bernard sidestepped quietly. Jesuits know when to use stealth, and an experienced voyeur behind a rack of costumes took the scene in full.
For their age — eighteen —they knew more than enough already, Bernard observed.
They knew the spots to drive wild, the points to draw back and launch again, turning it on fully, letting it linger, and then turning it on completely.
Even with their fake stubbly boy makeup, Bernard recognised the infamous pair.
Marsha Steele and Briony Davies —the senior school captain and her vice—were spot on, smirked Bernard.
Marsha had her legs spread, panties removed, looking down as Briony was licking her clit and fingering her at the same time.
Little moans escaped Marsha's cute, sweet mouth. They still had their top half costumes on... the slutettes were too excited and too coochie focussed...ah, youth... to entirely strip off and bring their whole bodies into play...a bit harsh, thought Bernard...this was a pre-performance quickie...and he was enjoying their undressed rehearsal.
Bernard took in the fake stubble on Briony's face that contrasted with Marsha's smooth, smooth coochie...the tickly sensation ...the slight rasp of roughness adding a new unfelt sensation...an added touch...and genitals always, always respond to that extra unexpected added touch...layered over the immediate, compelling touch.
Bernard's experienced observation was then confirmed.
"That tickles," said Marsha, the stubble rubbing against her smoothness. "But in a nice way— Mmm, mmm, ooh!"
Christ — and Bernard wasn't even aware of his blasphemy as Marsha swapped positions with Briony but speedily had a strap on covering her coochie.
But Briony's plump pussy was shaved allurement, her slices of flesh already open from her longish hood.
The interest wasn't how they had got a strap-on into the college. It was how the Miss was using it. How it was being embraced.
Monsignor's boner was aching under his cassock. He eased it out for a touch.
Marsha had one of Briony's flexible legs over her shoulder. The large flesh-covered anatomically correct toy, with the apparent exception of exaggerated ridges, was being thrust softly between Briony's delicate flaps of current happiness, working her clit occasionally with her fingers was upping the delight. Her girly bits appreciated her friend's unique effort to find, hold and induce layered pleasure.
"Ugh! Ugh! Ugh!" she moaned in joy.
Bernard was stunned — the fleshy flapettes trapped his eyes —trapped by self-touching —trapped by fleshy crinkly folds accepting a smeary cum wet colossal plastic cock.
"Shit, that was great, but I could still do with one of those Xavier guys' cocks right now."
"Yeah, me too —oh well, it will have to wait for the combined formal dinner," sighed Briony
"Sweetie — can we finish off —with —"
They were seeking the mutual sixty-nine before Marsha could finish.
Oh God — and Bernard was aware of the blasphemy this time.
Still, the spread butt, the exposed warm secret flesh and the way Briony's tongue was rapidly flicking into Marsha's exposed clit — was intense.
Marsha's rump and thighs started to quiver, and whatever she was doing to Briony had her legs shaking and closing in around Marsha's buried head.
Bernard couldn't resist it anymore —his cock tensely erect.
He blithely walked over and joined in.
The Monsignor intended to add the prime male variation to the pleasure sequences they gleefully and lustfully produced.
The two college seniors were unaware of the schlong intent on their beckoning holes as they were mutually engaged in pussy spreading and tongue swiping and sweeping.
Boy, did they get excited.
Man, did the tempo shoot up.
They were both up and licking the hot rod before their face.
Gugh! Gugh!
The cute sound of girls taking sloppy head.
Yes, they had changed positions.
Yes, there was an older guy here now — true, they only sort of knew him —but there was no break in their sexual stride or sexual need.
Young harlots.
A lesser man may have been unnerved despite the youth of the two.
Bernard knew cock sluts and, well.
No bragging —he had dealt with three college tramps simultaneously last year.
Ah, sweet memories of Cha, Beth and Erica.
Briony and Marsha were pecker hungry— in the here and now— it must have been a while since they had trapped a St Xavier lad. Their enthusiasm was youthful and boundless, and Bernard enjoyed double delight.
Bernard asserted his will quite easily over the two lasses. It was instant trust—a trust that something dirty was unfolding—and the Monsignor didn't disappoint.
He got Briony up on a cleared props table.
All her clothes off now, and Marsha happily fondled her creamy cake cup breasts and suckled her nipples.
Monsignor raised Briony's legs over his shoulders, half arched her body, and his tongue was probing.
