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“There,” she thought, admiring herself in the mirror. A cross stood out proudly on her chest, executed in black, cloth tape, the arms of the adhesive crucifix covering much of her breasts, the rest extending down her sternum to her belly. She adjusted her Catholic-school skirt, and reached for the makeshift headpiece with which she completed her revealing nun’s habit.

“You’d better watch out..” she hummed to herself, thinking of the impression her costume would make at the party. Santa Claus and naughty nuns together at last; “..who’s naughty or nice..”

Arriving just a little too late, she was happy to find the party in full swing. Her eyes adjusted slowly as she walked into a darkened hallway; the hosts weren’t in the front room, but a dozen eyes were turned to take her in. As she pushed through knots of people, sometimes bestowing a smile and a nod, a small shiver passed through her gut at the looks her costume was arousing to join the warm excitement from mood, voice and music.

“Forgive me,” whispered a voice at her right shoulder, rough cloth brushing her uncovered back, “for I have sinned.” She turned, looked up; her interlocutor’s costume echoed an actual monk’s robes almost as hers, mostly rope entwined across and around his torso and upper limbs, holding together a few scraps of burlap. His eyes smiled at her behind the put-on penitence.

“My son,” she breathed, placing a hand on his shoulder. He sank to his knees, brown eyes never leaving hers. “Let us pray.” He bowed his head, but she could see he kept his eyes open, watched as they traced the cruciform outline on her chest, coming to rest on her nub of a belly button, and finally closed. “Sister,” he answered, resting a hand on her left hip, “give me your blessing.” He opened his eyes and looked up, dragging his gaze slowly up her torso so she could not miss his intent. Her inner warmth swelled like a wave coating the underside of a pier.

By now, most of the back room was watching their playacting. It didn’t hurt, she knew, that both principals were half-naked. Deliberately, she lifted her right hand to his forehead. “In nomine patris,” she intoned, dragging the tips of index and middle finger down her companion’s face. His lips twitched as her fingers crossed them. “Et filii,” as she placed her fingers on one cheekbone, “et spiritus sancti.” She let her hand linger on the side of his face. Noise hesitated.

Almost immediately, the party started again, a little more frenetically than before. People swirled around them. Her monk stood, took one arm gently, and asked, “would you come with me?” She let him guide her out of the room and down a hallway.

In a few feet the party was behind them, as was most light. Her eyes adjusted again; her companion opened a door in front of her, and she walked in. She felt burlap on her back again, reached back, and got a handful of rope. Pulled. Her friend leaned back, and she pulled herself right into his chest as he wrapped his arms around her, kissing her softly on the top of her head. Her nervous heat crested again, and she felt the skin on her neck and trunk get warmer. He put his cheek to hers and inhaled sharply, perhaps because she had started scrabbling at sackcloth and hemp trying to loosen the knots that fastened his costume. There! She had one. His breath hissed in her ear as she tugged on the frayed end, exposing his chest to her other hand. There.

She saw with some pleasure that his nipple was erect under her caresses. “Oh,” he whispered as she fondled it harder, “yes.” She snaked her tongue out and licked; he wriggled in reply. She loved how his breathing was now a little irregular. Putting her mouth on his chest, she sucked his little nub in, nibbling and enjoying the way his hands had started light traces up and down her back. Feeling a little wicked, she bit down without warning, quite hard. His protesting gasp was nectar, so she refused to let go, gnawing the nipple as he writhed. Grabbed her and twisted.

Up against the door. It clicked shut under their weight, his on hers. She tasted a hint of blood as he leaned down to her ear, and whispered, “I shall have to prescribe penance for that, my child.”

His shoulder bore her into the door, and she thrilled as she realized he was fastening her right hand to the doorknob. She tried to slip away; too late. The knot was tight. She licked her lips, seeing his other nipple come nearer her head as he tugged her left hand up to the door hinges. Just as he was concentrating on binding, she lunged and caught him in her teeth. He winced, pulled away, and growled as he lashed her left hand in place, pulling her firmly across the door and half-twisting her torso. She gasped at the feeling of the door against her bare back, trapped against the room’s one entrance. Uncertainty washed through her, stoking the hot flush on her chest and neck and roiling her stomach. She wondered if he could feel warmth coming off her.

