First Time for a Shy Sister

[This is a continuation of the Mrs. Tupa stories. These stories are absolutely not for everyone, so please look elsewhere if you do not enjoy reading about bodily fluids and matter, oral-anal contact, strong smells, prurient priests and nuns, and elderly widows. I humbly request that you do not down-vote this story, just because you may have issues with it. This could have also been placed in the anal, first time, or even romance categories, but fetish seems the most broadly-inclusive for this story's fixations. All characters in this story are over 18. This is purely a fantasy, and bears very little resemblance to reality. Please enjoy.]

Sister Katka seeks help to put her past behind her

As I became better acquainted with Father Viktor's shepherding of his Parish flock, one of the things I admired was the way the good Father encouraged the Bohemian community to look after each other's needs, not only within the congregation, but with the clergy as well. I was to find that my training as a catechumen with a calling for serving the needs of the parish, encompassed both church members and clergy. While the Church office was in charge of scheduling my home visits (mostly to elderly Czech widows, who were the overwhelming majority of the congregation), requests from clergy for my attentions tended to be more spontaneous, unpredictable, and private.

It was not uncommon for me to be preparing myself for bed in my room at the Rectory, when there would be a gentle knock on the door and I would open it to find one of the sisters from the Nunnery quietly and politely asking if she could come in and spend a little time with me. Their needs tended to be modest, perhaps a shared pee and poop, or the exchange of the Kiss of Peace, though many were simply starved for the intimate touch of a man on their bodies and would surrender themselves to me to do with them as I wished. All of them seemed grateful.

I should note that the Nunnery was not a Convent, and the sisters residing there were serving the parish with works of charity and relief, not sequestered away in monastic isolation. While they were leading lives of simplicity, poverty, and chastity (narrowly defined according to Bohemian traditions), their vows were only for a year at a time, and did not include celibacy nor obligations leading to membership in a strict Order of Nuns.

Mother Magdalene was the only full-blown Nun as such, and her vow of celibacy shared all the loopholes enjoyed by the lay members of the parish: only sexual intercourse for the purpose of -- or with the risk of -- procreation was recognized as "sex", while all other forms of intimate affection were allowed or, at most, easily repented with a few prayers.

* * *

It was only two or three days after my residency began in the Rectory, that I received my first night visitor at my room. Mother Magdalene had taken me aside after the communal dinner that evening and let me know that she had suggested that Sister Katka Dvorakova -- a young novice only 18 years of age -- pay me a visit for my assistance in helping her overcome her deep bodily shame. Though a member of the local Czech community, she had been raised in a strict Catholic orphanage run by Dominican nuns who considered Bohemian customs and traditions to be the spawn of the devil.

Sadly, she had been taught a severe estrangement from her natural body and desires that was all too commonly promulgated by the non-Bohemian Church. She had been severely punished any time she was suspected of enjoying herself, and was consequently extremely shy and guilt-ridden. Would I be willing to try and help her overcome this unfortunate programming? The good Mother hoped that perhaps my loving and enthusiastic approach might help break through her anxieties and defenses.

For the second time in three days, I was being tossed in the deep end of the pool, without knowing how to swim. All I could think of, was that the leading clergy of the parish had been winging it for so long, that they had come to implicitly trust their own intuitions. All the evidence at their disposal led them to conclude that I would do the right thing and try to help Sister Katka in the best way I could. What that best way was, and how far I was to take things, was left up to me. Yikes! Thanks, Maggie!

* * *

Sister Katka's knock was so light and timid, that I almost missed it. Still, I opened the door and there she was, a short little thing in a plain grey cotton dress, her hair in a blond pixie cut with her veil and wimple skipped for private travel in the underground tunnel between the Nunnery and the Rectory. For the convenience of such nighttime errands, there was a back staircase from the tunnel to the three floors of the Rectory.

I motioned for her to enter and waited to speak until I quietly shut the door behind her. She was standing there nervously, wringing her hands, and exuding embarrassment. I gave her a gentle smile, which I tried to make as welcoming as I could.

