Girl-Talk: My Priest, Your Teacher

She paused, partly out of steam. Joan released her grip on Marcy's fingers, and sighed: "Good grief, what a story! What happened then? And Marcy, is this all really REAL you're telling me?"

Marcy smiled, and kept on: "Oh, it's real, all right! Cross my heart! He must have shot a quart of come up my butt, you know... I could feel every spurt! Then I figured he'd just go soft like all my other fuckers had done, but not Father Jim! He did pull out, nice and slowly, and then he cleaned us both with a communion-service towel and some left-over sanctified wine. What a hoot! Then he had me suck him again, him sitting on the altar with his legs spread, until he came in my mouth."

"He got off once in my ass, once in my mouth, and with no sign of a soft-on in between. He must have been horny as the very devil, himself!" She giggled. "My first time for real cocksucking, too! I scored lots of "firsts" that night."

"Then, finally, he lay down across the altar on his back and that gorgeous cock was still hard as a rock after two climaxes, so he had me straddle him and put the thing back into my ass again. Actually, I was a little sore at first, but in a minute or two that faded away and I was really into it. He was a fine teacher: he taught me in about six strokes how to rock my clit across his pubes with his dick way up inside my ass, and I started coming and just kept on, it seemed like forever, until he shot up inside me again! I could feel every jerk and twitch of his orgasm... he was so deep, Joan, that I was pretty sure his come was going to appear in the back of my throat, from the inside! "

There was a long pause while the women looked at one another.

"That was about it, really," said Marcy. "When I stood up, I farted out the air he'd pumped into me, and sprayed cum all over the robe. Farting good white Catholic-Priestly come on a priest's black robe! Sort of a Jackson Pollock-ish commentary on the Church's policies and beliefs! Anyway, we went downstairs and took a shower together. Which was a lot of fun. And then he took me home."

Joan swallowed, and finally pursued the obvious question: "What then? What happened afterwards? The rest of the story, please!"

Marcy shrugged and replied "Nothing, really. Jim was transferred to another diocese about 2000 miles away the very next week. I've never seen him since. Maybe he already knew, that night, that he was leaving and that let him take the chance. Heck, maybe that was his way of telling the Church where to get off?! I don't know and don't care, either. Too bad he left, though, really! But I sure did enjoy myself. Wherever he is, I'll bet he's done that a thousand times by now. Hope so, anyway: every woman deserves such an experience." She looked at Joan again: "Carpe diem, Joan!"

Then, as Joan watched, Marcy dipped her finger in the olive oil they'd been using on their bread, and her hand disappeared below the table. Joan was totally nonplussed: "Marcy! What the hell are you doing!?" she whispered, looking about nervously. They were alone and completely out of sight.

Marcy simply grinned at her, shifted in her seat to give her finger the proper access and contact-angle, and closed her eyes, saying "Carpe, carpe, carpe, Joan!! The moment never returns!" Joan watched in amazement as Marcy came quickly to a shuddering, obvious but silent climax. As it faded, she grinned dreamily at Joan, and said "Could you feel him here with us? Jim just buttfucked me again, right here, right now! Telling you about all that really, really got me hot! Hope I didn't embarrass you too much?"

Joan managed to shake her head: she'd never seen another woman masturbate, ever, but wasn't about to let on about her inexperience.

Marcy looked about and then pushed the oil across the table to Joan: Joan looked down at it and blushed ferociously when Marcy said "Your turn!" Joan kept her face pointed at the table. She couldn't! Not possibly, not here, not ever! Just say NO!

But now Marcy was whispering "Carpe, carpe, carpe!" and holding Joan's right hand. Whispered to her "Which is Joan's personal favorite finger?" She took them one at a time, felt Joan's reaction to the middle finger, then dipped it in the warm oil and released her hand. Said "Look at me, Joan! Carpe! Woman, I double damn dare you!"

Joan's hand slipped under the table as she glanced around: Marcy whispered to her "Relax! I'll be the lookout! Carpe! Close your eyes and fuck Father Jim! Or any other male of your choice!" Joan's hand slipped down her front beneath the tablecloth and into the sticky, slippery wetness of her pussy-slit. She sighed deeply, eyes closed, and began to stroke her clit as her legs spread slightly apart.

