The Statue

Eliza's tunnel pushed back against Slate's tongue. Wet velvet walls hugged the granite penetrator, caressing it as much as struggling against it. Regardless, it sunk in further still. The tongue's ridged tip caught on Eliza's walls and dragged them along. With a tug on her petals, the last ridge popped into Eliza.

It felt so strange to be filled, Eliza thought, particularly by a woman. It seemed unreal, but the fiery pleasure that burned inside her body was very real. Down below, in between her legs, her flesh had been parted to let in a foreign object. But it felt so good! She couldn't quite describe the mix of emotions and sensations within her, but she'd never share it with anyone outside of this room.

Slate's tongue dug in deeper. As it pressed into Eliza, it twisted and writhed. Her womanhood was stretched in new ways, pushed apart by Slate's tongue. New, unused velvet-soft skin was embraced by the monstrous woman's probing muscle and the fire of bliss swelled inside Eliza.

Deeper, deeper yet. Eliza didn't know how deep Slate could go, but it seemed like an eternity of bliss. Slate's writhing tentacle of a tongue kept on investigating the depths of Eliza's sex, always finding new spots to caress, new skin to lick with her rigid tongue. There always seemed more to Eliza than she herself knew.

But there was an end. Slate's lips met Eliza's amid an internal field of pleasure. Her strong hands pushed Eliza's thighs apart, giving Slate easier access to Eliza's womanhood. A rush of thrill raced with the sensuality as Eliza found herself totally at the whims of the statue-woman.

Slate's eyes flicked up once again to Eliza's, capturing her silent groan and lust-heavy eyes. Her lips mingled with Eliza's petals, strong to their gentle but just as tender. Sparks of passion were added to the fire of pleasure burning within Eliza.

Deep inside Eliza, Slate's tongue lashed and writhed. Eliza could feel it move inside her, how it wavered and embraced new walls. Each scrape was a burst of rapture, making her gasp and quiver. She snatched her holy symbol from her chest and felt it in her hands as another wave of euphoria washed over her. The lust inside her drove Eliza to place it over a breast, let her tender flesh rub against its hardness and feel the bliss.

Eliza continued to rub the holy symbol against her erect nipple as Slate further lashed her tongue inside the young nun. Lips pressed against her sex, pulling on her petals and against that hard bud-like aching. She felt Slate's lips slide over it and felt it be sucked in to Slate's mouth.

Pleasure burst into her like never before. If Eliza had been standing, her knees would've given way. A moan escaped her lips into the room and out into the night. Surprised, but still steeped deep in pleasure, she slapped her hand over her lips.

What was it that had been touched? Eliza could almost recall - a seed of sin, they had said. Something used against women long ago to lead them astray. A clitoris. In the stiffness of the Abby, it was no wonder Eliza had forgotten it! It had been a beacon of sin before, and now she understood.

Eliza's body was wrapped in pleasure. It burned from her core and mind and radiate to the tips of her fingers and toes. At her womanhood, Slate continued to work her tantric powers. The tongue inside Eliza, how it lashed about. How her clit, her forgotten womanhood, throbbed and rang with ecstasy inside Slate's maw. How her very religion, taken close to her heart, rubbed and stroked her tender nipple.

The pleasure swelled and burned hotter over the long moments. Eliza's gasps and moans were barely silenced. She couldn't let the other hear. She wanted to keep it all to herself. Ecstasy wracked her body, and she could barely control it. It was like a plant that kept on growing and growing, and Eliza didn't know if it could stop.

There was a moment of pure bliss before the erotic fire blossomed, a moment that Eliza caught and wondered about. Then it hit her full force. Her body was no longer her own as white pleasure swept through her body. It reached her toes, making them curl, her muscles twitching in a great moment of lust. Her mind was rendered numb, overloaded by the ecstasy. She wasn't even sure if her moans broke out once again and flooded the room. But she was in heaven. She had attained it without ever dying.

Sadly, it left her. It crept away like water, leaving her trembling body behind. Her body burned hotly against the symbol of her religion. She felt like she glowed, that she had been touched by the divine.

Slate pulled her tongue out of Eliza. Every scrape was a jolt in the shadow of a true rapture. Welcomed, pleasing, but Eliza had already been taken.

Slate crawled up towards Eliza, her tongue hanging out wantonly. "Tho," Slate said over her tongue.

Eliza giggled. It was just so silly! Her body was sore, if happy, but she'd hate to be Slate's tongue right about now.

Slate looked down at her tongue and she weakly pulled it back into her mouth. "So," she said again, "how does my cute little nun feel?"

"Heavenly," Eliza said. She held up a hand and ran it through Slate's dark curls. Unexpectedly soft. "I hope you stay."

"I'll stay as long as you want me to."

***

It had been many, many years since that night. Abbess Eliza reflected on it from her office, looking down on new, young sisters who had freshly entered the abbey. They passed underneath the watchful eyes of new statues over the gates, each one like a human but strange in their own ways. Those statues had appeared of their own accord, one or two every few years, and sometimes leaving. It was something subtle, something that Eliza never called attention to and said was irrelevant.

As for her new role? Perhaps it had been fate that let Eliza become the Abbess, perhaps it was truth. Now, under her guidance, the abbey had grown. The arts were celebrated here, and sisters took up paint brushes for the sake of other monasteries and cathedrals across the land. It was certainly good to have a reason to be here.

Eliza looked at the familiar statue atop the highest point of the cathedral, directly across from her office. That one had aged as well, a few more wrinkles that broke the illusion of the permanence of stone, but only because Eliza knew. The statue winked, and Eliza smiled back.