Sister Catherine:

Stratford-upon-Avon, England, circa 1692

I never knew my father, and my mother died in childbirth, so the nuns at the local convent took me in as a child. Originally, they roomed me with all the other orphans--four to a bed--but my devoutness and physical aptitude quickly separated me from the rest. When I was nine years old, Sister Catherine personally adopted me. Given that she was in charge of cooking for the convent, she didn't mind sharing a bedchamber with me so long as I helped carry barley and other foodstuffs to and from the pantry. While food was scarce among the orphans, Sister Catherine always made sure I got second helpings. That combined with all the manual labor I had to do around the convent resulted in me becoming 6'2" and 210 pounds by the time of my eighteenth birthday, twice as big and three times as strong as most of the other orphans. It was around this time that I noticed Sister Catherine looking at me differently. Where she had once been maternal, scolding even, she was now speechless and demure in my presence. As if lightning struck whenever I entered the room. Although I respected her too much to ever command anything of her, Sister Catherine's eyes made it clear that she would have submitted to any of my demands.

So, when at eighteen I grew too tall and too broad for the divan she'd originally outfitted as my bed eight years prior, it didn't take long for her to offer up her own bed as a place for me to sleep.

"I'll sleep more than comfortably on the divan,"

she told me. With her petite frame, she probably would have. Chivalrous as I was, however, I adamantly refused to displace her from her own bed. But she wouldn't take no for an answer, going so far as to sleep on the floor until I found it within myself to take up the bed. This lasted two weeks until I finally came up with the idea to share it with her. Given her modesty, Sister Catherine never would have suggested the idea herself, but she had recently become too awestruck by my commanding physical presence to possibly contradict me. As a result, she promptly agreed, and that night the two of us slept side by side.

Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that I slept while she tossed and turned, because for a few nights, she was utterly restless. She danced around the subject whenever I asked how she'd slept, but I knew. She hadn't slept a wink for days. Finally, late one night just after she'd snuffed out the candles, she confided in me the reasons for her recent insomnia.

"James, listen, it embarrasses me to say this, but..."

she trailed off. I felt the tension in her voice. "I'm not used to sleeping with all of this."

I sat up next to her, my broad shoulders practically ripping at the undersized tunic Sister Myrtle had sown for me years prior.

"All of what?"

I asked innocently.

"All of this!"

She found my hand in the dark and yanked it towards the hem of her nightgown.

"You mean..."

I rubbed the coarse linen fabric of her nightgown between my thumb and forefinger.

"You mean you usually sleep in something more comfortable?"

She paused for a moment.

"You could say that,"

she said finally.

I exhaled audibly.

"Listen, Sister Catherine, you've already done too much for me. It would make me happiest if you slept in whatever garments make you feel most comfortable."

"You really mean that?"

I heard the rustling of the covers as she turned to me, her big blue eyes searching for mine in the pitch black darkness.

This time I turned to her, my knees now touching hers underneath the covers.

"Of course I do. Now get to it so we can both sleep. I know how much you need it."

Without saying another word, and without even lighting a new candle, she stood up from the bed and went to the washroom. In the silent darkness, staring up at the ceiling, I distantly heard her nightgown fall to the floor and felt a twinge of excitement at the sound. What was this feeling? It certainly wasn't love, but it didn't feel far off. Like my heart was slipping through my gut and into my crotch. With a smile on my face and a pulsing sensitivity between my legs, I fell contentedly to sleep before Sister Catherine even made it back to bed.

When I awoke, the morning light heating my face through the window, I turned to Sister Catherine and noticed that she was still asleep. Knowing that this was the first good sleep she'd had in days, I elected not to wake her. She needed all the sleep she could get. As I tiptoed around the room readying myself for my morning chores, I heard her body moving around in the bed. Thinking she had just woken up, I turned around to face her, but what I saw next shocked me to my core.

Still asleep, she had rolled over and away from the covers, exposing her fully naked backside to the morning light. My immediate reaction was a sense of shame; I knew Sister Catherine wouldn't want me to see her like this. However, due to the fact that she was fully turned away from me, I knew there was no risk of being caught, so I continued staring against my better judgment. Her right leg, the one closest to me, was outstretched and pushing away the covers, while her left leg was hiked so far up that the knee hugged itself against her tight waist, nestling into the empty space between her hips and her ample bosom, which was hidden from my view. What was not hidden from my view, however, was her voluptuous ass, which was as well-proportioned as anything I had ever seen prior or since. Like the behind of a well-conditioned mare, it looked muscled yet tender, with two symmetrical dimples sitting just between it and her tight waist.

