Church Pussy, Virgin Girl

The lamp on the counter makes the kitchen a dim shade of yellow. It's getting late and most have already gone to bed. Malena, having just finished cleaning the kitchen, pulls her top down to her waist. There's water in the sink and she wipes her chest and armpits with a wet cloth. Then she squeezes a half cut lemon onto her breasts for fragrance and cleansing properties.

I've watched Malena grow into the respectable woman she is now, so she doesn't mind that I'm standing here. She bends over the sink and splashes water onto her voluptuous breasts, then wipes her hands beneath her armpits.

"Do you have a moment?" I ask.

"Always, what can I do for you?"

Malena looks at me with tired eyes on her beautiful face. She works from morning to night, in service to God, in service to others. She's loved for her work ethic and heart. And I love her as the daughter I've never had, but always wanted.

"It's come to my attention that the student Emily has been engaging in salacious activities. I'd like you to speak with her."

"What did she do?"

"She was planning to sell her innocence to a man. Or men. A student informed me of this transgressive behavior after others were caught doing it."

"Where is she now?"

"Sitting in the hallway. She's been crying for the last few minutes after I confronted her."

"Bring her to me."

"Yes, right away."

Malena takes a dry towel and wipes her breasts and armpits. Then she wears her black dress, white headpiece and veil. Since it's later in the night, she doesn't bother wearing anything else beneath her formal top.

I go to the hallway and summon Emily, a 19 year old, whose head is facing down and she's wiping tears. When I call her, she stands and follows me. Her lips are pouty and her facial features are adorable. Her shoulders slump forward, but she tries to be brave about this.

When we get to the kitchen, Malena is sitting by the table and I have Emily sit across from her. Two lamps illuminate their faces. I close the door for privacy and I sit far away.

"Tell me what you've been doing," Malena says.

Her voice is warm, non-judgemental. This approach works best when dealing with delinquent students. That's why I brought Emily to this woman.

"I agreed to do something stupid. I'm very sorry. All I ask is that my parents never find out. Punish me if you must, but don't tell my mother and father."

"You'll have to explain further if you want atonement."

"A man offered to buy my chastity," Emily says.

"Who was it?"

"A business man in the city. Other girls did the same with other rich men."

"Did you agree to the terms?"

Emily nods. "I agreed, but I was extremely hesitant. It never happened. I swear it didn't happen. I can prove it if you wish to look below."

"It didn't happen because you were caught."

"Please, I'm sorry. I'm very sorry."

"Emily, if you needed the money, you could have come to us for a part-time job. There's plenty that needs to be done around here. You know this."

"It wasn't about money."

Malena catches on right away. She sits in silence as Emily shamefully hangs her head down again. Anybody else would level harsh punishment or expulsion without hesitation. Malena works differently and I'm waiting to see what she does.

"Your body language reveals that you're a virgin with no sexual experience. That's a good thing. But we must also understand that sex is part of life. I won't tell you what to do with your body. If you want to sell it, then sell it. But I'm asking that you consider other alternatives."

Emily lifts her head. "So I'm not in trouble?"

"I will never punish a young woman for natural desires."

"Thank you. I will do anything you say."

"Do you practice self-care when you're alone?"

Emily's eyes widen. "That's against the teachings of this institution."

"At your age, the rules are more flexible. I'll ask you again. Do you practice self-care when you're alone?"

"Sometimes. I hate that I love it. I try to avoid these things."

"I understand your conflict."

"This is the hardest part of my life. I always wonder why God punishes me with these feelings. That's why I was so close to sinning with the business man. Because I needed a release. I kept asking myself if doing that would make the pain go away."

"You're asking yourself the wrong questions," Malena says.

"What should I be asking myself?"

Malena holds the girl's hand. "What have you done for your labia today? Did you pamper her? Feed her curiosities? Do you accept your labia for all that she is? Do you whisper kind things to her? If your labia is happy, then you are at peace."

This shocks Emily to the core and she gasps so hard that she's forced to breathe deeply.

"How can you say these things? You of all people."

