Blessed Sacrament, Part Two

  • Posted on October 13, 2021 at 12:25 pm

by Jacqueline Jillinghoff

“Don’t you move, girl,” Sister Katherine said. “Don’t you dare move. Stand up straight.”

I was literally scared stiff. I’d waited through the endless day for the moment I could run into her arms again, but when, finally, the other kids had all gone home, and I leapt from my seat, she raised her hand and brought me to an abrupt halt.

She looked angry, but I couldn’t tell if she really was or not. Teachers were always playing games with us, and I couldn’t believe she’d be upset with me, not after what had happened between us. I’d been a good girl, too, all during class, raising my hand at every question, even volunteering to read aloud.

But I did as I was told, standing with my feet together and arms at my sides while Sister undressed me for the second time. Yesterday she’d been gentle. Today she practically tore my clothes off, twisting the buttons on my blouse roughly and scowling at them as though they’d been put there just to frustrate her. Then she yanked the blouse from my shoulders. My bra sprang off with a flick of her fingers. She yanked my skirt and panties down together and ordered me to step out of them.

I didn’t try to hide my titties or my pussy; Sister had already seen me naked, and her whole attitude told me that any pretense of modesty would only lead to a scolding. She took her sweet time folding my things on top of her desk. Then she turned back around and looked me up and down. Her expression didn’t change. She still looked serious, but at least I knew she wasn’t really angry.

“Don’t ever grow up, child,” she said. “Stay as perfect as you are.”

It was a bright day outside, but the classroom was chilly, and my nipples stiffened in the cool air. They stuck out far enough that Sister could stroke them underneath with the side of one finger. It was the lightest, most delicate feeling, but made it hard for me to stand. My legs got weak, and the butterflies fluttered in my stomach. I couldn’t help closing my eyes, so I didn’t see the kiss coming.

But then Sister must have heard something, or seen it out of the corner of her eye, because she suddenly bolted to the door and threw it open.

“Sister Rose!” she called.

That would be Sister Rose Francis, the school principal, a little woman with a square, lined face whose age we were ever able to guess. For a second I thought Sister Katherine was toying with me, pretending our principal was out in the corridor just to freak me out. But then I heard both their voices at the door.

“Glad I caught you,” Sister Katherine said. “May I borrow your office for a few minutes?”

“Of course,” Sister Rose said. There was a jingling of keys. “Just lock up when you’re finished. Did you get my note about the gym?”

“I did,” Sister said. “When can we use it?”

“They’ll be refinishing the floor this week,” Sister Rose said. “You can start intramurals on time. How is that student of yours?”

“Which one?”

“The boy.”

“Oh, that one. As mouthy as ever.”

“And yet he’s got the best grades in your class.”

“He might just be bored. But his mother doesn’t want him skipping any grades.”

They went on like that forever, or it feels like forever when you’re cowering naked under your teacher’s desk. The blood was beating in my ears, and I had to clench my pussy to keep from peeing on the floor. What was she thinking? What if Sister Rose saw my clothes on the desk and started asking questions? It would be interesting to hear how Sister Katherine could explain the naked student under her desk. It was almost like she wanted us to get caught.

“All right,” Sister Rose said finally. I heard something else about the key, and a thank-you, and then the door banging shut again.

“Barbara?” Sister said.

I didn’t answer. It was my game now. I tucked my knees under my chin and held my breath.

“Miss Scheide?” she called. “Miss Scheiii—de! Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

A long pause.

“You can’t go home without your clothes, you know. Though I would like to see that.”

She was putting all kinds of things in my head I would never have imagined a day ago: yesterday it was sucking on her tits like a baby and letting her put fingers in me. Today, it was running home with no clothes on.

I saw her legs and the dangling rosary through the knee-hole of the desk — then her face, bent low and nearly upside down. She was smiling at last. It was a wide, beautiful smile, and it put a little girl at her ease, even if the little girl was stark naked.

“There you are!” Sister said. “When you feel like coming out, join me in the principal’s office. Nobody will bother us there, and I have a feeling it’s going to get a little noisy. Knock twice.”

She flashed the little key at me, and then she was gone.

I sat there hugging my knees, waiting for the noises I heard in the hall, or thought I heard, to die down. I felt stupid and exposed, curled up naked under my teacher’s desk, but every bit as excited as when she’d stripped me the first time. And now we’d be behind a locked door, where we wouldn’t get caught. The only risky part would be crawling out and putting my clothes back on. Somebody in the hall might see me through the window in the door. Once I was dressed, though, I’d be fine.

