Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Author: Will Somers
Title: Sacred Heart: A Choirmaster in the Golden Age
Universe: Sacred Heart School
Summary: A day in the life of a choirmaster in the mid-1970s who
indulges in unusual training exercises with his female pupils
Keywords: Mg Mg Mg, cons, oral, piv



   Being choirmaster has never been a senior job, not even back in the
golden age.  But it was a terrific job for me.  In my years at Sacred
Heart, I was best known for St.  Lucy's Choir, our "choir of young angels."
It was for exceptionally talented girls in grades 3 through 6.  I often
took St.  Lucy's on the road to regional and national choir competitions,
and we usually brought back the trophy.  Some families sent their girls to
Sacred Heart just so they could try out for St.  Lucy's.

   But that's not what you want to hear about.  You really want to hear
about the golden age of child molestation.  That's the 1970s, after the
Summer of Love, "Our Bodies, Ourselves," and the Pill.  Newspapers, TV, and
movies were full of sex but we pretended it had nothing to do with kids. 
Lots of denial.  You had to be an incredible asshole to upset a girl enough
so she'd tell her parents.

   Even then, nothing would happen to a respectable person.  I was a
seminarian, even if I never took vows, and that made me close enough to
being a priest for most people in the Sacred Heart community.  It would
have been "her word against mine" and most people were suspicious of kids.
Even if a jury convicted me, the publicity would ruin the girl's
reputation, especially in a conservative parish like ours.

   Accusations by kids never went to court, not in our diocese.  Parents
would complain to the bishop, and the bishop would talk the parents into
dropping the complaint.  If he couldn't convince them, he'd quietly
transfer the priest in question elsewhere.  I wasn't a priest, but I
figured the bishop would stand up for me anyway, just to avoid the
publicity.

   So let me tell you about a "good day" back then, when I had lots of
lovely young girls at my beck and call.  That particular day was especially
busy: some private classes in the morning, a dress rehearsal after lunch,
and then a road trip for a competition, ending the evening in a motel.



   Ann

   The morning began with a private lesson for Ann, a pretty little nine
year old who was trying out for St.  Lucy's.  Before letting her join, I
wanted to find out how badly she wanted it.  I knew her parents were
pushing her to be in St.  Lucy's, since they paid me extra money for
private singing lessons.  I spent a lot of time with young students like
Ann on "relaxation exercises" as well as singing.

   As usual, she showed up at my office in her school uniform: blue blazer
with a Sacred Heart shield, snowy white blouse, and a short, pleated skirt
ending well above her kneesocks.  I greeted her with a warm, sympathetic
hug, and moved her to the couch.  Bidding her to relax, I hung up her
blazer and spread her out on the couch.  Lying down, she opened her thighs
so the hem of her skirt rode up to uncover the cute pettipants she wore.

   Pettipants were sometimes worn instead of slips back then - they were
like loose bike shorts made of silky nylon with rows of lace around the
legs.  In a low voice, I told Ann how lovely she was, and how promising her
young voice was, as my hands caressed her cheek and her long, charmingly
wavy, perfectly combed, blonde hair.  My other hand ran along the bare skin
of her leg and caressed the fabric of her pettipants.

   In my most soothing voice, I bid her to relax as I spread her legs wide
and my fingertips caressed the layers of fabric covering her crotch.  I
kept this up, gently and patiently, till I heard her breath change and felt
tensing in her thighs.

   With my other hand, I opened her mouth and slipped my fingertip in,
gently caressing the top of her tongue, coaxing it outwards as she had
learned.  Parting my choir robe, I eased out my now-rigid staff and gently
slipped it between her parted lips.  Ann wrapped her little hand around the
base of my staff and slid it in and out of her mouth.

   I still remember the artless simplicity of Ann's efforts.  The awkward
posture of her spread thighs, baring the fabric inside her skirt.  Her
methodical licking and sucking.  She had no idea what she was supposed to
do except shove my staff into her mouth and not bite.  And it was
wonderful.

   But sometimes frustrating.  My fingertips on her crotch were distracting
her.  Part way through I found myself grabbing bunches of her blonde hair
to pull her face onto my staff, thrusting it in deep.  Soon she got the
idea, and as I reached my climax, my hand reached back down between her
spread thighs.

