2 comments/  31248 views/  0 favorites

Impossibly Dreaming

By: Nigel Debonnaire



"Well, for an obnoxious prick, you set a nice Christmas table, Greggers."

Fr. Gregory Harper smiled and sipped his wine. His second cousin, Sr. Janice Harper sat across from him at the far end of an ornate, 19th century table that was dark with age and use. Red candles illuminated the late, waning afternoon in the room: a caricature of 1920's elegance with a garish chandelier hanging over the table at the midpoint of the room. The service was much better quality, being Fr. Greggers' heirloom set of porcelain china; the parish set was in the basement in a box marked TRIDENTINE FUNERAL VESTMENTS. 

"You're welcome, Pookie. It's always special to have family for Christmas dinner." He took another sip and regarded his relative. She was in her community's habit, with wimple and she wore a huge black knit sweater against the cold Chicago winter. Fr. Greg was still in his blacks, having served the special repast after making several calls to homeless shelters and a soup kitchen after Christmas morning mass. "I heard from Sis when I got back, and Johnny sent a fax from Cozumel."

"Johnny was always too proud of his bundle. Is he married right now?"

"Nope, he's given up on the institution. Four times burned and four holes in his wallet taught him some circumspection. He's seeing a Swedish air hostess these days, but he got her to sign a disclaimer that limits her to whatever he feels like giving her."

"I'm sure he gives her a lot," Sr. Janet said with a smirk on her face. 

"Now, Sister, let's not be jumping to conclusions. After all, your brother Johnny's hardly a saint."

"My brother Johnny at least professes some kind of virtue. True, setting up a spiritual commune in Wyoming with 21 women and two other men is hardly what the Acts of the Apostles had in mind, but they're self sufficient, mostly honest, and don't keep anybody there who wants to leave."

"One of my classmates was interested in Baptising the sexual practice of Tantra. He was disappointed when Tantra wasn't about endless orgies." "Your Johnny isn't about 24/7 sex, although he comes close." Fr. Greg snickered into his napkin. "Now Greggers, don't be crude. Have some respect; at least he's trying to integrate mature sexuality into his belief system, which is more than I can say about what happens on our side of the street."

The grandfather clock struck the hour of five, and the pair sipped their drinks. "I'm surprised you're not with Sr. Shelley in Rome this Christmas," Fr. Greg mused.

"Rome's an awful place to be Christmastime. I went one year: the Vatican choir is terrible, the incredibly lame decorations are only for tourists, the Italian nuns are absolute flesh eating weasels trying to get close to You Know Who, and Shelley's uncle is an incredible prick who's impossible to bear more than five minutes at a time."

"Gosh Pookie, don't be such a shrinking violet, say what you mean. But Shelley's uncle's a cardinal, isn't he?"

Sr. Janet sniffed and tossed her head. "He's a royal jackass who thinks he's God's gift to the Church and reminds everybody about it every five minutes. Lucky for him he's in Italy: if he were here, his ass would be grass."

"Does that mean the embezzlement rumors. . ."

"Shut up, Greggers. You're a creep. You don't need to know and neither does anybody else. His eminence is in Rome and not here, so he doesn't matter." She finished her wine in a gulp and put her glass down. "How's your brother Johnny's daughter doing? My namesake?"

Fr. Greg went to the ancient sideboard and retrieved a bottle of fine brandy and two snifters. Sr. Janet nodded her approval and he poured for them. "Going under and assumed name, Thank God. Her mother was a Hungarian model, and she looks like her. Set up a website a couple of years ago."

"Yes, you should know," Sr. Janet mocked acidly. "You've been there, you creep, looking at your niece's naked body."

"Well, she gave me a free password, so I don't see why I shouldn't," he protested with mock innocence.

"Well, of course you should, she's a public slut after all." She took a sip of nectar and changed her tone of voice. "How's she doing with it?"

"Making lots of money. She has a body that stops traffic, including internet traffic. I got an e-mail from her yesterday: she's taken her last set of pictures ever, and will just live off the memberships and proceeds for the rest of her life."

"She makes that much?"

"Damn straight. What's really incredible is she says she's still a virgin, and knowing her, I believe it."

"No, how could she? I mean, she lets the world be her gynecologist."

"Yes, but just because she's taken pics of the entire estate doesn't mean the NO TRESSPASSING sign isn't enforced. There's pictures of apartments in the Vatican the public isn't allowed. Janet's very particular who she lets get close to her, and if a boyfriend doesn't behave, she dismisses him and goes to the next one in line." 

She shrugged her shoulders. "Well, who'd thunk it.?" 

"I wouldn't. Don't know she'll ever get married; she's so calculating. Four years of a Catholic Girl's High School didn't soften her. Machiavelli would be proud of her, as would Mae West, Jayne Mansfield and Bette Page." Fr. Greg finished his brandy, and went on. "How are you and Shelley doing right now?"

