0 comments/ 158123 views/ 8 favorites I'm a Nun By: Mycke I am a nun. This is a true story. I became a Christian when I was only ten years old. Even though I was born Muslim it occurred to me early on that Christianity suited me more so, mostly because of the gentleness I perceived within Jesus and much less so in Mohammad. Judaism just seemed far too original. This is not a downplaying Judaism or Islam - only a testimony of personal taste. At 13 years old I knew that I wanted to be married to God, and fulfill his every desire. This seemed to be possible in a way I desired by simply becoming a nun. So I did. I entered a convent at 19 years old, for the very first time. Within months it was clear to the Mother Superior that I had the soul required to live a life of commitment to God, and God alone. After three months in the convent, I was made responsible for five new young women who had just arrived. (Like Shakespeare, I am connivingly leaving a point hanging, which clearly needs more rubbing. It will come in Part 2). Although, it must seem that I am very naïve and obsessively pure, I am not. My parents had insisted that I go to a public school in my younger years, as they were greatly concerned with my zeal for the religion and my constant involvement in ritual. “At public school you’ll meet boys and girls who are normal, “ they would say. I felt immense pain for my parents knowing how misunderstood I was to them. I felt pain, knowing the pain they must feel at having a daughter they simply could not understand. This is a great tragedy. But while I was at public school, I decided that I would learn all I could, both academically and otherwise, before I would commit my life to Jesus. I read books on every conceivable topics from motorcycles to anal sex. No subject, that could not be dealt with later on, was left unexplored. I made a decision, like young Mennonites, to explore the world and the fruits it has to offer. There was nothing within Christianity that I was familiar with, which denied a young woman of her needs. Once this decision was made and in the open, I began to become more and more sexually aroused and in need of coitus. I made love to a young man early on and I found myself loving every aspect of the lovemaking act. I couldn’t get enough of him between my legs, licking my clitoris and making love to me with his tongue. I was awashed with passion when he entered me whether it was while I lay on my back offering up my vagina for his consumption; or whether I was on my knees, extending my ass high up into the sky for him to enter whether anally or otherwise. Once the floodgates of sexuality opened up in my life, there was quite literally no closing them. If I wasn’t with a man in a given evening I would spend my time masturbating or making love to an older woman living in my flat. I had a collection of toys so grand that I considered opening a store called “Sex Toys R’ Us” (kidding J) AS often as I wanted I would lower the lights in my apartment, and set out dozens of candles smelling of sweet flowers. I would bathe; always extending my toes, and arching my back in a sexual way too simply turn myself on. I was magnificent. I looked into a mirror perched up against the back of the bathtub, and as I lay in bubbles I masturbated, and did so for hours. By the time I climbed out of the bath, I could barely ambulate myself to my bed. I had spent myself and I was indeed…. spent. I tried threesomes, foursomes and even fivesomes where I was the central figure catered to by the three men and two women in my group. If you have ever experienced a cock or dildo, or both in more than one of your orifices than you will get what I am about to say. Double, triple, quadruple penetration is as delightful as I could have imagined. I have had a cock in my ass, visited by another one in my vagina while a third cock rammed my throat while two young female nymphs sucking interchangeably on my nipples…. massaging my breasts as though they were making bread. I experimented with strap ons and fucking men. I found I was able to humble the male species in a way I much preferred not seeing – at least initially. It is clear to me now that when a person is on all fours, awaiting penetration from above them, they have placed themselves in a a subservient one. This is humiliating. Yes, I know that subservient are often seen as the real person in control in a given relationship, yet I can’t help believing that at some level humiliation does enter this picture. So I fucked men and bemoaned my inability to cum inside of their ass. I hope so badly that in my next life I will have a penis for it offers so much that a vagina does not. I would like a penis that is no longer than six inches, and not quite as thick a my wrist. I would prefer being circumcised, mostly because the crown of such a penis looks like a little piggy. I love pigs. They are