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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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Archive name: nun.txt (mf,teen,nun)
Authors name: Al Steiner (al_steiner@hotmail.com)
Story title : A STRANGE ENCOUNTER
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© Copyright 1998
This work is copyrighted to the author, with all rights
reserved. -- This work may be archived and displayed on
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A Strange Encounter (Fm, nun)
by Al Steiner (al_steiner@hotmail.com)
Did your mother ever warn you that hanging out with
the wrong sort of people could get you into trouble?
Well mine did, plenty of times, but like most ado-
lescents I didn't listen. After all, I was fifteen
years old and I knew everything about life that needed
to be known. I was certainly old enough to be picking
my own friends. What did a thirty-eight year old lady,
out of touch with modern times, know anyway?
And so it came to pass, in those dim dark days of
nineteen eighty-five, that I found myself facing a
juvenile court judge on a charge of malicious vandal-
ism.
Ron Doweling was the friend who'd gotten me there. A
year older than me, from the so-called wrong side of
the tracks, he was one of the school bad-asses. I was
thrilled that someone so cool would choose to hang out
with me. He introduced me to marijuana, binge drink-
ing, and cigarette smoking.
On that fateful day he'd prodded and nagged me to steal
some beer out of my parent's refrigerator. I'd made the
mistake of telling him that my Dad had just made a run
to one of the local warehouse stores and had picked up
several cases of Budweiser.
Ron had not let the issue drop until I'd gone to my
house, taken a twelve-pack out of the fridge, and
replaced it with another from storage in the garage.
I hoped and prayed that my old man wouldn't notice the
deficit in his beer, completely unaware that the next
day some stolen beer was going to be the least of my
problems.
We took the beer down by a local drainage canal and
drank it; Ron having seven cans to my five and then we
smoked a joint that he had with him. It was night by
then and I was pretty well juiced, my better judgement,
such as it is when you're fifteen, destroyed.
We began wandering around our neighborhood, looking for
something to do when we happened across St. Anthony's
Catholic School, one of the parochial in our town.
Ron, who fancied himself a neo-nazi, not because of any
political views, he was too stupid to have political
views, but because it was cool among the white trash at
our school to proclaim yourself so.
He became inspired by the statue of the Virgin Mary in
front of the school, apparently remembering the cache
of spray-paint in my garage, he suggested we deface the
statue.
I protested of course. Defacing religious articles
was a little beyond the manner in which I liked to
express my teenaged rebellion. But my weakness then
was that I was easily worn down, especially with a
bloodstream full of alcohol and marijuana.
Soon I found myself returning to my house and appro-
priating a couple of cans of black spray paint.
We returned to St. Anthony's and proceeded to add a
hairy bush, large nipples, a mustache, and glasses to
the marble Mary. We were uninterrupted in our work
and figured that we'd gotten away with it. Who would
have thought that a catholic school would have a
security camera system?
It didn't take Sherlock Holmes to track us down. The
cops, armed with videotape of us in action, simply
looked through their books of known juvenile de-
linquents that resided in our part of town.
Though they didn't find my picture among their mug-
shots, they found Ron's without much searching. Ron,
apparently not well versed on the kid code of no fink-
ing, quickly gave them my name, telling them it had
been all my idea. By two o'clock the following after-
noon there were police officers at my front door
talking to my mother.
When we went before the juvenile court judge Ron, his
hair freshly cut, his clothing neat and pressed,
explained for the record that the defacement of the
statue had originated with me. He said that he'd
protested sternly against such a thing but had finally,
reluctantly allowed himself to be talked into it, very
much against his will. He told them that I'd supplied
the spray-paint with which this heinous crime had been
committed. He added that he never would have done
such a thing but that I'd persuaded him by feeding him
beer that I'd stolen from my father.
Needless to say I was shocked and outraged and more
than a little scared. I was envisioning a prison
sentence for my actions, being locked in a cell with
some hairy, six-foot eight roommate who would want to
butt-fuck me every night.
But the judge, a cynical looking old babe who had
probably been dispensing juvenile justice for the past
fifty years, seemed to know what the score really was.
She read off Ron's previous record, which astonished
even me. He'd been arrested for burglary, drugs,
assault, and multiple counts of vandalism. She told
him point-blank that she found it difficult to believe
his tale of innocent persuasion. She sentenced him,
in light of his previous history, to four months at
the Boys Ranch, the juvenile version of prison in our
fine community.
Hearing his sentence I became very scared. I naturally
assumed that she would give me the same. But I was
wrong. Present at the hearing was a representative of
St. Anthony's. She was about thirty or so but it was
difficult to tell since she was attired in a tradi-
tional habit of the nun corps.