"Not well, Greggers, not well. I mean we're both gainfully employed, the world will always need elementary school teachers and social workers, but we've had it with this damn apartment. A sauna in the summertime, a refrigerator in the winter, the landlord doesn't give a shit, even though he's a "good" Catholic, and we've gotten tired of his pious promises to fix things that next get filled."

"That's Emilio, isn't it?"

"Yes, your Emilio, your loyal, devoted, generous parishioner."

"Wouldn't know it from his weekly envelope tally. So what are you going to do?"

"I don't know. We have to relocate by the first of February."

He looked up at the ceiling, and speculated: "I've got plenty of room here. You could live with me."

Sr. Janet gave him a glare. "Oh, you'd love that. It's every immature horndog's dream, a priest with two nuns to make him happy. What would your parish council say?"

"They'd be tickled to have a couple of nuns in the house again. I've got a whole wing I'm not using: you could share the old associate's suite and have more room than you have now."

"What about rent?"

"I think the same you're paying now would be fine. Maybe a little less."

Fr. Greg poured another glass of brandy and gave her a glance before looking out the window into the night, seeing nothing. "What about your parish council?" Sr. Janet said.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know any co-ed rectories in the Archdiocese. Your people may get some strange ideas."

"They get strange ideas anyway, but that's not relevant. You're a couple of nuns, full bird penguins for all anybody knows, who're five foot nothing, over 200 pounds, and in your mid 40's. Would anybody in their right mind think I'm moving in a harem?"

Sr. Janet looked at him intently for a moment, trying to look through his forehead to see the wheels within. Her resolve was wavering, and she pondered her next move. "It's pretty chilly in here," she blurted out eventually.

"That suite is on the South side of the building, the opposite side of the prevailing winds. Shaded, so it doesn't get the full brunt of the summer swelter. The buildings across the way are old storefronts with no windows, no place anyone could peek at you."

Sr. Janet snorted. "It does have some appeal, and you're on the bus routes. Could you get us use of a car?" Fr. Greg nodded his head solemnly. "Would save us a little cash from the community fund; we're really having money troubles at the motherhouse. Sr. Juanita is ready to pull her hair out through her wimple trying to keep us solvent."

He smiled and waved his hands expansively. "Check it out before you go. There'll never be another Associate Pastor here, I'd really love the company, just to have other people in the house. No strings attached, really."

Sr. Janet looked at Fr. Greg closely for several moments, then snickered at his earnestness. "All right, Greggers, I'll take a look at it. Shelley likes you, so it won't be a tough sale, but we like our freedom."

"You'll have a private entrance, a car with off street parking, meals included with a first class chef. . ."

"How modest you are, Father."

"How was the pheasant you had for dinner, Sister? The side dishes, taken from your mother's recipes? The wine selection?" 

"All right, Greggers, I was being sarcastic. Point made there."

"It's tough to cook for one; I'd love the company at the table, if nothing else."

"Don't you have a lot of meetings to go to?"

"I only go to parish council meetings, and I limit them to an hour. With proper organization, everybody can have their say and things get decided if nobody pontificates."

"Including you?"

"Including me. Everybody else meets on their own, and calls me when they want me." Sr Janet tapped her foot and looked at the ceiling. "Have you checked out alternatives?"

"Yes, and they all stink."

"Well, let me give you some more persuasion." He went back to the old sideboard and pulled out a state of the art humidor. "I know you love these," he said, pulling out two fine Cuban cigars.

"Where the fuck did you get those, Greggers?"

"Where do you think, Pookie?"

"Satan?"

"No, Canada."

She pulled a dark brown cylinder and sniffed it appreciatively. "Didn't they check your luggage at the border?"

"Yes, they did. I wore my working clothes and put them in my inside pockets, where they wouldn't be searched."

She gave him a quizzical look. "For all I know, you went through the border with these cigars up your ass, but I'm not asking."

He pouted. "How can you say that Pookie? It would ruin the taste."

She stood up and stretched a little, still savoring the aroma of the Cuban cigar. "I need a walk, and you've never shown me your church with all its Christmas decor."

"That's right, you were at your motherhouse last night."

"Yeah. So show me the magic you had going last night, and we'll get to the brandy and cigars."

"All right. Walk this way." She gave him a look that could maim, and accompanied him into the hallway and down the long corridor that lead to the Church.

St. Munchin's church was an old fashioned building, with the typical cruciform design. The old high altar was still in place, because the parish never had the money for an extensive renovation. A bevy of saints looked from the high altar, the side altars and almost every nook and cranny of the space. The stained glass was Tiffany, a relic of more prosperous days and lovingly maintained since installation; an ancient organ glowered from the back balcony with its forest of dummy pipes bragging artistic excellence. Banners and bows of red, white and gold lightened the somber atmosphere and a Creche rested in front of the altar.