Until this moment, I had only ever seen Sister Catherine in conservative nun wear (all of which had left much to the imagination), so nothing could have braced me for the unimaginable beauty of her slim and petite frame. There was hardly any fat to speak of, but what little she had sat in all the right places, further filling out her tight body. But what I noticed next captivated me most. I had spent so long staring at her ass that I hadn't discerned what was now impossible to ignore just a few inches below it: between her spread legs there was a glistening wetness dripping down the inside of her thigh and onto the bedding. Suddenly I felt that same familiar feeling from the night before, when I'd heard her nightgown fall to the washroom floor. Like my heart had found its way into my bollocks. Still in an unconscious state, her left arm removed itself from underneath the pillow and slowly reached down into the wetness. Just as slowly, her hips then began to undulate against the finger that had plunged itself in, as if she was kneading dough with the weight of her whole body. Utterly entranced by the whole spectacle, I stood by silently until a brief, carnal moan issued itself from her full lips. Alarmed and afraid that she would wake soon, I quickly scurried out of the room and began my morning chores.

For the rest of the day, I avoided Sister Catherine's eyes entirely. But I didn't avoid the thought of her. Again and again, I turned the thought of her soft and rounded backside over in my mind. Even more, though, I wondered about the wet fluid I had seen between her legs, which had been the same transparent white as watered down milk. What had caused that?

That evening I went to bed early, feigning tiredness but really just hoping to avoid any interactions with Sister Catherine. It all felt too strange, like I had wronged her somehow. Although she was always the person I asked about things I didn't understand, I knew not to ask her about this. This was different.

I was still turning thoughts like this one over in my mind when, an hour or so later, I heard Sister Catherine tiptoe into the bedroom and disrobe, her heavy wool habit falling to the ground with a weighty thump. Feigning sleep, I opened my eyes just wide enough to see her figure creeping towards the bed, the only light in the whole room being the candle she held in her right hand. For a brief moment, I watched in wonder as the candle's glow illuminated her naked body. Her two breasts, which I had never seen in their full glory until now, stood at attention just above the tops of her ribs. Upright, firm, but as delicate as two teardrops, each one looked to be at least a handful, probably more. Under the covers, I felt myself rising to attention as I never had before.

I closed my eyes and pretended to turn over in my sleep just before Sister Catherine blew the candle out, and moments later, she pulled back the covers and climbed into bed beside me. I was facing away from her, but nevertheless I sensed her presence at my back, her twin breasts rising and falling in sync with her tender breaths. I felt my own breathing grow quicker. Uneven. I had never felt this level of excitement before.

How will I ever find it in myself to sleep with her so close to me?

I remember thinking to myself. But somehow I did.

I awoke to total darkness. Assuming I was still facing away from Sister Catherine, I reached out my arm to stretch, but instead found the warm softness of her rounded shoulder. I must have rolled over at some point in my sleep. I instinctively pulled my hand away from her shoulder, but at the presence of my touch, she let out a quiet, contented sigh and backed her hips up into mine.

"Sister Catherine,"

I said into the darkness.

"What are you doing?"

Silence. She was sound asleep.

Under the covers, I felt Sister Catherine's naked ass right up against my crotch. I was wearing a knee length tunic, thankfully, otherwise who knows what would have happened. Slowly, I began pulling my hips away from hers, trying to avoid staying in this awkward position any longer. What if she woke up? But each time I pulled away, her hips kept backing up further. To make matters worse, as all this was happening, I felt myself slowly rising to attention underneath the covers. Oh god, I thought to myself, this can't be happening. Not with Sister Catherine. Before long, I found that I'd run out of real estate too. With her ass as her plow, she'd pushed me all the way to the edge of the bed. She looked like she was trying to touch her toes, that's how far into my crotch she'd thrust her rear.

