College Retreat: Bethany
“…she dreamed of orgasm building like this, she knew it was intense, it came like fingers repeatedly trilling across a piano keyboard, vibrating through itself…”
As Monsignor Bernard re-stoked the fire, he took a full deep drag on his pre breakfast fag. The Jesuit in him was organising the intellectual discipline senior students needed at least till the afternoon. History and English assignments had to be started. Then individual preparation time for their upcoming college responsibilities. Whilst Bernard himself had four phone calls to make; one to Sister Agatha to keep her from snooping and one each to the girl’s mothers as promised.
Bernard prepared porridge with muesli and honey and roused the girls from their dreams at about 7.30 am. Silky skimpy pj’s even in late autumn. Bernard wouldn’t admit to his thermals at night. In the breaking light, soft thighs everywhere, light downy arms and breasts naturally bouncy under loose chemise. The long hair of Erica and Bethany slightly untidy; whilst Chastity’s red shock cut was sassy and bold any time; day or evening. The only thing missing from the impertinent miss was her gum at this hour. The bowls of porridge were not the only hot steamy spots in the dining-lounge area, now warmed generously by the roaring fire. Pj chemise shaped and revealed rather than held breasts, even pert little fruity morsels like Erica’s and Chastity’s presented themselves as an alternate sexy breakfast dish of feminine strawberries on human creamy skin. Perky breasts like Bethany’s just confirmed God intended the day to get off to a great start. A less disciplined man would have had the three nubiles on the fire rug and shagging them before 9 am. A disciplined man could wait. Abstinence in the short term for the long term pleasure, temperance now traded for later bliss, forbearance in the knowledge of triple carnal indulgence… soon enough.
“Uniforms are not required here “ said Bernard after breakfast, “However, appropriate dress is mandated as diocese personal may visit during the day…okay ladies…showers and dressed by 9.30…Erica your study area is the foyer writing desk, Bethany you use this table and Chastity the library…that’s it… till lunch …at 1.00… get busy.”
He checked on Chastity after an initial phone call at about 10.30 am. She was composing her essay for Feminist studies: How effectively did the suffragettes operate to achieve their goals? Chastity was succinct and organised and was obviously close to school dux, the cunning bitch. However, Bernard suspected like himself she just played by the rules for her own ends.
“Well Chastity how would you have gone about getting votes for women?” inquired Bernard.
“Denied every male sex for seventy-two hours…deny the pricks use of their pricks…simple…then give it to them…only… when you have what you want” was her rapid fire response, followed by a gum pop.
“Why the 72 hours?”
‘Geez Bernie… do expect a woman to go without a penis for longer than that…but it’s longer than a male can last without pussy.”
Bernard left worried that this young lass could one day end up running the fucking country using her cunt.
Erica was effectively sorting out what went wrong on a****l Farm for her English assignment.
“Well Erica which character do I remind you of in the novel?” Bernard inquired, he saw himself as the intellectual Old Major …but maybe Erica saw him as a dictating Napoleon. Time to find out.
“That’s too easy … you’re Benjamin…cynical but wise” delivered with an ingratiating smile.
Bernard moved on, too fucking perceptive, these young woman
Bethany was reading and he came up quietly behind her and flicked her ponytail. She turned and shut the book and tried to hide it.
“Well what are you reading…I take it… it is not a textbook.”
She blushed, “No Monsignor…I’ve finished my essay on the suffragettes and found this on the lounge…I saw it was your book…it’s so beautifully written…its sensual sublime sexuality.”
Bernard saw it… his own favourite novel … Anias Nin’s, A spy in the house of Love …
“Read me a passage Bethany…anything you like.”
