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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: second.txt (Ff, mast, rom)
Authors name: Rachael Ross (rache18us@yahoo.com)
Story title : Second Chance
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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.
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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
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This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 26