Art Gallery Sex with a Nun

'Sucker' was my immediate assessment of an ageing male punter stuffing a $50 note into the donations gratefully accepted box by the entrance to the delightful little art gallery I had found on the last day of my short holiday.

Of all the paintings that vied for my attention and thrilled me was a quarter-sized copy of a little known Henry Fuseli painting. The painting entitled 'It's All Mine' was of a hooded woman, or at least we presume it is a woman (Fuseli would never confirm or deny it), in a long black cloak with his/her back to the viewer, gazing out onto a desolate, misty moorland. He/she stood gazing into the middle distance on a raised hill seemingly awed by his/her surrounding beauty.

I became gripped and lost in the moment of giving myself to this work of art. I took in a man or woman standing on a pile of rocks gazing out into the far distance, himself/herself taking in everything the spectacle had to offer.

I sensed a presence standing beside me. A husky voice breathed in my ear, "Do you want to see the original?" I immediately jumped with fright making an embarrassing noise.

I turned to see an apologetic nun who genuinely hadn't intended to startle me, She could see my attraction to this particular work and thought I would be interested in finding out more.

After I had affirmed that I indeed would be extremely grateful to be allowed to cast eyes upon the original, my new found tour guide placed a hand on my shoulder and lightly ushered me towards a small storeroom not 10 meters from where we stood.

On entering this dark, musky room the nun confidently walked further into the darkness whereby she pulled a cord which illuminated a giant full-sized version of my earlier scrutiny.

The effect on my person was both effective and immediate. Whether because of the room's climatic conditions, because of how overawed I felt, or just because of the sheer excitement, I became as aroused and erect as I had been earlier that day as as I awoke prior to stepping into the shower and masturbating myself to fulfillment, following my soaping.

My state, of course, was not lost on Sister Anastasia, which happened to be the name of my personal tour guide, I later discovered. Sister Anastasia serenely maneuvered herself to stand side-on to me which was to my right. Gently and expertly easing my aching cock from its restraint, Sister Anastasia proved she was not unaccustomed to procedures of this nature.

Whilst at the same time masturbating me to an eventual crescendo, Sister Anastasia rubbed her crotch up and down against the top of my leg, which quite rapidly brought me to orgasm. At the same time, Sister Anastasia divulged a potted history of this magnificent work of art whilst thus pleasuring me.

Before I finally spurted on to the dusty, threadbare carpet of this dim room, a lyric from a Clash song, which I still believe to be extremely unlikely, floated into my mind. I could clearly hear Joe Strummer singing "He who fucks Nuns will later join the church." part lyrics from Death or Glory from The Clash's London Calling Album This temporary divorce from the current reality probably slightly delayed my ejaculation.

I felt a strong need to repay the compliment regarding the sexual and educational relief bestowed on me by Sister Anastasia.

Deciding to take charge, I managing to slide a hand down the front of Sister Anastasia's loose-fitting skirt, and into her panties, I found she was wet. This excited me and surprised me greatly. I inserted a couple of fingers and proceeded to frig and masturbate, steadily increasing pace. Sister Anastasia, accompanied by guttural soft moaning, eventually drenched my fingers with her own issue.

When sufficiently recovered, Sister Anastasia rushed over to the storeroom door, produced a bunch of keys and locked us in. This surprised me as I hadn't realized we previously could have been disturbed by anybody.

This new turn of events emboldened me to see how far I could go with sister Anastasia. Sister Anastasia stood as still as a statue, as this time I lifted up her skirt. This exposed nice, plump buttocks. I pulled down her panty-hose and soaking panties. Gently turning her around I positioned her leaning over a nearby large table.

After donning the ever-present condom I carried around in my wallet, I slid home my erect cock into her inviting, still-wet vulva from behind,

I encountered no resistance whatsoever. As I started to pump slowly, my velocity elicited soft moans from sister Anastasia. I slowed my pace as I wanted Sister Anastasia to climax first.

I couldn't help it though, I felt the familiar gradual build-up and just went for it. I started to increase the pace and ferocity of my strokes. I banged as hard and fast as I could. This immediately induced screams from Sister Anastasia. I felt vindicated when I did cum. That was the most satisfying fuck of my life to date.

I was later informed by Sister Anastasia that she had herself found the whole experience most satisfactory. I often wonder if Sister Anastacia's performance is a daily thing. It would be nice to think I was her de-flowerer, and the first to make her cum. I myself found the whole experience immensely gratifying.

Upon leaving that beautiful little gallery which left an unforgettable imprint on my physical and mental wellbeing, I willingly gifted my $50 donation to help with the historic building's upkeep.