All the Young Girls Love Laura Pt. 04

I smiled. "Let beauty shine upon us, sister," I said, a little louder than we had been speaking before, and sort of affecting a southern televangelist's verbal flourish.

She giggled, and slowly let her hands fall. "Are they...alright?" she asked, shyly.

"They're the most beautiful breasts that I've ever seen, Teresa," I answered, pretty honestly. Her breasts were smallish, like mine, but perfectly round, perky and with the most delightful pink nipples and areolas. I love pink.

"Have you seen many?" she asked impishly. Of course, I could have answered truthfully. "Yes, thousands."

Instead I replied, "My work takes me to many different convents, and yes, I see some women made beautiful from birth by the Creator and others made beautiful by doing His work, but you are the most beautiful of all." Teresa was quite pretty, and I certainly would have made love with her for free, but this was work, so I piled it on.

I leaned down and took one of her smallish, but stiffly erect, nipples between my lips and gently sucked on her, adoring the fresh, sweet taste of her body on my tongue. My fingers went to her other breast, gently squeezing and caressing her small tit, so exquisitely feminine under my touch.

Her body writhed with pleasure, and she moaned, clearly enjoying having another woman sucking at her breast and caressing her feminine body. I could almost feel any inhibitions of hers falling away, as she gave herself to the total pleasure of lesbian lovemaking. Her hands were on my head, pulling my mouth closer to her as I suckled her adorably hot body.

"Oh god, Laura, suck my tit, take me, make me a woman like you, make me so happy!" she demanded greedily.

"You're going to make me very happy tonight, as I want to make you delirious with joy and delight." She grinned coquettishly, and I took her hand, leading her to the bedroom. There, beside her bed, I took her in my arms again, her bare breasts, soft and warm, pushing against my still clothed body, and my hands went down to the waist of her simple sand colored calf length wool skirt.

I couldn't resist running my hands over her ass, which was quite prominent, lightly squeezing her sweet mounds through the fabric of skirt and panties.

"Mmm," she sighed, pressing her ass into my hands. I reached down between us, our kiss continuing and with the fingers of experience, undid the belt around her waist, then the button at the waistband and the short zipper. The skirt slipped to the floor as she rolled her hips.

She giggled again. "You're very good at undoing my skirt," she commented, obviously wondering how many other women I had done that to. I kissed her cheek and looked down at her lower half. She was a little pigeon-toed, but her legs were shapely if a little thick. For someone in her profession, she looked just fine.

"Let me get that," I said, kneeling down in front of her as if to pick up the skirt from the floor, but also bringing my nose to the front of her panties, which were definitely the least sexy pink panties I had ever seen. Still, what's important is the present inside, not the gift wrap on the outside, right?

I nuzzled her crotch, a wet spot already there. "Mmm," I sighed. I really wanted to lick that spot and tell her that her cunt tasted absolutely yummy, but I'm pretty sure she would have gone for an exorcist then. Take it slow and easy.

I did take a big whiff of her pussy surreptitiously, and found her fresh and clean, and entirely feminine. So, there'd be some box lunch on the menu for tonight.

I rose and kissed her again. An inescapable fact of lovemaking between two women, is that there will be an immense amount of kissing. It's truly often even better than having your clit sucked, because it creates a slow, steady rise to orgasm, as opposed to the often jarring overstimulation of clit, labia or even nipples that many people, including myself, sometimes create in our haste for ultimate pleasure.

Chapter 6

There was something different about that night, though. Most women who use my services break down into one of two categories, and their kisses reflect this breakdown.

First, the ordinary housewives who have become fed up with heterosexual sex, or with their husbands, or just want something different, almost all have a need, a desperation for real and tender womanly love, and there is a hunger there. Their kisses reflect that, hungry for love, hungry for satisfaction and hungry to show that they can love in return. For many of them, the kissing alone is enough and they will orgasm just from another woman's gentle but impassioned kisses.

The second category are the high powered executive woman who are looking for something different, because they're always looking for challenges, or because they're bored, or because they simply want to take the edge off the high tension lives they lead battling competitors or even people in their organizations.

