("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._ `6_ 6 ) `-. ( ).`-.__.`) (_Y_.)' ._ ) `._ `. ``-..-' _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,' (((' (((-((('' (((( K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N _________________________________________ WARNING! This text file contains sexually explicit material. If you do not wish to read this type of literature, or you are under age, PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!! _________________________________________ Scroll down to view text Archive name: second.txt (Ff, mast, rom) Authors name: Rachael Ross (rache18us@yahoo.com) Story title : Second Chance -------------------------------------------------------- This work is copyrighted to the author © 2003. Please don't remove the author information or make any changes to this story. All rights reserved. Thank you for your consideration. -------------------------------------------------------- Second Chance (Ff, mast, rom) by Rachael Ross (rache18us@yahoo.com) *** Sister Mary knelt quietly in the chapel of St. Agnes of Rome, working the beads of her rosary between nimble fingers while her lips moved soundlessly in devoted prayer. I watched her silently from the confessional in which I hid. The door was open a crack and I sat with my head tilted slightly so I wouldn't have to squint. It was very quiet in the chapel, as it always is, and so was I, fearful that even the beating of my heart would give away my presence. Try as I might I couldn't slow that rapid pulse, instead I brought my knees up to my chest and hugged them, hoping the position might muffle the awful sound. And it was awful, I know. I was supposed to be in class, studying geometry with Sister Rose, but I didn't love Sister Rose. I was only in love with Sister Mary, and that I knew, was a sin. I was forgetting to breathe and I nearly lost my balance when my body remembered for me and I let out a sudden whoosh of pent-up air. It sounded very loud in the tiny enclosed confines of the confessional, but Sister Mary didn't move. I pinched the skin behind my knee, a little punishment to remind me not to be so stupid. It was warm in the confessional and a very small but very comforting draft wafted through the narrow opening. My skirt was spread open, sliding down to bunch around my hips when I'd lifted my legs. It made me shiver with the sudden realization of the heat growing between my legs. I thought of moving, of tucking my skirt down between my thighs and covering myself, but I didn't. Perhaps I was afraid I'd make a sound, but more likely I enjoyed that feeling, and something else too. The light falling through that crack in the door fell between my legs as well and I wondered if Sister Mary turned her head just a fraction to the left... Would she see me through that tiny window? Would she spot the candlelight reflected in my eyes? Would she see the creamy interiors of my thighs? Would Sister Mary notice the small patch of white cotton, the only thing separating my most intimate place from her gaze? The thought made me dizzy and I bit my lower lip gently, chewing on it with nervous instinct. The heat in my tummy was growing, little butterfly wings tickling me from the inside. I felt my nipples itchy, growing hard and sensitive at the thought of Sister Mary catching my espionage. I pulled my knees tighter so that they pressed against my breasts and in so doing pulled the already tight fabric of my panties a barest fraction tighter into the puffy contours of my sex. I wanted to moan then, just to give myself some release, but I held it back. I turned my head downward and pressed my teeth against my kneecap, fighting the urge with distraction. But it wasn't enough and I knew it. I kept my mouth on the hard smoothness of my knee and looked up through the dark veil of my bangs. Sister Mary, so perfect and beautiful, still sitting, watched unknowing as she prayed. How many boyfriends had she had I wondered for the hundredth time. She was only 22, having just taken her vows this past summer. Barely 6 years older than me. She had high cheekbones, silky auburn hair, and deep blue eyes. I watched with awful frustration as she finished her prayers and quietly left. I breathed a sigh of relief and closed the door and closed my eyes. I brought my hand to the outline of my sex, rubbing it gently at first, tracing a finger up and down the growing dampness. I imagined Sister Mary holding me, kissing me and I slipped my fingers inside the leg band of my panties. I moaned softly at the direct contact as I worked my fingers against my lips, prying and pulling and reaching finally into the humid depths of my desire. My little clit burned and I slid my other hand inside the waistband so I could rub it lightly with my fingertips. I was going to cum, always so quickly thinking of her. I pushed a finger between the swollen slippery folds until I felt the barrier of my hymen. My finger was as deep as I could push it and that was just enough to let me know I was still a virgin. I came as I pictured Sister Mary's long fingers taking