Malena strokes the girl's hand. "I've lived a complicated life. More than you could ever understand. Would you like to hear about it?"

"Yes. I've always thought highly of you."

"I have the same affection for you. That's why I'll tell you a secret, but only if you swear to God that it stays between us."

"Yes, I swear to God that it's our secret."

This is going to be a long night and I'm shocked that Malena has decided to reveal her secret. I get up and put a kettle on the stove to make tea for everyone. By the end of the night, Emily will be made a woman.

My mother was a woman of the world and that's how I was raised. She raised me with love and kindness, but when I became a teenager it was obvious that she was a deceitful woman. She used her beauty and charm to talk her way into anything. My mother's cunning instincts were how we survived.

When I became a young woman, we moved to Italy, years before the war. Our lifestyle had improved and my mother worked her way into high society. We lived in a pleasant home by the ocean. She never officially had a job. All she had was her beauty. And that was enough.

I'd come to learn that she used her body to move ahead. I remember spying on her when she came home late after a party. She was kissing some guy, a local political figure, and they had a bottle of wine with them. They were whispering and I had no idea what they were saying. But through the keyhole, I saw her remove her dress and fall to her knees.

We never spoke about it, but she knew I was listening. There was never any shame. It was business. And when more visitors started coming, she'd have more money in her pocket and she'd buy nicer clothes and fancier jewelry. I wasn't ashamed of her, I wasn't proud either. It was simply the way the world worked and we were happy.

Reality struck years later and I was alone. Just like that. My perfect life was flipped upside down and I was lost. I cried every night for over a week. Reality struck again when the bills were due. My mother had a pile of cash hidden in her closet and it was enough to last for several months.

The men who were fond of my mother offered to support me, to care for me. I strongly considered their offers. But I was still naive. I learned that their idea of 'taking care' of me was to fuck me and turn me into a servant. I considered it, but decided it wasn't worth my freedom. I wanted to see the world, just like my mother did when she was younger.

So I took my mother's money and traveled from place to place, and when the money started running out, I did what I learned from my mother. I used my beauty and youth to get into high society. I invested in expensive dresses and finely honed my skills to manipulate men, and I could charm anyone with my quick wit and easy smile.

Once I made the right connections, I did what I learned from my mother. I laid on my back for a price. On my knees for an even higher price. I'm prettier than my mother so I became richer than she ever could have imagined. But it was never enough. I always wanted more. I'd go into towns and societies and find the richest men and bed them, and when I got bored of them, or when I had the right opportunity, I stole from them. Not an extreme amount, but enough to make them hurt. Sometimes I convinced men to invest in businesses that didn't even exist, so the money went straight to me. I made a small fortune over the years doing that.

Eventually I became mindful that my lifestyle was a dangerous one, always having to look over my shoulder wondering if someone was going to plunge a dagger into my stomach. Would I have deserved it? I think so. But I was a survivor and I knew how to always change my identity and appearance.

One morning, as I was having breakfast at a local cafe, I concocted the most audacious scheme yet. I saw a group of nuns going around collecting donations and I was tired of whoring myself, so I decided to wear the veil. I knew that with my face, I would collect a lot of money. And if the price was right, I would get on my knees, because being serviced by a beautiful woman in the veil was surely worth a considerable amount of money.

I studied for weeks, learning the prayers and hymns, watching their body language, studying their rules and hierarchies. Then I wore the veil and robe, collecting money during the day and going to my home at night. I no longer needed to whore myself for money, but that desire never went away. I kept taking new lovers, but this time for free. My body was accustomed to it, or perhaps I was born with an insatiable sexual appetite.

My plan became more audacious when I traveled to a new city and discovered a covenant that moved massive sums of gold. I'm ashamed to say this, but my plan was to join and gradually skim the gold in small amounts. They wouldn't notice right away, but over time they would realize what was missing and I would already be gone. I would be wealthy. Then I'd move to the next place.

I had already gotten on my knees for a few of the guards and men who worked for the covenant, so I had information about how the gold was transported and stored. My plan was perfect, but as I'd come to learn, there's nothing perfect about a life of sin.