Tastefully she chose as Bernard knew she would the most celebrated erotic piece of writing in any language… “They fled from the eyes of the world, the singer’s prophetic, harsh, ovarian prologues. Down the rusty bars of ladders to the undergrounds of the night propitious to the first man and woman at the beginning of the world, where there were no words by which to possess each other, no music for serenades, no presents to court with, no tournaments to impress and force a yielding, no secondary instruments, no adornments, necklaces, crowns to subdue, but only one ritual, a joyous, joyous, joyous, joyous impaling of woman on man’s sensual mast.”…
Oh Monsignor I want to write like that …I want to experience life like that… I know you can teach me to embrace my body like that…”
Her soft cheeks looked fleshier under her moistening eyes. She really was a sensitive sensual young woman. Her fringe and pony tail made her look young but she was mentally mature beyond her tender eighteen years.
“Bernard will you listen to me play …later” she asked assuredly.
“My pleasure…however I must complete some phone calls now…see you at lunch…keep reading and enjoy it…it’s a thought provoking book on the essence of self in love and don’t judge yourself harshly after any cannibalistic frenzy of sexual exploration ..stay gentle and embrace your desires Bethany … they enrich your being…enough of me…read on.”
The easiest call for Bernard was obviously the earlier one to Sister Agatha. The girls he told her were penitent, contrite and focused. Yes he lied to her… their mothers were all shocked, but confident Bernard would guide them on the straight and narrow path and they asked that it not be mentioned ever again, especially at the Celebration Assembly and Community Mass at the end of term, where they would all meet.
The mothers too by phone; were easily dealt with; their daughters were receiving extra individualised tuition at The Retreat matching their daughter’s talent and spiritual instruction and exemplars provided at their request to guide their intact virginal souls struggling with sexual desire. Bernard informed their mothers chaste had won the battle. Their daughter had all committed to a virginity pledge.
Monsignor would get their fraudulent signatures later, he knew; remember the detail and all is fine.
He took a constitutional stroll around the perimeter gardens before lunch enjoying a well deserved cigarette before getting busy again. Bernard actually prepared lunch… salad and cold cuts. Easy enough but the girls needed their focus on learning time. After lunch it was prep time in their chosen area. Erica hit the gym. Chastity was relegated to the library. Monsignor accompanied Bethany to the piano.
She went through Fur Elise with a stunningly attuned rendition. Bethany was heightenedly responsive to all her senses, a full nuance of awareness. It was too easy for Bernard to place his hands over her soft breasts. Even with a blouse, bra and pink cardigan, it made no difference to her response; she might as well have been topless. She felt it all and more importantly embraced and felt it with her mind. She was aware of her own breathing, aware of Monsignors masculine presence, aware too of her own fingers already under her skirt, they naturally went there as Bernard’s hands circled over her now open blouse, her nipples wanting release from the restricting bra. This was libido released two ways.
She held sexual stimulation both within as a treasure and out on her skin as desire to expand beyond self. The teasing of her nipples through cotton was unbearable. She sensed their crazed craving hardness for the soft wetness of a tongue nibbling both of them. Bernard maintained the pace; this was his tempo to control. Bethany experienced the undeniable sensation rising, wanted it to be flesh to flesh, but waited for Bernard, who kept taunting through fabric, till she was like a fevered being, aroused beyond arousal. Her nipples she felt couldn’t take any more, yet they needed his touch, his fingers, his tongue, she was close to begging for it. She begged.
“Please, please…my nipples…please suck my nipples.”
Bernard released her bra clasp. Two petite white soft dumplings were free. They were true budding buds of want, Cupid inspired scoops of delight. Ivory curved, porcelain sleek smoothness, shaped entirely by the name Bethany and willing Bernard’s tongue to join them initially at their protruding pink tips. The Monsignor could do no more than oblige.
It was tip to tip. To Bethany this feathery touch was heaven sent. A delicate film of saliva glistened on each bud. In an instance Bethany felt both sexually light and carnally heavy. Desire was as diaphanous as Bernard’s flimsy seeking tongue, as smutty as her own fingers now wet in her cunt. Where would they meet? Where was the release? She was all sexual need, all sexual tension. Yet, Bernard flaunted only with her nipples. All desire in-flowing through her nipples as Bernard licked them in turn only with the tip of his tongue. Then he kissed them and kissed all over both her breasts and the cute gap between them on her chest. She moaned in shut eyed delirium. Bernard then sucked each nipple, pulling them out with his lips and nibbling so gently as he released them.
