Chapter 1

It was already two-thirty, and twelve-year-old Angela was restless. But Mary Carruthers, Angela's buxom, pink skinned, 36-year-old mother, had ordered her to stay in the house until after Father Edmund paid his social visit. After that, Angela was at liberty to go out and play with Betsy, who lived in the corner bungalow on the other side of the street. Worst of all, to Angela, instead of letting her wear her vacation outfit of Bermuda shorts, bobbysocks, loafers and short-sleeved white blouse, her mother had insisted that she honor Father Edmund's visit by presenting herself the way a well-bred young lady should be - and that meant a dress and slip and her nicest undies.

Angela had looked wonderingly at her mother over the luncheon table when her mother had made that remark about pretty undies, and her blonde mother had frowned and snapped, "Now you just do what I tell you to, young lady, because even at twelve you're not too big to spank, and don't you forget it for a minute!"

Angela had turned fiery red at this humiliating comment. It recalled for her some distressing moments when she had been, in her own opinion, a very little girl of nine or ten, which was the last time her mother had actually carried out that mortifying threat. She fancied herself grown up now. After all, she was old enough to have what her mother called "the curse", and that, too, was terribly embarrassing. And also - though her mother didn't suspect it - lovely Angela's awareness of that secret and shameful part of her enticing young body, thanks to the inevitable monthly period, had led her to experiment with herself ... especially at night when she was troubled with strange but exciting tickling sensations, to relieve which she had discovered that the persistent rubbing of her own soft little forefinger brought about even more thrilling feelings. These, she vaguely realized, were associated with boys. Of course, her mother had strictly forbidden her to accept any dates even to a movie or even to let a boy carry her books home from school.

Betsy, however, was a year older and had actually been out with boys. But then, Betsy's situation was a lot different from hers because her girl friend's parents had separated and then remarried, leaving Betsy under the very lax supervision of an elderly aunt.

As she waited in her bedroom for Father Edmund to come so that she could pay her respects and then hurry across the street, Angela sighed wistfully, put a hand to her dimpled chin and wished she were at least as old as her best friend and knew as much about ... important things ... as Betsy seemed to know.

In her pretty blue cotton dress with its modestly cut skirt down to her knees and front decorously rising to her slim throat, Angela indeed seemed older than her twelve years. She was five feet four inches in height, with charmingly saucy features. Her face was oval, her cheeks high-set, her nose a dainty snub with sensuously thin, dilating wings, and her small but very ripe mouth was sensual and petulant, the lower lip fuller than its very kissable twin. Her large, widely spaced gray-green eyes and her warm olive skin enhanced her mouthwatering loveliness, but the dress, modest though it was, emphasized the ripening tastiness of her virginal charms. Though Angela had put on a white nylon bra and panty set to please her mother's mystifying order, the bra did not entirely check the jut of two firm, widely spaced pear-shaped titties. She had put on charcoal-brown nylons, rolled at mid-thigh over elastic garters and the gauzy sheaths revealed trim ankles, sleek, sinuous high-set calves, while the skirt hinted at long shapely thighs and a jouncy oval-shaped behind.

Her hair was glossy black and set with a fringe of tiny little curls all along the top of her high forehead. The rest was combed straight back and flowed down just past her shoulder blades. Impatient with waiting, Angela abruptly rose from her chair, went over to the little boudoir table, took up a comb and began to comb out her hair in back. Just then, the doorbell rang. Angela's eyes widened, she dropped the comb, and a faint blush suffused her cheeks. It was Father Edmund at last, thank goodness! Soon she could go over to Betsy's and have fun. Maybe Betsy would tell her more about the dates she'd had. Angela had begged her friend to tell her what it was like to be kissed and felt by a boy, but Betsy had only giggled and hinted, mysteriously, "Maybe I will - some day when you're ready to find out for yourself, Angie!"

With a last appraising glance at herself in the mirror, Angela opened her bedroom door and went out to the living room to appear in her dutiful role of respectful young Catholic daughter. Her mother was already opening the front door, and Angela gasped with surprise. Her mother was wearing a black satin dress cut almost to the middle of her back and, in front, low enough to show off the upper curves of two succulent, firm, round closely spaced titties.

