The Statue

Her prayers that day were exceptionally reverent, every word weighted and remembered perfectly. Eliza knew she was using it as a shield, but perhaps what it was trying to protect her against had already struck.

She lay awake in her dorm, surrounded by its stone walls. Night had fallen hours ago, and she had changed into her nightgown. She had snuffed the candles and prayers against sin tumbled through her mind. The hours stretched unbearably as the full moon tried to get through her window. It was as if Eliza was waiting for something.

*click - click - click*

Eliza's breathing grew very still as her heart began to race. Blood pumped to her ears and her heartbeat became deafening as the clicking noise grew closer.

*click - click - Click - Click*

*Click*

The clicking noise had stopped right outside her window.

She didn't want to look. She felt her eyes drag towards the window, but she didn't want to look. She wanted it to go away, for it to just scamper off so that she didn't need to confirm her fears about it.

Eliza looked anyways.

A shape blocked her window, covering up the fat, glowing moon and the clouds. She could just make out the curve of a body.

Her breath was caught in her throat. One word, and what would happen? A nagging thought tugged at the back of her mind. It wasn't a fear, it was what fears tried to keep out. What if she liked it?

The shape resumed moving. A slight click of stone-on-stone, and it moved downwards. The side of the body shifted to become two powerful legs over her window, the gap between them pointed to the sky. A short tail interjected between them, pointed and firm.

Eliza couldn't think of anything else that was like that. Her fear, or perhaps her anticipation, was confirmed. Slate was crawling around on the wall outside.

The legs passed over her window and crawled away, followed by the pattering of clicks as Slate's talons found holds in the stone to use.

Eliza watched the window for two slow breaths, then got out. She went to her window and opened it. She poked her head out and saw, ten feet away and clinging to the wall like some kind of lizard, Slate. Or rather, Slate's bottom.

Slate tensed and twisted around, somehow glued to the wall. Her eyes gleamed like torches in the night. They were the only part of her face that was noticeable in the dark of the night. She cocked her head, and turned around. Her broad hands clutched the stones as she resumed her travels, click-clicking over to Eliza's window. Eliza was caught spell-bound watching Slate effortlessly crawl across the side of a wall.

"Funny seeing you here," Slate said quietly as she drew near to Eliza.

"What are you doing?" Eliza hissed.

"Climbing. It prevents me leaving footprints on the dirt. All of you would never shut up about it if I left a footprint in the flowerbed," Slate answered.

"Yes, but - but you're out and about! Why?" Eliza whispered. It was strange talking to someone who was rotated differently from Eliza. It was starting to give her a sympathetic crick in the neck.

"Because I don't want to be stuck in the same room for all of my life, plus all the food's in the kitchen," Slate answered. "But at least there's another night owl like me awake at this hour."

Eliza sighed and hung her head. Her heart was still trembling just from talking with Slate. Slate's eyes were orange, for goodness sake! It was like she was talking with a demon!

Slate's head tilted quizzically. "Still think I'm a demon?"

Eliza nodded in defeat.

"Don't worry, I'm not. I'm not interested in your soul," Slate said. She crawled closer, and Eliza jerked away. "Can I come in?"

Eliza backed away slowly from the window. "Uh, sure, I guess," she stammered.

Slate squeezed her way in most delicately. It reminded Eliza of how she had seen Slate turn from rock to flesh - slow, yet fascinating. Slate popped in one shoulder, then the other, and slid her waist through. Her tail nearly caught on the edge of the window, but she bent down and slid in the rest of the way naturally.

Slate straightened up and stretched. The curves of her body caught Eliza's eye immediately. Eliza found herself ogling Slate's round bosom, the curve of her buttocks, and the tussled thatch at Slate's loins. Heat burned in Eliza's cheeks.

Slate caught Eliza's blush. "See something you like?" Slate asked.

"No, no," Eliza mumbled as she looked away. She shouldn't want, not for something like Slate!

"Come here," Slate said, touching Eliza's chin with a thick finger and pulling her view on to Slate's face. "It's all right. You can look at me as much as you like. If I wasn't fine with it, I wouldn't turn into a statue nude."

Slate's cheeks had a slight ruddiness to them, a faint brushing of an organic nature on a stone-colored woman. Her lips were tinted darkly, smooth, perfect. Her eyelashes were thick and defined, her eyebrow thin. The way her hair fell, it was cute but Eliza couldn't let herself admit it. Eliza was staring into the face of temptation.

Eliza shook her head and tore herself away, kneeling down to the ground. Words from prayer formed on her lips. She felt a broad, powerful hand on one shoulder and turned to see Slate kneeling down next to her.