For them, discretion and speed and efficiency are most important. Kisses for them may be a reminder of the difference between men and women, but more often they serve as a brief prelude to the fucking, the 'scratching of the itch,' the release of tension so that they can get back to work - where they find their greatest pleasure - and so almost always will be brief and quick. They rarely derive much satisfaction from kisses - it's almost like kissing a man.

But this woman, Sister Teresa, was very different. She didn't fit into either of the two previous categories, and in many ways she made me think of Melissa Holloway, and for that she was made special to me. Not because I was falling in love with her, but because she evinced that same humility, that desire to please that Melissa had shown, and which stirred my heart.

I wanted this to be something special for her as a result. But I couldn't help but feel a sense of unease, of trepidation, about Melissa. Since I had realized that I was a lesbian from an early age, and gifted with an unreal amount of self confidence, I'd never worried about whether I'd meet the right person. I knew that I would.

But the parting between us had been unremarkable, and now I was wondering - if my self confidence was so justified - why Melissa hadn't so much as said, "I love you," or for that matter, why I hadn't spoken up as she was leaving, that miraculous night that we spent together.

Was I the sad clown of a prostitute who falls in love with the john who paid for her body's use, only to be laughed at when she reads too much into the relationship?

On top of that there was a fear that something bad was about to happen. I had no idea to whom, or when exactly, or how...I just felt sure that something bad might happen. And I had promised not to bring my phone, respecting Mother Superior's request that I honor the silence and solemnity of the Order.

I had to suppress my inkling of impending doom. It's impossible to please another person fully when you feel trepidation about impending disaster. I've always been able to compartmentalize when it came to work - my joyous, wonderful work, to be sure - and I fought down a feeling of almost panic. I had no idea where it came from.

Having succeeded at caging that beast, my thoughts returned to the warm, willing woman in front of me. We kissed warmly, then hotly.

This time, our tongues began to participate, my tongue showing her that it's a fun addition to the contact of lips. When she realized that our tongue dancing was also leading to our saliva mixing, she began to breathe heavily, the mixing of our bodily fluid representing a serious step forward in our relations to date.

"Oh my," she breathed. "Your breath smells so good and your mouth tastes...so sweet." She returned to kissing me, taking the lead fairly aggressively, so obviously she liked it. I slipped one hand inside her panties and cupped a generously endowed ass cheek, caressing and lightly squeezing the warm hemisphere of sweet girl flesh.

"You feel so good," I sighed into her throat. She hugged me reflexively, a good squeeze.

There was no need for me to whip out my extensive supply of toys or moves that night, all I had to do was introduce Teresa to the basics of lesbian lovemaking, which meant that like MacGyver, the technical whiz from the old TV show, I would use what was at hand.

Specifically, fingers and tongue. And persuade her to do the same, so that she would understand how to be an accepted member of the Order, and live in their convent.

I slipped her panties off her hips, the cotton material falling to the floor.

Of course, her mons, which for some reason she had less of a modest urge to hide, was pretty much as the Creator had grown it, specifically fairly hairy with only modest attempts at culling the undergrowth. That was a common issue with nuns, with even the randiest of them inside the convent walls believing it was somehow sinful to have a pretty and smooth pussy.

I sighed. I didn't expect that would ever change, and it was just an occupational hazard for someone like me to deal with while pleasing a nun. Fortunately, most nuns who took advantage of my services preferred to eat cunt, and get fucked with a strap on, dildo or just fingers. Conversely, most of them adored having their assholes eaten, and were quite scrupulous about keeping that area clean and attractive. I always look forward to rimming nuns' asses.

I pushed Teresa down on the small, quite firm bed, her thighs moving apart as she landed, and smoothly sat down myself between her smooth thighs, a hand on each, keeping them separate, and leaned down, bringing my nose directly to that moist cauldron of womanly pleasure, deeply inhaling her fragrance.

What wondrous triggers are found in an excited woman's cunt! What do you consume when you inhale that miraculous mélange of scents?

Body perfume applied hours before after bath or coyly in anticipation of sexual play; sweat from your lover's exertions, intense or light, perhaps from worry that you might not be interested in her; pheromones from our deepest ancestry, when perhaps they would attract mates of all sorts through their intense attractive chemical signatures creating unknowable reactions in their Neanderthal brains.