But that turned out to be a problem, because when I finally did crawl out, I didn’t see my clothes on the desk. I didn’t see them anywhere. Sister Katherine had taken them with her.

The words “fucking bitch” weren’t in my vocabulary yet, but what I couldn’t say, I could definitely feel, and what I felt was terror. Terror and anger. My stomach bounced, and I had to suppress yet another urge to pee. Did she think this was funny? Yeah, obviously she did. She was probably sitting at Sister Rose Francis’s desk with my clothes in front of her, laughing her butt off.

I forced myself to calm down and think about this crazy predicament. To get my clothes back, I was going to have to walk the length of the school and knock on the fake oak door at the end of the hall. There would be no place to hide out there, unless I ducked into another classroom, and if anybody saw me, it would be too late, anyway. The kids were supposed to be gone, but maybe some of them had detention and would spot me passing by. And I didn’t know which would be worse — getting caught by a teacher or by another kid. The teacher would punish me, and definitely bring in my parents, but a kid would blab to everybody else in school, and my reputation would be shit — though that word wasn’t in my vocabulary yet, either.

Or I could sit there and wait. Maybe Sister Katherine would get bored and come back with my clothes. But something in me wanted to prove to her I could do this, whatever “this” was. Somehow I didn’t want to disappoint her.

I looked around for something I could use to cover my bottom or my chest — a poster, a book, a scrap of loose-leaf paper, anything. But there was nothing. I was on my own.

I tiptoed to the door, as though tiptoeing was going to be any help. Turning the knob, I pushed the door open just enough to stick my head out. If anybody was there, all they’d see was my bare shoulders, and even that scared me.

I looked down the hall toward the front of the school, then screwed my head around the door and looked down toward the principal’s office, which seemed a lot farther away than usual. The hall was dark, and, as far as I could tell, deserted. All the other classroom doors were shut. I took a deep breath — why a deep breath was necessary at this moment, I didn’t know, but it’s what you do — and stepped into the corridor.

Naked.

Nobody screamed. No alarms went off. I closed the door as quietly as I could.

The big decision was how fast to go. I should have run, but if a teacher was hanging out in one of the rooms, she’d see me (literally) streaking past and probably want to know what was going on. Too slow, though, and I’d never get there. So I set off at a deliberate pace, heel to toe, hugging the wall. One arm across my chest. One hand over my puffy slit. Nothing over my bare behind.

As I made my way forward, I became very conscious of the air around me, the way it flowed around my body and tickled when it came together again between my shoulder blades. I was also aware of my skin, every square inch of it. It seemed to crackle, as though swarming with electric current, and the hair on my arms was standing on end.

I glanced in every classroom as I passed, checking to see if I was truly alone, and it was kind of a letdown to discover I was. Getting caught would have been a disaster, but the idea of getting caught was exciting, almost too much to bear. This was what Adam and Eve must have felt like, aware they were naked at last. If they hadn’t eaten that apple, my being nude like this wouldn’t be a problem. Everybody would still be naked, and nobody would care.

Sister had played a rotten trick on me, but she was making me think more deeply about my faith.

The door to the principal’s office stood on the other side of a cross-corridor that led off in opposite directions to the east and west stairs. I hugged my shoulders — like that would keep me covered — and peeked around the corner. Footsteps echoed in one of the stairwells, lots of them. Some fourth- or fifth-graders must have been kept after and were just being let go. I pulled back and flattened myself against the cold wall. But when I realized they weren’t coming this way, I crossed the open space and knocked. Twice.

There was no answer, but after way too long, the door was opened from the inside. I practically fell through the gap, crashing to my knees and hugging myself to stop the sudden shaking. A pair of pretty bare feet, the toenails sparkling with clear polish, appeared under my nose, and the lock in the doorknob clicked above my head. I looked up, and there was Sister Katherine, looking much too pleased with herself. She was already naked, except for the silver crucifix hanging between her breasts.

“You should see the look on your face,” she said.

“You’re so mean!” I cried.

“Oh, nobody saw you,” she said. “You have to learn to play. The danger is what makes it fun.”

Then she was on the floor with me, kissing my head and my neck. She put her hand between my titties, too, no doubt checking my heart, which was racing to beat the devil. Our lips met at last, and all my rage and fear went into that kiss.

I knocked her back, landing on top of her. My long hair veiled our faces, my tongue shot into her mouth, and my thigh ground between hers. Her hands were all over me.

“Come on,” she said, rubbing my butt. “Do it.”

I didn’t know what that meant. I just looked at her, silently asking for clarification.

“Eat me, girl,” she said.