"Sister Mary." The judge addressed her. "This young
man has never been in trouble prior to this. At least
he's never come to the attention of the police. I
don't think incarceration is quite the answer in this
situation. I am inclined to sentence him to a term of
community service."
"Yes Your Honor." Sister Mary nodded. Her voice
contained slightly more than a hint of an Irish accent.
"I have no objection to that."
"Good." The Judge smiled, a smile that seemed almost
predatory. "Now since he has caused damage to your
facility, I think it only fair that restitution should
be made to you. Now instead of having him pick up
garbage at a local park or some other such nonsense, I
was wondering if maybe there was some work at your
school that he could do? School is starting soon after
all."
Sister Mary seemed to think about this for a moment.
"I suppose," She finally answered. "That the
gymnasium could use a good re-painting."
The judge smiled. "Excellent." She said. "And I've
seen a videotape that shows me that he already knows
how to paint." She picked up her gavel. "You are
hereby sentenced to community service at St. Anthony's
Catholic School, repainting the gym and whatever else
Sister Mary here deems reasonable. Your sentence will
comprise one hundred hours of work, starting tomorrow.
"She turned to the nun. "Agreeable Sister?"
"Indeed."
"So ordered." The judge said, banging down her gavel.
Early the next morning I found myself being led by
Sister Mary, dressed again in her habit, through the
empty halls of the school towards a small gymnasium.
There were two basketball courts, a set of bleachers,
an equipment locker-room full of balls and other
equipment, and a large scaffolding assembly. Stacked
near the scaffolding were well over thirty one-gallon
containers of white paint and some painting equipment;
brushes, rollers, turpentine, tarps, masking tape
rolls. The gym looked immense to me and I wondered if
I would be able to complete it all in the prescribed
one hundred hours.
I had never been in the presence of a nun before. My
parents were agnostics at best and had raised me with-
out religion. All I knew about them I'd learned from
various books and magazines. My previous information
had assured me that they fell into one of two
categories. They were either saintly women who saw
good in everything and everyone or they were harsh
disciplinarians, always ready to rap someone's knuckles
with a ruler. Sister Mary seemed to fit into the
latter category.
"I suggest," She told me, her Irish brogue rolling off
her tongue. "That ye start with the trim over in that
corner. Don't forget to put down the drop cloths and
to take the fixtures off the walls. That should take
ye most of the day. Tomorrow ye can start with the
rollers." She gave me a stern look. "And don't be
spillin' no paint on the floor now."
"Yes Ma'am." I told her, and went to work.
She checked on me multiple times throughout the day.
Her only conversation was to inform me that I was doing
some aspect of the job incorrectly and to suggest a
corrective action. At precisely noon she told me it
was time for lunch and she offered me a bologna sand-
wich on white bread, no cheese, no mustard or mayo,
and a glass of tap water. I ate and drank and then
returned to work. By the end of the day I'd finished
the trim and was ready to start doing the main work of
rolling on the fresh paint.
The gym took me five days to complete. I'd thought I
was done after the second day but Sister Mary insisted
upon three coats of paint, complete with trim.
A routine was established. She would lead me to the
gym each morning, check on me multiple times throughout
the day, criticizing if I was doing something wrong,
she would feed me the same stale bologna sandwich and
glass of water at noon, and she would release me at
five o'clock each afternoon.
She did not converse with me otherwise. She offered
me no inspiring lectures on the grace of God or the
value of a hard day's work, or anything else.
I had developed no firm opinions of her during this
period. She was simply a woman dressed in a penguin
suit who had power over me. Her face was always
neutral. I could tell that she had reddish hair from
the stray locks that protruded from her habit but
other observations were hidden from me.
I could not determine, for instance, what her body
was shaped like, the habit was too bulky. I knew she
wasn't fat or terribly skinny, but beyond that I was
clueless. My only view of anything other than her
face had been a brief glimpse of her left ankle that
I'd seen when she'd bent over to pick up the used
plate that my lunch had been served on.
Certainly she'd never fallen into my mind's vast
collection of sexually exciting women, the likes of
which I masturbated to at least once a day.
Finally, halfway through the sixth day, just as I'd
completed the gym painting to her satisfaction, things
changed.
"Excellent job young man." She told me, gazing around
the room, her blue eyes seeming to sparkle. I noticed
that her accent was decidedly thicker than usual. "Now
ye still have sixty hours left of your service but
since ye've done such a foine job on the gym, I'm
inclined to let ye go home early today. Tomorrow we'll
start work on something else."
"Thank you Sister." I told her, grateful that I would
be released from my prison early today.
"But first," She said, stepping closer to me. "There
is something else that I require of ye before you
retire for the day."