Bethany had thought Chastity the nipple queen. The doyen of held delighted suspense and breast play. Bernard had upped the expectation. His hands were massaging in full counter clockwise circles bringing her breasts nearly together, then flickering her nipples, then circling out, then back in. Pleasure rising, both ways through sensual caressing. Bethany had to French kiss him and did so, lingering longer than usual over his tongue.
Bernard eased her back on the piano stool. Her already soaking panties offered no line of resistance; her legs fell naturally each way over the edge of the piano stool. Her black skirt left covering her white skin. Her blouse and cardigan comfortably sidelined to expose her breasts. Monsignor went for touch first, under her skirt, his fingers feeling for the petal wet labia. So mushily fleshly sticky. Her shaved felt perfection surely a hint of the future direction of human evolution at least from a male perspective. Bernard could take it no longer. He needed the visual. Bethany did too. She was up and watching the action between her legs. She could just see Bernard’s pink tongue flicking and lapping her light pink fairy petals. Delight shaped by flesh to flesh. It was heady and compelling. She saw her gash being savoured. She felt her gash being licked in swathes of growing pleasure. She heard the lap, lap of Bernard’s tongue and her own deeper breathing. She took in the scent of her own sex wafting up between her legs, burgeoning musky. She had no other option remaining for the senses overload she craved, than to get her fingers in her sloppy girly bit and taste herself. Bernard realised at this point only cock could keep the girl engaged in mutual pleasure making.
Bernard swapped with her and now lay back on the piano stool. Bethany straddled over him. Bernard knew she needed to control this moment. She spiked herself on his cock; they both knew this was inspired by Anias Nin’s writing…the joyous, joyous impaling. Her cunt was trilling in a rapid alternation of up and down. Impale, release, stab, taken to the unbearable cusp of liberation, feeling the spearing, feeling the heat, basking in the luxuriance of enveloping hard meat in soft muscled yet mooshy flesh. To feel all woman. To be filled as a woman. To hold cock as a woman. Her orgasm building like a warbled echo of sweet held sound. Her body quivering between subsuming weakness and ego strength.
Fuck it was a roller-coaster of desire. Then Bethany realised she was both the track, the train and the circuit, but there was no brake; it was impossible to stop now, stop it ,no way, she dreamed of orgasm building like this; and she knew it was intense ,it came like fingers repeatedly trilling across a piano keyboard, vibrating through itself, each pleasure wave catching up to the one in front, the wave behind joining the wave in front, all compounding and squashing sense of self into oblivion . Who or what was Bethany ? Bethany was only held together by sexual delight ,then Bethany exploded beyond self and through self. She shouted out …”Oh God… Oh God …Ooh…AH…”
She fully expressed her joy…yelling it out and also holding into herself paroxysms of delight that had splattered sharply like multiple direct hits from several paint guns at once …oh fuck…it was indescribable …she wanted it again… as it slowly meandered still through her thighs, womb, chest and settled in her memory permanently … so short, so euphorically short…she wanted it held longer…the consuming greed of the overwhelmingly perfect… a moment of self fulfilling delight…the sparkling effusive life of her young being.
She gathered herself back, back from she knew not where, only aware of a settled calm pleasure, a fullness of self and the realisation there was more ….Bernard’s cock to fill her mouth.
She craved the warm spray of manness in her mouth. Beth had never experienced this and suddenly from she knew not where, this was where she needed to position her sexuality. Her pussy was replete but not her sexual mind. The finale, the culmination, it had to be warm jets of cum in her open mouth, it just had to be. It was primal beyond reasoned inhibitions; it was a need, a need that had to be filled.