"Hello, Sister Katka. Mother Magdalene mentioned that you might come by. I'm very pleased to meet you. You can just call me Jack, if you like. Did you know that I'm just 18? We're both the same age."

I was trying to make her feel at ease, with no need for her to feel intimidated, but I'm not sure that it worked. She was so shy that just being alone in a room with someone she'd just met made her quite self-conscious. Finally, she summoned up her courage and spoke.

"Hello, Jack. Nice to meet you. Mother Superior has told me many good things about you."

She gave me a shy look that was both a smile and a question at the same time. She was clearly way beyond her comfort zone, but she was trying her best to be brave and overcome her inhibitions. I sensed that she wanted to be free of her shame and to embrace her Bohemian heritage, but her strict Catholic upbringing at the Orphanage was a serious impediment.

I offered Katka the only chair in the room, and sat myself down on my bed and spoke to her quietly.

"Katka, I guess that the unfamiliar "old ways" and customs of the Bohemian Church must conflict with your training at the Orphanage. Can you explain to me how that makes you feel about accepting our Bohemian traditions?"

Sister Katka took a long pause and finally gave an answer that was both heartfelt and a sorry tale.

"Oh, my brother, my life at the Orphanage was so terrible that I can barely stand to speak of it. Any time that we orphans had the least bit of fun playing together, we were accused of being frivolous and succumbing to the devil's temptations. Should I so much as smile at my own image in the mirror, I was punished severely. As for my Bohemian background, they took every opportunity to slander our community and accuse us of reveling in licentiousness and filth.

"If they hoped to estrange me from our people and our church, they had the opposite effect. Whenever I was depressed or lonely -- which was most of the time -- I would retreat into fantasies based on their accusations against us. When I turned 18 and could finally take my life into my own hands, I wasted no time in hurrying to our church here and taking refuge in its welcoming arms."

"But Katka, I don't understand. The Mother Superior gave me the impression that you remain estranged from your own body, due to your negative training at the Orphanage. Is this not so?"

Sister Katka gave me her shy smile, with just a hint of mischief in it.

"Well, yes and no. It is true that I've declined to take part in sharing pee or poop or the Kiss of Peace, the short time I've been here. But it may not be for the reason that the good Mother thinks. Can I explain in complete confidence that no word of this will get back to Mother Magdalene or Father Viktor?"

"Yes, of course."

"Thank you, my brother. The thing is that it has always been the good Mother or Father Viktor who have wanted to share those rituals with me and 'train' me in them. I mean, with all due respect, yuck!"

My confidante wrinkled her nose and stuck out her tongue, and made a face that was the visual equivalent of "Peee Yeww"! It was such a snotty little face, that I couldn't keep myself from chuckling.

"I see," I said, with a hint of sarcasm. "I take it that they are just not up to your exacting standards?"

"Well, no, that's not quite it. I realize that as a participating member of the parish, I must be prepared to share our traditional rituals with any or all other members. But, for my very first time, I wanted it to be with someone special, perhaps someone my own age, someone like... you."

Sister Katka's shyness was still there, but it was being overridden by her delight in telling me this in strict confidence.

"So, I decided I would just bide my time until the Almighty brought the right person to me. And then you showed up! I wasted no time in hinting to the good Mother that perhaps you could help overcome my inhibitions and anxiety. I know it was devious of me, and I deserve whatever mortification of the flesh you wish to give me, but I've been soaking my knickers all day in anticipation that you might be the first to teach me our rituals."

I'm not quite sure what I had expected, but this confession certainly was not it. I was not very happy with the extent of her manipulations, but I also had to remind myself that, in order to survive her ongoing abuse at the Orphanage, she had no doubt had to build up strong reflexes to fend off the advances as well as the attacks of others. Still, I felt she deserved at least a mild scolding.

"I think I grasp your thinking, Katka, and I don't blame you for it, but I feel that I should at least defend the good intentions of Mother Magdalene and Father Viktor. I don't think it was wrong of them to want to initiate you into the core rituals of our church and integrate you as quickly as possible into our community. They are good people and very experienced."

