Sister Lauren, Father Riley, and Me

This is a Valentine's Day contest story. Please vote.

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A husband realizes on Valentine's Day that his nearly Nun of a wife isn't so innocent.

It had been a full day of celebrating Valentine's Day, our first as a married couple. Married only eight months, in June of last year, we were still newlyweds. I went all out, restaurant reservations, flowers, candy, and a romantic Valentine's Day card with a hearts and flowers sentiment with room for me to write my own words. I even bought her perfume and a sexy nightgown for the occasion.

I wanted our first Valentine's Day to be a special memory. Only we over did it. Between having had worked a full day and celebrating all night drinking champagne, beyond exhausted, it was only Monday and I had to get up for work in just a few hours. I never thought I'd hear myself say this, but I was too tired for sex.

"Thank you for a wonderful day, Chad," said my lovely bride Lauren.

"You're welcome, baby," I said.

Lauren is a pretty woman with a short, Katie Holmes haircut. As tall and as shapely slim, she does look a bit like Tom Cruise's wife. Enjoying the attention when people say that she looks like Katie Holmes, she wants to grow out her hair in the way that Katie Holmes wears her hair longer now. She had to keep her hair short before to wear her wimple.

After being single for so long, it was still weird trying to wrap my brain around me being married and her being my wife. A mindset that I needed to have, always only having to think about and take care of myself, now it was us and we, instead of mine and me. All my friends have been married for years and all of them have children. Playing the role of the eternal, eligible bachelor, I was beginning to wonder if I'd ever get married. I just never found the right woman, until I met Lauren.

Thirty-five is not that old but, when my parents were married at twenty-two-years-old, they were always pressuring me to find a wife and give them grandchildren. My friends and relatives were always playing the matchmaker by trying to fix me up with someone they knew from work or one of their single or divorced relatives. Now, finally, that's all over. Off the market, I'm finally married.

We were comfortably ensconced in bed spooning, already yawning, I was just about to doze off, when I heard her voice in the distance.

"Do you want to do it?"

Do it? Do I want to do it? Upfront and to the point, I knew what she meant, of course, but she had such an odd way of putting things and, suddenly, being the macho newlywed man that I was, I felt pressured to perform and to do it. Appropriately, my cock reacted to her words with an erection. If not for me, for her, I needed to do it.

Especially on of all days, Valentine's Day, what kind of a newlywed husband would I be if I didn't do it? She was the one who issued the challenge and I couldn't ignore her request not to do it. With me still a newlywed, this was Valentine's Day and I was expected to come to the office with bloodshot eyes, tired, and yawning, after having all the sex my co-workers imagined me having. If I couldn't do it for me, if I couldn't do for her, I had to do it for them.

Wanting to show her the man that I was by getting up for the task to do it, just do it, only I was too tired to do it. If I was an actor on a set, I'd have a stand-in, a stunt double, ready to do it to my wife for me. Only, I wouldn't want anyone but me to do it with my wife. Suddenly, the image of watching my wife doing it with another man was an exciting one to imagine. Maybe, later, after we've been married for a while, that's a fantasy that we could explore. Only, now, I needed to do it.

I was the romantic one in this family. Lauren was an anal accountant, who was nearly a Nun. She left the convent ten years ago, just before taking her final vows. She would have made a good Nun, Sister Lauren, as she's a good person, and she always wears her cross, displays it, actually, outside of her clothes. Only, she's too pretty not to be someone's special lady and I'm glad she's mine. Any man, no matter if he was still a little drunk and/or tired, would never have to be asked twice to do it with her.

I met her in the elevator at work. She works on the 47th floor and I work on the 48th floor. As if it was our own private bus stop, with a dozen other elevator cars we could have chosen, it's funny how fate intervenes to make something happen, by having us take the same elevator car at the same exact time, so many times in the course of several months. After a while, I looked forward to seeing her and I was saddened when I didn't. One day, on the way up to our lofty work destinations, after everyone got off the elevator on the lower floors and we were left alone to meet, I summoned the courage to finally introduce myself.

"Hi, I'm Chad," I said holding out my hand and smiling.

"Lauren," she said looking at me, accepting my handshake, giving me a smile, and then looking away in shyness.