   But as I caressed her again, her attention wandered.  So I brought her
off first, rubbing her clit through the nylon until she gasped and shivered
with an orgasm.  Then we concentrated on finishing me off.  By now my staff
was coated with her spit, sliding smoothly in and out of her tight little
nine year old mouth.  I only needed a few more moments in her mouth,
inspired by her own orgasm, before I filled her mouth with my seed.  She
coughed a little, but as taught, she swallowed it all.

   God is Love.  Sex is Love.



   Robin

   Mid afternoon was a full dress rehearsal for St.  Lucy's, in preparation
for tomorrow's contest.  The girls had a very strict dress code for
concerts, right down to their underwear.  And I could usually tell by the
flow of the choir robe if a girl was cheating or not.  Cheating was rare,
and the girls who were subjected to inspections never did more than to hint
about them to the others.

   After the rehearsal, I bid one young singer to come to my office, a
suggestion met with shy excitement.  Robin was an eleven year old with
long, straight, beautifully kept, brown hair.  I had been giving her my
special private lessons for two or three years by then.  She had reached
the arms-and-legs stage of development, looking touchingly awkward.

   Inside my office, she sighed happily as I leaned over to kiss her on the
mouth.  She clung to me, thrusting her tongue between my lips.  I gently
untangled myself from her embrace and led her to the couch, pausing only to
unzip her choir robe.

   Underneath Robin was dressed as per the rules.  Overall she wore a white
satin slip whose empire waist gave a feather touch of support to the modest
twin mounds of her little bosom.  The slip was so short that I could see
the doubled tops of her nylon stockings, and the outline of garter straps
through the slip's wide, lacy hem.

   I had her stand there while I divested my own choir robe.  Then I spread
myself out on the couch and beckoned her to climb on top.  At first she
snuggled her silky body against mine head-to-head so the eleven year old
could practice more French kissing.  I complied with her wish, running my
hands over her slender body and caressing it through her girlish lingerie.

   Soon I slipped my hand between Robin's slim, young thighs and lifted the
slip out of the way so I could rub her soft, little clit through the silky
fabric of her panties.  She let out a lovely, almost musical sigh.  As I
rubbed, her graceful, young thighs arched smoothly back and forth against
my touch, pinching the fabric between my fingers and her intimate flesh. 
After a few minutes, she arched her back and moaned loudly, then fell back,
gasping for breath.  I patted the soft, and now very damp, fabric covering
her crotch and then enveloped her in a big hug.

   Robin got up and slipped out of her wet panties.  I smiled to myself,
noticing that she'd slipped her panties OVER her garters when she'd
dressed. I rearranged myself so I was lying back on the couch, naked, with
my hardening staff pointing in her direction.  I arranged Robin with her
nylon-clad thighs straddling my face, so she could comfortably reach my
staff with her soft, young, and very talented, throat.

   The lacy hem of her slip bunched itself easily around her waist as I
moved my mouth against her sweet, young vale.  She was too young to have
much hair, and her spread legs parted her lips enough so my tongue could
caress her most sensitive folds.  I bathed her sweet vale from the top of
her clit down to her little virgin hole, making long strokes with my wet
tongue.  Meanwhile my hands traced the line from her stocking tops, along
the garter straps over her thighs, under the hem of her slip, to the
narrow, lacy belt holding up her stockings.

   It was hard for me to restrain my enthusiasm for a cute little girl
perfectly clad in lovely lingerie.  Before I knew it I was giving Robin a
second orgasm as she crushed her vale wantonly against my face.  Meanwhile,
my staff was getting hard to the bursting point.

   Then Robin remembered her task.  Wrapping her fist around the base of my
staff, she bobbed her head up and down, running it in and out of her tight,
young throat.  I could feel her long, straight hair tumble down over my
thighs, tickling them as she slid me in and out.

   After all our training, Robin was incredibly good at giving head.  She
took me in as far as her tight, eleven year old throat could, and she never
gagged.  She switched between throating, licking, and sucking like a pro.
And when I came, which never took long with her, she kept up her rhythm
until I was limp as a dishrag, swallowing every drop of my seed.

   Afterward, Robin mumbled something about the upcoming trip, hinting
about trying to visit my motel room.  I sensed a note of jealousy, but
cautioned her against the sin of covetousness.  As a servant of God, I must
do His bidding.  She must share me with all of God's Children who need me.