In moments she was deeply into her climax, working hard to control her breathing and not to make any obvious noises. She shuddered and shook for the longest time, imaging to the best of her ability what it might feel like to have a big, powerful cock deep in her ass the way Marcy had. She quickly achieved a glorious climax, and when finally she opened her eyes, it was to a grinning Marcy, looking at her across the rim of her wineglass, saying "Nice! I didn't believe you'd actually do it! Congratulations! Now go fuck your teacher, Joan! Figure out a way - it shouldn't be very difficult. And by the way, this dinner is on me!"

Joan sighed and thought about it and grinned slyly to herself. Marcy watched: the thoughts racing through Joan's mind left tiny traces on her face and in her posture. Finally she shook herself and said "God, Marcy! That's really a wild thing to do, going after my professor. I don't know if I'll ever really be able to get up the courage to follow in your footsteps - but it sure would be interesting to try!" She paused, then continued: "I suppose I could... no, that wouldn't work... oh, hell, Marcy, I just don't seem to have any imagination! What else did you do with Father Jim? Have you ever done anything like that again?"

Marcy poured the last of the wine. She thought for a moment, then began "Joan, I don't want you to try to imitate me or anything like that, just let your own imagination run free, and try something! You might be embarrassed, but you can't really get hurt, you know. And yes, I've done other things, not many that crazy, but significantly nutso. Baloney, too, on your idea that you haven't any imagination! We both know better."

A long pause, during which Marcy sipped at her wine. Suddenly she nearly exploded in laughter, bubbling the wine and hiccoughing. She looked over at Joan who was obviously puzzled. Joan raised an eyebrow quizzically, tasted her own wine, waited. Marcy finally giggled and held up her glass: "This wineglass just reminded me of one other thing about me and Jim, that night. Want to hear about it, just for a nightcap? It might inspire you! In case you need it, which I don't believe for a second."

Joan nodded, and Marcy dropped back into her low-pitched reverie-voice. "There was this one special, final thing. It was so odd that I suppose it tells me an awful lot about Jim's relationship to the Church. When we finished with me riding him, and we let his cock slide out of me, I realized that my bladder was really full. I mean, nearly bursting, because we had had canned sodas during the class and I hadn't gone to the bathroom yet."

"Anyway, I was sitting there beside Father Jim, just stroking that nice big veiny cock of his and running my fingers through the hair on his belly and crotch, and diddling his balls. His cock was all slippery and about three-quarters erect still, and I said something like "I've really gotta pee!" Jim sat up and kissed me, then told me to stand leaning back against the altar and not to move for a second. He got up and rummaged around a bit, then appeared in front of me in the candle-light. His hands were behind him, and I couldn't see what he was doing, but he told me to spread my legs wide and to hold my pussy lips wide apart, so I could squirt pee out in front of me when he told me to. I was really embarrassed, but when I finally did it, he knelt in front of me and licked my clit just beautifully for the longest time. I can still feel my fingers holding me open for his tongue, and his cheeks against my fingers!"

Marcy sighed heavily, and went on. "Then he brought his hands out from behind him: he had the communion chalice, Joan, the big heavy silver holy goblet, with its handles and gold lining and all! I was completely fuddled! I mean, talk about sacrilegious! He held it up between my legs under my crotch with one hand, and said 'Pee in here, when I tell you, not before!' Then his other hand went up my legs and he put two whole fingers all the way up into my ass, I mean really all the way, they went in easily because I was still relaxed from all of his cock-strokes, and still full of his baby-juice."

"Then when they were really deep inside, he sort of curled the fingers up and pressed on my G-spot and bladder until I nearly screamed 'cause I needed to pee so bad, and when I thought I was going to simply die, he said "NOW!" and I just let it go! God what a rush! You know, with my "holy holy holy" background, peeing into the chalice was even more emotionally loaded, strange as it may seem, than fucking on the altar! Anyway, his fingers up inside me there made me climax so hard, in the middle of peeing, that my whole body clamped down over and over, and I could hear the pee splashing into the cup in big heavy spurts, sort of like a man's coming in pulses! It went on and on, until I was finally empty. I was exhausted! But Jim stood up in front of me, and handed me the chalice: it was warm from my pee, really almost hot. Then he had me hold it between my thighs and he put my hands on his cock and told me to point it into the bowl, and he peed into it himself. It was really nifty, feeling the pee going through that big, partly-hard cock. I'd never done that before, either!