Afraid that I'd fall off the bed, I finally decided to thrust back. When I did, the feeling was electric. Practically bursting from the fabric of my tunic, my hard sex lunged into a snug space between the suppleness of Sister Catherine's warm thighs. What I would have given in that moment to not be wearing any pants. Between her tight thighs, I felt my sex pulsing like a water bladder before it bursts. Please don't wake up, I thought to myself. Please don't wake up. Instead, she let out a soft moan and backed her hips up again, lodging my sex even further into the space between her thighs. Moments later, I noticed something wet leaking into the fabric of my tunic where her thighs met my crotch. The wetness, I thought to myself.

From last night.

Taking a chance, I slowly brought my upper body into contact with hers, feeling my barrel chest against her bare back through my tunic. Inhaling a breath of pure euphoria, all I could smell was the musky scent of her auburn hair. As softly as I could, I whispered into her ear.

"Sister Catherine,"

I practically moaned.

"Oh, James,"

she moaned unconsciously in response, and just like that, I burst.

It shot out of me like gunpowder meeting flint. All I felt was blissful release. I imagined this was how the sky felt during a flash flood. Immediately there was an overwhelming wetness in my tunic, and not knowing what was happening or what to do, I fell over backwards out of bed and hurried to the washroom. After lighting a candle, I pulled back my tunic and assessed the damages. Upon inspection, it turned out not to be blood, in fact, as I had originally feared. No, it was something stickier, whiteish but not quite white, like... like the glistening wetness I had seen dripping from between Sister Catherine's thighs the night before.

Does this mean that she feels what I'm feeling?

I quickly put the idea out of my mind. A silly thought. I should go back to sleep. Not knowing how I could possibly return to bed with Sister Catherine after what had just transpired, I elected to pass out on the divan.

The next morning, I awoke to the sight of Sister Catherine fully dressed in her habit, diligently making the bed.

"Somebody slept well,"

she said with a conspiratorial smile.

"Oh, yeah, well."

I stumbled over every word I tried to utter as my gaze met her gorgeous blue eyes.

"Why'd you move to the divan?"

she asked politely, trying to hide how hurt she clearly felt by the move.

"I was scared I'd disturb your sleep,"

I responded, lying through my teeth.

"I feel awful about how poorly you've been sleeping."

"Now, James."

Here it came, the scolding tone that had become so rare in recent years.

"Don't even think of doing that again. Anyways, I've slept fine the past two nights thanks to my new sleeping arrangements. And just so we're on the same page..."

She paused, waiting for me to look up and into her eyes, which I swear were staring directly at my crotch.

"You can disturb my sleep anytime."

That evening, I hung around after dinner cleaning all the dishes in the mess hall while Sister Catherine prepared for bed. Sister Myrtle, who was older than Sister Catherine by ten or so years, stayed around to keep me company while I cleaned. An avid seamstress, she wasn't much to look at, with jowls for cheeks, grey hair at the temples, and calluses all up and down her rough hands. Most of the nuns weren't much to look at; Sister Catherine was far and away the most beautiful one in the convent.

"Sister Catherine's been like a mother to you, hasn't she?"

Sister Myrtle asked, making polite conversation.

A mother.

God... combined with my memories from the previous night, that thought made me sick.

"She really has,"

I responded.

"Ever since you were a child, she's always been so fond of you."

Pausing for a moment, Sister Myrtle smiled to herself in wistful recollection.

"Did she ever tell you the story of the time we lost you?"

"No, I don't think she ever did."

"Of course she didn't. Always the modest one. Well, I suppose I'll be the one to tell you then. When you were an infant, we lost you. Missing from the crib you shared with three of the other orphans. You couldn't have been more than a few months over two years old. We didn't notice until lights out, but none of us could tell for certain how long you'd been gone for. Of course, we immediately put together a search party, each of us splitting off individually due to the sheer size of the monastery. Before long, Sister Catherine was the one to find you. She'd heard your distinctive cry on the other side of a locked washroom door. Some of the other nuns suspected foulplay--perhaps a visitor had done it as a trick--but I maintained that you must have just accidentally locked yourself in there. Ever since you'd learned to walk a couple months prior, you were always wandering off."

She paused, studying my reaction to her story so far, then continued.

