St. Dunstan's Nuns Ch. 05byNigel Debonnaire©
It's always strange to sleep in the room you occupied as a kid. You look back and wonder: it's so familiar and yet it feels like a stranger's room. Aunt Patty lived with Grandmother Lucinda when I was a teenager, so when I bailed out of St. George's Convent on this trip home, she put me up in my old room. She meant well; she always means well, even when her taste is in clever crap rich people without taste buy thinking they're cultured when they're basically ignorant. When I was a kid, I loved the smell of lavender and someone made sure the room was permeated with it. Pink lace used to be a favorite of mine: it was covering the four poster bed I slept in, the windows, even the lampshades, and if they'd made a rug out of the stuff, a sample would be on the floor. Aunt Patty meant well; she always did. I'm glad it doesn't drive me as crazy now as it did when I was young.
I was sleeping in my old room because I was back in England for Amanda Sterns' wedding. Mandy and I'd been best friends growing up, and La Rossa gave me permission to attend the nuptials back at St. Dunstan's parish where we all grew up. I'd known her grandmother Mary my entire life, she was a surrogate grandparent to go along with my flesh and blood grandmother (I never knew my father's mother, or my father, as far as that goes), and Mary was the solicitor for St George's convent as well as a dear friend of La Rossa's, so it something I couldn't miss. La Rossa herself was going to come to the festivities, but a last minute emergency required her personal attention, so Sister Lucia took her place, bringing my friend Sister Juliana with her. We'd gotten into Heathrow on an early flight, but there were far too many snickers at the convent refectory, pointed remarks and dirty looks about a relationship I'm supposed to be having with a Cardinal in Rome, so I was able to convince them my adoptive mother and I needed some quality time while I was home. My Aunt was delighted I was staying with her, and treated me like a princess after I crossed her threshhold.
Aunt Patty was someone I grew up calling Mom: she adopted me as a baby just before she divorced her husband. Later on I discovered La Rossa gave birth to me after an affair with a red headed Irish missionary, and childless Patty offered to raise me so La Rossa could stay in the convent. Aunt Patty and I had our clashes, but she was kind and I am grateful for all she's done for me. And I love her dearly, usually from a distance.
Grandmother Lucinda Parkhurst-Frazelton's mansion is a grand old English manor, but like many old buildings, the ductwork and the wiring are afterthoughts. That night I discovered how oddly the ductwork connected when distant voices came through the vent:
"What is Madame's desire this evening?" It was the voice of Willikins, the old family butler. He'd worked for Grandmother forever and now he was evidently working for Aunt Patty; like most loyal retainers he was formal with the adults and delightfully informal and charming with any children in the household. When it was just us in the playroom or the grounds, I called him Uncle Jerry and he called me Helena of Troy.
"I think I would like to be rogered from behind again, with your authoritative hand chastising my naughty backside, Willikins." I shook under the covers at the sound of Aunt Patty's voice; my God, this must be like walking in on one's parents having sex.
"Very good, Madame, but I fear I am temporarily unable to comply with your request."
"Oh, Willikins? How can that be?"
"Yes, Madame. I am afraid after last night's exertions, my ability to provide you with the tumescence you are accustomed to is compromised. My hand is also somewhat sore after throughly chastising your naughty backside from last night as well."
"Be not afraid, dearest Willikins. I have brought my riding crop up from the stable in anticipation of this very circumstance, and I would be happy to provide some oral stimulation to restore your remarkable tumescent capability."
"That would be very good, Madame."
"One caveat: if you should appreciate my performance of fellatio to the extent you should ejaculate your semen prematurely, I shall chastise you appropriately for not waiting until my orgasmic needs are met before relinquishing your most delicious offering."
"Understood, Madame. I place my humble member in your care, and trust your discretion to advise me when to commence my penetration of your vagina from behind as you requested."
Willikins had always been a thin man in excellent shape, but Aunt Patty was another story. Our family genes gave my mother an excellent figure that she has kept up thanks to the austerity of religious life, but Aunt Patty had allowed her body to get seriously out of shape. I saw her in her nightgown just before she went to bed that night: she had a pot belly and her breasts hung down over it, with her nipples hovering around her waistline. Thinking of the two of the together strengthened my commitment to chastity.
"Thank you, Madame. Your skills are undiminished. If you would do me the kindness of licking your way down the shaft of my penis to spend some time sucking my testicles, it would improve my ability to provide the 'Rock Hard Erection' you so earnestly desire."