Accustomed to women who weren't so shy, accustomed to women coming on to me, she intrigued me by her cool disinterest. Such a pretty name for such a pretty woman, a name that evoked the images of a movie star, a runway model, and the name of a famous fashion designer, tall, sultry, and shapely, Lauren fit her. Only, if I had more of my wits about me, if I weren't so tongue tied, I would have said all of that to her, but I didn't. Yet, not wanting to appear like the smooth Casanova that I wasn't, she didn't look as if she was a player either, especially with her religious cross prominently displayed. Glad that I didn't, if I came on too strong, I may have scared her away.

Naturally pretty, a rare beauty, with skin as clear as I imagined her innocence, I couldn't help but notice that she wasn't wearing makeup; she never wore makeup. Weird. Every woman in the building wore eyeliner and lipstick, at the very least. Having a bit of the look of a pioneer woman, a Mennonite, an Amish woman from Pennsylvania, in the way that Kelly McGillis looked, when she starred with Harrison Ford in the movie Witness, she looked so plain, yet still so uncommonly pretty. It made sense when she told me later that she was almost a Nun. So pure, so innocent, and so trusting, as if she was a timid fawn that I came across in the forest, while coaxing her to eat out of my hand, it was then that I realized that I'd have to go slow with her to not frighten her.

After having courted her and, somehow, managing to get around her committed religious beliefs by not trampling them with my lack of knowledge on the subject, insensitivity of her feelings, and ignorance of religion, sometimes I wonder if I would have been happier marrying a stripper. With my fantasies taking control of my commonsense, suddenly the image of Lauren dressed as a Nun, while dancing around a pole, and stripping off her habit, took hold of my imagination. Just as we don't know what a Scotsman wears or doesn't wear beneath his kilt, finally, I was finally going to see what a Nun wears or doesn't wear beneath her habit.

Yet, be it Nun or be it stripper, I had no control over who I'd fall in love with; it just happened. For sure, I never figured I'd marry a woman who nearly made God her husband and Catholicism her lifelong career. A woman who was almost a Nun, an innocent virgin, may be some men's dream in bed, but I feared she may be my worst nightmare.

What if she subscribes to the letter of the Catholic rules and only has sex to procreate and not for pleasure? Forget about swallowing, what if she doesn't even do oral sex? Over the years, I've become adept at eating pussy, just as I've grown quite fond, an understatement, of receiving blowjobs. Surely, it'd be one thing if she didn't swallow and was a spitter, but it'd be quite another if she wouldn't even take my cock past her lips, a place where she's accepted the Eucharist, the Holy Communion, the host, the consecration of the bread and the wine that symbolizes the body and the blood of Jesus Christ. My worries were short lived when she not only blew me but swallowed all that I had to give her on our Honeymoon night. Oh, goodie, my almost Nun of a wife, was quite the slut for my cock in bed.

"Blow me, Lauren. Suck my cock. Oh, yeah, that's right, baby, suck it. Hallelujah. I'm going to cum," I said.

Purposely talking dirty, I needed to know her reaction. Waiting to see what she'd do, if she'd remove me from her mouth or if she'd spit out all that I ejaculated in her mouth, I remained hopeful, while fearing the worst. Instead, she surprised me. Aroused and encouraged by my dirty talk, she sucked me harder, while stroking me faster and I exploded all that I had to give in her mouth. Then, she swallowed.

"Oh, my God. That was so hot. I like it when you talk dirty to me. It made me even more aroused" she said. "I can't believe I got you off with my mouth."

When she said that I realized that I was the first man she every blew. Not too shabby for a first time blowjob, but it's something that we'll have to practice over and again to perfect. Lucky me.

Lost in my thoughts, going back and forth, thinking back to how we met to being in bed with and married to her now, after having celebrated our first Valentine's Day, I realized I hadn't answered her question. Do you want to do it?

"I'm really tired, sweetie, and I have to wake up for work in only a few hours. I wish I had the forethought of taking the day off, as you did, but my boss is expecting me to attend a meeting the first thing in the morning."

"It's okay," she said. "You're the first man that I celebrated Valentine's Day with and with this our first Valentine's Day as a married couple, I'm still not sure what's expected of me. I'd do it, if you wanted to do it."

"Expected of you? Do it? You have a weird way of putting things, Lauren," I said with an uncomfortable laugh. "Just relax and go with the flow. I don't expect anything of you other than for you to love me. And it sounds better, if you said make love, instead of do it."