"Finally, when we were both done and the chalice was almost full, he had me hold it in my hands: he reached behind me to the altar, and brought out a communion wafer! Joan, he could be the most incredibly romantic, sexy person - he was simply a nut-case, but I wish I could be with him again, he turned me on so much! Anyway, he knelt, he actually KNELT, in front of ME, and took the wafer and held it up between us, and said something like "This we do in remembrance of our time together", just like he was conducting mass, and he dipped it in the pee, then broke it in half and put one part in my mouth and the other half in his. Then, as we chewed, he leaned forward and kissed me again, and we just sort of mixed it all together, and both swallowed. You know, that sort of thing was almost more mystical romance and nasty irr-religion than I could bear! So we took the chalice with us to the shower and washed it. God what a lover he was!"

Joan simply sat there, speechless. Her mind was churning: she was so JEALOUS of her friend's audacity! Her mind drifted back over the past several years: there weren't all that many men who had produced that little anticipatory knotted twinge in her belly, but there had been a couple of them. And now, suddenly, she really regretted that she'd never, ever taken the initiative to try and start up something with any of them! She sighed inwardly, and unconsciously passed her damp finger under her nose. Marcy watched knowingly, chuckling to herself inside. Women, she thought, could be just as transparent as men!

They finished the wine and a dessert and left, arm in arm as good women-friends tend to do, walking quickly to their two vehicles. As Joan got into her car, Marcy looked at her again, said "You're braver than I thought, following my lead in there! Bravo! Now, CARPE, dammit! And I'll expect a full, detailed report at our next dinner!" And with a whoosh, she was off, leaving Joan to drive home in a slight sensual fog.

Joan tossed and turned all night, sleep effectively destroyed by her scattered, disjointed dreams. All sexual, of course. Finally, about dawn, she reached into the dresser drawer, took out her favorite dildo (it had taken some considerable resolve on her part to order that thing from one of the mail-order ads she occasionally received), lubricated it with her mint-flavored slickery stuff, and slid it wonderfully deep inside her aching, lonely pussy. Then, as she held it inside her with her heels, she masturbated furiously, until she had worked her way through a long, sweaty series of deep climaxes, all the time flitting back and forth between imagining some handsome Marcy-like priest, in flowing black robe, driving his enormous cock into her, and disconnected pictures of Henry, her professor, doing the same.

Ultimately, exhausted and only partially satisfied, she slipped the dildo from her body, and held it out, just looking at it. It really was pretty realistic, at least externally, the right size and shape and details, but didn't have the proper twang factor or warmth.

She recalled Marcy's story, and pressed the plastic cock-head tentatively against her anus, considered the possibility, and then with a little shiver she shook herself and laid the toy aside. She knew about butt-fucking, at least intellectually, but had never felt the appeal of it, never tried it. Maybe, someday, with the right person, in the right situation? She wondered how it would actually feel to have a cock inside her ass, right up in there, wondered if she could really take such an intrusion and enjoy it (Marcy had!), and with that thought buzzing about her brain she drifted rapidly off to sleep.

2: Joan's story: My Teacher

The next day was awful: Joan was tired and grumpy, but at least she had the evening's class to look forward to. Or to hate, depending on that particular instant's mood: she swung back and forth pretty violently. Work was impossible, but she managed to fake it to everyone else's satisfaction. Finally, she got up abruptly and left, just before five, heading home instead of off to her usual pre-class tacos. It still wasn't clear in her head exactly what she wanted to do, or could do, or WOULD do, but she had to do SOMETHING!

At home, she read briefly through her notes from last week's three-hour class, and skimmed the material she'd already read twice for tonight's session. Ocean currents. Whoopee!?

She thought again of Marcy's story, wondered if it were true, finally decided that it must be so, it simply rang too clearly and well as Marcy told it. Joan went into her bedroom, pawed through her clothes, considering.

Finally, she took a deep breath and with Marcy's "Carpe carpe carpe" running through her like a mantra, she made her choices. A near-transparent (not quite!) and very clingy, thin satiny sleeveless blouse, with a deep boat-neck. A short, pleated cheer-leader style skirt of very draping material. Her thinnest bra, a seamless "little-nothing" that she wore only under her jackets because it let every bump around her nipples show, not to mention the nipples themselves. And the smallest of her thongs, lace-trimmed, satin-edged.