It was an unusually hot June night, and I was already sweating under the covers in spite of the fact I slept in the nude. For once, I wished my deafness hadn't been cured two years earlier, and I marveled for a moment at the thought they may have been having this kind of sex throughout my entire childhood. Then I shuddered, threw off the covers and went down to the Library to find a book to read.
The Library was a little cooler than my bedroom, but the sounds of my Aunt's lovemaking were audible there as well, so I gave up on finding a book and sat on the couch to see what was on the Telly. One of the satellite channels was having a marathon rebroadcast of early "Who's Line Is It Anyway?" episodes, so I put one foot on the seat, one knee in the air, hugged my leg and laughed at the antics of Josie Lawrence, Tony Slattery and Michael McShane again.
An hour later, the Library door opened to reveal Willikins in a dignified robe and pajamas. "Good evening, Miss Helen. Is there anything you would require before I retire? Some warm milk perhaps, with cinnamon and vanilla?"
I smiled: he'd offered me my favorite bedtime drink when I was a kid. "No, Uncle Jerry, I'm fine. I'll be turning in soon. And by the way, you don't have to sign to me any more; after the operation I can hear just fine."
He gave me a sad nod of his head, realizing his mistake, "Very good, Helena of Troy. I see you are still covered in freckles."
Willikins had bathed me when I was little, and it didn't startle him to find me sitting naked on the couch. My body had filled out modestly since childhood, and I'm sure my cropped red hair looked awful. The way I sat on the couch, with my foot next to my crotch on the seat, gave him a fairly good view of my red pubic hair and lower lips. I decided to brazen it out in the grand British aristocratic tradition and act as if nothing were wrong. "Yes, I guess I can't outgrow them Uncle Jerry." For a moment, I spotted a strange glint in his eye, but I remembered he had spent his libido on Aunt Patty and felt I was safe with him. "In some ways we never change, do we, Uncle Jerry?"
He nodded gravely, with a subtle smile on his lips. "Indeed, Helena. Good evening to you, then."
"Good evening, Uncle Jerry. Sleep well."
He gave me a knowing smirk and closed the door without a sound.
The next morning I slept in, and spent a delightful morning sitting with Aunt Patty on the back balcony enjoying croissants, orange marmalade and Earl Grey Tea. She gave no indication of her exertions of the evening before, although her robe was open farther down her sternum than I was comfortable with. Willikins served us with his usual grace as though nothing were amiss. Just before noon, Amanda Sterns dropped in and I met her in a drawing room near the front door. She is my age, well built like her older sister Agnes, only with long dark hair and sapphire blue eyes. Wearing a flowered sun dress, she almost crushed my ribs with her welcoming hug. "Hey, Helen, how's it going? Just like old times, what?"
"Yeah, Mandy. Sorry to hear about Agnes."
Her smile faded for a moment. "Yeah. Took us all aback, so sudden. Don't seem like nine months ago. I don't think Aggie really got the hang of America."
"Why do you say that?"
"Well, as far as I can figure, she looked to her right before stepping off the curb and the bus was on top of her when she looked left. The driver was surprised, didn't have time to break."
I gave her a big hug that lasted several moments. "I know you miss her. I miss her, too."
A tear came to her eye. "I know. She was going to be. . .Oh Christ, can't start that." Amanda forced a smile and fought off the waterworks. "We're going to have a lovely afternoon in the sun, a wonderful time tonight, a lovely day at Brighton tomorrow, and Saturday the wedding bells will ring for me."
"Is the Vicar. . .?"
"No," came the curt reply. "Helen, how long has it been? My God, you never put on a pound. I thought all nuns got fat after they took the veil."
"A lot of them do, Mandy. Not me, I like being skinny and I'm staying that way. I do my workouts, and control what I eat. You should see Sister Juli, she's one of the few skinny Sicilian nuns in the universe."
"Will she be there tonight?"
"Yes, and Sister Lucia."
"Not your Aunt Barbara?"
"No, she had some urgent business in Zambia, she wishes she could be here but hopes you'll understand that being the international head of a community of nuns means you don't have a life of your own. I promised to send her pictures."
"Aw, I understand. Who's Lucia?"
"She's the Number 2 in the community, from the Czech republic. Your grandmother's known her for decades, too. A great gal, you'll meet her tonight."
"Super. Is there still that private part of the garden where Willikins can't see anything. . .?"