It was Betsy who had taught Angela the only really naughty word she knew: titties. Just a few weeks ago, poking her forefinger at Angela's budding young bosom, Betsy had cattily remarked, "Gosh, Angie honey, you're sure getting a perky pair of titties. Boy, will the guys ever go for you when they get you out on a date!"

Not only that, her mother was wearing fresh lipstick and she smelled of perfume.

My goodness, all that fuss just to say hello to Father Edmund! Angela thought to herself.

And then she blushed again, for Father Edmund had said something to her mother in a low voice and was coming towards her with a smile, holding out his hand.

"Why, it's little Angela! My gracious, what a lovely young woman you are turning out to be, my child!"

Somewhat awkwardly, Angela extended her soft little hand, flushing and modestly lowering her eyes as she did so. Her mother hovered protectively near and purred, "What a lovely compliment, Angela! Let me hear you thank Father Edmund properly, young lady!"

The black haired teenager shivered. If the truth be known, she had met Father Edmund several times before, not only in the confessional but also standing outside the chapel after Sunday school. Even in the privacy of the confessional box, she had always recognized his strong, authoritative, manly voice. And at times at night, since she had passed out of puberty and was awakening, had had strange and very naughty dreams in which he figured. One of them she remembered even now as his sinewy strong fingers seemed to keep hold of her hand more than was necessary for a mere call on a parishioner.

She had dreamed she was walking in the woods on a hot summer day, wearing only a lace trimmed white slip which she had sneaked out of her mother's dresser drawer - that of course had to be a dream, for lovely Angela had been brought up never to steal or tell a lie - and someone had called to her out of a clump of bushes. When she had turned, Father Edmund in his black priest's robe had come out and taken her by the hand and led her back into the bushes and then scolded her for going outdoors so scantily dressed and said that what she needed was a good, sound spanking ... and in the dream, she had been bent forward over one knee and her firm saucy behind slapped a dozen times. At that point, the dream was broken off, and Angela had awaked to find her nightie suspiciously wet between her still trembling, supple young thighs ...

"T-thank y-you, F-Father," she quavered now, and glanced up at him. He smiled and his dark-brown eyes seemed to be glowing.

Finally he released her hand.

"Ah, you'll be a beautiful young woman before much longer, my dear," he said. Then, turning to her mother, "Mrs. Carruthers, are you free now to discuss that church social we talked about earlier this week?"

"Oh, yes, Father! Angela, if you like, why don't you go play with your friend Betsy?"

Her mother used an affectionate tone of voice which, of late, Angela had seldom heard.

"All - all right, Mother, if you're sure it's all right?" she said. "But oughtn't I to change?"

Mary Carruthers impatiently shook her head.

"No, of course not! You're fine the way you are. Have a good time, and you needn't be back till suppertime."

"If - if you say so, Mother. Well, then - it - it was nice to meet you again, Father Edmund."

Angela made him a little curtsey, and was rewarded by his soft pleased chuckle, and a soft familiar chuck under the chin.

"Likewise, Angela. I'll see you at Sunday school, shan't I?"

"Y - yes, Father. Well - goodbye now." She was blushing from his attentions, though the gesture of his finger was one bestowed on a little girl rather than a grownup young lady. "I'll just get something from my room I want to show to Betsy, Mother."

"All right, dear. Come along, Father."

Angela's mother took Father Edmund by the arm and led him down the hallway. Angela's eyes widened. Though she knew both her parents to be faithful churchgoers, she couldn't understand her mother's having dressed and made up to receive the priest and still less her commandeering him this aggressive way. With a shrug of mystification, she went back to her room to get the movie magazine which had an article about Richard Burton which Betsy had said she wanted to read.