“Now,” he said, tracing the outlines of the cross on her chest, “now.” His fingertips played with the edges below her throat until the tape obediently began to curl up for him. “Oh, please,” she quailed as she thought of pulling off bandages, “please be gentle.” His answer was to suck her earlobe between his teeth and press on it, lightly. She trembled with band-aid worry multiplied n-fold. Then, he was pulling. The tape didn’t want to let go of her skin, and clenched and clawed at every centimeter of her it released. Pain flooded through her skin, pooled under her eyes. She moaned as he ripped free the vertical strip, her stomach heaving as she gasped for breath. The bottom end snapped from her. “Oh!” she whimpered with relief. “Oh!”

“Only half-off,” he said, “ready or not.”

She thought of the tender skin on her breasts, her previously somnolent nipples, and tried to curl away, but her hands remained bound. She felt sweat on her back against the door, equal parts fear and excitement, and realized she wanted the tape to hurt. The pain on her sternum and stomach had turned to a limpid, liquid rush of endorphin and excitement. She could use more.

He pulled from her right side across. At first, she rode the pain confidently, used to it, knowing it did no real harm. As the ripping line of removal traveled across her chest, though, it started to bite harder. There must be more nerve endings there, she mused in a quiet part of her head, as the rest of her panted limply from the ropes, more here, more. “Ah!” she cried as he ripped the tape across her left nipple and the crest of sensation spiked again, sharply, “Oh!” The sweat was running lightly down the sides of her back now, and her entire trunk glowed. “Ah!”

The tape was off. He paused to look at her; she saw his expression change as he apprehended her excitement. His head dipped, and suddenly his tongue was brushing her nipple lightly, soothing its throbbing. “Oh, oh my,” she whispered, “oh, my, yes..”

He moved his head across and down, tracing the raw, red territory on her front. His tongue’s quick, soft movements were doing devilish things to her, driving the pain that still burned lightly on her chest into her abdomen, where it stoked her flames like a mad, sensualist pyromaniac. “Ooh,” she squealed very quietly, trailing off as he dipped his head, headed downward, alternating swipes of his tongue with delicate lip-only caresses that shot quick shivers through her stomach.

Her hips, she realized as he encircled her navel with his face, were cocked forward, her feet planted wide. She withdrew her pelvis, realizing how nakedly it displayed her lust, only to have reflex betray her with a lascivious thrust forward, at the air. She exhaled loudly.

Her monk looked up at her; his eyes met hers. His lips glistened in the dim light from the window, and he knelt before her again, faithfully echoing the scene they’d enacted at the party, at least until he carefully placed one knee on each of her feet, pinning her quite firmly in place. He began, very deliberately, to strip, gaze locked with hers all the while. She devoured the sight of limb, joint and muscle as he revealed more. Panting, she made her hips turn regular, tight circles.

With a sly grin, he broke eye contact and grabbed her right ankle, slipped his foot to the inside of hers, and quickly looped a spare rope around his thigh and her lower calf. Almost faster than she could think it through, he had her feet strapped to his legs. “Now, then,” he said, admiring each of her hands and feet in turn, “now, then.”

He straightened up, leaning against her, his hands tracing her sides, down, slowly, her hips, her thighs, all the way down until he held each foot in one hand, gently pushing them against his knees. He leaned his weight to the right, his right, and spread his left knee out as far as he could, taking her foot out with it. Then, less abruptly, he slid the other knee slowly along the floor, spreading his knees and sitting back between his ankles. Her legs were stretched apart and out from the door, towards him. She felt drawn taught, like a bowstring; closing her eyes, she let the concomitant tension drain into her.

A light touch on her skirt roused her from the moment. His hands were snaking up her legs, pushing up that schoolgirl skirt, allowing him access to her thighs. She tried to keep herself back, but with a low moan that came unbidden to her throat, her body again betrayed her as her hips thrust themselves forward at his delectable mouth. “Please,” she found herself begging, “please don’t make me wait like this.”