so smart. I learned early on to be sexy. My advice to women reading this story is to be sexy..as sexy as you can. Take advantage of the blessings that God has bestowed upon us. We are living in a very rich time and place in history where the shelves in supermarkets are filled and sexual enhancers are cheap. It is proper to eat when you are given food, and it is correct for us to engage in sexuality to the extent that one chooses, even if it appears to be slutty or uncouth. I bought lingerie from Victoria’s Secret by the pound. Men would ogle until their eyes fell out at the vision of my breasts, stomach and legs covered in silk. I have never met a man, except for one, who was able to stand a meter away from me while I stood opposite him dressed in the most provocative teddy I owned – and be able to keep his distance. I had grown into a very attractive young woman, I must say. My eyes were the feature which moved men the most. I have black, black eyes set in very pear shaped sockets. They are large and said to be inviting. Some say they used to cover half my face, when I was five years old. I could fuck men with my eyes. A man I had known for only a few hours, quite literally came on my feet without touching himself while my eyes teared ever so slightly, stared deeply into his, and expressed a lustful desire to take his cock in me, every which way. Anyone who knows is aware that the hands are the greatest sexual tools and the eyes quickly follow them. You can impregnate a dame with your eyes – men. At 19 I entered a convent, having fulfilled enough of my fantasies to take me into my three next lives. On the first day I arrived I found my room in the dormitory and introduced myself to my roommate. The room was large, about 25 feet by 20 feet and the ceilings seemed to be 15 feet high. There were sort of frescos on the walls, and the paneling was from redwood. My roommate really seemed to look like me, or perhaps like I will look in five years. She was about 5’2 and weighed 110 pounds. Her body was exquisite and I silently, to myself, expressed my hearty appreciation to God for giving me more and more blessings. My Christianity was strengthening within me as I learned more about life. Nellie was a physical fitness buff and she never went a day, except for Christmas day, without doing some sort of exercising. My favourite, was when she would stretch and her arms and legs would flap about exposing herself to me in a most seductive fashion. Those nights I lay in bed and plunged my Silencer-Dildo inside of me until my hands rebelled, not my cunt. Nellie turned to me one night while I masturbated and told me that she could smell my sex. I turned as red as my imagination allowed and asked her why she would say something so vile. Laughingly she said, “No silly. The wonderful smell of sex permeates one’s senses like nothing else except perhaps vanilla, or a rose.” Nellie leaped out of her bed, and pulled my covers to the side so she could find an entry place into my bed. I extend my hospitality to her. I appreciated her confidence and ability to so freely express herself. I felt her hands on my ass and her tongue on my clitoris and I began to raise my voice. She stifled me with a simple, hot and wet lick of my asshole. I was stunned and asked her to repeat it. She put her finger into my ass and screwed me (a word I think to be most appropriate in reference to anal sex of any type) until I came and then pooped a bit on her hand. Nellie was super cool and only laughed at my puppiness. She then positioned herself over me, so that her cunt was lowered onto my mouth. I ate her and in a flash learned to love cunnilingus more than any sexual act I had experienced. Men know what it is like to taste a woman’s wetness and to run your tongue around her lips, simultaneously fingering her with one, or two, or three or four fingers. Some fist. Not me. Nellie and I made love, fucked and screwed every single night of that school year, without fail. We were an item to each other, and not a single soul in the entire place had an inkling of our sexuality for one another. This made the fruit even some more forbidden, because when things get out they loose their flavour. Fucking a fellow student-nun in a convent, was not what I had bargained upon committing to a life of austerity and chaste. It did however make my initiation into the life of a nun far more palatable. (Part 2 to come) I'm A Nun Ch. 02 I entered the Mother’s Superior’s office and quickly stood at attention. She seemed to be exactly what people think of women who hold such positions - a shriveled up asexual woman without any humour whatsoever.. I learned to hate her before I learned to love her. She was that type. However, once I had learned to love her it was truly the greatest love I ever had, and likely will ever have. Mother Superior was a diamond, whose greatness was reserved for a