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Mature theme / Adults only (please DO NOT read if true adult non-fiction offends).
ALL CHARACTERS DEPICTED ARE AT LEAST 18 YEARS OF AGE.
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The following is a true story…..
The Convent
My dad was a renowned craftsman woodworker. Known throughout the American Midwest and South as a master wood craftsman. He was commissioned by museums, architectural review boards, architects, and wealthy clients for his skill and ability to restore archaic workmanship back to its original design.
It was not surprising then when in 1981 he was commissioned by a bustling Catholic college convent in the Midwest to restore their main staircase and library back to its original early-1800s European, oakwood- finished glory.
The Catholic college just happened to be located about a two mile hike along a meandering path through a dense deciduous forest from our home.
Located on a sprawling 75-acre wooded and secluded campus, the three main buildings, anchored by a five-story Main Hall and Administrative Building, a four-story, onsite campus school and classroom building, as well as a three-story residential unit were situated to either side of the sprawling Admin Building.
The three-story Residence Hall was where all the over nine hundred sisters and novitiates lived. The elderly sisters lived mostly on the ground floor, with floors 2 and 3 being a mix of both seasoned, middled-aged sisters and 18–22-year-old novitiates. The campus physical facility was a bustling, sprawling area with many hidden corners and twists and turns.
However, human activity within the basement and tunnel complex was nearly non-existent, except for the very rare and super-occasional plumber, repairman, or, as in my case, intrepid 18 year old always up for a thrill.
All three buildings were connected by dimly lit, underground tunnels running approximately 300 feet from the Main Hall to either building, and an additional tunnel connecting the Residence Hall and Educational Center building, forming a triangle of dark, rarely used tunnels, side passages, and storage rooms.
The tunnels were originally built in the mid-1880s to serve the purpose of keeping walkers out of inclement weather and facilitating people movement back when the campus served four thousand souls.
The tunnels and basement storage rooms formed a sort of eerie maze, and with building creaks and muffled conversations echoing throughout, the spookiness and exploration was captivating.
Having recently turned 18 years old, I would be merely a helper to both my dad and his loyal apprentice, Charlie. Whatever dad or Charlie needed from our truck, or building materials located deep within the dark tunnels or basement storage areas, I was assigned to retrieve.
I always got a thrill and an adrenaline rush when I was not immediately needed and had time to wander off into the darkened tunnel system, which was common and my absence was never even noticed, as both dad and Charlie were seemingly always laser-focused on their craftsman’s work.
I would get so aroused wandering the twisting and turning darkened basement halls and tunnels, intently listening to the muffled sounds of the female banter and laughter, I’d walk around with a massive erection straining against my jeans.
Sometimes the seductive ambience became a bit too much. I often found myself fondling my hard eight inch, circumcised penis through my jeans and then search out a suitable place to unzip my Levi’s and stroke it.
Releasing an intense climax, while engrossed in the erotic ambience of the dungeon-like environment, enhanced my orgasm and my ejaculate was always of a much greater volume and intensity than normal, sometimes shooting out a three foot stream of semen and covering my entire right hand in the creamy fluid.
Adding to the erotic ambience which so drew me in, was that the entire complex was crawling with sisters — administrators, teachers, kitchen personnel, everybody on campus was female, even the groundskeepers (who were also sisters) — all females from spry 18 year olds, up to sisters in their 90s and confined to wheelchairs.
The only male I ever noticed on campus was the chief administrator, Father Gus, who was a near-sighted and buffoonish priest in his late 60s and who stuttered so badly I could hardly understand him. I imagined that his communions must have been comedic theater. He was also a man of exacting routine: departing precisely at 4:00 pm daily and returning at 10 am the following day.
The absolute dearth of males on campus was the reason, I surmised, many of the sisters and novitiates paid me so much attention. Being well built for my age, I got smiles and “side eyes” from many of the sisters, especially when I made my way down the back stairs, unlocked the heavy metal exterior door, and closing with a slam “bang!” behind me.
I carried the key to escort bursa this door in my pocket which provided access to the Admin exterior basement door. Once inside this door, I had access to the entire network of dark tunnels, basements, storage rooms, hidden servant staircases, and the entirety of the three buildings.
