Inspired by a fan, this is the story of Ana Rodriguez, a Catholic girl of New Mexico with a proud Spanish, conservative heritage in a modern world. Shy, 5'6 with long thick black hair, light brown eyes with glasses, lite brown skin, 32C very full breasts, 130lbs but carries it very well, nice ass and great legs especially when wearing heels, she becomes trapped between her Catholic vows, her career, and her own emerging sexual tension as a young woman. Because she can't make herself fuck who she wanted for fear of living a sinful life, she puts herself into dire situations instead to explore her hidden, and deep sexual passions.
*****
Confiteor Deo omnipotenti,
et vobis fratres,
quia peccavi nimis
cogitatione, verbo,
opere et omissione:
mea culpa, mea culpa,
mea maxima culpa.
Ideo precor beatam Mariam semper Virginem,
omnes Angelos et Sanctos,
et vos, fratres,
orare pro me ad Dominum Deum nostrum.
Ana repeated the Latin prayer at mass, tears sliding down her Madonnic face. The whispers of these words were sweetened by her thick, lush lips. She could curse all humanity with those lips, and it would sound like a blessing.
"Say the words in English, Ana," Father Murphy said sternly. Murphy's Law, the students whispered behind his back.
I confess to almighty God
and to you, my brothers and sisters,
that I have greatly sinned,
in my thoughts and in my words,
in what I have done and in what I have failed to do,
through my fault, through my fault,
through my most grievous fault;
therefore, I ask blessed Mary ever-Virgin,
all the Angels and Saints,
and you, my brothers and sisters,
to pray for me to the Lord our God
On her knees, the paver stones hurting her bare knees, she prayed with head bowed and hair touching the autumn leaves. Her thin blouse and bra seemed too thin and small, and a chill ran down her spine. Her thin skirt was too low, and she could feel air on her white cotton panties. Her high-heels were uncomfortable.
Father Murphy came down on his haunches before her, and she suddenly felt naked knowing her cleavage was prominent and very visible kneeling down. Her large silver and turquoise cross hung before her tits like blasphemy.
Suddenly, she was naked and still on her knees. Naked but for that cross her mother gave her for her Catechism. Naked before Father Murphy and his piercing blue eyes, and black curly hair, a British priest who looked every bit like Daniel Craig. When the students were not complaining about Murphy's Law ... what can go wrong Father Murphy will make wrong ... they called him Father James Bond.
She shivered violently, shamed and terrified of her nudity before his judging gaze. Yet her pussy was wet. Shaved and clearly visible, the cool air felt keenly on her clitoris, and she felt an arousal that deepened her shame all the more.
"Do you confess?" he asked her.
"Yes. I confess everything. I wanted you to molest me before I became a woman. I wanted you to touch me. I have evil and sinful thought, Father Murphy!"
He looked angry, and his face reddened. "No, you cannot confess that! I am too weak for that, girl!"
Father Murphy then leaned forward and kissed her, and a hot rush spread through her body like Hell's fire.
# # #
Ana awoke from the reoccurring dream drenched in sweat. Cotton shirt, sweat pants, and panties were soaked. Yet her panties were not soaked from sweat alone. Feeling uncomfortable in the soaked clothes, she stripped out of them. Guilt and shame for her fantasy weighed heavily on her. She put her glasses on.
The windows were dark. Night had fallen in Cerrillos, and the ancient oak tree looked ominous in the moonlight. This was her old room. The one she had grown up in. Now it was her house since her parents had passed away. She was an only-child, though she had countless cousins and relatives. The house was empty and lonely. She kept the house dark and walked around the old house naked, one of the few left from the 1800's. One window overlooked the cemetery, was Antonio Rodriguez, an alleged ancestor, dying in 1924. The only other Rodriguez there was Mary, who died being only two years old in 1943. They had died long before even her parents had been born, who had passed away after retirement in Albuquerque. The cemetery, and the train track, and the old Church, all reminded her of an interesting childhood here. Her parents had been Hispanic hippies, caught up in the 70's with drugs and Hells Angels. They told her about how stupid they had been, and how Jesus had and the Church had saved them. But it only made Ana wonder what such an exciting life had been like. Sex, drugs, and motorcycles.
Turning on a light, she looked at herself in the mirror. She was a young woman, but a woman more than a girl. Her breasts were large and heavy, though not so large as to be uncomfortable. Dark, wide areolas and big nipples. She had always been embarrassed by her nipples, and needed padded bras just to hide them.
It was Friday night. A stressful week at work as an administrator responsible for deciding who to layoff at the University of New Mexico. Five people had been let go. Five families whose lives she had disrupted. More than a few of them now hated her. Now she needed a distraction from her cold-hearted professional life. She fucked over other people, and that weighed heavily on her soul. Maybe getting fucked and used like a whore was justice?
