God, Please Don't Hurt Me, Part 2

by Joanne

It was England in the sixties. I was a ten-year-old guilt ridden catholic lesbian. The nuns at school never tired of telling us what happed to sinners. All aspects of sex was a sin in their eyes.

I was in love with the eighteen-year-old goddess that lived next door. She knew nothing about it, of course. I would answer the tingles in my pussy every time I saw her, or even when I just thought about her, by playing with my special spot until I shook with pleasure. I would pray for forgiveness every time.

I have tried to stop and have made many promises to God, but my panties would just get wetter and wetter and the tingles would drive me mad. I would torment myself by watching her each morning on her way to work. Her mini skirts drove me mad with passion, having just a few inches of skirt hiding her pussy from my view. My resolve would melt away, I would lean on the window sill as I watched from my bedroom window. I would have my hand in my wet panties rubbing at my special spot until I sunk to the bed, too weak at the knees to stand. I would then finger fuck myself back to sanity, and then, as always, I would pray, “God, please don't hurt me.”

I was further damned when my three-year-old sister Christine, came to my bedroom when she had wet her bed. She was sleep walking and instead of going to our mom, she came to me. The temptation had been too much and as she slept I kissed and licked her little pussy. She must have known what was happening because she comes to my bed occasionally to have her pussy licked again. In spite of myself, I have not been able to resist her.

At school we had moved up to the next class and with it came a new nun. She was less strict and more forgiving. She taught us about repentance and forgiveness. It was music to my young ears. We were told about the confessional. She paraded us all off to the local church to meet the priest and to confess our sins. We were in line waiting our turn to confess. Girls went in and were only in there a matter of a few minutes before they were out again. One by one they went off to perform their penance. By the time it was my turn I had lost my nerve and confessed to stealing a sweety from my sister. I knew I had to confess properly, but not here and not now. I needed to get away to a distant church, where no one knew me. Where I could confess with an open heart.

It was a Saturday. I had told my parents that I was off to a friends house and set off to find a distant church. It was miles away from our house and from our school. I wasn't in my school uniform. I was just a little girl in a dress that could be from anywhere. I entered the church and to my relief it was empty. My foot steps echoed as I walked nervously down the length of the church, towards the alter. A priest stepped out of the shadows and greeted me. He was fat and jolly looking. He had grey hair and bushy eyebrows. “Forgive me father for I have sinned,” I said. “You don't do that here,” he said and beckoned me towards the confessional.

I entered the confessional. He slid open the partition and said, “Now, you say it now.” I repeated, “Forgive me father for I have sinned.” I then told him about my special spot. I heard him gasp. As I told him about the goddess next door and what I did each morning his breathing started to come in gasps. He was panting as I told him about my sister. “What happened then?” he kept asking with an increasingly hoarse voice. I became aware that the confessional was vibrating. “What are you doing?” I asked. “Never mind,” he said, “don't stop, tell me what happened next.” I left the confessional and ran from the church. Now, I was in even more, trouble with God, telling a priest to fuck off has to be a sin. I was convinced that I must be a devil child. I abandoned all attempts at restraint.

That night Christine came to my room. I was already awake. I had heard her leave her room, go to the toilet and then, instead of returning to her own room, she came to mine. I watched as she stripped off her night dress and then her vest and finally her panties. I watched as she slipped into my bed. I was naked, I always slept naked. She threw the covers off and lay there as she always did, with her legs spread and her knees bent, her little pussy on view. She was waiting to have it kissed and licked.

I fell upon her and ravished her. I kissed her on the mouth and forced my tongue into it. I kissed her neck and probed her ears. I caressed her body and sucked at her little nipples. She panted and squirmed under me. I straddled her and pressed my dripping pussy into her face. She kissed it and licked me as I has taught her. Her three-year-old tongue reached places I could only imagine. I orgasmed all over her. She shone with my juices.

She was small enough for me to easily roll over. I kissed her pussy, seeking out her little bud of a clit and nibbled at it. She squirmed and arched her back in response. I inserted a finger into her cunt. She squealed as I penetrated her. I lapped up her virgins blood before fucking her to a frenzy. We rolled again and again. She was a quick learner. She inserted her little fingers into me. She opened me up and then I opened her up. We took turns in lapping up our juices and fucking each other to a climax. She wasn't there in the morning when I woke up. I wasn't sure at first, if it had happened, or if it was a dream.

I was filled with remorse when I remembered how I had taken my disgust with the priest out on my sister. For whatever good it would do, I knelt by my bed and prayed.

I watched the goddess as usual and gently caressed my sore pussy. It was Sunday, I watched her potter about in her shorts—shorts so tight I could see the shape of her camel toe. My pussy wept. I watched as she pulled a sun lounger out into the garden. She slipped out of her top and took off her bra and lay face down in the sun, reading a book. I was lost to my passion, the soreness of my pussy was forgotten. I stood at the window just watching her. After a while another person appeared in the garden. Dressed from head to toe in black, it was a nun. I had learned to fear nuns. I quietly and quickly melted away.

Christine was none the worse for our romp together, in fact her visits became more often. I never went to her and never put any pressure on her. It was always her that came to me and presented me with her naked pussy. I never rejected her and still haven't to this very day.

It was a long time before I was ready to try the confessional again. I set off to find another church. This was a modern church entered from the side. As I walked in I became aware that there was someone on their knees praying. It was a nun. I did a quick about turn, but not quick enough. “Little girl,” she called. I stopped and turned back. It was the nun that had visited next door. “Come here,” she said, “Don't be afraid.” As I approached her, her eyes showed that she had recognised me. “I know you don't I?” she asked, “You live next door to my sister.”

I nodded and she sat on the nearest pew. She signaled me to sit next to her. “What is troubling you child?” she asked. She was nothing like the many nuns that I had known. She was young with a fresh face and she smelled of clean linen. I felt safe.

“I don't know what to say,” I said.

“Let me help you,” she said. “Let me start you off. You have had a burning crush on my sister, haven't you?”

I nodded. I felt the tears welling up and then I sobbed out the whole story. My special spot and everything. She smiled lovingly but said nothing. As the sobbing subsided I asked, “Will I go to hell?”

After what seemed a long silence she asked, “Who made you?” I shook my head, not knowing the answer. “Look around you,” she said. “If you made a special gift for your best friend and you gave it to her and all she did was set it to one side and didn't thank you, how would feel?”

“Sad,” I said.

“Well it was God that made you and it was God that gave you your special spot and it was He that made you what you are. He made us all different. He made you to love women, He made my sister to love only men and He made me to love both. Go, and enjoy His gifts and be happy.” She tapped me on the knee, got up and left me there.

I sank to my knees, but this time it was to thank Him.