Off to the side was the lone accommodation to modernity: an immersion baptistry. Sr. Janet walked over to look at it closely and gasped: "It's a jacuzzi!"

"Yup. My predecessor thought it was the best investment: he claimed he saved money by going this way. For all I know he got one of his buddies to pay for it."

"What, since people were getting them for their homes, the price would be cheaper than having a baptistry made custom and installed?"

"Yes."

She looked over it with interest. "The controls work?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because Fr. Ignatius Loyola Hayes was a wierdo. He used to come down here and soak when the church was locked."

"What, turn on the jets and soak in Holy Water?"

"Yes." Fr. Greg said with a smile.

Sr. Janet looked at him for several moments, at the baptistry and back at him. "You've used it, I know you, you shifty little peckerwood."

"What makes you say that?" he said with mock indignation.

"I know you. You'd dig anything like this, although you'd prefer it in your suite, and it wouldn't bother you to sit out here butt naked, your heartless little prick."

"Now Sister, just think of it, what is the problem with being in God's house as God made you?"

She gave him a withering look, and shook her head. "How long does this take to get fired up?"

"A while."

"The doors are locked?"

"Oh yes, Pookie. In fact, Mass is canceled tomorrow since we've got a winter storm moving in. Don't want the old folks breaking bones to get to daily Mass."

She sniffed the cigar still in her grasp and looked off at the dark recesses of the North Transcept dreamily for a few moments. "Turn it on."

Fr. Greg did a double take. "What did you say?"

"Turn it on. My bones are frozen ever since the cold weather set in, and I need to thaw them out. Nobody will be here, and I can think of nothing better than sitting in here with my brandy and Cuban cigar enjoying the blessings of Christmas."

"May I join you?"

"Of course, Greggers. I wouldn't dream of bludgeoning you into this favor without letting you share. "

"There may be a price."

She gave hin a once over. "Doubtlessly. It's been a long time since last August. The gift of this little piece heaven would be worth the price."

His jaw dropped. "Does that mean?"

"It means you have another chance at your impossible dream, Greggers. You're not the only one with impossible dreams, but I'm not ready to reveal mine yet. Give me some fine brandy and a Cuban Cigar, I may be ready for more. I need to powder my nose and pray my office; I'll meet you back here in 20 minutes."

"Sure, Pookie." He started to say something else, then thought the better and switched on the apparatus that started the jacuzzi.

When Pookie returned from her devotions, she found her second cousin Greggers sitting in the font, cigar in one hand and snifter in the other, bottle and humidor at ready. He was flicking his ashes into an ancient thurible that had seen better days, blowing smoke rings that drifted randomly around the currents of the huge space. 

Pookie removed her clothing meticulously, folding each piece primly and laying it on the pews. After her huge bra came off, her breasts sagged with her nipples hardening instantly in the cool air of the sanctuary. After her generous panties came off, she took off her headpiece, shaking her head to let her cropped hair fly into a frizzled bird's nest.

"Give me that brandy, Greggers," she commanded.

"Get in first Pookie, it'll be easier that way."

She carefully sat on the ledge of the jacuzzi/font, swinging her legs over and lowering herself into the bubbling water. Accepting the snifter, she waited as he snipped a cigar and held the match for her to light it. Once the flame was successfully initiated, she sat back and reveled in the frothing nirvana. "Greggers, you've got a sweet setup here," she said with a sigh as she blew a smoke ring and relished the sensations.

"Thanks, Pookie," he replied. "It's a blessing, that's for certain."

They sat, smoked and sipped, naked as they day they were born as the candles of the votive lights threw wavering shadows at the various shrines around the outside wall. Two old wooden confessionals sat at the back of the Church, with heavy curtains. "Have you ever fucked anybody in the Confessional, Father?"

"No, Sister. Wouldn't be a good idea these days. Strangely enough, I never got the urge: all my penitents are so screwed up, I'm never interested."

"Never sleep with anybody crazier than you are, Father?"

"Damn straight, Sister. Also safer." "What about fucking somebody on the altar?"

"Hell, Pookie, no. I'd never be able to celebrate mass there again. You can imagine: there I'd be, holding up the Host, and all I could think about would be the woman I'd been screwing there."

"Or man."

"Now, Pookie, you know my hard drive doesn't run that program?"

She laughed at him and held her glass out for more brandy. "Who gave the money for the stained glass windows?"

"It was a family from the early '30's. Forget the name right now, they were pretty numerous here."

"How did they make their fortune?"

"The father was one of Al Capone's main lieutenants. The mother was here every day, praying for her husband and her son; they needed lots of prayers."