"Sorry," she said. "I do love you, Chad. I love your blonde hair," she said running her fingers through my hair. "You look like a young Robert Redford, when he played The Sundance Kid in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Actually, you remind me of a cherub, my Angel of a husband," she said giggling, while taking my face in her hands and giving me a kiss. "I just wanted to let you know that I'd do it, I mean, make love, if you wanted. I understand you're tired. We'll do it, I mean," she said with a laugh, "make love tomorrow."

"Okay, but in the meantime, until we fall asleep, why don't we just cuddle and spoon," I said wrapping my arm around her with my right hand cupping her B cup breast. "I think that's all I have the energy to do. Besides, I love spooning with you, while rubbing my cock against your sweet ass, baby."

When I reached my arm around her and cupped her breast, her nipple was already erect. Was she cold? Was she excited? Was she expecting me to do it and to make love to her, even though I told her I was tired and needed to wake up early? Was she horny? Playing everything by ear, I was just as new to this marriage thing, as she was.

In all the years I was single, in all the years that I was somewhat of a playboy bachelor, I never had a woman in my bed more than a few days. Never having had a long-term relationship, it was just as awkward for me that my first live-in girlfriend was my wife. Even though we had been married for several months, careful in what I said and did, so as to not hurt her feelings, it was still uncharted territory.

Feeling her body pressed against mine, it just felt so good to rub my cock up against her nightgown clad ass, one of my favorite things to do, especially in the way she was pushing her ass against my cock. She was making me horny and I quickly had a fully engorged erection. With the thought of rubbing my naked cock against her soft, warm ass, I pulled off my pajama bottoms and underwear. It felt so much better to free my erection from the binds of my sleepwear. Horny now, albeit very tired, I wanted to do it.

She reached her hand around and took me in her hand, while stroking me. She was so gentle with her touch and with her slow and deliberate movements and I was still getting used to the idea that she was a virgin, when I married her. When most women have their first sexual experience in high school or college, Lauren was thirty-two-years-old before she had sex with me on our wedding night. After being with so many different partners in the course of a year, after having sex on a regular basis, the thought of a woman abstaining from sex for so long is just so weird, too weird for me to fully understand. Yet, she's quick to say that she was waiting for the right one. Fortunately for me, for someone who hasn't had sex, she was no prude.

"You're so hard, Chad," she said tightening her grip and stroking me faster.

"That's because you make me horny, Lauren."

"Call me Sister Lauren."

What? Is she serious? Call her Sister Lauren? Okay. That's a new wrinkle that I kind of like, albeit a little creepy weird that I don't like at the same time.

When I was in parochial school, I always wanted to have sex with a Nun and now to have pillow talk with my almost Nun wife, by calling her Sister Lauren made my cock pulsate at the anticipation of finally fulfilling my sexual Nun fantasy. Still, there were so many connotations surrounding lusting over a Nun that is so wrong on so many different levels and if my parish priest, Father O'Brien, knew I had been lusting over Nuns, when I was younger and masturbating over the thoughts of having sex with them, he'd have me say a thousand Hail Mary's, after spanking me with a switch.

For the record, I wouldn't want to have sex with just any Nun. I've seen some Nuns that look like guys and that look mean and angry, as if they are wearing wool underwear beneath their habits. Conversely, there are other Nuns, like the Nun that Ingrid Bergman played, Sister Mary Benedict, in the Bells of Saint Mary opposite Bing Crosby, Father Chuck O'Malley. Man, I'd do her, that's for sure. She was so hot in that movie. Other than my wife Lauren, Sister Lauren, Ingrid Bergman was my idea of a sexy Nun, that's for sure.

Man, I wish I had a Nun who looked like her in school. Instead, the Nuns that I had, who were all short, round, had mustaches, and could hit like a linebacker on steroids, weren't my fantasy. It wouldn't surprise me, if in the way so many priests are pedophiles, that there are a closeted convent of lesbian Nuns. Not that there's anything wrong with lesbians, but if they are the wives of God, isn't it considered cheating for them to have sex with other women and with one another?

"Okay, Sister Lauren," I said with a chuckle.

I like this game. This could be fun. Suddenly, I was more awake. So, my wife wants to be called Sister Lauren. Cool.

"Do you want to do it?"