She dressed, looking in the mirror. Lots of leg showing beneath the hem. Nipples actually showing through both bra and overlying blouse. She blushed at herself, and mumbled out loud to her reflection "So? What in the HELL, Miss Joan, do you think you're doing here?" She got no answer, and it wasn't clear at all in her own mind, so she stuck her tongue out at herself in the mirror, gathered her materials, and launched towards the class.

She was shivering slightly inside as she walked up the short flight of steps to the old high-school building where the class was held, a community-college program for "adults and students returning to academia". She'd read through the bulk-mail blurb and discovered herself fascinated by the idea of knowing something about the ocean, and had called the school at the last minute. The school said the class was full, but she might get in with the instructor's permission, and they'd given her his number. That was how she'd first encountered Henry.

On the phone, he'd asked her a couple of questions about her interest level and background, then easily agreed to let her in: besides, there would inevitably be a bunch of dropouts, so there would be room, not to worry. He had a nice voice, and a good attitude: she felt they could get along, and she'd been right so far. And HOW! Her crotch tingled again as she walked into the room, carrying her books over her chest exactly like a blushing, newly-breasted junior high-school girl.

She waved hello to him, caught a little eye-linger in his glance as he replied, and felt her insides twist again. As seemed to be his habit, he was wearing a tee-shirt, snug shorts, and sandals - and he looked pretty damned good, she thought. Her eyes managed a quick glance at his crotch: the usual bulge was there, right behind his zipper. She wished briefly for transparent clothes, or acceptable nudity, or SOMETHING other than this damned hiding of all the goodies!

She chose a good seat, in his unobstructed line of sight, not overly close, not very far back. Too bad the room was just an ordinary laboratory, rather than a nice amphitheater: she was suddenly shocked at her thoughts, about how in the right seating arrangement she could have placed herself so Henry could look up her skirt! And, she wondered, would she really have done that if she could? She didn't know, but suddenly her nipples were hard as marbles. Why the devil had she done this, anyway? And IF, just hypothetically IF, she had had such a seat and done such a thing, maybe even taking off her panties for him (whew!), just what might Henry have done?

Then the lecture began.

Henry always walked about the class, encouraging participation, drawing students out, connecting the lecture material with their own lives. Joan thought, as he walked past her once, that his eyes lingered on her just a bit longer than they might have, and she blushed furiously. Nobody seemed to notice, but then Henry circled the class again, and wound up standing slightly behind her. As he listened to a question, she turned to face him, twisting in her seat, heart banging away, letting the neckline of her blouse sag.

She saw his eyes drift to her face, almost in slow motion- then down to her neckline. The whole tops of her tits had to be visible, she KNEW that for sure, and she did nothing to correct it. She felt the sweat breaking out on her palms and the backs of her knees, and goosebumps rise along the tops of her thighs. What a rush.

Henry was still listening intently to the other student's question, and his expression changed not an iota, but his eyes were locked on her bosom for those few seconds. As the question finished, his gaze finally broke from her breasts and swept across her face, latched onto her eyes for a millisecond and registered distinct approval (how could she tell that, she wondered?), and then he was focused on the questioner, answering.

Her insides were churning, and she had to admire his ability to concentrate! Or should she be pissed that her tits hadn't managed to break his concentration? She, herself, hadn't heard a single word of the other student's question, and was barely aware of Henry's answer either.

Henry announced the half-way break, and Joan stood up abruptly, raced to the bathroom, ducked into a stall. Her crotch was soggy wet, and she knew full well that she hadn't gotten a single thing from the whole 90 minutes of lecture so far tonight. Ninety more to go.

She contemplated, briefly, a quick masturbation session, but there was a whole swarm of her classmates in the room, and would be throughout the break. Finally, she took mental hold of herself and muttered "In for a nickel, in for a dollar!", and shrugged herself out of the bra: the tiny wad of nylon and lycra disappeared into her purse, and as she stood up, her solid breasts, now quite obviously unconstrained, wobbled slightly beneath her blouse. She liked the freedom, but it somehow terrified her, too: her nipples seemed to be screaming aloud "HERE I AM, COME LOOK AT ME, WHAT DO YOU SUPPOSE I NEED?"