Sister Katka, gave me such a look of sudden worry that she had said too much and that I would send her back untouched, that I felt the need to reach over and pat her knee in reassurance.

"Sister Katka, I'm honored that you wish for me to teach you the rituals, and I'll be happy to do so. But please be aware that after this special night, you will be expected to share our rituals with many congregants who are not necessarily of your choice or taste. A parish is like an extended family, and we don't get to choose who our family members are."

"Yes, I know. But is it too selfish of me to want my first introduction to our rituals to be a special and loving memory? At the Orphanage, I never had any say in what I was expected to do or what was done to me. All power was in the hands of my abusers. I hoped at least in my new life here, that my own needs and desires would be acknowledged and accommodated, as they are for the congregants and the other clergy."

Sister Katka had a point and I thought it best to accept it and move ahead. This was no time to argue the fine points of clerical authority. The sooner we entered into the loving intimacy of our Bohemian rituals, the better.

"Katka, I agree that you deserve to be introduced to our rituals in a way that you will be happy to remember. Please try to put any shame you may still feel behind you. Now let's undress and share the Embrace of Eden."

As I had been preparing for bed when Sister Katka had knocked, I was just clad in a simple nightshirt which I pulled over my head and tossed aside. She now had a clear view of my member which was beginning to stir. For her part, Katka appeared to be shedding any shame along with her grey dress, as I discovered that she wore no undergarments underneath and presented her natural self to me, without trying to hide any part of her body.

And Dear God, what a body! Since I had first met Mrs. Tupa and then other friends of hers from the Parish, I had become accustomed to ladies of advanced years, whose voluptuous bodies displayed rolls of fat, broad buttocks, and enormous pendulous teats. I found them very lovely and arousing in their own way. But Katka was like a beautiful petite manifestation from the same gene pool, standing before me with all the innocence and freshness of youth just bursting into the beginning of adulthood, before any of the ravages of time had set in.

I suppose that's an odd way to describe her, considering that I was the same age that she was, but as I held out my arms to her for the Embrace of Eden, I just wanted to gather her up in a big hug and protect her from any further fear or suffering. She pressed her perfect body against mine and clung to me like she never wanted to let go.

The idea behind the Bohemian embracing ritual is for those embracing to try and manifest a state of innocence and grace like that enjoyed by Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, before the fateful apple was bitten. I didn't know whether she had experienced it before, but if not, she was a natural. Time stopped and we were in Paradise together, a taste of eternity that only ended when we heard the distant chime of the Rectory's grandfather clock marking ten o'clock.

* * *

I was abruptly reminded that our time together was all too brief. I had barely another hour in which to teach her the Church's most basic rituals of sharing. As much as I hated bringing any sense of time pressure into our sacraments, circumstances dictated that I dare not dawdle. I told Katka that she was doing wonderfully so far, and now it was time for the Aroma of Life. For this we were to climb in bed together, beneath the covers if there was a chill in the air, and inhale each other's natural body odors.

Like the Embrace of Eden, the Aroma of Life was a gentle introduction into the Bohemian celebration of the natural body and its products. Since Katka had never known the intimate smell of a man, I suggested that she enjoy the ritual first, and I gave her free rein to explore every crack, crevice, and outcropping of my hairy body, breathing deeply and enjoying my man stink. I didn't know the term "pheromones" at the time, but I knew from my experiences with Mrs. Tupa that taking good whiffs of each others pits and privates could be both relaxing and arousing. It was also one of the earliest of the Bohemian "old ways", long since codified into Church ritual.

Sister Katka, who seemed to be shedding her shyness by the minute, excitedly nosed around in the hairy tufts of my sweaty armpits, snorting and moaning like an excited animal. She worked her way down the front of my body, taking deep breaths until she reached my crotch, thick with pubic hair, and discovered the particularly intense smell of the cove where my thighs intersected my scrotum. I think she would willingly have parked her nose there for as long as I let her, but I was mindful that we still had much to do. I quickly pulled my thighs back against my abs and gave her access to the crack of my ass, its aroma triggering a twitching fit which I took as a spontaneous orgasm for the good Sister.

