Sister Maria gets some cock

My first assignment as a sister took me to a quiet rural community, far from the cloistered halls of the convent where I'd spent my twenties in prayer and quiet devotion. At twenty-eight, I was still young, my body untouched by the world beyond vows of chastity, but the fire of curiosity burned low in my belly. The parish had placed me in a modest home with the Thompsons, a devout family of five—mother, father, two young girls, and their teenage son, Caleb. He was fifteen, all gangly limbs and mischievous grins, with tousled brown hair and eyes that lingered a beat too long on my habit during family dinners.

The Thompsons were kind, welcoming me with homemade pies and stories of the harvest. Mrs. Thompson fussed over my simple room in the attic, a cozy space with a single bed, a wooden cross on the wall, and a window overlooking the fields. "You'll be like one of us, Sister Maria," she said, her smile warm. But Caleb... he was different. Naughty, they called him, always sneaking off to the barn or causing harmless trouble. I caught him staring at my legs once when my skirt hem rode up as I knelt to pray, his cheeks flushing but his gaze unapologetic.

Nights in the community were still, broken only by crickets and the occasional dog bark. On my third evening, after vespers and a light supper, I retired early, shedding my outer habit for a plain white nightgown that clung to my curves more than I'd admit. The fabric was thin, my full breasts pressing against it, nipples pebbling in the cool air. I slipped under the covers, whispering my evening prayers, but sleep evaded me, thoughts drifting to the forbidden—the way Caleb's strong young hands gripped the dinner fork, imagining them elsewhere.

A soft creak pulled me from my reverie. The door to my room eased open, moonlight spilling in like a sinner's invitation. There he stood, Caleb, barefoot in his pajama pants, shirtless, his lean chest rising and falling with nervous breaths. "Sister Maria?" he whispered, voice husky for a boy his age. I sat up, clutching the blanket to my chest, heart pounding. "Caleb, what are you doing here? It's late—go back to bed."

But he didn't move. Instead, he stepped inside, closing the door with a click that echoed like a lock on my resolve. "I couldn't sleep. I... I think about you all the time." His words hung heavy, and as he approached the bed, I saw the tent in his pants, his young cock straining hard against the fabric. Heat flooded my core, a betrayal of my vows. "This is wrong," I murmured, but my voice trembled, lacking conviction. He sat on the edge of the mattress, his hand reaching out to trace my arm, sending shivers through me.

"You're so beautiful," he said, bolder now, his fingers brushing the neckline of my nightgown. I should have stopped him, called for his parents, but the isolation of the room, the secrecy of the night—it ignited something primal. His touch grew insistent, sliding down to cup my breast through the cloth, thumb circling my nipple until it stiffened into a peak. A soft gasp escaped my lips, and he leaned in, capturing my mouth in a clumsy but eager kiss. His tongue pushed past my lips, tasting of youth and rebellion.

I pulled back, conflicted, but he was already tugging at my gown, exposing my pale skin to the moonlight. My breasts spilled free, heavy and aching, and he groaned, latching onto one nipple with his mouth, sucking hard while his hand kneaded the other. Pleasure shot straight to my pussy, making me wet, my thighs clenching. "Caleb, we can't..." But my protest died as his free hand dipped between my legs, fingers finding my slick folds through my panties.

He rubbed my clit in circles and I arched into his touch, hips bucking involuntarily. It was definitely not his first time. And he knew better than me. "You my cock, Sister, admit it. I can feel how wet you are." His words were a dare, and damn me, I did. Years of repression crumbled as I nodded, whispering, "Yes, but quietly." That was all the permission he needed. He yanked my panties down, exposing my bushy mound and dripping entrance, then shoved his pants to his knees, his cock springing out, six inches of rigid teen meat, veined and leaking pre-cum from the tip.

He pushed me back onto the pillows, climbing between my spread legs. I guided him, my hand wrapping around his shaft, stroking once, twice, feeling it throb. "Slow," I breathed, and he nodded, pressing the head against my opening. With a single thrust, he sank into me, stretching my virgin-tight pussy around his girth. I bit my lip to stifle a moan, the fullness overwhelming, his balls nestling against my ass as he bottomed out.

Caleb started moving, hips snapping with youthful vigor, fucking me deep and steady. The bed creaked softly under us, his cock sliding in and out, coated in my juices, the wet sounds filling the room. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, my nails raking his back as he pounded harder. "Fuck, Sister, your pussy's so tight. Feels so good," he grunted, sweat beading on his forehead. I met his thrusts, grinding my clit against his pubic bone, pleasure building like a storm.

He shifted, hooking my legs over his shoulders to go deeper, his shaft hitting my cervix with each plunge. I came first, walls spasming around him, milking his cock as I muffled my cry into his neck. The sensation pushed him over, and he buried himself to the hilt, groaning low as he erupted, hot cum flooding my depths in thick spurts. We stayed locked like that, panting, his seed leaking out around his softening length.

He slipped out eventually, collapsing beside me, but the night wasn't over. As dawn crept near, he stirred again, hard once more, and I let him take me from behind, his hand over my mouth to quiet my whimpers as he rutted into me like an animal. By morning, I was sore, marked by his bites on my shoulders, but sated in a way my prayers never achieved.