"Any of them still around?"

"A grandson, whose business I never inquire about. His daughter was married last summer."

"How did that go?"

"I'd rather not remember. If God is good I'll never have another Mafia wedding again."

They spent a few more moments in silence. "Who gave the money for this?" she asked.

"Oh, it was one of the parish council presidents. A Democrat precinct boss, somebody who thought Pope Paul VI was a saint. Did most of the work himself, even installing the wiring."

"Is his family still around?"

"Yeah. They're all right. Their youngest is getting ordained next summer."

"Super." Pookie's foot slid under the froth to rest on his thigh, her toes wiggling against his balls.

"You know, Pookie, I wouldn't make you pay your rent in sex," Fr. Greg said out of the blue.. "I have to account for everything here, my local vicar keeps a close eye on expenditures, and there would need to be some cash coming in for your rest here."

The submerged toes continued their testicular tease. "But Greggers, we could do so much for you here. Shelley could move her practice here, and help so many of your parishioners. I could take over your religious ed."

"That's nice, Pookie, but I never dreamed you'd. . .you'd. . ."

"Well, you may get to my impossible dream shortly. We all need a little variety to spice up our lives. Some guys find the thought of two women making out exciting."

"Not if they're your age," he replied, then looked away ashamed. Her toes gripped his nutsack and he cried out. "Ow, ow, ow, I apologize. But be fair, Pookie. How many man fantasize about Ellen DeGeneres making out? How many women? Even though it's Portia?"

"Point made, Greggers, point made." She took a long, reflective drag from her cigar and blew a cloud heavenward. Last August's encounter in the belfry opened my eyes a bit. Not that I want to give up on Shelley, but you're a safe playmate from time to time." She gave him a big smile and a broad wink. "Well, relatively safe. Thank the nice brandy for the honesty."

"And the award winning white wine with dinner, I imagine." The bubbles continued and he fixed his eyes on Pookie's heavy breasts hanging down in the water. "Ever since that blow job you gave me, I've been able to think of nothing else when I've fantasized." He took another puff from his cigar and chased it with a sip of brandy. "I'm a realist after all these wild years, you could move in here without any requirements, but I'm interested in what you have in mind."

"Well, Shelley has an impossible dream that only you could help her with, but if you find mine, I'll tell you hers. If you find both, we'll move in after the first of the year."

"All right. Is it bigger than a breadbox?"

"No words, Greggers. Trial and error. Put down your drink and find out for yourself."

He put the snifter all the way down on the floor beside the jacuzzi and turned to face his distant cousin. His right hand started stroking her leg while her foot still teased his groin, her face broke out in a broad smile. "If you remember last summer, your starter may work, but it's nothing you've really done to me before."

His brow furrowed, and his hand worked up her thigh toward the promised land. "Are we talking pleasure or pain?" he asked.

"Oh, pleasure for certain, but a lot of women would think it's too much of a good thing."

His face broke into a huge, shit eating grin; his fingers quested upward, and she sighed. "You wouldn't be obvious, would you, Pookie?"

"Oh, I might, Greggers, I might. Sometimes it's fun to tell the truth at an unexpected time, you can get away with a lot. You have to figure out whether I'm being to obvious to you or not."


Impossibly Dreaming Again



"Well, it's this a great way to celebrate Easter Monday?" Father Gregory Harper said as he came down the back stairs to his kitchen. He was a handsome, fit man just over 50 with slightly greying hair and chiseled features: he wore his huge red velvet dressing gown with his bare legs and feet protruding beneath.

Sitting on a chair were his two tenants, Sister Janice Harper, his second cousin, and Sister Shelley Abrams, short chubby women in their mid 40s who were wearing tan dressing gowns as Shelley, the smaller woman, sat on Janice's lap. Lacking their wimples, Janice's short salt and pepper hair was a contrast to Shelley's cropped mop of red hair starting to transition to grey. Greg interrupted them as they were kissing with their free hands buried beneath each other's garments. Janice looked up and said: "And a Good Morning to you, Reverend Father. How nice to see you up earlier than usual this day after the Triduum marathon."

"I'll need another day or two to recover from that, Pookie," he said. "Been used to getting up with the sun often enough I couldn't convince myself I could sleep in today."

"How terribly awful for you, Father," Shelley chimed in a high, mocking tone. "Lent's over and you're still bearing with an incredible penance."

"I offer it up, Sister, I offer it up for the glory of God and his Church. Is there any chance you two have left me something for breakfast?"

They looked at each other for a long moment, feigning deep thought before Shelley said: "There is a bit leftover: a little gruel, some lightly toasted worms, a piece of cardboard. . ."