After living with the covenant for months, I began to make my moves. I was days away from starting until one night Sister Agatha came to my room. She was an older nun, with eyes that can pierce through your soul, a voice like thunder. She sat me down on the bed and saw through my facade and called out my lies. I was furious, I tried to deny it, but we knew it was useless.

I'd never been caught before so I was extremely defensive. And I was just as perplexed because I hadn't taken any gold yet. My first assumption was that one of the men told her something about my plan, but that wasn't the case. Sister Agatha had been eyeing me since the moment I arrived and she was able to read my intentions like a book.

Eventually it became clear that she wasn't going to judge or condemn me; instead, she was willing to listen to my story and offer compassion and understanding. I looked into Sister Agatha's eyes and saw a depth of sincerity that I had never seen before. So I confessed to everything. My whole life. My moral failures. My sins. My plan to steal the gold.

I cried into her arms, my tears soaked into her black dress. I'd never considered my relationship with God before or confronted my morality in this way. Her interest in my soul was genuine and I realized that I was a broken woman.

Sister Agatha explained that the life of deception was the wrong path to follow, especially because I had so much love to offer in this world. She ordered me to turn my life around and dedicate myself to a higher purpose. That the road to redemption would not be easy. It required humility and a willingness to change. She asked if I had the strength to leave my past behind and embrace a new life of service and faith, because my current life was headed toward destruction.

The problem was, I wasn't ready to leave my life behind. I was honest that my life revolved around expensive dresses and lavish parties and libertine sex. Her eyes made a strange gesture when I mentioned sex, because she could tell that it was an important part of my life. Looking back, it was important to her as well.

I'll never forget what she said to me.

"Malena, anything you could possibly need is between your legs, and it can be fulfilled with only your hand. You must be intuitive about it. Pamper your flower. Feed its natural curiosity with your mind. Whisper sweet poetry to it. Remember that if your flower is happy, then you are at peace."

It astonished me that a woman as respectable as Sister Agatha could say such a thing, but at the same time, I wanted to know more, to learn her secrets. There was a reason why so many looked favorably upon her and sought her spiritual guidance. She had the most commanding presence I'd ever seen from a woman. She was like a military general in a nun's veil. She only ever spoke when necessary and her words were always precise.

With a straight face, she wanted to ease my confusion and told me to lay back. So I did. I laid on my bed and Sister Agatha's no-nonsense approach made that feel like a visit from the doctor. She kept a steady expression while lifting the bottom of my robe to reveal my womanhood. Then she just stared at it.

It crossed my mind that she was some perverted old woman looking for an excuse to see what I had. Or maybe even touch me. A woman's body can only be repressed for so long and I figured Sister Agatha was a tortured soul who missed the erotic touch of another human being. Usually you hear these stories about men in the robe, but it made sense that women had the same torment.

The moment she touched me, I knew my assumption was wrong. Her hands rubbed across my thighs and hips with a sense of purpose. I could feel that she wasn't doing this for her pleasure, but for mine. She was teaching me something I'd never learned in my adult life, which was how to listen to my body's needs. Rather than going for instant gratification, she was truly listening. She was feeling my skin and flesh and sensing what my cunt wanted.

She prodded my knees like a teacher disciplining a student, but what she wanted was my legs spread, so I spread them. Her face remained stoic and unmoved, even as she looked deep inside my womanhood. Men in that situation would be overtaken with primal lust, with wide eyes and a mouth that hangs open, before thrusting inside of me. Not her. Her face remained composed and analytic.

Bending down, she looked closer, then pressed her ear against my labia. She wanted to listen. Then she brought her mouth to my labia, mere inches away.

She whispered into my vagina.

"Talk to me, sweet darling. What do you crave at this moment? The stroke of your lips? A kiss, perhaps? Fingers to go inside? Talk to me. Ah, that's it. You say you've never been serviced by a woman? Say no more. I know exactly what to do in this situation. I know exactly what you want. I can sense your needs, my darling."