   Becky

   It was about nine PM when the church school bus reached the motel.  Miss
Roberts was the bus driver, pianist, and chaperone: she handed out the room
keys, but never tried to keep track of the girls after that.  So it was
easy for me to grab the matching key to Becky's room.

   Becky was another of my long-time students: a twelve year old redhead
with an exceptional alto voice.  I helped the girls move their bags into
their rooms, encouraging enough disorder so nobody would realize my bag was
in Becky's room.  Except Becky, of course.

   Once the girls were all moved in and bedded down, I made a pass through
the motel bar to buy a cold bottle of Champale - light and smooth enough
for a twelve year old girl, but strong enough to relax her.  I didn't want
to take too long or Becky would change for bed before I got back.  She had
this funny way of undressing, as if she was ignoring me but still putting
on a really sexy show.

   But I got caught by Miss Roberts.  No, she didn't catch me in, or even
near, Becky's room.  She caught me in the bar with the unopened Champale,
and politely insisted that I share it with her.  I couldn't explain that
I'd miss a strip tease by my twelve year old roommate, so I was stuck.

   Once the bottle was empty, I went up to the bar and bought two more.  I
hid one under my coat and the other went to Miss Roberts.  As she nursed
her second Champale, I excused myself and headed back to my room.

   Inside, I found Becky propped up on pillows watching TV.  She rolled
over a little, as to invite me into bed with her, but then the laugh track
caught her attention again.  I poured the Champale into two paper cups and
admired the twelve year old girl spread out on my bed.

   Her tousled hair mirrored the disorder of the mussed-up bed as it snaked
across her shoulders and slender, bare arms.  The shimmering, pale blue
fabric of her nighty looked lovely against the warm color of her freckled
skin.  I gazed with appreciation on the smooth curve of her torso and
bottom under the thin material, whose hem reached around her knees.

   After exchanging my clothes for a pair of boxer shorts, I climbed into
bed next to Becky, still glued to the TV.  Gently, my hand swept a lock of
hair away from her face and onto her shoulder.  My fingers followed the
lock of hair so I touched her shoulder, and then gently caressed her,
running my hand over the silky nighty along her back, over her sweet little
bottom, and down her thigh.  She made a happy little noise and sipped her
Champale.

   As soon as our cups were empty and tossed on the floor, I put my hand
behind Becky's head and pulled her lips to mine.  She made a little "murf!"
and pulled away so she could take the gum out of her mouth.  Then we kissed
and her warm hands moved gently against the bare skin of my back.  She
pressed against me and I folded her into my arms.  Her little body felt
like a warm snake huddled against mine, and her little bosom pushed against
my chest through the nighty.

   It was easy to slip the gown off a shoulder to uncover one of her cute
nipples, dramatically large for a twelve year old's.  Becky's breath caught
a little while I licked and sucked at it.  My other hand groped for the hem
of her gown, probing for her sweet little vale.  My fingertips reached her
modest mass of pubic hair, parted her little lips, and found her moist and
excited.  Meanwhile her own smooth fingertips had started caressing my
hardening rod.

   I generally kept my special students in a physical state of chastity. 
But Becky had lost hers during a summer vacation trip to her grandparents.
She had laid with one of her young cousins.  I coached her on the moral
hazard but assured her of God's understanding and forgiveness.

   I was also concerned that her growing maturity might affect her singing
in her final months with St.  Lucy's, so our physician placed her on a
special hormone therapy.  The therapy prevented irregular periods, which
could interfere with her preparation for concerts, especially public ones
and competitions.  Her parents happily agreed to it.

   So, once Becky's vale was wet with excitement, she took my rod into her
tight, warm vale.  I rolled onto my back and she crouched over me.  Her
long, red hair spilled across my chest as her thighs rhythmically moved up
and down on my rod.  I leaned up to kiss her mouth and her uncovered bosom
as my hands caressed her torso and the rounded globes of her bottom through
the silky fabric of her nightie.

   Her sweet, young gully was tight around my rod, bringing us both to a
rapid climax.  As the ectasy took us, I felt my seed squirt deep inside her
tight, twelve year old vale.

   ****

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Cite this story by name and acknowledge its author, Will Somers.

   ****

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