it from me, changing me forever with her touch. I spasmed and rocked and shook with glorious ecstasy, feeling my delicate walls clutching at my fingers and aching for more. I slipped out of the chapel, pausing briefly to run my hand across the spot Sister Mary had sat for nearly an hour while I watched. My fingers were still damp and sticky with my juices. I imagined Sister Mary's spot was still warm as I left a thin trail of wetness on the smooth dark wood. I knew she'd sit in that same spot next week, she always did, and that made me smile as I genuflected and made my escape. There were a lot of rumors about Sister Mary; that she had been engaged to a man who'd died in a war. That she'd grown up on the streets, been a prostitute and worse, until she'd found the Church and devoted herself to God. But my favorite rumor was that Sister Mary was a lesbian. That she had given up all men and taken her vows of chastity so that she could devote herself to the girl's of the St. Agnes Academy. I prayed that it was true. Ever since the first day she'd arrived I'd prayed that she would love me as I loved her. I asked God, timidly at first, making little hints and using words with hidden meanings, but later I was bolder. I'd sit in my pew for Sunday Mass, sometimes directly behind Sister Mary, and I would close my eyes and just smell her. And then I would pray to God to let her love me, to kiss me and hold me. I would beseech Him to guide her hands to my body, touching me and exploring me with His blessing. I asked for a sign, for a signal that He had heard me, but I never saw one. I began to touch myself in Sister Mary's stead. In the beginning, only at night, when the other girls were asleep and I could close my eyes and imagine that those were Sister Mary's fingers traveling across my skin. That she was the one rubbing her thumb across my nipple, her palm pressing to my belly. Lower, I'd whisper, and she did. Sister Mary would touch my sex, virgin as her namesake and eager for her love. My first orgasm was at Sister Mary's touch, though she'd never know. Sister Mary taught us English and I began to love it. I wrote down every word she said and I wanted to impress her with my intelligence, with my diligence. I was always the first to raise my hand when she asked a question. She would smile when she called on me and at first I could barely stand it. I would flush and I couldn't look at her. I would rise from my seat and the words would come out as an awkward whisper. I felt like everyone knew. I felt like Sister Mary knew. That she could see how desperate I was to be close to her, to please her. Some of the other girls began calling me teacher's pet, and Sister Rachael. I got in an argument one day in the cafeteria and the other girl called me a lesbian. You cannot imagine the look of terror on my face, not that I might be one, but rather that someone might actually know that I was. I ran from the lunchroom, taking the stairs 2 at a time and running down the hall until I was safe in my room. I cried, pressing my face against my pillow and sobbing. Why? I asked God. Why did he have to make me this way? Why did he give me these feelings for Sister Mary if they were wrong? And if they're not wrong, why didn't he give them to Sister Mary? Why why why? There was a knock at my door and my heart stopped. Was it Sister Mary? Did God finally hear me? Did he send her to me to explain? To comfort me? To finally make me happy after so many long months of confusion and guilt? I had so many hopes right then and they were lost completely when I heard Sister Rose through the door asking if I was okay. I took off my crucifix and looked at it before throwing it into the waste basket beside my desk. God had missed his chance. But later, I reclaimed it. I unlocked my door and walked past the other girls, not caring that my eyes were puffy and red. Not caring that my lower lip was trembling. I was so close to losing it again, but I wouldn't, not this time. I remembered that God helps those who help themselves, it was a basic tenet of St. Agnes Academy and I'd forgotten it. I walked to the chapel, carrying my small gold cross on its thin gold chain. It had been in the garbage can and I truly felt guilty for doing that. I cupped some holy water from the small basin near the entrance and washed my crucifix carefully. I kissed it and slipped it around my neck, pulling my disheveled blouse out so that it would nestle near the tops of my breasts, just above my heart. I was about to leave when Sister Mary entered the chapel carrying her bible and rosary. I glanced at her and realized there were so many things wrong. I was a mess, my uniform wrinkled, my eyes, my hair, and worse, what that other girl had said about me and my childish reaction. It had to be all over the school. I was surprised Father Thomas, our principal, hadn't sent for me yet, but I knew he would in due time. I felt alone and guilty and ashamed and the reason was standing but a few feet away. I couldn't look at her and I bowed my head, wishing she would just go sit down and let me leave. But