Bernard had seen the full woman burst into a radiating flower riding him passionately and explicitly straddling his cock. Bethany as her composite being: her purely physical being detached as a****l lust, just riding cock, just fucking embracing penis, sweet thoughtless physicality in its totality. Then joined by her open exploring naturally clear mind; riding cock, in her mind. Her angelic pure core embracing cock covetously with her profligate base being. It was in the bending of her thighs, then their thrusting up along his rigid pole, then the rhythm of spearing herself, then occasionally sliding slowly up, maximising pleasure for two.
She was, he was aware; expressing pussy power, pussy authority and pussy clout. It was Bethany being her pussy in the moment. Life reduced to sex. Bernard felt it in his penis too. Life centred between his legs. She was so elementally woman, so gorgeously defined as a complete female being as she wrapped his cock in glistening wetness and firm clasping flesh. Bernard was seized by her snatch. Seized by her youthful eagerness to share her pussy and her growing comprehension of liberated sexual expression. Her keen attuned mental comprehension of what could be held in sex, when self was relaxed but mentally gripped and basking in the sway of the frictional delight of the whole moment. Nothing was capable of denying her a wonderful sensory orgasm. His male sceptre held no power over her in the moments rising to her dominating pleasure. This was her pussy’s mellifluous moment, it alone produced it sweetest essences, its liquid bath of delights for Beth and for Bernard too. The wonder of coupling.
Bernard’s cock was careening beyond his hold too and Bethany, now on her knees was sucking in long generous strokes, holding the shaft and teasing his balls gently with her hands. She was focused on rewarding cock for pleasuring her beyond expectation. Full reward was her goal. Her rhythm was uninterruptible. It was an extension of herself. Mind and mouth giving scope to his penis’ continuous pleasure while her base self was hunting jizz. Beth felt the stiffening held moment before Bernard’s bursting release. She held his manhood firmly and gaped her mouth, her tongue extended to join and catch warm sweeping maleness. Capture it all, swirl with it all. She didn’t understand where this need came from; just that it had to occur.
The involuntary instinctive escape was rapturously unfolding for Bernard. The normal pleasure of orgasm compounded by the sight of its sweet destination. Open cute nubile mouth. In the moment of Bernard’s giving and Beth’s receiving, it became as natural as his penis exploding its load in her pussy. The wonder of human sexuality. Its expression in the moment defining two people beyond themselves. Then it’s lost in jizz spurting and a tongue greedily seeking splashes of cum. Then it’s held in joint euphoric delight.
Then two individuals realise again they are separate. It’s not the time to reflect deeply on life and who the act has been completed with. Bernard knew this. Take the moment. Release the moment. Savour it later in private. To reflect immediately only brought sin into play. He urged Beth to dress. Covering the body covered the act. Covered self. Covered both.
He made sure she was calm by cuddling her after she buttoned her blouse. Nothing out of place now. Demure self, mind controlled self back in charge of two bodies. Her pink cardigan holding the memory now of her sexual being for Bernard. Long after any genital explicitness faded from memory, its light pinkness would embrace and shape memory, a pink cardigan dominating visually in recalling a stunningly explosive female orgasm by Beth. Strange what we hold, strange what memory retains.
Beth saw Bernard’s chiselled masculine chin as he cuddled her. Her nestling to his chest as filling as sex. She snuggled into a man. She wanted to burrow into his frame. She instinctively hugged him. And so for Beth long after… when she recalled this day, it wasn’t the frenzy of her own poised pussy being bayoneted in stabs of delight that was recalled first. It was hugging a man and the shape of his chin.
Bernard left Beth to the piano and went to prepare dinner in the kitchen; and the melodious harmony of Moonlight Sonata wafted through the Retreat. Her body’s needs had been quelled and assuaged, so she was released to give, share her joy of life in the moment through her now second love in life after sex, music.
Bernard could reflect now, he had no wrong. Shit he had released her into really living life. So in that knowledge; he lit up as he cut the onions. Fuck the do gooders who said smoke cross contaminated food.
He took a really deep drag…fuck sex was all initially about self gratification… but it was in the end… shared for more.