The petite naked figure pulled the nun's habit over her red-scrubbed flesh, shrugging her narrow shoulders to accommodate the starched coarse black fabric. She cocked her head to let the stiff outer layer open, allowing her short straw colored hair to emerge as though she were being reborn into this austere life every morning.
Rummaging through the top drawer of her simple furnishings she pulled out a white wad of silk. The fishnet stockings felt lighter than ether in her hands as she opened them up to the light. A beam of sunshine shot through the wide-knit threads to bounce off the bristle-scratched wooden floor and caromed from the mirror, in the 20-year-old novice's room, onto the wall above her simple cot.
The spider's web of of sensuality tugged at her belly when she unfurled the diaphanous fabric over her recently shaved legs. She knew banishment from the order would be immediate if her secret were discovered. The danger of it tickled at the damp spot between her legs, a spot that grew more damp each time she took another risk.
What would the Mother Superior look like wearing these?, the first-year novice pondered as she measured the wide-spaced threads against her sleek legs.
For a moment Sylvia was back "on the block" where she grew up, before she was shoved into the nun ideology. She was a young silly girl that fell in love with a married man who presented the world to her on an erudite platter. This world came replete with orgasms and pillow talk: two realms the married man was detailed in. Sylvia cried the night she lost virginity, not because it hurt or that she felt short-changed but because this man did everything in his power to please her. She had been masturbating since she was twelve and this older, masterful man was able to coax supreme physical pleasure from her body at his whim. Not just a simple orgasm but a sheet-clenching, pillow-biting climax that made her weep when the blue sheets of pleasure filled her vision. The object of her lust would wrap her in his arms and pull her close to his body whispering sweet nothings into her ear. Little did she know that the whispers were nothings and his promises held less weight than the stockings she now secreted under her nun's habit.
With her emotional stability trashed by the older man she fell directly into the orbit of one of the twin priests from the local parish. The two identical brothers joined the seminary together after 12 years of Catholic education within the neighborhood diocese: Our Lady of Sorrows on the Bay Shore Turnpike. The twins began their denominational life as a celebrated pair. They proclaimed their devotion to a life in the service of God at an early age and, though more handsome and athletic than almost all of their peers, they were never seen as subjects of sinful indiscretions. Legions of young females had plied their feminine wiles in an attempt to sway the pair's faith, to no avail.
Sylvia had, within the period of one short month, sullied the reputation of the oldest twin — a full fifteen minutes older — and might have brought about his ultimate downfall if she had not grabbed the wrong twin's cassock directly below the belt buckle in a moment childish ardor. With the secret out, Sylvia was labeled a Jezebel, packaged as the same and offered few options for her penance. One of those choices included a gold band on her ring finger as a visible indication of a nuptial commitment to the Jesus Christ of the Holy Roman Catholic Church.
Many a bony finger from the diocese pointed towards the nunnery as the only just atonement for this temptress of the fabled twin priests. She agreed to this rather than the alternative, a nursing assistant in a leper colony stationed on Prince Edward Island: a fly speck on the map some 400 miles off the coast of South Africa. It was a island deemed ideal for a colony of this sort being far from civilization and yet considered marginally livable. Sylvia felt a nun's habit was preferable to an island where penguins outnumbered humans 3000 to one during the summer.
The silk fabric of the stockings pushed a lump up into her throat. As she unrolled the white fabric to the top of her thighs her thumb nudged her pubic mound and a sticky thread of fluid tethered her digit to the wetness that seeped out from between the folds of her body. A shudder coursed through her flesh bringing her nipples to attention, threatening to give away her secret arousal to any who glanced in her direction. A hard twist of her nipple, between her thumb and forefinger, only accentuated the problem rather than relieve it and it shot a current of sexual electricity deep into her belly.
"Shit," she whispered, only to suck her lips into her mouth in an attempt to swallow the words already in a balloon hovering above her head. After six months in the nunnery she still felt as awkward as a ham sandwich at a Bar Mitzvah but her illicit pleasures built a nest for nervous butterflies in her stomach each time she broke the rules.
