The Passion of Agnes Part 4 - Sex Stories

The Passion of Agnes Part 4

... inches long, from a bulbous base it tapered into a sort of stem capping with a mushroom-like knob, a fine piece of craftsmanship. Mary watched me. Though my attention was absorbed I could sense her interest. She looked as if she would love to touch the fetish but restrained herself out of courtesy. She sidled next to me. I knew she was going to touch me. I listened to her breath become shorter and shorter. We were alone in my cell. All was quiet and still. I could hear my heart pound. “You watched me last night. Did you like what you saw?” Mary’s voice had changed; it came from the back of her throat and caught in it, the word “saw” miscarrying as it reached her lips. Her hand grasped mine convulsively. It was eager, her hand, it twined itself into mine with a desperate movement, coating itself in oil. I let it happen. I looked at her. There could be no doubt what plea radiated from those small blue eyes. Both sets of hands grasping, coated and slick, we rubbed each others forearms, unsure of where we were going with this play but submitting to the inner need and allowing it. She brought her small body close to me, I gazed at her thin lips, regarding the rosy flush that suffused her pale skin. It had been weeks now since I lost my lover. I did not want to be untrue to her wandering spirit yet Mary’s presence, the influence of the wooden fetish and my own pressing physical needs all served to move me closer to her. That and the ache of her own desire which struck the perfect ...

... corresponding note in my soul. I threw my coif down, unleashing my dark hair. I removed my habit slowly, letting Mary watch as I revealed myself to her, her eyes drinking in my nudity. She removed her own coif but I stayed her hand when she went to take off her habit. I stepped boldly to her in my nakedness, confident and unashamed. I turned her about roughly and ripped the habit from her. I recognized the pale, petite, almost boyish body that hung from the ceiling of the Misericord only hours before. I pawed her very small tits. Knowing she liked rough nipple-play, I pinched and squeezed them mercilessly. Her hands to the wall I kissed her neck, rubbing my pussy on her tight little bottom. Our oiled hands pawed at each other. As we groped the scented oil began to cover our bodies. Her small breasts glistened with it. I smacked her butt with the palm of my hand. She cried out in a tone reeking of sensuality and submissive approval. “Yes I saw you last night, you bitch, you dirty blasphemer.” I whispered. I smacked her again, harder. I moved her legs farther apart with my foot, sliding my hand between her thighs. She whimpered. I wet my fingers with her moist pussy, sniffing her heady scent before offering them to her nose. She inhaled deeply before taking them in her mouth and sucking with the ravening passion of one dying of thirst drinking. I was soaked and rubbed my cunt against her thigh and ass. She appreciatively rubbed my butt and pressed herself to me. I pushed her ...