Sisters Of Eden - Sex Stories

Sisters Of Eden

... began at around the same time as these feelings rose within me. My confessions actually became far more open and honest. I would tell Father Oliver about my rapidly intensifying desire for other women. The lion’s share of the pleasure in this was in knowing that he was actually deriving no pleasure himself from it. He would tell me that I was in danger of falling into the fires of hell if I continued along that path. My heart told me that the very furnaces of hell could not be as hot as the fire that burned between my legs every time I became aroused thinking of another woman’s fingers and tongue pleasuring me to climax. I continued to give up each and every one of my lesbian fantasies in the most colourful and vivid detail every single week, regardless of the ‘tuts’ and judgement of, quite literally, a hypocritical old self-pleasurer. It was also at around that time that I suddenly, and rather surprisingly, found many of the sisters becoming significantly less abrasive with me. In fact, in my final year, Sister Felicity gave me the news that they had decided to make me ‘Head Girl’; an honour which I received with some confusion and deeply mixed emotions. I knew nothing about the Bible, my prayer life was non-existent, and with my sex drive and feelings towards other women beginning to radiate from between my legs almost continually I knew that the multiplicity of my sins made me the least qualified young woman in the upper sixth form for that particular role. About four ...

... weeks before my final exams, I was in the sixth-form dormitory when one of the sisters approached me and said that Sister Felicity wanted to see me that evening after vespers. Most of the girls knew that being summoned by Sister Felicity was not normally a positive sign. She was responsible for every disciplinary matter that arose in the school, and usually dealt with it in the harshest possible manner. More than that, I had never really forgotten the cold mornings in the gym, scraping all the skin off my knees and being called a “disgusting little harlot”, among other things. It was, then, with some trepidation that I approached her study and knocked lightly on the door later that evening. When I entered, Sister Felicity was not alone. She was sat on one of three imposing vintage brown leather armchairs, with Sister Theresa sat on another. The study itself was lit in a low, flickering, pulsing gaslight, lending it an almost ghostly, golden-yellow tint. A large, ornate Persian rug was spread on the floor in front of their feet “Ah, Leanne. Come in and sit down, please,” Sister Felicity said with a slight snap in her voice. I walked over nervously to where she and Sister Theresa were sat and lowered myself into the third, sumptuous armchair, taking care to smooth the back of my navy blue skirt against the back of my legs with the palms of my hands as I did so. “Tell me, Leanne,” she continued, “Have you decided what you are going to do when you have completed your education at ...