"We've got the full spread, Greggers," his cousin cut in. "Sausage, eggs, biscuits and gravy. Stuff guaranteed to stop your heart one day when you least suspect it. Aunt Mindy sent us some grape jam, and Monica Deveraux dropped some cinnamon rolls by when you were out yesterday afternoon. Ducky here will even get off her fat ass and cook it for you, give you a day off, if I spank her a bit. Interested?"

"I'd be happy to do the spanking myself, if you need me to," he said with a leer. "Sure, bring it on." 

Shelley jumped to her feet, exposing a large swatch of pure white skin full of freckles beneath her robe before she flipped it shut, and went over to the stove. "That's quite enough of that nonsense. Give me five minutes and keep your hands to yourselves. Eggs over easy, correct Father Snidely?"

It took less than five minutes for Greg to receive his breakfast. After serving him, Shelley refreshed everyone's coffee, and they chatted about the Easter celebrations. "What do you think they did back home yesterday?" Greg mused.

"They had the big dinner at Nana's old house, as always," his cousin Janice replied. "Baked ham, sweet potatoes, asparagus, everything they did when we were kids. Your mom started organizing it after Nana passed, and I think everyone within driving distance made it. At least that's what my sister Gloria said."

"My family still gets together in Cleveland, you could set your calendar by it," Shelley cut in. "My father enjoys playing the host, and still hides the Easter eggs for the kids. Still colors them himself the week before, big kid that he is."

"Yeah, I haven't gotten home for Easter dinner since I was ordained," Greg said as he sipped his coffee. "Always been too busy and too far away."

"Same here," the two nuns said simultaneously.

Greg put down his cup and thought a moment. "I thought you'd both be gone since the Catholic Education convention's this week."

"No, no, Father Snidely," Shelley replied, "We've tired of that party. Twenty five years with the same agenda is enough, and the talks get worse and worse. Just want to kick back this week without the kids around and rest. Is your calendar free this week, Father Snidely?"

"Nope. Just the usual stuff, daily mass; no meetings, no appointments."

"I thought you'd have a wedding this weekend."

"Nope. The only one I've got on the calendar is mid-June. Kids are too happy just to live together these days, fortunately. If they can survive my pre-marriage training, they deserve to get married with the Church's blessing."

They sat drinking their coffee and listened to the flights approaching Midway Airport for a while. The weather outside was mild for a Chicago April, and birds were chattering in the trees. From time to time a bus pulled up to a stop across the street, pausing momentarily before continuing its journey across town. "You know," Janice said out of the blue. "There's something I've always wondered."

"What, Peaches?" Shelley replied.

"I've always wondered what it would be like to be crucified."

There was an awkward pause as Greg and Shelley looked at each other in disbelief. Shelley's lip curled dramatically and a wild look came to her eyes. "That's strange, Peaches," she said at last. 

Janice shrugged. "Well, after watching that Mel Gibson movie, I've wondered."

Greg frowned. "That was an awful movie: made tons of factual mistakes, the place didn't look anything like Jerusalem, some really stupid imagery and metaphors that weren't biblical, used that crazy German nun's vision as basis for the story rather than the Gospels, and Mel could have called it 'Let's kick the shit out of Jesus for a couple of hours.' Waste of time."

"But people in the Philippines do it every year, literally get nailed up on a cross for a while," Janice continued. "They see it as important to their faith."

"You don't want nails driven through your flesh, do you?" Shelley cut in.

"Well, no," Janice replied. "But being tied up for a while, in controlled circumstances, like the old courtyard in the middle of this place, would be worth something."

"That can be done," Greg mused. "It seems like you've been planning this for a while."

"How did that courtyard get there?" Shelley asked. "It's not normal for a parish like this."

"This was an Irish Augustinian parish at one time, and their first pastor wanted a small cloister for the community that lived here at the beginning," Greg said. "Also gave the place the name of St. Munchin's. They were here twenty five years, and the courtyard wasn't taken out when they renovated a few years ago. To change the subject: what about a cross?"

"How about the one you use on Good Friday? You keep it down in the cellar the rest of the year."

Greg nodded. "Yes, yes. And there's some bits of rope around as well."

Shelley put her hands on her hips. "This can't be too nice, it's got to be tough. Can't be too painless. Let's see: the Romans crucified the victims naked, so you'll have to be naked. And we get to give you some little bits of pain."

"Like what?"

"Let me worry about that," Shelley said with a devilish grin on her face. "Can you get the main part set up, Fr. Snidely?"

Nodding in response, Greg said: "This sounds interesting. We should have done it last week, but better late than never."