select few women, and from what I had heard, one priest. She exhibited in the most natural of ways, empathy for others and a wise understanding that bubbled up from the very center of heaven. Mother Superior was one of the only people I had ever met who was able to conquer her desires and replace them with compassion for others. I did not entirely agree with this aspect of Christianity, which stated that the holiest of holiest must separate themselves from the hear-and-now, and their ego. This seemed somewhat preposterous to me, as the fact that we were born with individuality, it seemed logical that we should not bury that aspect of ourselves, but more so celebrate it and disseminate far and why. Yet, I knew that there were some, such as Mother Superior who would practice otherwise; she made the needs of others, her needs. In some inexplicable way, she did this in an altruistic manner, which I entirely believed and trusted, unlike the ways of many bankrupt men and women of the cloth. I suffered as well from my relationship with Mother Superior. It was not uncommon for the sisters to bemoan the fact that they could not love her in more ways than just emotionally. This is difficult to understand for many mere mortals - for those who constantly live in the mundane and drab. The negativity that that commoner experiences when they think of such a relationship – that of a sister and her Mother Superior – is ignorant. Love at its essence does not carry such silliness in its bosom. Love is unlimited; it is unfettered; love is the mane of our short-necked existence. It only takes on the aura, sometimes a negative one that we bestow upon it. In truth, we loved the Mother Superior so deeply and so purely that making love to her seemed to be only right. It made sense. Think about this. Incest is currently the most read topic on erotica websites. Why? It is because we love our family, and we would love to love them in every way; but we have been told that it is wrong for two consenting adult family members to touch one another. We therefore store those thoughts and feelings away in an attic that is locked upon consciousness and never, ever re-opened similar to the secrets of the great magicians. I loved the Mother Superior and would wish that she would simply shake my hand from time-to-time. She was perfect and I felt compelled to live harder when touched by her perfection. It seemed natural that I should love her more. One night, well into my second year at the institute (some call it a nunnery), I found myself dreaming erotic thoughts about Mother Superior. Although her face was really wrinkled, in my dreams it was soft and her eyes were set apart so lovely, and her nose was a button one, and her lips, full. Mother Superior was exquisite in my sleep. Her body, although really decrepit and bent, was lithe and curvaceous like the old strippers. She laughed and danced around me, and threw back her head in laughter, as her breasts bounced delightfully. Up and down and around. She laughed and sang sweet songs from her childhood. I was sitting on the edge of my bed and Mother Superior was swinging on a giant swing attached to my ceiling. In a dreamy way, or perhaps I should say in the ways of dreams, she morphed in and out of many faces ranging from that of a sunflower and later a chocolate cake. I looked at her pussy and held my stare for many moments. It was young, clearly untouched and pure. I could see her clit in its hood, and my dream state suggested to me that it was bidding me forward. The reality of this dream made me wet, so much so that I awoke the next morning awash in my own juices. It was only a dream. We forgive our insanity when it is nocturnal and unconscious. Every night the dream would increase in its intensity and erotic. Whereas the first dream sort of introduced me to the nakedness of Mother Superior, the second dream allowed me to feel her sexuality. By the third and forth and fifth dreams I was making contact with her nipples, lips and vagina. I tell you this, and do so with every honest-fiber I can muster - it was bliss. Upon waking I would run to the window to see if I was awake or able to fly, and therefore, asleep. The dreams began to impact upon my waking hours. I thought about Mother Superior constantly and wanted to emulate her and be with her and make love to her. I knew, as well, that it was absurd to think that this could happen. The more I dreamed, the more melancholy set it. Erotic was steaming out of my bed sheets at night. Often I would wake up and my sheets would be soaked from the strong flow of my cunt juices. I can remember the orgasms, even though I slept because they were so intense, that every muscle in my body clenched as it began to approach and held that clenched moment for what seemed like millennia; and when I let go and began those cherished iota’s of spasm and convulsions, and spit