God, Please Don't Hurt Me, Part 6

by Joanne

I had been on cloud nine ever since Sister Mary's phone call to my mother. She had invited me to spend a weekend with her. It was Saturday morning, just. It was still dark I was on my bed fully dressed with my back pack stuffed with everything I would need if I was dropped into a desert alone, not just an overnight stay with a friend, in a major city. My mind was alert, well mostly, flashing from one vision to another. Me, in deep water tying to swim, I am terrified of deep water, to me with my legs spread. All visions of Sister Mary were candle lit and dark. I have had that dream many times.

I must have drifted off again because I don't remember the dawn, I woke up alarmed that I had dreamed the whole thing and that there was no invitation, no weekend with Sister Mary. As memory returned and I realised that I was dressed and that it was true, I experienced a warm glow of anticipation. I was at the window as she drove up and stopped outside. She had one of those funny little French cars. The ones that looked like a baby's pram upside down. It had a rag top, metal sides, but just a rag top. It was open in to the warm morning air, her black hood had blown back exposing her tight, white head covering. What a strange sight she must have made, speeding along on the quiet Saturday morning roads.

I took the stairs in as few strides as possible and was bouncing on my heels behind my mother as she opened the door. My thoughts were just, “get out of the way woman.” Sister Mary saw me and said, “Are you ready?” “Ready?” I thought, “I'm ready for anything, perhaps with the exception of drowning.” I just nodded, grinning like an idiot. My mother stepped aside with a brief, “Bye love.” and I was out of there.

Sister Mary missed her way, she should have been a rally driver. The daft little French car was on two wheels much of the time. I really thought it was going over more that once. She was also the noisiest driver I had known, her hand seemed only ever to leave the horn, to change gear. I just hoped that god couldn't hear what she whispered whenever anyone had the nerve to be in front of her, or if the other drivers knew how brave they were being.

The car was still sliding to a standstill when she said, “Come on, lots to do.” The silly backward opening door on her side of the car was already open. I waited for the car to stop before I opened mine. I followed her as we went up a passageway, along the side of the church, to where there was a large beautifully kept garden. There was a double garage with steps up the side. These led up to the apartment where Sister Mary lived. She took the stairs in twos, I tried the same but nearly fell.

I got the fastest ever guided tour ever, it was Sister Mary pointing as she walked down the central hall, toilet to the left, bathroom to the right, kitchen to the left, bedroom to the right and the living room at the end. She turned to face me in the lounge, her habit, that had billowed out as it tried to keep up with her, now swished round her as she turned. “I always go jogging in the early mornings. Have you got your kit with you?” she asked. I had enough stuff to survive a winter in Alaska or a summer in the Sahara, but a track suit, who would think of that.

“I know what your thinking,” she said, “How does a nun go jogging?” That wasn't what I was thinking. I was thinking, “I only counted one bedroom.”

She went into it and called out, “You can change there, if you are shy.” I wasn't shy, but there was nothing to change. The jeans and trainers I was wearing were as joggy as it got. I threw my back pack down and took off my coat and that was it, I was ready. Ready, that is for jogging, not for what came next.

Sister Mary reappeared. My mouth dropped opened. She was dressed in a Grey track suit and trainers, not remarkable in itself, had you not known that she was a nun, but it was her, herself. She had long blond hair. I had assumed that she would have black hair, if any hair at all. Her sister had black hair. She had no make up of any kind. She was twenty three years old. Her figure, that you could see now, was athletic, her boobs were firm and round. Her face and her piercing hazel eyes with made even more beautiful by the frame of blond hair. If I hadn't been in love before, I was then. I was stood there like the village idiot, with my mouth gaping. I just hoped my wetness would not penetrate my jeans.

She was jogging on the spot, “Come on,” she said, clearly used to this reaction. We jogged along the streets and through the park and through a large housing estate and through the park again and back to the apartment. At first I reveled in running ahead and waiting, watching her breasts bouncing up and down and my pussy getting wetter and wetter, but by the return leg, I was barely able to keep up, my breath was rasping in my chest and my legs no longer obeyed me. They wobbled and went where they wanted. I would not have got up the stairs back to the apartment at all, if I hadn't pulled myself up them using the banister rail. I collapsed onto the sofa panting like a dray horse.

“I suppose you have been surprised,” she said as she sat on the puff in front of me. That must have been the understatement of the century, but I just nodded, I didn't have the breath to speak. “I should explain,” she said. I nodded again.

She could not be a full nun because of her history from birth to age five. She found that out when she applied to be a nun when she was just sixteen. The church was sympathetic, but the rules wouldn't allow a none virgin to take holy orders. She could however, be a teacher and a councilor. She could and indeed should, wear the uniform, and short of taking the vows, could perform the duties of a full nun. She could have and did have a life outside the school and the church, like the swimming club and football, this wonderful woman was a soccer fan.

“I don't like water,” I said, which sounded stupid, even to me. She smiled broadly, her beautiful smile was full of humour. “I won't let you drowned,” she said, “trust me.” I thought to myself, “Trust you, I would go to the end of the earth with you,” but I said nothing.

I trembled with fear, cold and passion, in equal measure all through the swimming lesson. I hung on to her slippery, Lycra coated body, for dear life. I had wet my own costume even before I reached the water, at the sight of this perfectly formed woman. She was coated in black Lycra that shone with the water. Water that ran down her body and ran off her from her pussy and looked for all the world as if she was wetting herself. I ached for her. I wanted her. I needed her on me, and in me. I silently prayed, “God, please don't hurt me. Please, Oh please, let my have this one thing, please, I love her so much.”

We drove home to her apartment, picking up a take away meal on the way. She was once again dressed in her track suit, but now with her roughly dried hair tied back with an elastic band. She drove with all the instincts of a lunatic, set free for the first time, until we slid to an exactly measured halt outside the apartment.

We ate our meal and I had developed verbal diarrhoea and was rattling on ten to the dozen. By bed time, she knew my life story right down to the periods and commas. “We better turn in,” she said, “I have to prepare the church in the morning, I always prepare it for the priest. You can have the bed. I'll be OK with the sofa.” I wasn't having that, “No,” I said, “I am a lot smaller that you. I will have the sofa.” “OK, it is decided then. Well, OK, Good night then.” With that she retired to her bedroom.

I settled down to wait. I didn't bother setting out the bedding she had left me with. I just sat there waiting. I watched the clock over the fireplace and waited exactly one hour. I then stripped naked and nervously entered her room. She was asleep, she looked even more lovely, her hair was spread over her pillow. She lay on her left side. I slid into her bed beside her. I spooned up behind her and reached over her. I could only just reach her public hair, I twirled it between my fingers. I could smell her hair. It smelled of the swimming pool. I gently caressed her thigh and then her bottom. They were smooth and warm. I slid my hand between the cheeks of her bum and found the her slit was slippery and wet. I could have orgasmed right there. Her breathing increased in its pace. Her bum relaxed as I probe further in. I found her cunt and slipped my thumb into it. My fingers found her clit and she gave out a deep sigh as I rubbed it . My other hand was on my own pussy.

She turned around and kissed my deeply on the lips. We were entwined together, her calling and my youth, both forgotten in our raging passion. Wave after wave of sexual energy raced through every part of me. I cried and I gasped. We caressed and we stroked and we kissed and we sucked and we licked and we probed every part of each other as we twisted and turned in our passion. We loved together and we wept together, her tears fell onto me as we rolled. Eventually, when our passion were spent, we lay motionless, entwined together. We were still entwined when we woke up.

That morning, in that church, I knelt before the alter and prayed. “God, Oh thank you God, you may take me now if you wish.”