she didn't, she blocked the entry with her body, the sunlight streaming through the open door behind her. Her shadow reached to me and when I looked down I could see it beneath my feet. "Would you like to talk, Rachael?" she asked me in a soft voice. I had no answer I could give. Of course I do, I wanted to scream. Yes! Yes! But I was afraid even the smallest nod would give my true feelings away. I felt hope surge in my breast and reached up to press my fingers to the still damp crucifix beneath my blouse. I finally nodded my head as the door swung quietly shut behind her. Sister Mary touched me, ever so lightly on my shoulder, and guided me so that we were walking down the center aisle of the chapel. The statue of St Agnes of Rome watched us from the left, and our Lord Jesus from the right. We walked close together, side by side down that narrow path, until Sister Mary stopped 3 pews from the front and began to genuflect. I did the same, making the sign of the cross in time with her. She sat down and patted the hard wood beside her softly with a smile. It suddenly seemed wildly inappropriate and I gave her a grudging smile of my own, sitting where she indicated so that my bare knee was almost touching the soft ink of her robe. We sat there for a moment in silence before she finally turned to look at me. "I've heard about what happened Rachael, I'm so sorry. Father Thomas has had a long talk with Cynthia. I think she will want to apologize to you tomorrow." She kept looking at me and I was looking down, wondering what she wanted me to say. After a long pause Sister Mary asked me, "Do you think you'll be able to accept it?" I nodded slowly, "I don't know." I whispered, and I glanced upward quickly to see her reaction. It wasn't much of an answer I knew. "I guess so." I added finally. Sister Mary put her hand on my knee, squeezing me gently and I took a sharp breath, my body going tense for just a split second, but it was enough. Sister Mary moved her hand a fraction back and forth, caressing me gently. "Do you know what Cynthia meant when she called you a..." She paused, "Well, when she said that word?" I nodded again, saying it for her in a low voice. "Lesbian." I was watching her hand move on my bare skin, mesmerized by it. "Yes, a lesbian." Sister Mary's voice was soft and seemed to rise and fall in time with her fingers, which would give me the slightest squeeze as if punctuating the moment. "Do you know what that word means?" She repeated and I tore my gaze from her hands up to Sister Mary's face. I searched her deep blue eyes with my own and nodded slowly, swallowing and finally saying, "It's when a girl loves another girl." My heart was pounding in my chest and I licked my lips, holding my hands still in my lap. I felt a strand of hair had fallen to the corner of my eye and I resisted the urge to brush it away. I couldn't move, I was so frightened of what was happening. I was even more afraid that what I thought was happening wasn't. A wave of doubt rushed through me and I felt a sudden urge to run away. Sister Mary reached with her other hand and brushed the bit of stray hair from my face, her fingers lingered as she rested her elbow on the back of the pew. She'd shifted slightly, so that she faced me instead of the alter, and her hand traveled slightly further up my thigh until it reached the hem of my plaid skirt. "Yes." She breathed softly. "It's when two women love each other and want to share that love in a very special way." Sister Mary slid her hand beneath my skirt, staring into my eyes and leaning closer. Her other hand curled in my hair and held my head as her breath touched my ear. "Are we lesbians Rachael?" "Yesssss..." I hissed and melted against her. Sister Mary pulled me to her breast and wrapped both arms around my shoulders while I clutched tightly to her waist. I was weeping softly and she kissed the top of my head, shushing me and making a small easy rocking motion. We stayed like that a long while until I finally sat upright and Sister Mary wiped at my eyes with her thumbs, smiling at me and cradling my face in her hands. "I love you so much," I whispered. "Let's say a small prayer and then we'll go to my room, ok?" Sister Mary's voice was soft and gentle and I nodded quickly with a smile and a sniffle. I'd never felt happier in my life. I pulled out my crucifix and held it tightly between my hands as we kneeled. Sister Mary said the prayer quietly, so quietly I had to lean close to hear the words she was saying to God, but they were in Latin I finally realized, my worst subject. When she was done, Sister Mary took my hand and squeezed it, smiling at me. "It's alright," she whispered, "God understands." She didn't need to tell me, I thought happily. I fingered my cross as we left, holding her hand and eternally grateful that I'd given God a second chance. The End Rachael Ross May 28 2003 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author does not condone the described behavior in real life. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Kristen's collection - Directory 26