No one ever 'talked' to my vagina before and I started thinking she was this crazy old lady, but her touch reminded me of who I was dealing with. Her hands pressed around my crotch like a massage, kneading up and down. When she touched my sex, it was like magic. She'd clearly done that before with other women and it was like second nature. No hesitation. No fear. Sister Agatha listened to my body and needs.

Spreading my hole and looking deeper, she was reading me like a book. One that was in a different language that no one could ever understand, not even myself at times. She had the power to decipher my sexuality.

It started with her finger going inside, probing me, studying what made me tick and where the pleasure spots were. Her other hand pressed down on my hip to prevent me from moving. The finger probed deeper until my body reacted and she found what she was looking for. Her finger made different patterns, different stroking techniques with different amounts of pressure.

"You feel this, right here, where I'm touching. That's your magic spot. You try it. Do it exactly as I'm doing it. Remember this spot and how to get there."

Sister Agatha pulled her finger away and I saw that it was drenched with my pleasure. Then I put my finger inside myself and did the same technique in the same spot. At that age, I was well-versed in the art of masturbation, but something about it felt different. How could a woman of God teach a whore like me new tricks? Somehow she managed and I followed her instructions. That was my first time letting someone watch me play with myself.

"Tell me, how does that feel?"

"Magnificent, actually."

"Keep going. You'll know when to stop."

Sister Agatha did the last thing I expected her to do. Her tongue stroked across my sex, up and down, inside and out. My finger was still inside hitting the magic spot and her mouth took me to the stars. When her tongue circled my clitoris, the orgasm took me to heaven.

"Keep this in your memory. In moments of desperation, remember this. Us playing together. It will help you relieve your tension and whatever doubts you have in life. Imagine my finger inside you. Imagine my tongue, if you must. These memories will serve you as a source of guidance. Use this, instead of looking for sin. Keep the sins away."

That was my introduction to a new life.

She left me in the room and I awoke a different woman. More than anything, I was curious about how someone as rigid as Sister Agatha could give me a sensation I never experienced before. I was determined to learn her secrets and stealing from the covenant fell further and further from my mind.

I lived a monastic lifestyle with the women. I prayed with them, ate with them, everything. In the back of my mind I always thought about Sister Agatha and her tongue. She never sought me. I sought her. Privately we'd meet in moments of silence, usually in between prayers or later at night. She was always very busy and private time was fleeting. Her words were always brief.

"Have you been playing with your flower? Do you let it blossom in your hand? You don't need me, trust your instincts. Listen to what your flower has to say."

But I did need Sister Agatha, though I never actually begged her. I'd never begged anyone in my life and I didn't intend to start. I'm a product of my mother, proud, fierce and independent. I was, however, suggestive with this woman using my eyes and the tone of my voice. She was keen enough to know how desperate I was.

Every once in a while, if I'd earned the privilege, she'd come to my room when everyone slept and teach me new tricks. I learned things about the human body that would surprise most doctors. The cum was sensational. The mess was spectacular. When her tongue performed magic, it was heaven.

In between orgasms we'd lay naked in my bed, my head resting on her shoulder as if she were a mother figure, and she'd speak about God and morality. I confessed more about my sinful lifestyle and all the things that I'd become ashamed of. She never judged me. Instead, she listened with an open heart while stroking my hair or breast. Her finger circling my nipple was the best.

At her guidance I wrote letters to the men I had swindled, apologizing and asking for forgiveness. I even mailed back their cash and gold until I had nothing left to my name. I never revealed my current location, just that I was living a new life in service of God.

In between letters and reimbursing what I could, Sister Agatha would watch me. Bearing my soul in these letters meant being naked in front of her, confessing my sins and admitting that I was a sinner. After each letter she rewarded me with her tongue.

What I still find unusual is that Sister Agatha never wanted anything in return. She never asked me to eat her out, never asked for my tongue or fingers, though I would have gladly returned the favor. I did offer on several occasions, even to this day. Her face never showed sexual desire toward me.