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All characters are over the age of 18 years old and all players are consenting adults.
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I woke up to somebody gently fondling my cock and Nurse Adams slapping me. I was lying flat on my back where I'd fallen. The shock of recognizing this woman had been more then I could take.
"Wake up, [slap] wake up you idiot [slap]," said the nurse through gritted teeth. "You are [slap] embarrassing me [slap]."
Dazed, I lifted myself up on my elbows and saw the nun kneeling beside my naked body with a cool wet facecloth in one hand and my big flaccid cock in the other. She was absorbed in the task of cleaning the lipstick off that the nurse had left there, wiping up and down the shaft and over my balls, staring at my massive appendage with that simmering lusty look in her hooded eyes that I remember so well.
I certainly preferred the treatment she was giving me to the short sharp slaps the nurse was dishing out. Those hands... those lovely big hands...
The so-called 'Reverend Mother' looked up at me startled when she realized I was awake and dropped my hardening dick like she'd been caught with her fingers in the cookie jar.
"Thank the good lord you're back with us again," she said piously.
She got up and stood over me, trying to pretend she wasn't ogling my naked body. That condescending, sour look that religious nuts seem to have, had fallen over that beautiful face like a mask. That dear face...
"You've been overdoing yourself with Nurse Adams I think," she said judgmentally. "Are you feeling better? I did not think seeing me would be that much of a shock...," she said under her breath, as though to herself.
"Answer her you fool," whispered the nurse in my ear. "This is The Reverend Mother..."
"I never thought I'd see you again Rhonda," was all I could manage.
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RHONDA
My first sexual experience was with a woman 40 years older than me.
The house I grew up in was religious and very strict about all the wrong things. I learned how to be quiet and keep out of trouble from the time I was born. I had to go to church every other day and the older I got the more was expected of me.
At the time Mr. and Mrs. Flemming came to stay, I was still going to school and was only required at church on Tuesday and Thursday evenings and all day Sunday. Not too bad I guess. Mom and dad were involved in something nearly all the time.
Bob and Rhonda Flemming were longstanding members of the congregation and had apparently not been getting along so well. My father explained the reason for their visit by saying that they would be staying with us for the foreseeable future and that we would help them rebuild their failing marriage.
What a joke. I guess he thought that our supposed idyllic family life and his intensive counseling would fix their tottering marriage in no time.
Bob Flemming was a short slim bookish sort of man with thick round glasses that sort of made him look like a skinny owl.
Rhonda was the complete opposite.
The first thing to notice about Mrs. Flemming was her size. She was a big blonde lady with big boobs and big butt... a walking talking voluptuous fantasy on two shapely legs. I was immediately smitten as only a teenage boy can be. Where do I sign up to die for you ma'am?
Her hair was caramel blonde and crazy curly, falling thick and long past her shoulders. Her face was florid with big rosy red cheeks and a smile so big and wide it seemed to almost meet at her ears. Everything about her was immediately attractive to me but her eyes were the icing on the cake. Deep and dark with big lashes that seemed to be hiding all sorts of secrets.
She seemed so sexy and out of place around us puritans.
Rhonda was immediately sweet and kind to me almost like she had sensed my feelings for her. I guess I was not used to affection and she seemed to have heaps to give away - even to me.
I had to give up my bedroom and sleep on the lounge but I didn't mind. My adolescent crush saw to that. It was the very least I could do.
"Are you sure you don't mind Johnny?" she asked me - in a deep warm voice like bourbon and molasses.
She was genuinely concerned that they were putting me out. 'Bob' didn't even acknowledge me. I soon made up my mind about him.
"Of course Mrs. Flemming," I replied. "I can sleep anywhere."
"Oh Johnny, that's so very generous of you," she said tearfully. "Thank you so much," and she swept me into her arms, burying my face in her big boobs.
She was warm and smelt amazing and she held me longer and squeezed me harder then I'd ever been held before. I rested my head on her substantial chest and fought the urge to put my arms around her as well.
"...and you must call me Rhonda please, I don't know who Mrs. Flemming is, and I will call you Johnny and we will be friends won't we?"
She held my hands in hers and looked deep into my innocent star-struck young eyes. I'd never felt love like that before or since.
I caught a glimpse of her husband looking at my father with a 'what can I do with her?' expression on his stupid wimpy face. He was such an idiot. For me, she was instantly everything a woman should be and all a man could ever want.
"Yes Mrs. Flem.., I mean Rhonda," I stammered and she beamed at me.
She immediately became the object of all my pubescent fantasies.
I imagined her coming to me at night wearing some ethereal nightgown, leaning over me and pressing my face into her immense tities. I'd be laying on my back with my big cock sticking up in the air she would straddle me and lower her magical body onto me. As I squirted my cum inside her I'd imagine her kissing me with her tongue in my mouth - like the French people do it.
For weeks and weeks, I followed her around in what I thought at the time was a nonchalant way. On reflection, my motives must have been pretty obvious.
Our initial friendlily affection became warmer and warmer. Rhonda didn't seem to mind my attention at all and she pretended not to notice when I 'accidentally' brushed up against her. At the time I assumed it was cause she was one of those tactile people. If something needed emphasis she would invariably have to touch you to help make the point. I thought she didn't even notice my clumsy gropings.
I was always on the lookout for ways to be near her and washing up after meals was a great opportunity. I still get a hardon when I see a pair of those green rubber gloves. Everybody else would go into the lounge room to watch the news while Rhonda and I scraped the plates, washed up in the sink, dried everything, and then put it all away - chatting away about all sorts of things. All the while I was checking out her body, looking for any opportunity to touch her.
What started out as standing close at the knife and fork drawer, soon became spanking each others butts as we passed in the hall... as long as there was nobody around of course. I found this all immensely exciting. It seemed such a grown-up thing to do and, over time, our restrained fondling grew more and more unchecked.
One Saturday morning I found her in the laundry room bent over our old washing machine. The beautiful middle-aged woman was wearing tight-fitting blue jeans that hugged her big ass like a second skin.
Taking a deep breath I casually walked over and rested my hand on her large left buttock.
"Can I help you with anything Rhonda?" I asked as virtuously as I could as though I was just being friendly.
"Yes please dear," she said. "Just give me a second..."
She continued to pull things out of the machine and drop them in the laundry basket for a blissful eternity. I spread my hand wider over that colossal bum cheek, cupping as much of as I could, watching my hand take liberties over and down her thigh like it was not attached to my arm.
The sweet lovely woman giggled and shook her bottom and I felt her meaty ass shake and move under my hands.
I still kick myself for not being braver that day. I should have slid my hand down her leg or even better, slid it between her legs, and rubbed her crotch. But I didn't. It was too much. I could see my fingers were in right inside the cleft of her ass and I felt that was enough masturbation material to last me forever. I was hyperventilating as it was.
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IN THE BATHROOM
Rhonda and Bob were especially indifferent to each other. From my innocent teenage perspective that worked just fine. I imagined Rhonda and I could run off together and live in a little cottage in the country somewhere and have sex day and night.
My father had different plans of course. Divorce in our religion was not allowed so dad, as a minister in the congregation, had decided to 'fix them'. This involved some serious talk with Bob - which was good because it meant they were out a lot of the time. Apparently, Rhonda could not be involved because she was a woman - a 'weaker vessel'. Bob was the head of his family so he was the one who could control the situation. Misogynistic dickheads.