I particularly enjoyed when the sisters appeared to notice my ever-frequent erections. I made a sort of game of subtly teasing some of the more receptive and playful, and mostly mature, sisters.
I’d make a point of wearing either very tight Levi blue jeans (and nearly thread-bare in the crotch), or revealing jogging pants. Either way, I’d forego underwear so as to accentuate my penis length for the sister’s obvious amusement.
While the younger sisters would grin, giggle to one another (while surreptitiously checking out my bulging groin) and quickly scamper away, the older sisters, however, were much more bold and flirtatious.
Several mature sisters frequently engaged me in banter and small talk while “innocently” filling up and locking onto one of my developing biceps, or grope hard at my shoulders.
One particular section of a three foot narrow and poorly lighted hallway on the third floor of the Residence Hall was like walking a gauntlet of horny, middle-aged women brushing past me in the narrow space, or even standing directly and playfully blocking my path, or in the doorways of their sleeping rooms, all the while groping at my shoulders and arms, and occasionally even surreptitiously pinching, squeezing, and rubbing my buttocks whenever I traversed this area. These “group flirtations” particularly would leave me aroused and desperately needing to ejaculate.
One of the more playful and flirtatious nuns was Sister Marie.
Sister Marie was mid-50s, petite, brunette with waist length hair, about 5′ in height, and about 150 lbs. She enjoyed whispering off-color comments about my “tight butt”, how much she’d like to “bite it”, and how my “tight butt” gave her “restless dreams.”
“Your tight butt is going to get me in trouble with Mother Superior,” she playfully whispered to me. Her comments were always made “jokingly” and in whispered tones, often while standing in the doorway of her sleeping room.
“Have you explored the tunnels here yet?”, she once asked me out of the blue. “I bet you would find it really thrilling down there.”
“Yes, I go down there pretty often to grab building materials for Dad. I explore when I get time,” I replied. “Nice. You’re 18, right?”, she asked me once wryly grinning.
“That’s right. Last month was my birthday,” I said.
“Eighteen, yummy. A real man now,” Sister Marie replied while sucking on her thumb and finishing a cup of creamy, vanilla yogurt. “Well, I’m down there often, too…in the basement and tunnels. It’s spooky, don’t you think?” she asked.
“I thought I saw you down there last week. Wasn’t quite sure what you were doing, though. You looked really busy,” she continued wryly, slightly grinning and standing directly in front of me.
Glancing down at my Levi’s covered, thread bare crotch, my hard penis strained against the thin fabric, she whispered, “Maybe we’ll bump into one another in the basement sometime,” flashing me a knowing, familiar grin.
I wasn’t quite sure how to take her remark. Was it an innocent comment, or was it an invitation? Had she seen me masturbating in the basement and just playing coy? It seemed so. After all, I had jacked off multiple times down there and certainly had gotten a bit careless in maintaining privacy regarding my activities.
In fact, I had even removed my jeans entirely on several occasions and masturbated naked from the waist down on one of the multiple couches and other stored furniture pieces.
The erotic ambience, coupled with the repressed female sexual energy of the building and basement and tunnels, was so compelling, I felt almost possessed to release my own sexual energy, sometimes three to four times during the workday. And masturbatory fantasy and masturbation was my only outlet.
Sister Marie’s, as well the other sisters’, flirtations drove me mad with desire and horniness. The thought of Sister Marie having secretly watched me masturbating in the basement was incredibly arousing. I’d soon return to my favorite masturbation spots in the hopes of possibly “inadvertently” “bumping into her” in the basement and tunnel system.
These convent sisters certainly did not fit the humorless, “ascetic nun” stereotype. I thoroughly enjoyed the attention I received from both the younger, but especially the more mature, sisters.
The boldness of the older sisters was captivating to my developing sexuality and I could not stop fantasizing about the sisters even when home or at other places.
Although I enjoyed spending time in the Residence Hall (and creating excuses to visit eskort bursa there), I ended up spending most of my days exploring the basement tunnels and masturbating to the spooky echoing sounds of talking and laughter reverberating throughout basement system.