I was so green. What did she mean, eat her? It was one more thing in a long list of stuff I still didn’t understand. I thought maybe she was telling me to suck her breasts again, or just put my mouth on her somewhere. So when I bit her neck, she smacked me on the butt — not enough to hurt, but it got my attention.

My head snapped up. Sister took my face in her hands and spoke slowly, as though to a particularly dense child — which, really, she was.

“Lick. My. Pussy,” she said. “Got it?”

“Yes, Sister,” was all I could say.

If I’d known what I was doing, I would have made her wait for it, kissing her breasts, her tummy, and her legs, circling the center of her pleasure before moving in. But I was a seventh-grader who had been given an assignment. Sister wanted her pussy eaten, and eaten it would be.

There was a second of hesitation when I got up close and the thick smell wrinkled my nose. But it was thrilling, too — dirty and grown-up at once. I took another deep breath — it made some sort of sense this time — and dove in.

I kissed her cunt the way I’d kissed her lips: mouth wide open, tongue billowing into the hole. My mouth was full of hair. I found the fleshy bulb I’d seen before and slithered around it, looking for her magic spot. I expected to feel a point, or a nugget, something to let me know I’d found it. There was nothing like that, just hot wet flesh, but I knew I’d struck gold when Sister suddenly grabbed her titties and moaned, “Fuck yes!”

I broke into a sweat. Sister Katherine had just said the dirtiest thing anybody could say. Any kid would be dragged to Sister Rose’s office for that. Priests would be called. Parents would be notified. And it only got worse: after another minute under my tongue, Sister was whimpering “fuck” and “shit,” taking the Lord’s name in vain and calling me her filthy little whore. It was a marathon violation of the Second Commandment. I was so proud of myself.

Instinctively, I had learned how to go down on a woman, and just as instinctively, I knew when she’d had enough. Sister’s climax passed, and she lay there out of breath. I loved watching her breasts rise and fall, and the crucifix gleaming between them.

Now I felt like being gentle. I nuzzled her stomach, her breasts, her neck, and when I reached her face, she took mine in her hands again and gave me a long, grateful kiss.

“Can you taste yourself?” I asked.

Mmmm. Yes.”

“Did I do okay?”

“Lamb, it wasn’t a test.”

“But—”

“You did wonderfully. I can’t remember the last time I came that hard.”

The office had a shabby two-seater sofa against one wall. When Sister got tired of lying on the hard floor, she led me over, and we sat together, making out. This was when I finally kicked my shoes off. Sister stroked my sides, my legs, my back, so delicately that every nerve in my body stood on end. Then, when my little-girl pussy was swimming in juice, dripping on the rough cushions, she tipped me back and ate me. She found my clit and lingered over it, tickling and prodding.

Sister’s tongue was a precision instrument like a jeweler’s chisel, and it gave her total control over me. She moved one way, and I hovered on the edge. She moved the other way, and I came.

I bucked and shook and pinched my little titties. And yet, even as the pleasure was breaking my will, something inside told me it was wrong — that ancient, hysterical fear of sex, dressed up as Church teaching. It was still there, gnawing at me. I needed reassurance, and the only person I could turn to was the one who was making me come.

“Sister,” I said. “Isn’t this a sin?”

“No,” she said, her eyes shining at me over my crotch. “It’s a sacrament. You’re the sacrament. I’ve transubstantiated you.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t you see, darling? You’re like the Host. On the outside, in all your accidentals, you haven’t changed. You’re still a sweet schoolgirl. But inside, in your invisible essence, you’re my little whore.”

“No, I’m not!”

Shhhh!” She kissed my pussy gently as she spoke, with tiny liquid sounds. “Think it over. If you don’t want to be my whore, I can’t make you come again. Don’t you want to come again? Right now?”

“Yes, Sister,” I pushed toward her lips, already wanting more, but she stayed just out of range, barely grazing me.

“Please?” I begged.

“Then you know what you have to be,” she said.

“Okay,” I said.

“No, you have to say it.”

“I can’t.”

“Sure you can.”

She kissed my clit again, leaning into it, and the last barrier fell at last.

“I — I’m your little whore!”

“Good girl.”

This time, Sister Katherine threw her leg over my face and came down on me, pushing her sloppy cunt into my face. That jagged crucifix was trapped against my tummy. She went between my legs upside down, and didn’t bother with precision. She was noisy, slurpy, her tongue rolling over my pussy like a truck. I matched her lick for lick, smacking and sucking through her soggy pile of hair.

It might have been a minute, it might have been an hour — I didn’t care about time. All I cared about was coming, and making her come.

When we were done — finally, finally, finally — she collapsed in a heap. Right on top of me.