No words were exchanged between them. Eliza wanted Slate, but she shouldn't. Her identity wouldn't allow for it. It'd be sinful. But in those orange reptillian eyes of Slate's she saw unrestrained freedom.

Eliza didn't stop Slate's kiss. It was unbidden, but welcome. Her lips mingled with Slate's warm lips, nose rubbing against nose, Slate's eyes half-closed. Eliza's heart sped up, beating heavily and feeling like a warm coal inside her chest. It was the first step, but to what, she didn't know.

Slate withdrew, her breath hot. "How thick are these walls?" Slate asked quietly.

"Decently thick? A hand-span, I believe. Why do you ask?" Eliza responded.

Slate touched Eliza's waist. Such a touch sent Eliza's mind spinning. "I want to give you something incredible. You'll need to be as quiet as possible, though," she said.

Quiet? Why? Eliza was about to ask when Slate kissed Eliza again. It was as caring as the last time, Slate's lips gentle against hers. Slate carried it for longer, adjusting her head just slightly to alter how their lips met each others'.

A warm, needy sensation flowed through Eliza. It built up in her chests, her breasts rubbing against the fabric of her nightgown, but also ran to her loins. She felt wanting down there. She needed something down there.

With a jolt, Eliza realized what was happening to her. Lust had built up in her, and Slate was the one responsible for it. Eliza crawled back and stood up.

Slate actually looked hurt. "What, is something wrong? Do you not want me?" she protested.

"I do, but I should not," Eliza said as she fumbled for her small table. Her fingers chanced upon a series of beads, weighed down by the wooden symbol of her covenant. She held it aloft, the symbol spinning in front of her.

"If you think that would help, please, wear it," Slate teased, standing up to her full height. Her nipples were growing stiff on her breasts. Eliza's cheeks burned when she realized that, and looped the prayer necklace over her head.

Eliza was a nun, one devoted to prayer and holy worship. Through her faith, any malign and evil presence on her would be banished. But it didn't do anything for the heat inside her and her admiration of Slate's form.

So, this was who Eliza truly was. It all seemed to fall apart. Her upright behavior, her devotion, her faith - it didn't do anything against her feelings. This was who she was, and she paled at the thought.

"If you want to, I can leave. All you need to do is ask," Slate said.

"No! No, no. Don't go," Eliza commanded. This was who she was. It wasn't external corruption, it was simply who she was meant to be. For some reason, that made it all better.

"Please stay. I, I liked the kissing," she admitted. The heat returned to her cheeks.

"I can do more, if you'd like," Slate teased. She sauntered over to Eliza and her tongue slid between her perfect lips. It was granite-red, shiny like rain-washed stone, and it slid down and down. It went past her chin, a good hand's-length of flexing, muscular organ. Towards the front, it was ridged.

Eliza felt a little bit more of wet heat seep into her loins. How should she continue? No, she saw herself truthfully now. She wanted to, no, needed to, no. She accepted.

Slate's tongue slid back between her lips and she leaned in to kiss Eliza. Tender once more, but more controlling. Open lips gasped against each other, the heat in Eliza's body trickling in further and further. It was in so deep, it could never be rooted out.

Slowly, Slate's tongue wormed into Eliza's mouth. It slid against her tongue, caressing it. Eliza trailed it with her tongue, feeling the weight and muscle behind it. A thrill crept through her body, one based on knowing that Slate could easily overpower her and take what she wanted.

Slate's lips broke away from Eliza's and her tongue slid out. It remained caressing Eliza's skin, slithering across her chin. Eliza shivered as she felt Slate's tongue traverse across her gentle neck. She gasped as she felt a hand slide up her body.

Slate's large hand ran up Eliza's waist, up her stomach, up her bosom. It rubbed against thin cloth to feel the supple flesh beneath it, the strength of Slate's talons and the scratching of the fabric tickling Eliza's skin. The sensation was richly tempting. There was more beyond it, if Eliza would only reach out and accept it.

Eliza desperately tugged at the drawstring of her nightgown. The heat inside her flared up as Slate's tongue slide under the beads of her necklace. Those odd rasps at the end traced her collarbone, Slate's head leaning into Eliza's neck. Slate slowly pushed her up against the wall, making her ripe and vulnerable.

Vulnerable. There was a thrill to that thought that sent a bolt of moistness to her loins. Vulnerable to Slate, who wanted for her. Vulnerable to all the wonderful things Slate could do to her.