"Since you were now accounted for, and because it was so late, we decided to wait until morning before finding a way to get you out of the washroom. All the nuns dispersed and retired to our bedchambers, all of us except Sister Catherine. She sat down by the washroom door, determined to keep you company through the night. When I left, she was singing soft lullabies to you in her heavenly voice as your cries slowly dissipated. Soon you fell asleep, and so she did too. Each of you sleeping on opposite sides of the door."

As I listened, I imagined the scene in my mind. A young Sister Catherine singing just for me, her private audience. What a calming thought. Sister Myrtle continued.

"Later that night, Sister Catherine woke to the sound of your shrill cry. You were incomprehensible, inconsolable. But not knowing how else to comfort you, she began talking in her calmest voice. 'James,' she said. Your breathing slowed a bit, so she said your name again. 'James. It's me, Sister Catherine. It'll be okay. You've locked yourself in there. Listen, I'm right here. Reach up towards my voice and twist the knob.' And miraculously... you listened. You reached up towards her voice, twisted the knob, and fell out of the washroom into her arms. You were so exhausted from the stress that you collapsed, so she carried you back to the crib you shared with the other orphans. But as soon as she set you down, you began crying all over again. Not knowing what else to do and feeling exhausted herself, Sister Catherine decided to bring you back to her bedchambers, and that night, the two of you slept side by side. That's how the rest of us found you in the morning, sleeping together in complete and peaceful silence."

Finishing the story, Sister Myrtle looked down at the floor and smiled to herself, then up at me.

"That had been her first year in the convent,"

she said as an afterthought.

"Which would make her seventeen at the time. But even then, it was clear how much she loved you."

Wow,

I thought to myself.

Seventeen. That's a year younger than me.

It was hard to imagine Sister Catherine as a seventeen year old, but the thought definitely excited something in me.

After Sister Myrtle and I said our goodnights, I made my way down to the bedchamber. Sister Catherine was already fast asleep in the bed. As I changed into my rag of a sleeping tunic and climbed into bed beside her, I pondered the story Sister Myrtle had told me. Sister Catherine really did love me. Like a mother loves her son. I fell asleep like this, breathing in the tonic of her scent and pleasantly turning the details of Sister Myrtle's story over in my mind like a recently acquired gemstone.

That night I dreamt vividly. Sister Catherine and I were standing face to face, so close that I could make out all the details of hers. Her mouth was open just a sliver, enough for me to make out the full plumpness of her lower lip. It looked weighted, like it was reaching down and out in a gesture of beckoning. My gaze fell to her chin, then to her neck, and finally to her collarbones, which served as frames for what came next. Ballooning in and out to the slow but deep cadence of her breath, her breasts swelled towards me like two blooming flowers. Returning my gaze to her face, I concentrated for the first time since the dream began on her eyes. Although they were lost in mine with intense absorption, they weren't fully there. Like she was under the influence of some sort of drug. As we stood against each other, our toes nearly touching and our eyes locked together in some sort of vaulted embrace, her face began swaying to and fro as if in a daze. Then, with diminutive momentum, her eyes began to close, and in complete sync mine began to close too. I couldn't tell whose fell first, but within a transient moment our faces fell towards each other and into a liplocked embrace.

I couldn't tell how long we kissed, but every moment of it felt real. To this day, I still consider it my first kiss, even if it was only in a dream. When, after a moment I began to pull away from her, she grabbed the back of my head and pulled me in even closer. This time, her warm tongue found its way into my mouth, slipping and sliding over and around my own. Gliding its way across my teeth, her tongue on my gums sent a cold shiver down my spine. Every nerve in my body stood up in unison, and without thinking anymore I returned the favor with my own tongue. Moaning, she exhaled a breath of hot air into my mouth, which only further quickened my bloodflow. I felt compelled to kiss the source of her lush moan, so I did, kissing wetly from her lips down to the center of her neck in one fluid motion. Wrapping one arm tightly around my neck, she moaned again, this time in my ear.

"James..."

The quiver of her voice caused my sex to pulse to the brink of explosion. Seeming to notice this, with her free hand she grabbed hold of all seven inches, her small hand unable to wrap all the way around my impressive girth. The warmth of her palm combined with the tightness of her grip brought me to the brink of ecstasy, and moments later I was releasing all over her soft belly.