His answer was another wicked smile. He brought one hand across her stomach, stretching the elastic of her simple cotton underpants. She heard a jingle, felt him lift the panties away from her, and heard a ripping sound. He was tearing them apart with a housekey, she realized, and she reveled in the stimulation as he stretched the cloth against her and his key’s tearing rippled throughout. Her moan was counterpoint to that satisfying sound, and the, with a grunt of accomplishment, he was done. She was naked, but for a teenager’s skirt and all-too sensible shoes, and burning for attention, for as yet, he had not touched her directly. “Please, please..” she trailed off.

In answer, he twisted her skirt into its own waistband and began to nibble his way up her thighs, moving his lips from one to the other, from the outside to the inside, raking her bottom with his fingernails. His hair brushed her as he moved, tormenting her, teasing her, promising more. Her mouth dangled open now, as she hung against the door, each of his movements eliciting a new groan. It was too much.

“How can you be so cruel?” she complained, voice thick with desire.

He lifted his head from her thigh. “Your penance is nearly over,” he grinned. “Nearly quite.” And again she was lost in a forest of light caresses and damp lips, of scampering teeth and impetuous fingernails. And then, she felt him pull her slowly towards him, her body stretched out from the pinions of the door frame and his knees, saw his lips reaching for her, and nearly fainted with anticipation as he paused, breathing out heavily and slowly. Then, finally, she felt his fingers caressing her, opening her up, spreading her wetness over and around her, over, around, and in, opening her gently then backing away.

“Oh!” she melted at him. “Oh!” She looked down; his mouth was poised just below the swell of her abdomen, and she felt warm air trickling out of his lips down into the thicket of her hair, where it somehow melted away, deliciously. He opened wider, craned down a bit, and put his lips on her so softly she could just feel them wiggling. He wrapped his free hand around her and drew her taught.

Gathering intensity, he began to move his lips faster, sucking at her gently while plying her subtly with his tongue. She closed her eyes, feeling lost in crosscurrents of sensation, when, still pulling her forward against her restraints, a finger slipped slowly through her engorged lips and pushed gradually deeper, coming to rest with knuckles nudging her as he licked, a bit faster now. She wriggled around in his grasp, pushing down on his hand, silently begging for more.

Grasping her pelvis more firmly in his arm, his mouth glued to her, he began thrusting. “Oh! Oh! Oh!” she gasped in time, feeling herself widening for him under his hand and mouth. “Oh!” She was like a slow-moving river now, drenching his hand to the wrist. He paused, inserting another finger. It was heavenly, the way he stretched her slowly open for his hand. “Oh, oh, ah.” She felt his ring finger join the other two. Her moaning was a low, long wail.

Suddenly, he leaped to his feet and was on her. He mauled her neck, grabbed her under the shoulders, the ropes at his knees lifting her feet up, out, and in towards her. Splayed open and curled up both, she felt him grinding his hips into hers, his penis rubbing roughly where his tongue had played so daintily before. He took much of her weight with a hand at her buttocks, shoving her stickiness against the door.

She wanted to shout, but recalled the party at the other end of the hallway. Instead, she hissed intensely, “take me!” He said nothing, but she felt him swell against her, so she dropped her voice as low as she could and demanded again, “take me!” She wanted to grab him herself, but could only try, standing on the ropes at his knees and hanging askew from her hands, to angle at him so he would slide inside.

He placed both hands on her ass, grasping each side firmly, and pulled her finally into position. At first, he entered her with the same excruciating slowness with which he’d begun many of his maneuvers; this time, she sunk herself into sensation, welcoming every fraction of an inch as he penetrated her, deeper and deeper, until he was sunk. She felt him press against her a moment, enjoyed being filled. She’d rarely wanted it so, her moans a chorus in sterling pianissimo.

She could hear the desire in his intake of breath, and then he began to move. His mouth was buried behind her ear, grunting as he took her, his vocalizations growing less regular and controlled as a frenzy overtook him. She barely noticed it; she was aflame, and his movements were at any moment going to make all the teasing, the pain, the frustration, the anticipation, all of it more than worthwhile. Her body met each of his thrusts with a lascivious parry. She felt she might have engulfed him had she not been tied.

And then, she heard him choke off a moan and felt his erection swell impossibly inside her, leaping into her as she realized this last revelation had finished her off. She lost track of the last of his moans as a rushing filled her ears and she contracted uncontrollably around him, biting her tongue, overcome, exhausted, drenched, quiet.


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