When the door swung open we found before us the most beautiful face I'd ever gazed upon. Young, no more than eighteen...with pallid, almost white skin. The girl's flesh was so smooth her face looked chiseled from wax.
But it was her eyes—those unusual eyes!—that struck me. Everything else seemed to fall into relief but those eyes. Large, catlike, mounted wide apart upon prominent, almost oriental, cheekbones. Brown, they were, but almost auburn in their glowing tint. And the pupils were dilated, reflecting the light from the doorway like pools—deep pools—as if this half-child held timeless worlds within her.
And was that actually eye-shadow about her long-lashed lids? How strange! This face, this delicate and exquisite face, framed by the hood of her habit...could it be adorned with makeup?
The teenaged nun's nose was small and perfect, her mouth large with full, dark lips—lips that appeared to be wet with a dark, almost purple, gloss. But I doubted that this could be; the order of sisters she belonged to was much too orthodox, they would never allow it. In the full raiment of her order she stood on our step, in the howling evening wind, like some strange goddess of the night.
Leasa, my wife, then invited our holiday guest into our home.
At thirty, Leasa was a noted psychologist and had been working with the local convent, helping the sisters there recover from some, most unfortunate, incidents. She had been doing routine work at the convent when the horror occurred. It was considered safest to have many of the sisters, who would not be spending the holidays with relatives, spend them with local families, getting the women out of the confines of the desolate convent walls.
Sister Christine now appeared at our doorstep to stay with us.
As we took her shawl, I found for the first time in my marriage an eddy of arousal and guilt swirl within my heart, and elsewhere, as I took in Christine's visage. I found myself immediately and extraordinarily attracted to her.
Leasa and I had been married only seven months at the time. I had never had any inclination or reason to dwell on the attractions of another woman because, quite frankly, Leasa was herself a beauty. We met only a year before at an evening affair and—surprisingly for a married couple—much of her background was still vague to me. But according to the sketchy biography she'd related, Leasa had grown up in Texas, and had, in fact, been a statewide beauty queen. At 5'9", blonde and shapely, I'd never seen another woman that I considered as beautiful as my own wife.
But this creature before me...there was something about her...an ineffable radiance submerged within a serene and somber grace that was well beyond her years...and which exuded a strange sensuality.
We dined late. In the large dining room the three of us were dwarfed by our surroundings. The home we were renting at the time belonged to a wealthy friend of Leasa's who was spending the year in Europe. We were only subletting until we found a more reasonable abode for ourselves. The house was actually more a mansion, with several acres surrounding it.
The property was beautiful. The only drawback was the wildlife in the area. Leasa and I both loved animals, but this area seemed plagued by unusual creatures, which we could hear at night. The occasional growling and howling made me fear for Leasa's safety, since my wife was a night bird. I forbade her taking walks at night any more. She had done so in the past to clear her head when she was working on problems related to her work.
As we sat down to dinner, I noticed the dining room table was ridiculously large for just the three of us. But I was drawn, even at the distance, to Christine's diet and table manners. She ate little and only sipped at her wine. But strangely, she would at times allow her wine to run slightly from her lips. When she would notice my wife and I staring, she would smile demurely and dab the offending rivulet of merlot from her chin. My eyes would meet Leasa's, half questioning, half amused, as if asking: What kind of girl is this?
As Christine held her goblet, I noticed the delicacy of her tiny hands. Even at her short height and slender frame, her hands appeared almost childlike in size, although perfectly formed. Again, I found myself taken back by the dark nail polish gracing her fingernails. In all, the girl's appearance was similar to what we would now call 'Goth.' But this was the early seventies, long before such a style was even imagined.
Leasa served dinner to Christine and I, but she herself also ate little; she had long suffered from what I thought was an ulcer, but today it might be recognized as borderline anorexia. I worried about her but considered it a mild, physical disorder only.
"Christine, what has the last few days been like among the sisters? Were they excited about going home for the holidays?" Leasa inquired, so as to make conversation among strangers.
"I wouldn't say excited," Christine softly, but forthrightly, responded: "I would describe them as 'intent.' They were very anxious to leave the premises."