Slate's tongue slid out of Eliza's necklace and her head sunk lower. Her tongue pierced the neckline of Eliza's nightgown, slipping in with so much welcome. The rasp at the end of Slate's tongue scraped against Eliza's tender skin, dragging a wet trail of saliva after it.

The neckline on Eliza's nightgown was getting dragged open by Slate's wandering tongue. The thin cloth fell against the probing invader, hugging it as it moved and writhed underneath, aiming for Eliza's breast. One hand of Slate's crept up Eliza's back, the other holding her hip. Slate was accepting her passivity graciously and making full use of it.

For her part, Eliza kept one hand on Slate's back. Her skin was as if polished stone was malleable and warm - it was incredibly smooth, but with an innate toughness. Eliza's other hand was held helplessly against the stone brick wall. It was cool to Slate's warmth, and Eliza knew which one of those two she preferred.

The rasping end of Slate's tongue touched Eliza's tender breast. She found herself giving a gasp of shock as a burst of fire shook her mind. It was her first taste of pleasure - real pleasure. With all those prayers, Eliza had torn herself away from touching herself to alleviate whenever the lusting got too bad. Now that she allowed her lustfulness to bear fruit, Eliza could see just how much she had been missing out on.

As Slate's tongue writhed and touched the soft flesh of her bosom, Eliza found herself subject to pleasure played like music notes. Each one was as good as the last, but they all added up harmoniously. Slate's tongue writhed and slide against Eliza's sensuous breast, digging in deeper and deeper. Her lips touched Eliza's sternum, her strong hands holding the willing victim in place.

With just a flick, Eliza felt Slate's tongue scratch across her tender nipple. Her rosy button stood on end as pleasure swept in with Slate's muscular organ. An ache came to Eliza's breasts, one in tune with the throbbing heat in her core and the burning need between her legs. Eliza mewled quietly as Slate lashed her tongue against Eliza's nipple once more.

Eliza couldn't bear to have her nightgown on her. She needed Slate's strong fingers roving her body. She wanted to feel that tongue as it traveled down her stomach and to her waiting womanhood. "S-slate," she stammered out, trying to keep quiet.

Slate withdrew her tongue abruptly, leaving her breast alone and cold. Slate rose to meet Eliza's lips and asked, "What is it, my sweet nun? Is it too much for you? All you have to do is tell me; I can always come for you later."

"No, it's just," Eliza began, before undoing the knot at her neckline and sliding out of her nightgown. It tickled her erect nipples on its way down, and the cool night air ran its tempting fingers down her body. "I just want to be out of this. I want it. I want it all."

Her fingers hooked around her prayer necklace. Slate put a hand atop hers. "Mind if you keep that on?" she asked. "I'd love to see the sight of you wearing just this holy symbol of yours as I make you moan and writhe."

The thought was both wickedly horrid and incredibly tempting to Eliza. To feel the wooden symbol against her naked body as she was wracked with pleasure? It spat in the face of everything that had been transcribed into her. Her fingers slid away from the necklace, leaving the cool symbol to rest against her hot skin.

Slate's lips graced Eliza's once again, and then Slate's hot breath puffed across Eliza's nubile body. She stopped at Eliza's breast. Her tongue slipped out for one delicious lick, and then snuck back in. With a carnal urge, Slate's lips affixed around Eliza's erect, rosy nipple. Pleasure coursed through Eliza's chest as her nipple was sucked in.

Eliza arced her back into Slate as she felt powerful gasps pull on her aching tit. It was unlike anything she had ever experienced. Her mouth was agape, and she struggled to keep silent. She could feel teeth gently scrape her tender skin, a tongue lash and press against her nipple. It was like light pouring itself through her body.

With a dramatic pop, Slate's lips left Eliza's nipple. Its rosy hue burned with a sensual need, its budding tip engorged and hard. Slate nuzzled it with her nose, her tongue left hanging out. "You're so sweet and needy, my little nun, so sweet and needy and mine whenever you want it," Slate whispered.

Slate's strong hand groped Eliza's ass, the statue-woman's fingers sinking into her curves. Her other hand swept across Eliza's back and on to her shoulder, resting there with a firm grip. Slate had complete control over Eliza, but there was something caring about her touch. Eliza knew that with just a word, Slate would leave her be. Eliza wasn't intent on using that word.

The granite-red flesh of Slate's wicked tongue slid out again and this time graced Eliza's other breast. The lusting fire within the nun was immolated with the enrapturing light caressing her sweet flesh. Her mouth open, her cries were silent as she felt the rasping edge of her creature-lover's tongue scrape against her taut nipple.