About a half hour later, they were gathered in a small courtyard about ten feet across that lay in the center of the Rectory. It was a spot of greenery Janice tended, with a few flowers and a rose bush; it was surrounded on the inside by a short iron fence that paralleled the opening above. The two abusers were clad simply: Shelley in a t-shirt and shorts and Greg in sweats and sneakers. Shelley had a small bag with her, and Greg set up the life-sized, rough wooden cross behind a step stool on the side of the open area. Janice stood in her dressing gown and wimple, barefoot and anxious. The sky was cloudy but mostly blue, and lots of light was flooding down on a nice day. "This good enough, Peaches?" Shelley asked.

"Yes, so far so good," Janice replied. "Standing on the step stool is a good idea. Will really help the metaphor to have my feet off the ground."

"If you'll take off your robe and get on the stool, we can get this started," Greg said. "I don't know how long you'll want to be here, especially when the sun beats down on you, but we'll let you deal with it as it happens. This is your impossible dream."

Janice let her robe drop. She was five feet tall, with a very round body and her pendulous breasts swayed as she got up on the stool, her nipples hardening immediately. The sun was almost ready to peek over the edge of the roof to shine directly into the courtyard. It took a minute for her to find her balance, but soon she held out her arms and said: "Okay, Greggers. Let's get this started."

He tied her arms to the horizontal beam of the cross, then one around her legs and waist to keep her steady. Shelley watched all this with silent glee, and when Greg was done, got a few things out of her bag. "Instead of nails, Peaches, I'm going to use these clothespins," she said.

A look of terror crossed Janice's face. "Where, Ducky, where?"

"No place dramatic, like your nipples or your cuntlips." The unencumbered woman approached her hand and put a couple of pegs in the webbing between her fingers, before crossing and doing the same on the other side. Then she bent down and put a couple on her toes. "That ought to give you something to think about instead of nails, Peaches. Now, Father Snidely, we need to think of some humiliation."

"Humiliation? This is pretty good as it is." Greg stepped back and admired his work, looking over his naked nun cousin with a smile on his face.

Shelley stood in front of her friend and said authoritatively. "In those days, hostile onlookers would have jeered, maybe thrown a few small pebbles, slapped them, and found other ways to humiliate them as they hung on the cross. I think we can manage the verbal abuse and the slapping, but throwing pebbles isn't a good idea. So," she reached into the bag and produced a peashooter with a bag of peas.

Greg laughed out loud. "I'll let you handle that."

Janice had a strange look on her face. "You be careful with that thing, Ducky, or there'll be hell to pay."

Shelley put a pea in her mouth, brought the straw to her lips and expertly nailed her one inch to the right of her navel. Laughing, Greg said: "Pookie, you look downright pathetic. But this is going to be fun, and I've got some ideas that probably didn't happen to Roman crucifixion victims."

Darting around in front and behind her victim, Shelley peppered her friend randomly, ducking out of sight so her victim could't get a bead on where the next sting was coming from. After watching for several minutes, Greg came up behind the bound woman and began tickling under her armpits. Gusts of laughter were punctuated by yelps of pain and small red dots appeared on Janice's skin. Tiring of the game, she sat on the grass in front of her target, wiggling her toes and making faces at her.

The sun climbed across the sky, and soon it had illuminated Janice completely. Her skin began to glisten as she hung there, glowing in the harsh light as the sun beat down on her. "What a great whale you are, Peaches," Shelley sneered. "Fat cow with big floppy tits and a huge ass. No wonder you never left theh convent, you were never really tempted."

"It's been good enough for you, too, Ducky, and you're no Portia Di Rossi. Your tits are floppy enough and your ass is big enough to keep you in religious life."

Greg went inside for a moment and returned with three bottles of water, which he put down in the shade and then went around behind his cousin. Two strong hands gathered two mounds of breast into a tight embrace. "Let's stay away from the verbal abuse, girls," Greg said. "It's getting too personal. Let's just stay with the physical."

"Oh yes, Greggers," Janice sighed, closing her eyes. "I agree completely."

His hands began kneading her tits, cupping and fondling them from behind. Shelley sat on the grass, her bare toes quivering as she watched her roommate savoring the rough touch of her cousin. Occasionally, he tweaked a huge nipple, drawing a moan, and her hands pulled against her bounds. Finally he came around in front of her, working down her stomach until he found her damp canyon.

Looking on with interest, Shelley licked her lips as he found Janice's slit, playing with her clitoris and gradually working finger after finger inside her. "How soon is he going to stop, Peaches?" Shelley inquired.

"You'll see, Ducky, not for a while. You'll be amazed what magic Greggers can make. Then maybe he'll make your impossible dream come true."

After bowing her legs and letting her arms droop as much as she could, Janice gave him the room to do what she most hoped for. He came around and knelt down before her, thrusting upward as he got his entire hand inside her cunt, fucking her forcefully as she writhed, moaned and quivered. The sunlight brought out the sweaty sheen and pink skin that announced a climax was on the way. Shelly stood up, came over and began sucking her friend's nipple, which took her friend over the edge, making her wail and scream for several minutes until she begged them to stop.

