Sister Mary dreams

The young nun had knelt and prayed before removing her habit and pulling on the light cotton shift she wore to sleep. She gave a smile at the thought of her young charges, thinking that though they still resisted, they were quickly showing signs of accepting the rules of the Order. They were good girls at heart she thought, perhaps a little selfish, but what could be expected of girls raised outside the sanctuary of a convent. She reminded herself that before she had taken holy orders, she had her own moments of selfishness and impiety. They would learn, she told herself with a smile as she pulled the covers over her and blew out her candle.

She quickly fell asleep, her breathing deepening as her mind and body sank into relaxation and then oblivion. At first she did not dream, and then, as though she was looking through the clear water of a mountain pond, visions began to appear.

At first she saw a chapel, the Convent chapel she realised. And for a moment she felt comfort until she saw that it was occupied. A blindfolded young woman, dressed in a lewd parody of a nun's habit, knelt on the font, holding a crucifix, much of her ripe body expired.

And she was not alone.

A grotesque figure, vaguely humanoid but like no mortal man, held the girl and caressed her lewdly, it's fingers pawing at her mound, teasing her nether lips as she gasped in excited shock.

Sister Mary felt herself in the body of the woman, felt the rough touch of the bestial creature, knew that it would violate her, ravish her in the sacred confines of the chapel.

But before she could witness that, the scene changed. Another chapel, or cathedral. and a nun dressed only in a wimple and boots. Her breasts huge and full. Her nipples stiff and erect as she knelt on the stone floor.

Two hideous goblin creatures held her. One clutching at her neck while his thick penis rubbed between her fat breasts, the splashes of his foul seed on her flesh. The other held her hips, his own organ ravishing her sex, the evidence of his orgasm running from her and splashing onto the floor. The violated nun's mouth was open, gasping in pleasure.

When they were spent she slumped back, bracing herself on her elbows, goblin seed drooling from her ravished mouth as one of them clambered between her thighs and pressed his thick member home in her most sacred place. Her face was slack with lust, her eyes drooping with lechery.

Once again Sister Mary felt herself inside the nun, felt the goblin meat inside her tenderest spots. Whimpered as she was ravished.

And then the scene changed again.

This time an older nun, all but naked save for her wimple, held a young girl on her knees, forcing her head to hold still as a man thrust his rigid maleness into her helpless mouth, thrusting as she moaned and whimpered until he spent. Spraying his essence onto the girl as the nun looked on with emotionless satisfaction.

And once again the scene changed, even as Sister Mary felt herself in both the body and mind of the nun and of her helpless captive.

Another nun. This one clad only in a wimple and sinful looking high boots and nothing else, sprawled in a chair and lazily toying with her womanhood while she perused some foul volume of lechery. Sister Mary felt herself inside the fallen woman, felt her excitement, her growing arousal, her nectar flowing as she pleasured herself.

In her sleep Sister Mary moaned and writhed on her cot, her hands roaming over her body as she slept.

And the scene changed for a final time.

This time there was no doubt.

She was looking at herself.

Naked except for a wimple, kneeling on a stone floor. Ropes twined around her, binding her arms behind her, pressing her firm young breasts forward.

She was waiting. Waiting for something. Something she feared but something she wanted. Something she needed.

Sister Mary moaned again, her hands finding her breasts and sex as she dreamed, her mind whirling with unexpected feelings.

In her troubled mind wakefulness and dream struggled, and with a gasp Sister Mary woke, panting with the shock of the images that scrolled through her mind. She threw her blanket off, realising as she did that in her sleep she had pulled her shift up her body, exposing its youthful firmness.

And with a moaning gasp she realised that her fingers were still buried inside her sex, her thumb pressing on her clitoris, her hand sodden with her flowing juices. The sheet beneath her was soaked with her nectar, and the scent of her arousal filled her nostrils. She should stop, she told herself, this was a sin, a terrible sin, but she could not, her fingers thrusting and playing as her hips bucked and her excitement mounted.

"Oh Lord.....Oh....Oh God....Oh the Sin.....Ohhhhhhhh…..Ohhh Lord....help me.....Oh Lord.....Ohhhhhhh……"

With urgent need she rolled onto her belly, grinding herself against her fingers as she bit into her pillow to silence the scream she could feel building inside her. The heat in her sacred places was white hot, her nectar flowing hot and fragrant, a glow building and flowing through her shuddering body as orgasmic spasms wracked her.

It was like lightning exploded in her brain, her eyes rolling back as she quivered and jerked in frantic need. Her hips kept grinding, her fingers probing, until the last faint quivers of her spasms subsided.

And then finally she slept. Deep and dreamless. Her thighs slick and shiny with her juices, her nipples stiff and hard.