Excluding Sister Marie’s earlier comments, I explored these areas listening to these sounds and “secret” areas unnoticed, or so I thought.
It was a Saturday, and dad, Charlie, and I were on the job site at 7 am. Dad and Charlie diligently started their work and I took off to explore. I made my way down into the Admin Building staircase and was quietly walking the length of the 300 ft darkened tunnel connecting the Admin Building to the Residence Hall and listening intently to the chatter of the building.
About midway, off to my right, I distinctly heard a female clear her throat–as if in a manner to gain somebody’s attention–from the large storage room to my right. I had been in that room previously retrieving stored wood products and had even masturbated on a leather couch in the room several days earlier.
I knew that the key I carried in my pocket would open that door lock. I also knew that the interior of this storage room was huge, and would be very dimly lighted, if at all. Just the storage room alone was an enormous maze, so many places for somebody intent to secret themselves could go undiscovered.
I, very quietly, turned the metal door knob. It was unlocked! I was so excited, my adrenaline surged and palms became wet. I was certain I had locked it the last time I was in the room. Immediately, my penis sprang to its full eight inches.
Nobody would have had reason to be in there, unless, of course, their motive was suspect, I surmised. I heard, again, a female clear her throat and a quick, muffled shuffling from deep within the storage room, near the opposite side of the room from the door I had entered, about 80 feet.
I reached for the light switch, flipped it, but no light. I took out my Mag flashlight and illuminated the interior of the room. The shadows cast by my flashlight were eerie as hell. “Fuck,” I whispered to myself. I had only my flashlight to illuminate my way.
I felt like an explorer discovering a new territory, on the trail of something pulling me to a new adventure. I was quite certain a woman was hiding and moving about somewhere in this large, darkened space and my 18 year old libido and curiosity drew me farther in. But what could she be up to?
I could swear I saw in the center of the cluttered room either a bit of candle or flashlight illumination moving about. I very quietly made my way in that direction.
“Hello?”, I whispered into the room. Hearing a clearing throat once again seemingly beckon “Come this way,” I made my way in the direction of the throat-clearing.
I became completely disoriented to the direction I was walking. The maze-like arrangement of the space and the darkened room started to play tricks on my sense of direction and course of travel.
But, then I clearly heard the female throat-clearing once again. This time — “Ahem.” The urgency and intentionality in her voice trying to get my attention was apparent.
I asked out loud, “Can I help you, sister?”, was the only thing I could think to say. No response. Quietly making my way through a very narrow passage in the direction of the opposite wall to the door I had entered, I heard another door quietly close on this opposite wall, only about 15 feet behind the female, I presumed, who exited through the door.
I shone my flashlight along the wall and saw a narrow door, much narrower than a standard door size, and receded into a wall of what appeared to be bright, but dusty, decorative cherry wood.
This door and section of wall would have been incredibly easy to miss had it not been for the red cherry wood and the unique inlay and decorative section apparently separating the large storage room from some other room that I had no knowledge of whatsoever.
The bright red cherry wood made this small section of wall “pop.” I stepped back from the wall about two feet. From this depth, I could tell that this red cherry wood section of wall, was not a “section” at all–it was a confessional!
The convent Administration obviously had decided to store a very large and ancient confessional down here and it was dividing the basement into two sections.
I opened the confessional door and shone my flashlight into its interior. The intricate cut wood inlay inside the confessional was extremely defined and supported by thick cherry wood beams.
Directly in front of me was a narrow bench with what I surmised was either a well-worn leather or a high-end vinyl covering the bench. Based on what I could tell, this confessional structure could easily be over one hundred years’ old and built extraordinarily solid.
Just then, I heard a distinctly woman’s voice whisper, “If you want some real adult fun, come back to this spot at 11 tonight. No time right now, though. I’m needed back upstairs. And don’t tell anybody!”, with great emphasis on “anybody.”
Stunned, I stuttered “Sister?” “Tonight, 11 o’clock,” the woman’s voice said matter-of-factly. I shone my flashlight to just above the bench, about waist-level, a female hand appeared through a 5″ round hole in diameter, the speaking hole where confessions are heard. The female hand gestured with great animation, seemingly desperate to get my attention.
