My hands find the hem of Zenny’s jumper and gently ruck it up to her thighs, and I give a masculine noise of distress when I discover that what I thought were leggings are socks that end just above her knees—some kind of schoolgirl fantasy and nun fantasy fused together into one.
“Fuck, baby,” I say, my fingertips playing with the edge of her socks. The skin above is soft and smooth and warm. It tickles her where I touch. “Are you trying to kill me?”
She giggles, breathless and happy and also trying to protest. “Sean! We can’t do this here!”
“There’s no guests at the shelter tonight,” I say, nipping at her ear. “And Sister Mary Theresa just left. It’s just us and the front door is locked.”
“Oh,” she says, her tone of protest giving way to something more…intrigued. “We’re alone?”
“We’re alone. And I want to play a little game.”
“Yeah?”
“It’s called Sean Finally Gets to Fuck Zenny in her Nun Outfit.”
She lets out a surprised laugh, which quickly turns into an intake of breath as I spin her around and crowd her against the counter, my cock pressing rough and needy into the soft stretch of her belly. I shape my hands to her pert little tits, moving my thumbs over her nipples, which are hard and budded even through the layers of shirt and jumper between us.
“Remember our first kiss?” I ask, brushing my nose against hers. “Right here?”
“Yes,” she breathes.
“Let’s pretend we’re there again.”
“Yes,” she agrees.
And so I kiss her. I kiss her like I did that day, a hard, searing slant of lips and tongues. A bite on her lower lip, my hands around her waist, lifting my little nun doll up on the counter and stepping between her legs. And this time when I growl, “I want to see your cunt,” there’s nothing holding me back, nothing left to make me shy away.
This time, I help her shove her skirt up to her waist, and I get to see those sweet cotton panties for real. She spreads her legs and I step back, my cock throbbing in time to my heartbeat.
There’s those light blue knee socks, there’s those firm, curved thighs. There’s the innocent cotton of her panties and not-so-innocent rumple of her skirt around her waist. There’s that plain white headband holding her curls away from her face, throwing the high curves of her cheeks and the graceful sweep of her jaw into lovely relief. And there’s the cross around her neck and the rosary at her waist, and they dredge up every suppressed feeling in me—fear and anger and shame and still more fear—and yet there’s also a comfort at seeing them that I can’t name. Like familiarity, but more profound.
I don’t pretend the cross away as I drink in her body. It’s here, just as we are here, and it’s a flickering, inconstant revelation to think that God could be here too, in the same way. That sex isn’t apart from God, it’s not separate, that somehow the God that’s prayed to and sung to and served by charity and love can also be a god that’s inside of sex and exists just as much inside fucking as He does inside a prayer or a nap or a meal or anything else a human might do in a human body.
And, like a dancing candle flame, the revelation gutters and hides itself once again.
“More,” I say hoarsely. “Show me more.”
Zenny gives me a look that’s the swirling crossroads between mischief and virtue, and then she spreads her legs wider and pulls the crotch of her panties to one side.
I groan at the sight. She’s all soft and small there, with the tiniest glimpse of where my cock will go and with an obvious glisten along the tight line of her folds.
“Your cunt is wet,” I say.
She nods, giving her kitty a little stroke with her other hand. She shivers at her own touch.
“Was it wet last time we did this?”
She nods again, squirming on the counter.
“Did you have to go home and use your teddy bear? Did you have to rub your poor little clit until you felt better?”
“Yes,” she confesses, her head dropping down. I realize she’s looking at herself, taking in the picture the hiked-up dress and cotton panties make, and I take in the picture she makes as she looks at herself—the gold stud glinting from her snub nose, the aroused part of her lips, the long sweep of eyelashes against her cheek.
“Tell me,” I say, stepping closer, running my hands up her thighs. “Tell me what you did.”
“I—I—” She shivers again. “I needed it so much. After you left, I went straight back to my dorm. My roommate was out and I just…” She’s squirming with the memory.
“Did you pretend it was me?” I ask, letting my thumbs play against the wet silk of her cunt. “Did you pretend you were riding me?”
“Ah,” she gasps because one thumb has started circling her clit while my other thumb has plugged her opening. “Yes. I pretended it was you. I pretended that you never stopped; that you took one look at my pussy and knew you had to fuck me right then and there.”
I nip at her jaw and then reach in my pocket for my wallet, digging out a condom.
“This time, I will,” I say. “This time we don’t stop.”
I tear at the condom wrapper with my teeth, tear at my jeans, and soon I’m rolling the sheath over my erection and feeling the Pavlovian pulse of excitement as I do. I’ll be inside her soon, I’ll be fucking that tempting pussy, I’ll have a nun speared on my cock and writhing in pleasure.
“It never gets old watching you do that,” she whispers. Her eyes are on my cock, which is hard and dusky-red and shining with latex. “It’s so sexy.”
I step between her legs again and both of us look down. All fucking is carnal, of course, but there’s something extraordinarily carnal about this sight: both of us still dressed, her knee socks and her innocent panties held to the side for me, her postulant’s uniform shoved up around her waist. My cock, hard and rude and male, demanding to be taken between her legs.
But Zenny’s innocence will always be tangled up in her boldness, in her fearless ability to want, and she takes the aching part of me in her hand and rubs me against her pussy. I let her use me however she likes—the blunt, round crown against her firm budded clit, long sweeps through her folds, the occasional shy brush against her taut asshole—and then when I’m shaking with the effort to hold still and let her play with me, she finally wedges me at the source of all her wet and whimpers for me to push in.
I do.
It’s shocking how tight she is. Every fucking time. I mean, all women are—I’ve never met a pussy that didn’t feel good on my cock—but Zenny’s is some magnitude of heaven I’ve never felt before. She holds me like a glove, tighter than a glove, and when I get so deep that the tip of me is in her belly, she flutters and grips me tighter. And when I slide out, her body tries to hold me in, greedy and hungry for my organ.
I cup her ass in my hands and start fucking her cunt in earnest, and her hands leave her panties and go everywhere—to tangle in my hair and to rub against my beard and to fist up my shirt so she can see my stomach muscles working to fuck her.
“Sean,” she says. She says it possessively, like it’s her name to say, and it is, it is, I want my name to belong to her for the rest of my life.