Chapter 5

Kristen asked the obvious question.

"Where is everybody?"

"That is what I'd like to know," Sister said.

"Maybe they went upstairs already."

The student lounge on the second floor was where Sister had scheduled talks and discussions after Mass.

"We didn't pass them," Sister said. "And the bread hasn't been touched."

Behind the last pew, where Sister had first touched Kristen's ass, a wicker basket and a pair of glass cruets — one with water, one with red wine— stood on a small table. The basket contained torn scraps of pita bread, which, when consecrated by the holy hands of Father White, would miraculously transubstantiate into the body of Christ. But the offerings had not been brought to the altar, where the candles were still lit, too. The Mass had never finished.

They stood side by side in the aisle, and as they studied the clues, Sister's hand went up Kristen's skirt again, fondling her ass through her panties. Kristen put an arm around Sister's waist. Like all new lovers, they were drawn to one another unconsciously.

"He got bored and sent everyone home," Sister said.

"That's weird."

"I think he's having a crisis of fay-eth."

"Or something," Kristen said. "Why didn't he put the stuff away?"

"Maybe he thought I'd do it. It's a pity this door doesn't lock."

"There's nobody here..."

They turned toward one another. Kristen laid her hands on Sister's shoulders. Sister's arms went around Kristen's waist. They gazed into each other's eyes like the lovesick schoolgirls one of them was.

"Kiss me, child," Sister said.

Their lips touched lightly, slightly open, but the kiss quickly grew firmer, wider. Their cheeks sucked in. Their veined and stippled tongues glided together. Sister longed to drag hers everywhere on Kristen's taut young body. Her cunt grew heavy. She reached for the cruet of wine.

"Here..." She raised it above Kristen's head.

"Altar wine is so bad. It's salty."

"Not Father Charlie's. He's a connoisseur."

"He's an alcoholic."

"That, too."

Sister tipped the rounded glass, and the red stream flowed into Kristen's open mouth. She timed her first two swallows perfectly, but on the third try, she gagged and coughed. The wine spilled down her chin, and the stream from above missed completely, staining her bosom.

"Ugh!"

"I'm sorry. You're a mess, darling. Let me."

Sister licked the glossy film from her lover's chin, sucked it from her tongue. She raised the cruet to Kristen's lips, then to her own. They went back and forth, sipping from the glass spout, licking it, kissing and squirting the tart wine from one mouth to the other. In this way they drained the vessel.

"My, that is good," Sister said.

"My head is spinning."

"Darling, do something for me."

"What?"

"Purify me."

Giddily, Kristen made the sign of the cross over her.

"Go, your sins are forgiven."

"Shhh — don't blaspheme in here!"

"Then what?"

She whispered her desire into Kristen's ear.

"Eww — no!"

"Please!"

"What for?"

"My baptism."

"Gross!"

"No, it's not. It's beautiful. And it will mark me as yours."

"Where, then — down in the bathroom?"

"No — here. On the altar."

Kristen laughed out loud.

"You're bad!"

At Sister's instruction, Kristen left her shoes, her socks, and her panties under the table and went and sat on the altar. There, swinging her bare feet gently, she watched as Sister, at the rear of the chapel, once again removed her clothing. She stripped methodically, carefully hanging each garment over the back of the last pew. From where she stood, she could look up Kristen's skirt at the source of her joy and her cleansing. Kristen felt her gaze, and she opened her legs wider, raised her skirt higher.

At last, Sister took off even her cross. And when she was wholly exposed, she got down on her belly and crawled, like a penitent, the full length of the chapel. Kristen watched as the white body, with the pale red freckles on its shoulders, appeared around the corner of the front pew. It — and it pleased Sister to think of herself as an it— made its way slowly and painfully, lifting its ass and pushing itself forward with its knees, its arms at its sides. It dragged its tongue along the floor as it moved. The cold tiles drove its bolt-hard nipples back into its breasts.

When it was directly in front of the altar, it turned and slithered up the single step. It lay for a moment, arms wide like a cross, murmuring a prayer. Then it pushed itself to its knees and turned up its face.

"Do not look on what I truly deserve," it said.

"I'll tell you what you truly deserve," Kristen said. "Get up here."

She scooted aside, and Sister climbed onto the altar. They kissed lightly as she moved past. It took some bumping and maneuvering, but at last she lay east-west on the marble slab, head and feet at the ends. The altar was set with a white cotton runner that kept out the cold of the stone. The cloth was fringed with lace and set through with eyelets that were reinforced with thread, that she scratched her back against. It would make a good blotter.

"How?" Kristen asked.

"Stand up. No, here. Face that way."

Kristen stood over her, straddling her like a colossus, with one bare foot tucked beside each bare breast. Sister looked up her skirt, at the white undercurves of her butt.

"Squat a little bit."

The girl bent her knees, just enough to stick her ass out, and Sister saw the tight curls and the almond-shaped sliver of her pussy.

"Are you sure about this?" Kristen asked over her shoulder.

"Please." She could barely hear herself.

"God, if I wasn't so dizzy."

Kristen flipped of her skirt off her ass and gathered the front to her tummy. Everything was visible now, her asshole and her puffy cunt lips and the tips of two fingers squeezing her clitoris.

"Ready?"

The fingers stretched the lips apart. Sister saw, or thought she saw, the speck of an opening. Kristen clenched her pussy, relaxed it, clenched it again. For an unendurable moment, nothing. Sister's heart hammered in the silence. She felt herself ready to cry out when Kristen said, "Here it comes!" and a golden pillar shot from the sky. She opened her mouth to it. The flood was salty and hot, and it filled her nearly to the lips before she gagged and spat it out.

My cup runneth over. She yelped with delight.

The air smelled of roasted nuts, sweet as the chrism she remembered from confirmation. I name thee Joanna, the bishop had said. She massaged the fragrant oil into her breasts, her belly and her red pussy hair. There was so much. Blinded by the stinging rain, she heard it patter to the floor.

The stream slackened, and she lay panting, feeling as weak as she had ever felt. A few last drops fell between her breasts, but just as she was raising a leaden hand to wipe her eyes, a sudden after-squirt caught her dead in the face. She had to laugh.

"You liked that?" Kristen asked.

Sister was too breathless to respond, but Kristen sensed what she wanted next. Or maybe she was only tired of squatting. She folded her legs beneath her, and her cunt descended like a tongue of fire, growing in Sister's sight, and rested on her lips.

Sister wiped the peehole with her tongue. The girl sighed and weighed more heavily on her face. The skirt covered her eyes, but Sister could feel Kristen moving around and — yes. She was taking off her shirt. And her bra.

When she lay down and put her mouth on Sister's pussy, she writhed on Sister's belly, mopping the pee with her titties. Firm little titties. A finely shaped ass, a willing cunt open for her mouth. The Lord provides. They settled into a 69 for an extended session of mutual pleasuring, innocent of the fact they were being watched.