The tip of Slate's tongue scraped up and down, flicking Eliza's rosy nipple and then retreated. The statue-woman's lips came into play again, greeting Eliza's bosom with a series of kisses. Then, she sucked Eliza's nipple into her mouth again.

Once again, sweet bliss fell across Eliza's chest. Slate's wet mouth suckled and stretched her nipple in new, delightful directions. Eliza stroked Slate's hair, running her fingers through the ebony threads as she basked in Slate's power.

Disappointingly, Slate's lips left her chest. Eliza was about to protest when she felt Slate's warm fingers trail across her leg and in between the gap of her thighs.

"Do you want more?"

"Yes." No hesitation.

"How much more?"

"All of it." In that dark and private room, she'd experience it all.

Eliza felt strong hands hoist her up suddenly. She suppressed a cry of surprise and let Slate carry her to the bed, where she was placed.

Lusting orange eyes roved over her body. "You know, you're amazingly cute like this. We'll have to do this more often."

Slate climbed over Eliza, her weight making the bed creak. Her lips darted down and snatched another kiss from the cloth-less nun. Her tongue remained behind as she withdrew, tantalizing Eliza's lips. As Slate climbed back, her tongue dragged across Eliza's skin. With it walked a path of blissful light.

Eliza could never imagine doing this with another nun. Slate's tongue, her strength, her mysterious nature! It drew Eliza in, and now, laying before Slate with how much her tumultuous mind had changed, it only made Eliza's body flush more.

Slate's wicked tongue slipped across Eliza's breasts, blessing them with warm pleasure. Her tongue trailed downwards, tracing Eliza's belly button. Eliza's legs were flat against the bed and splayed open slightly. As Slate crept closer to Eliza's aching womanhood, Eliza's anticipation grew higher and higher, her desire growing to match.

Lower, lower, and lower yet. Slate's tongue went agonizingly slowly down Eliza's stomach. Eliza's chest rose and fell, heavy with anticipation, her eyes watching Slate and Slate's playful orange eyes. Slate's tongue danced around Eliza's black bush, continuing to tease her. And then, Slate's tongue slipped beneath Eliza's sex.

Eliza first felt Slate's tongue against her thigh. The strong, slick muscle hugged her sensitive inner thigh, sending another burst of heat into Eliza's womanhood. It was utter torment. "Please," Eliza whimpered, "please give it to me!"

Slate's eyes locked with Eliza's, and she flashed a short wicked grin. Then, she gently licked Eliza's sex.

It was like a bolt of lightning had struck Eliza. A blast of pleasure swept through her. Her entire body was enraptured by it. She wished prayer was like this!

Eliza could feel sweetly and wickedly the trail of Slate's granite-strong tongue. Its pointed end tip-toed around her lips, grazing her pink petals and taunting them with salacious sensations. She could feel it circle her lips around and around, always avoiding a part of her that ached the hardest, so hard it was budding out. She had barely an idea of what was happening to her body, but she loved it.

Slate's tongue pushed on Eliza's sweet womanhood and dived between its folds. Each touch was like that of an angel's, fulfilling Eliza's body. As the sweet bliss pulsed through her body, Eliza kept up a silent moan, servant to the feeling.

Touching Eliza's outer lips with her tongue, Slate's orange eyes watched Eliza's reaction. She basked in the nun's twitches and quiet gasps of pleasure and closed her own eyes to savor the taste of Eliza's womanhood. Slate's tongue lapped at wet, pink lips. She dug around their folds, touching unexposed flesh. Eliza's sex folded to her writhing tongue.

Slate turned her attentions to the wet, wanting center of Eliza's sex. There, the lips opened just enough, like the inviting lips of a sultry woman. Her tongue graced it, and Eliza shivered before her, enraptured by the pleasure it had brought. Eliza's fleshy rose thirsted for Slate and her tongue.

The tongue kissed the entrance of Eliza's tunnel, a shock of touch and then a pause that made Eliza look down between her legs. Slate's eyes were filled with drunken lust. Her strong hands were placed on Eliza's thighs, strong talons gentle with Eliza's youthful skin.

Eliza trembled with anticipation, waiting for that single blessed moment. Her holy symbol rose and fell with her chest, residing between her breasts. And then, Slate's powerful tongue sunk into her.

It was a fireball of pleasure that embraced Eliza. She felt her sex's lips spread for the wet, muscular intruder and bliss ring out from her aching petals as it did so. It was stronger than she could have anticipated, a low moan breaking from her lips. And now Slate was inside her, the statue-woman's long red tongue penetrating her just enough to spread that which should never have been spread as a nun. It was electrifying.