“Sister, I can’t breathe!”

“Oh, sorry.” She rolled off me, onto the floor.

“Oh. Whew!” she said. “That was… something.”

Then it was time to go. I watched while Sister got dressed, memorizing every detail ­— the way her butt curled when she stepped into her panties, the way her breasts lifted when she held up her bra, the way her habit swallowed her bare shoulders.

“Zip me up,” she said.

I was still weak. She had to help me to my feet. I took the opportunity to steal a last kiss, then asked, “Where are my clothes?”

“Oh, they’re around somewhere.”

“Sister!”

“I remember now. I left them in Room 2, under Sister Margaret’s desk.”

It was one last dirty trick. Sister Margaret’s room was right across the hall from ours.

“That’s all the way back!” I said.

“Bummer,” she said. “Is that the right word?”

“It’s not the word I’m thinking of.”

“Fresh little thing!”

She swatted my bottom again. We went back down the corridor together, holding hands, like real girlfriends. I only had my socks on, and I carried my shoes in my other hand, pressing against her as we walked, shoulder to shoulder, loving the way her skirt flapped against my bare legs — soft and scratchy at the same time. With Sister Katherine next to me, being naked out in the open wasn’t nearly as scary as it had been the first time.

As time went on, I got more and more used to it.

On to Part Three!

 

14 Comments on Blessed Sacrament, Part Two

  1. Keith Finkbeiner says:

    Absolutely love this,truly an erotic story.

  2. Steve says:

    Love it can’t wait for part 3 please hurry

  3. Keiko says:

    I am not catholic either… but I so love this story. I love the journey of feeling conflict and confusion between the challenges and the roughness, and the desire and love to comply, to learn, to give in. Very well done and so grateful you are sharing this with us!

    • Jacqueline Jillinghoff says:

      Keiko, thank you so much for this comment. You’re the sort of reader every author hopes to find.

  4. Sid says:

    Was raised catholic and used to teach in a catholic school, so this one is very vivid. Well done!

  5. NCBRIGHT says:

    Great story great job writing and sharing. No I am not Catholic either.

  6. sue says:

    As Keiko said I also really liked poor little Barbara having the mixed emotions that were governed by her lust for what was going on. I was raised Catholic but am non practicing these days.

    What really turned me on the most was Barbara having to go through the halls naked to get to Sister Katherine.

    Being naked, having to go through hall, hearing voices, knowing she may get caught but having to get to her clothes and Katherine, loved it. I’d have loved it if some of the kids from a 4th or 5th grade class had seen her.

    And the boy Sister Katherine mentioned. Still a bad boy but getting good grades, I wonder how many children Sister Katherine is giving the same treatment to as Barbara.

    Looking forward to the next chapter.

    • Jacqueline Jillinghoff says:

      I’m happy you mentioned the adventure on the hall. ENF has always been a favorite trope of mine. Of course, if Barbara had been seen by any the younger kids, the game with Sister Katherine would have been over.

      As for the boy, I thought of him simply as a smart kid who was getting bored by the lack of a challenge, but yours is an interesting interpretation, as well as a valid one. Nothing, it seems, is beyond Sister Katherine.

      • sue says:

        I don’t think the game with Sister Katherine would have to end if Barbara had been seen.

        Perhaps just one or two younger children had seen her. Would the talk be all over school the next day? Maybe, but they may not know who the naked girl was, they could have just seen her from behind. Chances are no one would believe their story, two kids with a wild imagination looking for attention.

        Our even better, Barbara is identified, but she won’t rat out Sister Katherine, and ends up with a month of detention after school each day, with Sister Katherine.

        • Jacqueline Jillinghoff says:

          Sue, I wrote something similar to what you’re asking for in “The Library,” a short story available at storiesonline.net. Perhaps that’s why I didn’t repeat the situation here.

  7. David says:

    Loved this chapter and the continuing sexual excitement that the Sister is giving Miss Scheide. I am not Catholic but have a lot of friends that are and have heard stories about the boys and girls in the schools and the boys mostly hanging around the stairs to look up skirts, but this is hotter with the nun being the hungry one. Makes me wonder how many others are like her. Great writing and detail JJ, can’t wait to see what else she has in store for Miss Scheide!

  8. nadabit says:

    I love blasphemous religious sexually oriented stories. Nuns and priest but nasty nuns the best. Just have to love the Catholic pedophile ring where any and all sin is obviated by confession. Thanks so much for the intrigue.

    • Jacqueline Jillinghoff says:

      You might want to check out “The Saint Agnes Passion” and “The Mortification of the Flesh” at storiesonlne.net, esp. the latter.

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