I couldn't believe it. For sure, she must want to do it. Yet, again, she asked me the same question using the same exact words. It sounded so odd, mechanical and routine, do it, instead of do you want to make love.

In the way she said them, the words sounded so empty and devoid of passion and emotion, as if, as a wife, she was expected to do it, just for the sake of her obligation to service me, her lawfully wedded husband, 'till death do we part. Was it because she served the Lord God in a convent the reason why she's so unemotional and so matter of fact? She made me feel, as if I was about to have sex with Spock, the Vulcan, from Star Trek, instead of having sex with my sexy, Katie Holmes look-a-like of a wife.

"This is nice what we're doing, Lauren," I said lifting her nightgown up to her waist and moving my cock deeper between her legs, while looking to find that wet and wild playground.

"Spank me," she said. "Slap my ass. I like that."

What? I was stunned. Spank her? She likes that? Are you kidding me? How does she know she likes that? Suddenly, my almost Nun of a wife doesn't seem so innocent. I couldn't help but wonder what kind of sexual games they played in the convent, after church and before prayer.

"Okay. Kinky," I said giving her a love tap on her naked ass.

"Harder," she said, as if she was my dominatrix and it was an order.

"How's that?"

I slapped her harder this time, hard enough to make a loud noise, even beneath the covers.

"Harder," she said, "and call me Sister Lauren, before you slap me and tell me that I've been a bad Nun."

What the Hell is going on here? A bad Nun? Oxymoronic in its meaning, is there such a thing as a bad Nun? I didn't dare verbalize what I was thinking for fear that she'd think me an idiot, but maybe spanking her is a religious ritual. Are Nuns supposed to suffer pain because Adam took a bite out of Eve's apple? The fool that I was regarding religious rites, I didn't know.

Not very religious, suddenly, I was out of my element. Now that I think of it, interestingly enough, the last woman I spanked was wearing a parochial school outfit, when we played our sexy games in the privacy of our hotel room, after a swingers' Halloween costume party. Only, I'd never tell her that I attended such a party nor would I tell her that I was dressed as Satan, a horny devil.

If I was excited by the thought of having sex with a woman who was almost a Nun before, still having the image of her dancing around a pole and stripping off her habit, I was now really excited spanking my almost Nun of a new wife now, while calling her Sister Lauren and telling her that she was a bad Nun. Suddenly, I'm seeing Lauren in a whole, new, sexy light.

"Okay," I said. "You're a bad Nun, Sister Lauren," I said giving her a really hard wallop with a nervous laugh.

When I slapped her so hard, getting a little carried away with my newly rekindled Nun fantasies, I feared I may have hurt her.

"Yes, just like that," she said. "I like that. Do it again, only harder."

Harder? Is she kidding me? If I slap her any harder, she's going to slide off the bed. My hand was already throbbing from hitting her so hard. She made me wish I had a paddle.

"I'm going slap the Jesus out of you, Sister Lauren, for being such a bad Nun," I said slapping her ass again, so hard that my hand hurt. "Sorry about the Jesus remark. It just slipped out and I didn't realize--"

"It's okay," she said. "I've gone beyond that. I'm no longer part of that world."

Yet, by her wanting to be called Sister Lauren, by her needing to be spanked and punished, she was still part of that world. Only, I didn't know how much a part of that world that she was, but I was about to find out how much part of that world that stayed with her and that she brought to bed with me. Sometimes, I wish I didn't know.

"This is nice," I said reaching around to feel her tit, while rubbing my cock deeper in that special place.

Between spooning her, rubbing my cock up against her naked ass, feeling her tits and fingering her nipples, and now slapping her ass, while calling her Sister Lauren, a bad Nun, I was having fantasy overload. I was still imagining her being a stripper Nun that looked like Ingrid Bergman, while dancing around a pole and stripping off her habit. I was really horny.

Slowly and gently, as if rocking a boat on a serene lake, she moved her hips in and out, while taking my cock deeper inside with each movement of her. For someone who was almost a Nun, a virgin at 32-years-old, when I married her, she was so very sexual and this whole experience was as sexually exciting as if was viscerally surreal. Never have I been as excited with any other woman that I was now with her.

"I know you're tired, so just relax and let me do all the work," she said.

"Yes, Sister Lauren," I said with a giggle and feeling that I was doing something bad by calling her Sister Lauren, while feeling her tit and rubbing my cock against her ass.