They released their victim from the cross and she fell down on the grass, worn out and unable to move. Shelley offered her a bottle of water, which she drank three quarters of in one gulp before breathing heavily for several moments. After a couple of moments, she pulled the clothespins off her hands and feet. "Greggers, that was amazing," she finally gasped.

"Thanks, Pookie."

Shelley glanced at the padre's sweatpants and found a small tent. "You know, Father Snidely, there's something I was hoping to find some help with, make a dream of mine come true."

"Yes? What would that be, Sister Ducky?" he said, a huge grin appearing on his face.

"I have always dreamed of getting reamed by something as big as I see in your pants right now," she said, coyly biting her lip and giving him a sultry look. "Would that cock be willing to drill my ass, Father Snidely?"

Greg smile could not be pried from his face by a team of experts. "I think that could be arranged. He seems interested, but may need some more persuasion."

"Well, Peaches seems a bit wrung out and not ready for resurrection right now, so I guess you have a little time free." Shelley licked her lips, stood up and walked over in front of Greg.

"Is this spur of the moment, or have you thought this out?"

"Peaches did tell me you were hung like a horse." Shelley looked down and smiled shyly. "I have some lube in my bag."

"You were hoping, I knew it. I think you need to do some more persuasion before I can commit to something like this."

She peeled off her t-shirt and shorts, revealing a chubby form with huge breasts, her brush hair bright red and her thighs damp. Kneeling before him, she pulled down his sweatpants and released the serpent, which bobbed in front of her face. "It's been a long time since I've done anything like this," she said.

He smiled and gently touched her face. "It's like riding a bicycle, Sweetness. You'll remember."

"You're going to make an impossible dream of his come true, Ducky," Janice said. "He's always longed for a blow job from a lesbian nun."

Shelley started stroking the huge dick in front of her and mused: "A good trade for being fucked up the ass by a priest."

Tentatively, she stroked his penis and gave it a few teasing licks. A nibble of his scrotum was followed by a long slurp down the underside of his shaft, before engulfing the head and bobbing on him. He reached down to play with her earlobes, which encouraged her to pay more attention to driving his member to a granite consistency. Sighing and groaning, he pulled her head toward him before she fought free and stood up. "No, no, no. No fair blowing your wad down my throat before you buttfuck me. Let's get this monster ready."

She fished in her bag for a bottle, and began smearing clear lubricant up and down his reddening shaft. Janice watched, leaning on her elbow. After lubricating him as best she could, she turned around and put her hands on one of the pillars at the corner of the cloister. Her friend got up and quickly turned to bind her hands to the pillar, smiling. "You'll have your taste of crucifixion, Ducky. If this were ancient Rome, he'd bugger you to death."

"I wish," she purred, and wiggled her ass in invitation.

Janice handed her cousin the lubricant, and he proceeded to work a huge amount into his victim's rear passage. She moaned as he slipped finger after finger into her, working three in to stretch her in preparation. Janice's hand reached out to keep Greg's staff at full tumescence, and poured some more lubricant over it to make it incredibly slick.

"Now," Shelley growled. "Stick it in now. Buttfuck me, Father Snidely, buttfuck me."

Janice's firm hand guided Greg's cock to Shelley's glistening rear portal, and lined it up for entry. A small thrust put the head through, and Shelley gasped at the entry. He worked his rod back and forth slowly, plowing deeper and deeper into her ass as she braced herself to push back against him. From a slow start, the pace grew quicker and quicker, deeper and deeper, until he was thrusting all the way inside her. Tears rolled down her cheeks and her hands flexed and unflexed as she was filled according to her wish. "My God, Peaches, this is so incredible! Better than your damn cucumbers. He's so big, I'm so full!"

Janice smiled, and her free hand found her friend's dripping vagina. Probing with her fingers, she felt the force of the sodomization and fell into synch with her cousins thrusts deep into her friend's bowels. Shelley's head rolled around, her mouth open and her eyes rolled back, lost in sensations for several moments before a huge orgasm unglued her so much Janice worried that her friend might lose her balance, and held her up until the sensations passed.

Smiling, Greg pulled out his cock, still stiff. "You haven't shot your load yet, have you, Greggers?" Janice asked.

"Nope."

"Where do you want to put it?" she said, playing with it to maintain its hardness.

"I want to blow my wad on her face. All over that beautiful freckled face."

Shelley unbound her own hands and turned to kneel in front of him. "Yes, on my face. Blow your nuts on my face, Father Snidely. Please."