The juicy smell of the interior of a woman's constantly moist vagina, creamy wet female essence naturally brewing into a rich stew of her own interior chemical reactions; and finally, unmentionable in decent company, the rich, lovely rank odors of her body - her farts caught in her panties and skirt, the acrid, sharp odor of her pee, whether fresh or hours old, the thin smear of brown waste on the skin of the valley between her ass cheeks, a thicker schmear of that lovely confection from her bowels inside her tight puckered asshole left for an excited lover to smell, and perhaps more.

A spoonful of cinnamon might kill you, but its scent is so lovely in the right amount and setting.

There were certain predictable aspects to scent among my patrons that occurred to me there, as I busily inhaled Teresa's mix of odors that made up her sexual essence.

Oh, I don't mean the absolutely delicious scent of their cunts - women are as varied there as can possibly be, though I have been very fortunate in delighting women who have a beckoning pussy odor.

No, I'm simply referring to their use of the perfume or cologne that they choose. The classes of fragrances seem to break down exactly along the same lines as kisses.

The housewives will wear some popular fragrance, usually something that can be found easily at a department store, but will wear it to excess. Somewhere in between a sophisticated woman's slight dab and those horrible elderly creatures one encounters in elevators that must literally bathe in the junk. And applying it to their mons - this is simply a no-no. If she smells bad, she must treat her problem. If she smells good, she doesn't need it. Perfume is only a hint to an interested woman a few feet away, that the wearer has good taste AND exercises discretion.

The wealthy or powerful women that I have met will, of course, wear something expensive and rare, and almost always wear it discreetly, and never anywhere near their pussies, thank god.

Teresa, once again, was in a class of her own. She wore no perfume, her only scent was from the lavender soap with which she bathed, and as a result I found her to be extremely feminine, fresh and so alluring in her innocence. She reminded me of myself when I was a young girl, before I ever discovered sex, and erotic love, and the passion and beauty that is woman uncovered and inspired.

I wondered if I was doing the right thing in seducing her. Teresa was unspoiled, virginal, fresh, untouched and most of all, would be pledged to Him, if you believe in such things. Who was I to spoil that?

But, who was I to question those people that knew best how she could honor her religion? She would commit to a life of service, undoubtedly helping the poor, the sick and the infirm. The downtrodden would look to her for succor, for relief from their daily pain, their drudgery, as they prayed for a final reward.

As for me, I was dedicated to a carnal, material life, getting paid to give women - who could pay my price - pleasures that they could not get better from some other source, certainly not from their husbands. To compare our lives, mine and Teresa's, would be blasphemy and sacrilege. Her life of honor, my life of - well, not dishonor, but my eyes weren't usually raised to heaven as hers were, but rather to a bare, wet pussy and teasingly parted thighs.

I felt a depression, a dark cloud of self-hatred begin to descend on me when I suddenly felt a warm and soft pair of hands gently enfold mine, and pull me back towards Teresa. It was she herself, and I looked around to see that I had at first stumbled backwards in my dark funk. She had risen from the bed and pulled me back towards her, onto the bed.

"It's alright," she whispered softly. "We're all called to serve Him - or Her, if you prefer - in our own way, You're doing a good thing - a very good thing - and you will be serving those in need by teaching me...so come, be with me...now."

I was dumfounded. How could she possibly know what I had been thinking? The answer was, of course, that no normal person could...but there was just the chance, perhaps a small, tiny chance, that Teresa was, or would end up to be, no normal person. I felt a wonderful glow grow inside me, not like the pleasure from sex, but something ethereal and wondrous. Call it divine, though I won't...not yet, but perhaps in my last moments.

"Really?" I whispered. Our eyes were locked together, and I could feel her all-encompassing love.

"Really...yes," she murmured, smiling. "Come love me in your way."

I took her in my arms and kissed her, our soft, warm feminine bodies molding together, her sweet lavender scent filling my nostrils, her shy tongue nonetheless touching my lips and tongues, as she sought out my inner heat and moisture.