"What's that?" I said, suddenly confused. As she
stepped before me, I was able to smell the unmistakable
odor of alcohol on her breath. Surely I was wrong.
Nuns didn't drink. Did they?
My confusion increased tenfold as her left hand
stretched out and grabbed the crotch of my jeans. Her
fingers began kneading and caressing me. My cock, not
knowing or caring who was doing this responded
immediately.
"Sister?" I said, startled, scared, adrenaline flood-
ing through my body.
"Shhh." She hushed me, continuing her ministrations.
"No words lad."
She fondled me for an indeterminate amount of time.
My dick hardened into a rock hard protuberance and my
breathing quickened. Her hand felt wonderful, even
through the thick material of my paint-splattered
jeans. What in the hell was she doing? She was a nun!
And she was fondling my dick.
"Very nice." She said, almost under her breath, her
face reddening and her eyes taking on a glassy sheen.
Suddenly, with a quick motion, she pulled on the fly
of my 501s, popping open all of the buttons in one
yank. Using both hands, she pushed them and my under-
wear down my thighs, exposing my rigid cock to her
gaze. I saw her lick her lips as she stared at me.
"Sister." I started again, unable to complete the
statement.
"Hush." She admonished me again, pushing me backward
towards the paint scaffold.
She had me sit on one of the lower support brackets,
which felt cold as ice against my naked butt. Stepped
closer, she reached down and pulled the hem of her
habit upwards.
I was treated to a view of her legs. They were
slightly chunky but by no means unattractively so.
White as a sheet of paper, it appeared that they had
never before seen the light of the sun. Her habit
remained bunched around her waist, depriving me of a
view of her crotch and the treasures they beheld but
I could smell her, the odor wafting out from beneath
the habit. I'd smelled pussy before in my life. Two
times before I'd actually managed to get my finger
into a vagina.
But these had been teen-aged girls, the same age as
myself. Sister Mary's odor was worlds apart. It had
a sharp, musty tang to it. It was the smell of a
grown woman in a state of sexual excitement.
Any doubts about what was going on disappeared the
instance that her musk hit my nostrils.
She stepped even closer, her legs overlapping mine.
I felt the silky smoothness of her inner thighs as
they slid slowly along my skin.
Her breath was in my face, the stale odor of alcohol
(it smelled like whiskey) wafting into my nostrils.
She rested her chin on my left shoulder, and I pulled
at her hips to urge her further up my thighs.
Her left hand reached down between us and I felt it
grasping my bare cock again. The feeling of her bare
hand on my stiff cock made me go instantly crazy with
lust. I would have done anything for her at that
moment.
Her other hand seemed to be pulling her habit hem up
higher. I felt the head of my dick resting against a
warm, slick wetness for a moment before her hips
jerked forward, burying me within her.
She quickly sank down upon me with ease, my cock
suddenly buried in a soft, warm sheath. I groaned in
ecstasy. My previous experiences with sex had involved
quite a fumbling and heavy petting in the dark.
With Sister Mary it was very different. I slipped
into her like we were two puzzle pieces specifically
designed to connect together, I had never imagined
what a feeling of freedom I would have with my cock
buried in a female like this.
"Ahhh." She sighed as her pubis met mine. "Hold
still." She whispered into my ear. She then began
to thrust. Her hips gyrated back and forth, sliding
up and down my body, increasing the musky smell of
our union and producing a wet, squishing sound.
I'd never felt anything like it before. She was
actually moving herself atop of me, caressing herself
with my cock. Her arms tightened around my back, her
breathing increasing to a pant. She moved faster and
faster, pushing my butt painfully into the bar upon
which it rested.
I could feel her bare stomach, soft and pliant,
pressing against mine, forcing the air from my lungs
with each thrust. The top of her pussy was grinding
into the top half of my cock, the pressure unbelievably
erotic. Her thighs began to sweat, sliding against
mine.
It didn't take long before I felt the familiar tingle
of approaching orgasm traveling up my spine. My hips
began to thrust involuntarily, meeting her thrusts.
My breathing became ragged and hoarse. I grasped her,
pulling her to me, my fingers feeling the coarse
material of her habit and the soft curves of her body
beneath it.
"Oh God." I moaned, not thinking for a moment that
I was, in fact, inside of a house of God.
"No!" Screamed Sister Mary into my ear, frustration
evident in her voice. "Not yet!"
But I couldn't help it. It was as inevitable as death
and the tides. My thrusts increased to a near-frantic
pace and within seconds I was shooting my seed into her
body, more cum than I would have though possible. It
splashed into her, overflowing and pouring out around
the seal of my cock and her cunt.
When my thrusts finally slowed to a halt and my dick
wilted to it's previous state within her, she pulled
herself off me, sliding backwards until she was
staring me in the eyes. Her face showed unmasked
hostility and frustration.