As he suspected, her flapettes of instant indulgence were a gateway to pussy readiness. After a series of pulsing, pressured sucks and licks by Bernard and wild writhing wantonness from Briony, the Monsignor plunged his pecker into her fem-sheath.
"Hngh! Hngh! Fugh! Fugh! Ooh-aah! Ooh-aah!"
A trill of appreciation that matched the tingle in her slit and clit.
God — her snatch was tight and wet.
He didn't have time to castigate himself for another blasphemy.
Briony was cock rocking; she was thoroughly enjoying herself.
Bernard gave her — her fair share — and worked her cute clit to a rapid expressive orgasm.
"Aa-rrah! Arr-gghh!"
Well, he knew Marsha wasn't going to wait.
The tart frigged herself, watching Bernard hump Briony and had a digit sneaking into her arse.
Bernard knew what a nubile needed.
For all their experience with each other — girl on girl — Marsha wasn't fully prepared for the deep audacious dogging from the Monsignor.
Her arse aligned with a genuine codpiece as he stood behind her —right over her —forcing her body to curve.
Her stomach was on the table, and her lithe body raised slightly again at her head —the flexibility of youth.
Of more concern was the uninhibited moaning of youth — Hell- if anyone went past the door.
"Aah-uhh! Aah-uhh! Fugh! Fuck me! Ooh, fuck me! Yeah! Ooh! Ooo-hh!"
The bodily acceptance of youth.
Marsha's arse was wriggling around for different sensations and extra satisfaction —not that she needed it —this was euphoria rising —centred on her tushie!
Her banana canyon gaped!
Then, her cinnamon ring contracted.
Her starfish gripped tighter than hands on a giant rollercoaster.
Fuck, she thought the strap-on was intense —cock was just licentious revelry released.
Sheez— she felt good, better than good, she took it all, surrendering to it all, and it couldn't get any better.
Bernard ravaged her willing cornhole. To her innermost reaches. The roots of her canal.
Bernard withdrew, and Marsha yelped as Briony filled her gape with the strap-on.
"Nnghh! Raah! Oof! Nnghh! Nnghh! Fugh! Nnghh!"
Bernard was impressed.
Marsha came again hard and fast, entranced by her slutty balloon knot.
"Haa-uuh-uuh!"
Briony was beside Marsha, kissing her, but her butt cheeks remained spread.
The Monsignor took in the pair's stage makeup —the boyish stubbly look — then took in their butts —only fem-butt here.
He eased his schlong into Briony's tight crack, and her shapely arse was angling back to get his cock deeper very quickly.
Bernard smirked — the nuns got it right — appointing her vice.
She was clenching tight.
Sweetly tight.
Crampy tight
Pecker teasing tight — all in a simultaneous combination for cock pleasure.
Briony was gasping in girly delight.
"Uaah! Uaah!"
Geez, it felt good.
Hell, it was good.
Her patootie was designed for this.
Bernard knew arse was great for him and a rear-end cream-pie male heaven.
But he knew young women love cum — would feel cheated —couldn't be satisfied —wouldn't be complete without taking a load in their mouths and across their faces and splashing on their breasts.
Christ—Bernard knew he had to have them prepped and glowing for their stage performance in a few minutes.
Like two penitents receiving communion, they knelt before their immediate earthy need — glistening straining man meat —
Their slutty salvation.
Their decadent deliverance.
Their randy redemption.
All they needed was the seed.
The seed. Their baby gravy. A smattering of man paste.
The yummy sticky mouth-warming jizz!
Jizz!
Jizz!
Bernard sprayed across two opportunistic mouths —
His love custard smattering across Marsha's extended tongue.
Sprinkling across Briony's pink open lips and flushed sexy cheeks.
Then, drizzling in sporadic globs of pearly texture on the pair's equally cute-ish upper decks.
Wow — were they happy?
Wow — were the pair ready to perform?
Briony and Marsha hit the stage with a love of life that left Sister Margret thinking young women listened to serious prep talks by nuns.
Bernard knew better as he sneaked off for his fag.
Regular backdoor work with the leading pair, Briony and Marsha, would keep their young minds focused on performing over the next two weeks. Bernard set his mind on enhancing their performance skills.
In an alcove, his thoughts drifted to sexual opportunism from his assignment in Rome this time last year.
When In Rome —
The Monsignor puffed slowly and contented.