"Yes, Mandy. Things never change around here. Sometimes I still think I'm going to see Grandmama charging around the corner any moment, her face set on some urgent task."
Amanda nodded. "She was a true Lady, Helen, a true lady." She held up a straw bag with some supplies in it: "I brought some Gin, smoked Edam cheese, biscuits and sunscreen."
"It'll be just like we were teenagers, spending an afternoon naked in the sun. Do you still lie out?"
"Oh yes, the Generalate roof is lovely and private. Sister Juli will witness."
"I see you're a little pale right now."
"Been a busy girl, and it's been a rainy spring in Rome."
The garden was secluded, and we spent the entire afternoon sun worshipping, cavorting wet in an expected mid afternoon downpour as nymphs frolicking in a Renaissance painting. She left at tea time, and after nibbling a few biscuits and sipping some tea, I got ready for Amanda's Hen Party.
It started just after Tea time, located at the nicest club in the neighborhood. I put on my usual Roman dancing clothes, and was surprised to find Sisters Lucia and Juliana wearing their habits. "What gives?" I asked Sister Juli.
"Sister Lucia insisted," Sister Juli replied. "She understands you're among old friends, Sister Franny, but Lucia can be rather traditional at times."
"Tell me about it. Hello, Sister Lucia." Sister Lucia is a medium sized woman in her mid 60's with large brown eyes from an aristocratic Czech family.
"Hello, Sister Mary Francis Xavier. This is quite a charming celebration this evening."
"Yes, Sister. Amanda is a very old friend of mine."
"I quite understand. I was a maid of honor a couple of my childhood friends' weddings before I took the veil. A night to be remembered, no?"
We passed through to the buffet and helped ourselves to some wonderful fare, but I had to greet a number of old friends and acquaintances en route, so I ended up half way across the room from them when I found my seat.
The party was in full gear, and I was glad we weren't playing any of the traditional hen party games. We were eating, drinking and talking, catching up with people we grew up with. I landed at a small table with Mary Sterns, Amanda's grandmother, who was sitting with her old friend Sheila Button. Mary looked stunning in a blue business suit and bottle red hair; I would have guessed her in her early sixties. "How's it going, Squirt?"
"Fine, Grandma Mary, fine. Good to see ya, Aunt Sheila, how's it going? How's your family?"
Sheila was a tall, handsome woman with silver hair, she wore a blue silk blouse and dark slacks. Her husband died suddenly several years before, and she had settled down with a new bloke out West a few years earlier. "I'm fine, Helen, and they're all fine, too. Glad to see you as well. I take it Rome agrees with you."
"Oh yes. I stay busy cruising the markets." They snickered; remembering my wild years. "You just came back from Kansas, didn't you, Grandma Mary? How it's going for you?"
"I've been better. But this is a grand event we've looked forward to for years and I'm glad we could finally get it done. Doesn't our Mandy look happy?" Amanda was dancing with some friends across the room, wearing a halter top and black shorts, her hands in the air.
"She sure does. If Brendan doesn't treat her right, I'll call the Wrath of God down on him."
"Very good, Helen, very good. How's Barbie Doll Mary Rufus La Rossa."
I could tell by her speech she had been sipping Scotch for a while, and she was halfway through a Havana. "She's all right," I replied "Been working too hard lately."
"Yes, that business in Zambia is very tricky indeed," Mary agreed. "Barbie can handle it, she's got spunk."
"How's the Vicar?"
They looked away in different directions; I touched a nerve. I sipped my drink and watched the girls dance for a minute, then a fanfare blared over the sound system. "What the. . .?" I stuttered.
The older women looked at each other for a moment, then laughed. "The entertainment, Helen. The dancer."
"Male Stripper." They looked at me, expecting me to go spare, then looking disgusted when I didn't. "Christ, Helen, nothing really bothers you, does it?"
"You'd be surprised." The girls started clapping as a well built young man took the stage wearing a cowboy outfit and a Union Jack. Only in England. He moved with grace, doing acrobatics and flirting with several of the women close to the stage. "I've seen stranger things than this."
Sheila snorted. "I don't doubt it. You must have done everything before you repented."
I laughed and Mary sighed. A moment passed for she resumed talking: "He's taking it too hard, Alfred is, he's lost without her," she said solemnly. "Like a typical American man. Spends almost all his time on the job; he must be the busiest Episcopal bishop in America, our Alfred, and when he's not at work he's taking care of his kids. Three little ones under age five are enough for two parents. They don't know what happened, they don't really understand yet. But our Alfred's a shell of what he used to be."