Down the hall, she heard her mother's door close and then a noise which sounded like a key turning in the lock. That was very strange. Holding her breath, Angela tiptoed to her closet and heard the murmur of voices. On the wall at her left, a large chunk of plaster had become dislodged; Angela had pushed it back into place. But now her curiosity led her to glance at it and remember that by drawing it out, she could peer directly into her mother's bedroom.

But that would be a sinful thing to do, Angela knew. She shook her head as if telling herself it was unthinkable. The murmur of voices was continuing. And then suddenly, she heard what sounded suspiciously like a slap, then another, and still another, followed by a giggle, and then a little flurried cry.

"My gracious, whatever can be going on?" Angela murmured to herself, moving closer to the wall to try to make out what was being said and done.

Again the sound of slaps came to her and loud gasps, then Father Edmund's voice. Mother had said they were going to talk about a church social. But it certainly sounded strange, if that was what it was.

Once again, there was the sound of slaps and a soft groan. Angela could stand it no longer. Very carefully, she put her fingernails to the jagged chunk of plaster and slowly lifted it out. Still clutching it in her left hand she bent slightly to stare into the improvised peephole.

Her mouth gaped and her eyes widened in disbelief. For there was her mother, wearing only a black nylon slip, gauzy black nylon hose and pumps, crouching on all fours with her head bowed towards the head of the bed. And the slip had been furled back up beyond her mother's waist, displaying the carnation-sheened spacious round cheeks of her mother's naked behind ... on which quite a few bright red splotches were imprinted.

Father Edmund knelt behind Angela's mother engaged in trussing up his black cossack, then fumbling with himself in front. Then, his right hand stroking the squirming, upreared, outthrust bare posterior, he muttered hoarsely, "Spread your legs more than that, my daughter, so the good work can be done. Is your big bottom warm enough now to receive the holy oil?"

And from Angela's mother, in a muffled, quavery voice, "Ohh, yes, yes, dear Father, it's awfully nice and warm, do give it to me now."

"I shall, my daughter. Steady yourself," was the priest's answer.

Angela, her eyes wide as saucers, had unconsciously slid her right hand under her blue cotton skirt and the little white petticoat beneath. Her forefinger had begun to rub against the exquisite plump mound at the crotch of her thin panties. The soft virginal lips of her vulva twitched and quivered and as she watched her mother obediently spread her knees still farther apart until the groove between the plump, succulent bottom-globes was lasciviously distended. Angela, in her turn, straddled her long legs to make her own sensitive and now moistening young quim even more accessible.

She hardly dared to breathe as Father Edmund, completing his palpation of her mother's indecently naked behind - during all of which time Mary Carruthers wriggled and weaved her buttocks in the most indecent manner imaginable - now commanded in a husky voice, "My daughter, to show total obedience, I wish you to prepare yourself for what you are about to receive!"

"Ohh, y-yes, Father!" Mary Carruthers gasped.

Without leaving her kneeling pose and burying her congested face in the pillow, she reached back, grasped hold of the inner edges of both buttocks and drew them as far apart as she could uttering a sobbing little "Ahh !" as she did so.

Angela's eyes were fixed on the puckering crinkly rosette of her mother's anus, and her right forefinger began to rub at a faster cadence now as she felt warm waves of sensual excitement, even stronger than any she had ever known in the privacy of her own virgin bed alone at night, now seethe through her.

"Very good, my daughter. And now, prepare yourself to submit in an act of faith," Father directed as he moved behind her ... but not till Angela had seen for the first time in her rapidly maturing twelve years the stiff, angrily reddened head of his savagely rampant penis and the dark blue veins standing out against the taut skin of the incredibly thick and long shaft.

She had to clench her lips to keep from squealing out her shocked incredulity lest she betray to them that she was an unbidden witness of this incredible act.

Father Edmund's position blocked Angela's view so that she could not see the actual entry of his formidable penis. But she was immediately edified by hearing her mother call out in a sobbing groan, "Ohhh, ahhh. Father, please take it easy. My little bumhole's too small for your big cock! Ohh, please be gentle there!"

"Courage, my daughter, bigger things have come out than are going in," Angela heard him chuckle, and then there came a grunt as she saw him push forward.