A smile creased Greg's face as his cousin started stroking his member briskly. It was only a few moments before his sweet, salty load was covering Shelley's smiling face. When every last drop was coaxed out, Janice started kissing her friend, licking the goo from her skin and feeding it to her from her lips. They lay down side by side and started fondling each other. The sun was shining full upon them, the birds where chattering in the trees, and the Angelus bell sounded the noon hour.

When they were finished, Greg suggested: "Easter Monday is a time for water rituals. Why don't we go up to the shower room on your floor and continue this?"

The two nuns smiled broadly as they lounged naked on the grass, and nodded their heads in agreement. Shelley smiled and giggled: "Easter season should be a celebration, after the abstinence of Lent. We're gonna have fun this week."



Impossibly Dreaming



His hand snaked up through the waters, ascending her thigh, and going higher as her breath became shorter. Taking another puff and shaking off the booze he'd already drunk, he thrust his finger to her slit and probed in with his finger.

"Nice," she said. Her canal was slick and he worked a second finger inside. A shiver passed through her body and her toes kneaded his testicles more urgently. He looked at her quizzically and inserted a third finger, she gasped and opened her legs, putting a wet foot on the ledge out of the water. Putting the cigar in his mouth, he puffed while rolling her erect nipple with his other hand; she shuddered and took another long drag on her own cigar, blowing the smoke in his face.

Her lubrication was good, and it seemed her opening could accommodate more, so the fourth finger joined the party beneath the froth. "Oh, Greggers," she moaned, "you're doing so well."

"Am I there yet?"

"No, but you're close."

Puffing his cigar and thinking, he started manipulating her breast more, squeezing it softly and pulling it up out of the water. Her legs parted even more than he could imagine, and curling his thumb into his palm, he pushed farther insider her. A gasp and a nod, and he curled the other fingers back, her breath coming in short gusts. Her eyes came open and she gave him an urgent look, asking, ordering, demanding, imploring. 

It dawned on him what she wanted, and he made the last push that brought the welcoming embrace of her lower lips around his wrist. "Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes," she screamed, her words echoing through the nave up and down for seconds after. "You've got it, you know what I want. Fist me, Greggers, fist me."

Working in and out, he fist fucked her slowly at first, building speed as her pelvis encouraged him to go faster, until sweat flew from his brow trying to please her. She put her drink down and clasped his hand on her breast, squeezing, and so he squeezed her huge boob hard while he pumped her. Her other hand squeezed her other breast, and she was lost in sensation, her cigar irrelevant in her hand away from the water. 

Her breathing grew more rapid and her orgasm hit her quicker than he'd ever seen a woman orgasm before. Thrashing in the water, she slopped a fair amount over the side on the marble floor as she was lost in ecstasy. High above them, a lone bell rang out as she reached the pinnacle of her orgasm. 

Holding him inside her until she was ready, she pulled him out when her breathing returned to normal. After she recovered, she took a long drag on her barely lit cigar and smiled at Greggers. "They're playing our song, Greggers dear."

He shook his head. "I'll never hear the evening Angelus bell the same again."

"You're so sweet, even though you're a creep," she said, her eyes almost brimming as she looked at him. "Shelley's been reluctant to push my limits, and your hand is bigger than hers. I've always wanted to be this full. Mmmmm, thanks, Greggers, that was the best present ever."

"You're welcome, Pookie." He rekindled his cigar and took a puff. "Reminds me of a clip I saw on YouTube, 'Fist Me for Christmas'. Never thought anybody'd really want that." He sent up a smoke ring, and mused. "So I guess you're interested in moving in, now?"

Pookie laughed out loud for several minutes, the merriment bouncing around the pillars. "Yes, you have a great grasp of the obvious. I think you can help Shelley's dream come true as well."

"Oh? Really?"

"Well, Shelley's a farm girl. Before she became a nun, she was interested in animal husbandry."

He gulped the rest of his brandy and took a long, slow drag from his cigar. "You're kidding?"

"Shelley's wanted her ass reamed by a huge donkey dick ever since I've known her. Since we can't go to the sex store in our habits, we haven't been able to get hold of a dildo big enough, and I hate wasting cucumbers."

"That sounds promising."

"Now for your reward, Greggers. Sit on the ledge and let me make your dream come true again."

He did as he was told, and she worked his shaft and balls up and down, slowly at first, then more and more urgently. Occasionally she took another pull from her cigar and a sip from her snifter before engulfing him again, and she finished by circling her tongue around his corona until he shot his load all over his face.

Unthinking, she ducked her head under the water wash the goo off her face. A look of horror came across her face after she came up "Oh my God, Greggers, did I just wash semen off my face with Holy Water?"

Fr. Greg was in the middle of a draw from his cigar, and his explosive laugh sent a huge cloud upward. "Don't worry about it, Pookie. I'll clean the thing out before I go to bed, and bless a new tankfull before Mass in the morning."