A trick of the light put more lines on Mary's face that I saw a moment before. The old Vicar of St. Dunstan's, the Reverend Alfred was dear to a lot of people. I made a try for him when he was at the Convent at a retreat a few years ago. But La Rossa hadn't mentioned his name since we moved to Rome, and ever since the accident that took his wife Agnes nine months before, the Quilting Ladies hadn't talked about him, either.
Sheila shook herself and touched Mary's shoulder. "Tonight's a celebration, Mary. Your Amanda's getting married to a wonderful bloke in a coupla days. We've got some wonderful Scotch, and you've got your Havanas. Everything else will work out. Put off having another cry."
"You're right, Sheila, you're right. Hey, Helen, you used to love the Havanas. Game to try another one?"
I looked at the stage and noticed the dancer had lost his outfit. A body builder, who knows what he did for his day job: his muscles were very defined, his butt was tight and blazoned with a lightning tattoo. He was now shaking his long penis in the faces of screaming young women, and I thought a nice cigar would give me some distance should he come close. "Sure Mary, let's fire another one up," I said, licking my lips.
Mary produced a fine cigar from her purse, trimming it and holding it out to me. I licked around the cylinder, savoring the promise of the fine experience to come, and took a deep whiff before putting it between my lips. Lighting a long match, I held it to the end of the cigar, rotating it to prepare for ignition to a perfect circle of fire, then sucked the end to call it to life. The sweet aroma and love bite of the tobacco caressed my senses, and I savored the first sweet intake before blowing a perfect smoke ring. My companions laughed and poured me a Scotch.
The dancer, paraded up to us, swinging his salami in a circular motion. "What ho!" he shouted, "There's dragons in these parts. See how they're breathing fire." Waving his hands, he futilely tried to blow our smoke away from the area. "Maybe a gallant knight can slay them with his lance."
I put my cigar in my mouth, puffing on it until the end glowed, and reached out my hand. "Give it whirl, Sir Lancelot. Show us what you're made of." Then I blew a large smoke ring straight at his groin.
For a moment, there was a genuine look of fear on his face, and he broke character. Mary and Sheila smiled demurely, and I kept my plume of smoke flowing at him. At last, he recovered and gave us a great show of panic, turning to keep his member away from our cigars (Sheila had started one as well) before laying his limp noodle on an unaware blond nearby, laughing at her shock when she discovered it above her ear and laughing as he shoved it in her face to make her suck it.
It was funny watching him work the crowd. He produced a can of cream and was spraying it on his cannoli, asking women to lick it off. Many of them did, including Amanda and all of her bridesmaids. Jumping on a table, he made a great show of doing pushups, making his semi-hard cock bob close to the groom's mother's face and running away quickly when she removed her dentures with a wicked grin.
It surprised me when he got to the far end of the crowd, where Sisters Lucia and Juliana were sitting in full habit, smiling and clapping with the music. For a moment he didn't know what to do, looked embarrassed to be in their presence, but Sister Juli started stroking his chest, tracing his muscles, and the man relaxed enough to resume his act. The women started going into a frenzy when they realized what was going on, shouting "Go for it, Sister!" "Betcha don't see THAT in the Convent!" "Try some salami for a change!", and shrieking periodically.
Sister Juli worked her way down to his thighs, teasing him with her hands, coming close to touching his serpent from time to time, pretending she was about to suck him in, and turning away at the last moment. He stayed with her longer than he had any other, since they crowd was going crazy and he was obvious hoping for some good tips later on.
Suddenly, Sister Lucia, a dignified woman in her mid sixties, reached over and started stroking his cock, making it incredibly hard and taking the crowd to a new level of fever pitch. The dancer's face had dropped its playful pretense and taken on a look of lust, moving with Sister Lucia's rhythm and licking his lips. She teased him for several moments as well, licking her lips right next to his moist skin. Finally Sister Juli leaned over and took him in her mouth, bobbing up and down on the end of his cock and stroking his balls. The girls started clapping and swaying in unison; Mary and Sheila were glowing as they puffed their cigars and I drank my Scotch in one gulp, pouring myself another quickly. Sister Lucia started slapping her face with his sausage, hitting her tongue with the end, before engulfing him to the screams of the crowd.