His right hand seemed to press down on her mother's bare right hip, but his left was concealed from Angela's view. Once again, it was her mother who furnished her aghast virgin daughter with the detailed explanation of what was taking place. To be sure, Angela till this moment had never before heard some of the terms her mother employed in that explanation.

"Ahh - ohhh, Father, that's so good when you rub my button too - ahh, ohh, it stretches my little bumhole so - ahh, not too hard till it's all inside, please, F-Father dear!"

"Careful, my daughter, or I shall have to chastise your naughty posterior for showing such wantonness. This is penance I am exacting from you and the thought of your enjoyment is farthest from my mind ... now then, get ready, I'm going to put it all into you so that you can feel the full dose of holy oil directly!"

Angela's finger feverishly worked this way and that against the moist crotch of her little panties. Her young breasts rose and fell erratically and she had to make a conscious effort to hold onto the chunk of dislodged plaster in her left hand lest she drop it and warn the two preoccupied adults in the room beyond that she was committing a mortal sin by spying on them. But the torturing waves of tickling hot, girlish ardor threatened to destroy her own self-control, and it was fortunate for her that her mother now arched and writhed, having felt the full brunt of Father Edmund's penis to the very hilt, and uttered a loud sobbing wail.

"Ahhhhhhhrr, oh Father, you're tearing me to pieces there, oh do let me a minute - oooooooh, my finger feels so good there, do it faster, make me come!"

"Not till you have had your full penance, my sinful daughter," the priest thickly responded. "Bow when I draw back. Do you thrust your impudent bottom back to me - ahh, that's right, continue thus - soon you shall have your absolution!"

Angela whimpered as she saw her mother's widely straddled feet scuff the rumpled bed till both pumps slid off and her stockinged toes curled and twisted and wriggled this way and that. Her eyes unwaveringly fixed on the scene. She saw Father Edmund's hips execute a forward-backward maneuver, and at once heard her mother's raucous "Ahh, ohh, it's so good. Oh, yes, punish me, Father, punish me good!"

"Yes, yes, my daughter!" His voice was excited. "Get ready, it will be very soon - perhaps even sooner than - yes, ahh - now, you wicked sinful bitch, buck your gorgeous big red behind as much as you can. Here it comes, Mary girl - ahhhhhh!"

With a bellow, he crammed violently forward and Mary Carruthers, swaying on her buckling knees, nonetheless managed to hold her ground as she thrust herself sacrificially back to his rutting charge. Then Angela heard her mother's high-pitched, prolonged scream of ecstasy.

"Eeeeeeyahhrr - ouu - I can feel yon gush into me there, Father - ahhhh, your finger, oh work it good now, I need it so - ahh yes, yes I'm coming too - oh now, now, Father, fuck my button hard as you can - yes - aiiiionuuahhhh!"

And as this last prolonged wail died away, Mary Carruthers seemed to collapse flat on the bed, sprawled face down, the priest moving forward to top her and cover her, his hips working convulsively. At almost the same moment, Angela was shaken by the most volcanic spasm her virgin core had ever known, and she had to lean her forehead against the wall and close her eyes and grind her teeth to keep from crying out her own frantic release...

After a long moment, the teenaged brunette at last steadied herself, smoothed her rumpled skirt and petticoat back into place, then turned to the table where she kept her schoolbooks, retrieved the movie magazine, and tiptoed to her door and cautiously opened it. With a frightened gasp, remembering that she hadn't replaced the chunk of plaster, she ran back to the closet and fitted it back into place, her heart pounding wildly, her face flushed and her eyes humid from what she had seen - and done. The latter was a sin she would have to confess this weekend, she knew.

Oh my goodness, she thought to herself, I don't dare tell the priest who hears my confession what made me do it, though, oh dear!

Once again she opened her door and listened. There wasn't a sound. Hastily, then, she hurried to the front door and let herself out, her mind reeling with the secret revelation that had not been meant for her to witness. She couldn't even dare tell Betsy about it, she knew!