"Yesss," she sighed, her breath filling me, then she accepted my breath in return, the most intimate sharing of life-giving oxygen, her hands caressing me, then impudently covering one of my breasts.

"Oh," she crooned, "So soft and full, wonderful..." her voice trailed off and I knew that it was time for me to take charge again. I gently eased her back on the bed, her head comfortably against the spartan pillows. Then I rose from the bed, and began stripping for her, finishing the task of unbuttoning the cheap buttons that secured my dress halfway down its length.

I shrugged it off, the wrinkled cotton reluctantly slipping to the floor, and I was clad only in my bra and panties. I felt badly for wearing such a nice pair when everything else between us had been simple in garb. But I felt better about that when Teresa sat up and clapped her hands together happily.

"Oh how beautiful!" she exclaimed. "You're such a beautiful woman, and your underthings are so beautiful, too!" She gestured for me to return to the bed. I crawled toward her and she took me in her arms again.

"Oh, make me cum, Laura!" she giggled. Then, looking deeply into my eyes, almost mesmerizing me, she added, "That's why Mother Superior hired you, isn't it?"

I blushed. "You knew?" I said.

"Things just seem to come to me," she said. "I know that if I let you make me a woman - a sexual, hot and randy woman - that the future will be bright for us both and that great things will be achieved, by you...and by me."

At the look on my face, she giggled again. "Oh, not together! Our paths will diverge very soon, but you are walking a very important one of your own." She contemplated me, and her next words shocked, then thrilled, me.

"Now fuck your hot, virginal slut, defile my sacred body with carnal pleasure, make me the lowest of the low, so that I may appreciate the sublime nature of all that is holy."

With no little amount of trepidation I lowered my face to the hot, curly-haired delta of her pussy. Would I be eating the cunt of a demon in disguise, or the womb of an angel? Whatever she would turn out to be, I was rapidly losing my ability to control my own passions.

"Ahh fuck, your pussy is so fucking wet...I can feel the steam rising off your hole, smell the rich, thick musky delight of your tight, untouched twat," I growled, my lips grazing her plump, heated labia, my tongue inserting between them as her hips raised, her vagina an offering lifted up to the gods of delight for their partaking - me their servant in mortal form - and I lapped her sweet offering, viscous, shiny, slippery cream of her feminine desires dripping droplets, streamlets flowing, clear and fresh, her sheets wetting with the sticky fluid of her excitement.

"Oh god, Laura," she cried. "I feel it, I feel you inside me, the excitement, the pleasure, the universe of delights that a woman gives me...and I give back," she promised in her frenzy. "I'm cumming," she moaned simply, then fell back onto the simple bed, her thighs quivering from aftershocks of pleasure.

She lay there, sweating a little, beads of clear, salty fluid growing on her forehead and between her breasts, a rosy blush on her breasts, flowing up to her sweet, lovely face. She raised her hand up to me as I lay next to her, watching her curiously - I rarely had the honor of initiating another girl into womanly sex - and took my hand, and gathered it to her breast.

"I understand why Mother Superior wanted me to learn this," she breathed. "I couldn't fulfill my destiny without the experience - oh Laura, I love you for the fallen woman that you think you are, and for the shining pure angel you will prove yourself to be in the passage of time. Now let us revel in delights and pleasures, and teach each other of the worldly and the spiritual."

I'm certainly not used to effusions of anything loftier than, "Fuck me again," from my bed partners, and I thought there was a lot from this night with this, woman, I suppose will do, though I believed it might be more, that I would carry with me through my life and take out on occasion and look at it, trying to understand.

But the rest of the time we spent in lovemaking, gently and passionately, as women together will do. We played, and loved and cried and laughed, stifled screams of pleasure as millennia passed around us.

Too abruptly, then, I slept.

Chapter 7

The first thing I noticed - or think I noticed, because it was really the most confusing experience of my life - was the smell, a bitter chemical smell, combined with an artificial pine scent, like that used in floor cleaners.

Then I opened my eyes and immediately saw...nothing. My eyes were unfocused and blurry, and my eyelids stuck together as though I'd been sleeping. But of course I'd been with Sister Teresa...somewhere. The reality of my experiences at the convent was now dissipating and my memory of it was somehow vague and unreal.