"God damn you boy!" She stated, sliding the rest of
the way off and dropping to her knees before me.
Suddenly her face was at the level of my crotch, my
wilted dick inches from her. She pushed my legs as
far apart as my jeans would allow, which were still
around my ankles, and slurped me into her mouth. She
began sucking frantically, licking all of the accumu-
lated sperm and vaginal secretions clean.
"Oh!" I said, in rapture. I had never had a blowjob
before, despite having begged all of my previous girl-
friends for one. Her tongue swirled around me, teasing
every inch of my meat. She withdrew her mouth and took
each of my balls into her, sucking them gently. I even
felt her tongue licking between my butt-cheeks, fleet-
ingly caressing my asshole. Within minutes I was hard
as a rock again.
This is a nun doing this to me, I kept telling myself
in disbelief. Part of me couldn't help but wonder if
I was really lying in bed at home and that this was an
elaborate wet dream. God knew I'd had strange noctur-
nal emissions in the past, but this was too real. I
could only conclude that this was really happening,
that a nun dressed in a habit was really sucking my
dick and tonguing my asshole.
Finally, satisfied with the state of my renewed
erection, she pulled back. Remaining on her knees,
she scooted backwards across the gym floor about
three feet and then spun around. She hiked the rear
of her habit up over her hips, affording me my first
view of her nether region.
I was immediately struck by how hairy her crotch was.
Her pussy, which was gaping open, a thin drool of
white sperm running out of it, was covered with thick,
red hair. It ran all the way up to her asshole, which
was also gaping open, looking at me like the eye of
the Cyclops.
"C'mon." She commanded. "Fuck me from behind. Fuck
me like a dog damn you."
I didn't need a second offer. I slid off my perch on
the scaffold and dropped to my knees, inching up behind
her. Taking my cock in my hand I placed it between her
swollen lips and thrust forward, burying myself in her.
"Yes!" She cried, pushing her ass back against me
until her butt cheeks impacted my pubis. "Now fuck me
hard Goddamit. And don't you dare come until I have!"
I started to thrust, grabbing hold of her hips, which
were soft but somewhat flabby, for leverage. I kneaded
them as I fucked her. My balls slapped against her
with each thrust. I watched her pussy lips expand and
contract around my shaft. Her left hand, which had been
supporting her weight on the floor, suddenly reached up
and began caressing her clit, rubbing it furiously.
"Yes!" She screamed in ecstasy. "Fuck me harder, fuck
me harder you little shit!"
I increased my thrusts, sweat now dripping off of my
forehead onto her back.
"Stick your finger up my ass!" She commanded.
I obliged, sliding the middle finger of my right hand
between her butt cheeks and into her anus. It slipped
in easily, sliding up past the second knuckle.
"Oh God." She cried. "Finger-fuck my ass!"
I began thrusting my finger in and out, at first
finding the simultaneous action of doing this and
thrusting with my pelvis difficult but quickly adapting
to the rhythm.
"Oh fuck!" Sister Mary yelled, panting uncontrollably
now. Her ass slammed against me frantically, almost
painfully. Her hand on her clit became a blur. "Yesss!"
She cried, almost knocking me off-balance with her
thrusts. She seemed to reach a peak and then her
thrusts slowed down rapidly as she exhaled a long,
drawn out sigh. Her hand left her clit and began
caressing my balls.
"Now come in me." She said, her voice much more in
control now. "Come in me again. Hurry!"
I increased the tempo of my own thrusts finding myself,
for the first time in my life, having to concentrate
in order to come. Finally, after several moments, the
proper connection was made in my head and I was once
again emptying myself into her body, groaning in
rapture.
When my cock, satiated, slipped from between her
velvet nether lips, she crawled forward, pushing her
habit down over her hips again. She stood up, taking
a deep breath, the only evidence of what we'd engaged
in, on her part anyway, a thin sheen of perspiration
on her face.
She looked down at me, not seeming to notice my spent
cock resting against my thigh or the fact that my jeans
were down around my ankles.
"Okay." She said, her face neutral, her eyes apprais-
ing the gym. "Good job. Take the rest of the day off.
I'll see you bright and early tomorrow morning."
With that she strolled casually out of the gym, her
sneakers squeaking softly on the polished wood floor.
I lay there for a few more minutes and then stood up.
I pulled up my pants and began the long bike ride home,
wondering what was in store for me tomorrow...
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
KRISTEN’S LAW:
It’s okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
strangers. But it isn’t okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex
with strangers!! You only have one body per lifetime,
so take good care of it. OBEY KRISTEN'S LAW AND LIVE!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 8