Then it was my turn to acquaint myself with her intimate odors. I took a similar tour of her body, from her pixie cut to her lightly haired armpits and down her front, including the sweet sweat at the base of her perfect breasts, and then down the light treasure trail from her belly button to her crotch. Katka's blonde pubic hair was very fine, but that didn't prevent it from being soaked by her juices, which smelled musky and delicious. I could hardly wait for us to share the Kiss of Peace.

But first, tradition dictated that we share our pee and poop. I indicated that we would share those tonight, as well as the Kiss of Peace, provided our time didn't run out.

* * *

We both got out of bed and I placed my chamberpot in the middle of the room's throw rug and invited her to squat over it. Katka looked up at me eagerly, clearly excited that we were going to share such an intimate act. She focused her concentration, held her petite pee flaps apart with her tiny fingers and shot a mighty spurt of piss into the brass pot, causing it to ring loudly. I aimed my flaccid prick at her little blonde twat and cut loose, drenching her privates with my hot urine. Katka gave out a little squeal, which I feared was probably audible throughout our floor. Not that it greatly mattered. Everyone in the building could hear everyone else, especially in the dead of night, when visitors were usually entertained.

When we had concluded our communion of pee, it was time for us to each shit into the chamberpot. Bohemian mystical tradition held that the emergence of the stools was symbolic of the opening of the heart, and that the mingling of our turds with each other within the pot was symbolic of the meeting of our open hearts. I'm sure that was true, but symbolism aside, I was just excited by the prospect that this petite and lovely young woman was willing, nay eager, to expose herself and defecate for me. It was moments like this that made me so grateful that I had stumbled upon the Bohemian parish and was now actively engaged in its service.

Katka wasted no time in repositioning herself over the chamberpot, this time facing away from me and hunched over in a posture that gave me a clear view of her rounded buns. She reached back and pulled her cheeks apart, exposing her little pink anal star. Compared to the anuses of the parish's elderly widows, which were often surrounded by thick anal ridges of a dark red or purple color, Katka's sphincter looked impossibly innocent until the moment that she grunted and strained and a grainy brown turd extruded itself from her bowels.

"My brother," she said in a soft but high-pitched voice, "this is for you. Thank you for letting me share this with you."

The turd neatly ended itself and noisily splashed into the pool of piss in the bottom of the chamberpot. She was one and done, as it were, and I hastened over with some toilet tissue to wipe her beautiful butt for her.

Then it was my turn to squat over the pot, facing away from her, and making an internal push with my rectal muscles. I could feel Katka's warm breath upon my anus, as she knelt close behind me for a front row view. Without warning, I let out a loud brap of a fart, which I fear hit her full-face with its pungent gas. She let out a squeal of surprise, but kept her position and made a cooing sound as my own turd pushed itself out and began to dangle from my sphincter until it broke off cleanly and tumbled into the pot with a soft thud.

"My brother, that was so beautiful. Thank you so much."

She grabbed some toilet tissue and carefully wiped my anus clean. Then we both stood up and had another hug. This was going so well that it felt like it was meant to be. Perhaps the Almighty had provided me to her, or her to me. Whoever was responsible -- God? Mother Magdalene? An alignment of the stars? -- certainly deserved a prayer of thanks.

* * *

I glanced at my bedside clock. Twenty-five minutes to lights out. That was hopefully just enough to allow us to share the Kiss of Peace, get Katka dressed and bundled off back to the Nunnery, and for me to collapse into bed.

Though Sister Katka had so far avoided experiencing the Kiss of Peace, until the right opportunity presented itself, she certainly knew what it involved. How could she not? It was arguably the most popular ritual of the Bohemian Church, perhaps not quite as common as sharing pee and poop, but prized for its extreme intimacy.

Sister Katka seemed to know the position to take to properly receive the Kiss. She draped herself over the side of my bed, her adorable bum at the edge, with her legs splayed as they reached the floor. I knelt behind her and pried her cheeks open and contemplated her pink star. For me, this was more a case of giving than receiving. If the whole point of her visit to me was to ease her into the intimate rituals of the Bohemian community, her comfort and sense of security were paramount.