dripping and not caring, and pushing harder and faster deeper and deeper inside of my cunt with my vibrator – when I let go, I had discovered my own personal Garden of Eden, where the ponds and the lily pads make a grown man cry from their beauty. One night, I slipped on my Winner’s naughty nighty (by the standards of nuns) and slippers, and decided to take a walk down the institute hallway to the chapel. Prayer gave me solace and God seemed to understand my relationship both spoken and unspoken, with Mother Superior. God did not judge God did not get angry with me. She felt there was no reason to. A woman loving a woman made sense to God, because God’s love is genderless. To God, love looks like something. God can see love. And to God it looks as round as a perfect ball and as bright as the sun. Such a vision could only be perfect and care less about one’s gender. I could see Mother Superior in her office, (which was adjacent to the chapel). I hoped that she wouldn’t see me as this would only make me feel sadder, at the realization that I couldn’t hug and kiss her. Never the less, I chose instead to do something that was destructive to me, even to me. I knew it as I was doing it. Like the pitcher who realized the ball ain’t going to slide like he had wanted it to, I was about to hurt myself. Why do we do that? I quietly eased up to Mother Superior’s door. I wanted to watch her, not in an obtrusive way, but more so to see how she does simple things. How she lives when nobody is around. I wanted to watch her movements. I was curious, how she would perch her head when she read. I wondered if she would stop during prayer to take a break from the intensity of her concentration. She was a painting to me, with a pulse, and I studied her from every angle. Did she masturbate? Had she made love to a priest who had come through our city many years ago? (The story has many versions, each one with intricate tentacles and tributaries, so much so that it takes on mythical proportions. I once heard that the priest and Mother Superior made love for three days in her room and neither of them seemed to care a bit about being heard or caught. The story has it that neither Mother Superior nor the priest was ever rebuked for the incident, mostly because the priest was next inline to be the Pope). This and other thoughts intrigued me. Please understand that I am completely normal. I simply loved someone with all my spirit and soul. I wish you experience this. I do. So don’t question my veracity or will never happen to you. It couldn’t if you don’t believe in it. I sat perched up against the heavy mahogany frame of Mother Superior’s door. She was so ensconced in her study, so much so that I knew I didn’t have to worry about her looking up and spotting me. It would have been strange for. The light of her tiffany desk lamp illuminated her face and she looked more like the Mother Superior of my dreams than that of the person who leads us in prayer every day. Like my own mother, her face was void of stress and she appeared to be challenged by the lines in front of her, but full of bliss at its content. She loved God so, and it was evident at every movement. The clock ticked. I hadn’t realized that two hours had passed. Until I came, I wasn’t aware that I had been touching myself. This became a revelation to me only afterwards. I was soaked with my own juices and must have cum dozens of time to be that wet. For hours I curled up against the door and observed her every movement. She was poetry. She was in sync with the movement of the world around her. It was as though she was one of the elements, perhaps water, and maybe air. It’s difficult to explain what I was witnessing, but years later I began to believe that I was looking upon the essence of someone who had achieved perfection, at least more so than 99.9% of the world. My mind was abuzz with her, as I steadied myself and found my way back to my bedroom. Sleep seemed insignificant in light of what I had discovered. I opened my light table drawer ever so quietly, so as not to wake up Sister Theresa, and removed my holy dildo. I lay down in bed, raised my nightdress and lowered this buzzing brother to my vagina. Oh God, I was in heaven. Oh God, I was in love with a most splendid human being and I would make love to her as I fantasized; only this way. My clitoris jumped as the dildo touched it. My body stirred and it would be moments before I would cum again. Unbeknownst to me, Sister Theresa was awake. She was watching me, something in my head told me so. I turned my head to the left; my eyes had adjusted to the dark and they caught those of Theresa’s. She pulled back her blankets and sat up. Her feet touched the floor. I kept on cumming. I couldn’t stop despite the audience. With little fanfare, she stood up straight and began to walk over to my bed. Oh God. I couldn’t stop. (Stay tuned for Part 3)