Ana showered and shaved her legs, and trimmed her pubic hair. She wondered about shaving it. But that's what sluts did, or porn stars. She touched her prominent clitoris, and closed her eyes as a thrill made her shudder. Then shame had its way, and she stopped.
She discovered her pussy at an early age, and became fascinated with it. She figured out how to make herself come. Then she had been caught, and beaten for it, told never to touch herself. Not only had she disobeyed, she had shaved the hair off because she loved the way it felt.
She deeply believed in God, and all the trappings of the Catholic Church. And like most Catholics, held on to deep guilt and self-hate. Father Murphy had never rid her of her guilt and self-loathing, though he had tried. The young, handsome, idealistic priest believed in a Church that did not exist. A guilt-free, impassioned, vibrant Church where sin could be overcome by willpower, and forgiveness announced daily. She had not dared confess her secret life to him, as much as she had wanted to. And being true to the rules, she refused the Eucharist and crossed her arms for a blessing. Father Murphy had tried to find out why, but had failed.
Thinking of that young priest, only ten years older than her, made her wet and horny. And those feelings of guilt and self-loathing returned. But she could not help but touch herself as she used lotion on her body, and on her anus and pussy especially. She took care of her anus well, always keeping it moisturized and healthy. She lifted one leg on the bathroom counter and lotioned one foot, and then the other. Her ass was perfect, a Jennifer Lopez ass, but in perfect proportion to her 32C breasts and figure. She was luscious and full, not thin or petite, nor fat in any way. Good legs with muscle, a flat tummy with a little baby fat, nice tits, and a round face and long black hair that fell to her waist. If she met a woman like herself, she'd want to fuck her.
It was cold, so she put on her sweater tube dress, black and frizzy and warm. It hugged her body from breasts to knees, and a coat covered her shoulders and arms. Black, high-heeled boots with fluffy faux fur cuffs, and a choker with a large turquoise stone completed her appearance. She needed no make-up. She put her glasses on, and became a sexy Latina dork.
It was 9pm by the time she walked out into the courtyard and to the car. The round stone tower of the living room was basked in a full moon. Her white Corolla chirped with the keyless entry, and she left to Madrid, where the Mineshaft Tavern awaited her. She felt nervous energy as if she were doing something naughty. Maybe she was, maybe not.
# # #
"Hey baby, you waiting for a real man?" slurred an older man in biker gear, and reeking of beer.
Ana had tried to ignore other customers at the tavern, but as she sat alone at a table waiting for Dwayne, her boss, she grew increasingly nervous. The place had gotten rowdy and loud.
"I'm waiting for a friend, thank you," she said articulately and clearly. But these people didn't understand articulate.
"That wasn't my question, chica," the stranger replied, becoming bolder and sitting down across from her. "I can tell a slut when I see one. You want to take care of your needs, sweetheart, with a real man, or what?"
Her mind wanted to tell him to go fuck off. But instead, she shook like a kitten before a wolf. The wolves were closing in. The tavern was getting rowdy, the girls drunker, and men were taking advantage of that. A few people danced to country music, and fake cowboys who owned no ranches, and fake bikers who had never been in a gang, showed bravado with just as much fakeness. She knew this, but she was still a kitten out of her element.
"Please go away," was all she could manage to say over the loud music.
She then pretended to clean her glasses, hoping the world becoming blurry would also become less dangerous. But in putting them back on, the biker came into clarity again, looking at her with a smirk. His gray beard and bearish appearance was strangely masculine and appealing on some primal level. He was the bear among wolves, more indifferent and aloof, watching for her unique opportunities, and far more dangerous than other predators. Long gray hair fell over his black leather jacket. His wore Levis well, had a bit of a beer-belly, and heavy boots that made the wooden floor boom as he walked. He was a giant of a man, she realized. A grizzly bear, she thought.
"I'll keep the wolves away, sweetie. But I smell who you really are. If you ever want to get laid good and hard, and left satisfied, let me know. And I assure you, chica, I ain't bragging."
She had no idea what to say. At work, she was confident and strong. But here she was in the wild, subject to the whims of predators. She thought about carrying a gun again.
"What's your name."
"Please leave."
"Sweetie, I'm not a rapist. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm a little drunk. What's your name?"
She swallowed hard.
"Ana."
He reached over the small table to shake her hand. "I'm Tom Hardy. Pleased to meet you, ma'am. What do you do for a living, Ana?"
"I work at UNM. I just started a few months ago."
"Ah, still on probation then," he winked. "Graduated from there, and took a job after, huh?"