Then she added, as somewhat of an afterthought and affirmation, "...yes."
"Were they frightened?" my wife pressed.
Christine looked at her curiously, as if Leasa might have been the patient and the young nun the therapist:
"Wouldn't you be?"
"Well...yes. Of course. I guess it was a silly question," Leasa retracted, somewhat embarrassed.
"It's alright, Leasa. Sometimes I forget to think before speaking—or acting, too." Christine responded flatly and sincerely, holding Leasa in her serene gaze.
Leasa appeared to have been slapped by the remark, but slapped so gently it brought forth only a smile of acknowledgement.
"Would you like to see your room?"
"Yes, I am tired," the girl confessed.
As they rose from the table to retire upstairs, I noticed the sway and roll of the girl's breasts under the loose fitting robes of her habit. She wore no bra. Her breasts were firm and quite large for such an elfin frame. I could feel my own hardness, as I found myself staring at the young nun's breasts. Although I chastised myself for my instinctive lust, I found myself staring at the sensuous bounce of the free floating pair of mammaries, while the women departed the dining area.
I was stunned and embarrassed to find Leasa peering at the train of my eyes, catching me leering at the chest of the girl—she was not pleased.
That night as we retired to bed, we discussed the evening, and I pleaded my case:
"But, my God, honey! The girl had on no bra. Have you ever seen a braless nun before? I haven't! And what's with the eye shadow, lipstick and nail polish? She looks like she's out of a Poe novella. What?—Is our holiday guest Ligeia?"
"These women have been through a lot, Edward. I can't explain her appearance—yet. But I hope that in our session tomorrow this will work itself out."
Leasa came to bed wearing a sheer nightgown. Her breasts were large. They always seemed too large for her frame. Not surprisingly, I never minded or complained. My body always responded to just the sight of her naked. I was hard and took her into my arms. I kissed her neck deeply and breathed in her flesh. I loved her smell.
After rolling her underneath me, I pushed up the flimsy garment and wedged my thick, aching dick into her nether lips. They were full and wet...very wet. I sank myself into her—to the root. I felt the tension I'd been feeling all night during dinner begin to uncoil, as my hips began to churn and bang into my wife's body.
Leasa grunted in response to each deep thrust of my hips into hers. She held me tight. But otherwise, as was so often the case, she lay back, widespread but passive, as I humped into her repeatedly.
Our hips slapped loudly, as I pounded myself deeply into Leasa. As I labored away, my eyes closed...and the vision that came to me was hauntingly beautiful. It was the face we greeted that night at the door. It was Christine.
I continued to pound into Leasa with greater and greater fury, while for the first time in our relationship I fantasized having another woman beneath me. I could hear Leasa grunting and shaking as I bulled my hips into hers, goring her with a savageness we had never shared in our bed before. But beneath me in the dark, I could see only Christine, naked and white, wearing nothing but her crucifix, her long, raven hair tossed and tangled like a dark, sleepy night-storm.
I came violently. I had never come like that before. It was from a place deep within me and I thought the spasms would never stop, as I ground my loins roughly into my wife's.
Then I settled weakly on top of her, starting the freefall into sleep that sex brings on. I felt the pang of one last orgasmic spasm, exhaled and whispered, "...Christine..."
The next morning I awoke and dressed, while Leasa—as was her custom—stayed in bed through most the day.
For the next two days we said little to each other.
**********
Leasa's work with the strange creature that boarded with us was performed primarily at night. I didn't understand why they held their sessions only at night. But often they stayed together behind closed doors from dusk till nearly dawn.
Sometimes in the late dusk, I would look out from my study window to see them outside walking arm in arm.
One night, I was surprised to see them sitting together on the garden bench holding each other's hand and speaking closely. Casually, Christine rested her head on Leasa's shoulder. Leasa placed her arm around the girl and drew her closer. After just a few minutes, Leasa kissed the girl's forehead. However, night descended quickly, and soon I could no longer make out what they were doing in the dark.
I found the situation more than a little unsettling. They appeared a couple, and I felt both shock and a vague jealousy.