Initially, taken aback by the unexpected feminine hand, I quickly reached down to interlock my fingers with the unknown woman’s hand and caressed her along the softness of her forearm. Both her arm and hand were silky smooth to the touch and exceedingly female.
She could be anybody. Was she a sister I’ve already met? I had no idea who she might be. Was she a sister I had been subtly flirting with, or some other sister completely unfamiliar to me? My head was spinning with excitement. “Is this Sister Marie?”, I thought to myself.
“Hold on,” the female whispered while her hand retreated for about 15 seconds. Suddenly, this same hand produced what appeared to be a pair of white cotton panties.
I took the panties into my hand and felt the cottony texture. I could see with my flashlight that they had been freshly worn and were very moist both in the front and in the crotch area.
Instinctively, I held the crotch of the moist panties to my nose and deeply inhaled. The heavy and musky female scent immediately intoxicated my senses.
Apparently, the sister was watching me through the wall hole deeply inhale her panty scent while illuminated by my flashlight.
“Take in all my scent, and suck my juice from the crotch. Taste me,” she said encouraging me to put the wettest part of the panty crotch into my mouth and suck out the slippery wetness.
“Suck the crotch harder. I want you to really drink me in.”
Placing the entire crotch area into my mouth, her wetness mixed with my saliva and I drank it down while she watched through the confessional glory hole. I could hear her voice becoming shaky and a slight moaning on her side of the wall became evident.
Hearing her moaning and a rhythmic, squishing sound, I assumed she was masturbating while watching me suck her panties through the hole.
The thought of an unknown woman masturbating while watching me suck on her panties was incomprehensible, yet so erotic, to my 18 year old mind. I made sure to rub the wet crotch all over my nose and mouth. I wanted to carry her pussy scent on my face the entire day.
My penis was so engorged but held confined in my Levi’s. Not wanting even one second to remove the panty crotch and scent from my nose and mouth, I slid one panty leg over my head so that I was wearing her soaking panties as a sort of face mask with the wet crotch directly covering my nose and mouth, thereby freeing up both hands.
I pulled at my growing bulge while placing my flashlight on the bench and aimed the light directly at my crotch containing my hard penis. I wanted to put on a masturbatory show for her, illuminated only by the flashlight.
I released my full erect eight inches from its imprisonment for her to anonymously view through the hole. Upon its release, I heard her gasp while I began jerking my penis along its full shaft. “So big. So sexy,” I heard her whisper into the wall hole.
Stroking my erect penis just inches from the wall hole for this anonymous sister was unreal. But it was really happening and I went with it. I wanted so badly to ejaculate for her while she watched on her side of the wall.
However, the sister had other plans. She demanded, “No! Don’t jack off. I want those balls full and heavy with cream for later tonight.” The mystery voice continued, “I’m dying to suck on your beautiful dick through this hole.”
She continued, “I bet you’ve never been sucked through a hole by a complete stranger, right?” I stuttered, “No, no, sister, I haven’t, but it sounds incredible.” “Oh, it is and you’ll every second of it. Especially when I deepthroat you and you unload down my throat,” the sister whispered.
“It’s been so long since I swallowed warm semen…,” she whispered with a certain forlorneness while her voice trailed off. “You’re going to love having your big cock sucked through this hole. But you can NEVER know who I am. No sex. Just oral.”
Regaining her authoritative voice tone, “I’m going to stand over you and sit on your face. Then I’m going to teach you how to eat my pussy just the way I like it,” she purred matter-of-factly. “But, in total darkness. Remember, you can’t know who I am.”
“Be here at 11:00 tonight. And DO NOT tell ANYBODY!”
I replied with more urgency, “Who are you, sister? Please, who are you?” I begged.
Annoyed, she stated, “Never again ask me who I am. Remember, forget about having sex with me. Just oral. No sex. Oral only.”
“Tonight 11 pm for some real adult fun. Don’t be late!” gutturally she demanded.
To be continued…
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
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