Chapter 8

Dear Father Shaughnessy:

Seyville, Main 98702

As you probably guess when you tried to locate me for services on Sunday, I have terminated my employment with the Jason Maxwell School for Girls. I, have hit the road. The place that I write you from is a commune perhaps 15 miles back into the wilderness from Maxwell, which is not exactly-shall we say?-centrally located itself. Indeed, I am quite a long way from civilization- your kind of civilization, anyway.

It occurred to me late one night-last Wednesday-that I am still a young man. I'm well into my thirties, but I'm not ready to be put out to pasture quite yet, nor am I ready to be dead for the rest of my life, which is the way I lived as the Junior Spiritual Advisor at Maxwell. I am not an old man, and I probably never will be. Age and decrepitness are problems of the spirit. I'd say, Father, that you have a problem.

I'll relate the entire story to you, but first let me forewarn you that there are many, many mentions of sex. If you would like to burn this letter and pretend that neither the letter nor I nor sex exists, go ahead, or if you would like to whack off while you read, that's fine, too-I suggest you find a private corner. I would respect you more for the latter, believe me.

I'm not going to mince words. I've had enough of that shit-pretending that words are any more than just words. I'm going to say "cock", not "penis". I'm going to say "fuck" instead of "knowledge" or "intercourse". Compactness is the key, and this is a lengthy story.

When I was younger, I was the most evil little kid you could imagine. I played with myself about a thousand times a day, lied, ditched church and cursed. These seemed like no great crimes at the time, nor do they seem like very large crimes now, but I've had some bad tunes in the interim because I felt guilty. If I was the person now that I was two weeks ago, I'd still be in confession. I'd have a lot to add, too, after what happened Wednesday night, which I'll get to shortly.

So I masturbated. I rubbed my little pecker raw and loved every minute of it. I wish I had the stamina now for all those hard-ons. I didn't know much or care to know much about girls then-I just liked "stroking it".

I got caught by my father, my mother, two of my sisters, my grandparents and a great-aunt from Oregon, all of whom reprimanded me severely, but I didn't stop. After a few years I started associating hard-ons with girls.

I fantasized all sorts of girls, fat girls, thin girls, shapely girls, my sisters-all running around naked, touching themselves, me, or their boyfriends. I imagined a sea of nipples. My God, do you realize how many different kinds of nipples there are? They're like snowflakes-I doubt if any two of them are alike. And pubic hair-I got to love pubic hair. Black hair, brown hair, red hair, curly hair, straight hair, thick and thin hair, wispy hair in broad cracks, hair spilling down the legs, hair climbing to the navel. I could have cut it with a lawnmower and I spilled gallons and gallons of thick cum onto the carpet, across sepia-toned picture, into my hand, my shorts, my sister's panties. As sex! So glorious it was in fantasy, and not bad, I supposed, in reality.

One day, when I was fifteen, I was whacking off behind the garage when Olive Potter, the neighbors' daughter, chanced by. Olive was nearly twenty-very pretty with long blonde hair. It was always clean and straight and thick, and I swear to you that it hung to her ass. The bottom of her hair nestled in the hollow of her back, just above her round, curvaceous buttocks. I used to whack off all the time imagining what Olive looked like naked.

"What are you doing?" she asked, suddenly behind me. I was deeply into a vision of Mary Roach, the girl down the block, masturbating with a knockwurst and I hadn't heard her coming. She may even have stood behind me watching, because she didn't speak until my load started shooting onto the ground. I tried to stuff my pumping pecker back into my pants hurriedly, but it wouldn't go and all I succeeded in doing was getting cum all over my hands, my shirt and my pants. Damn ... In view of the circumstances, I decided to be bold and meet her question head-on.

"Jacking off," I replied. She stifled a smile.

"I know. Does it feel good?"

"Yes."

"I'm happy for you. You really oughtn't do it in the open like this where people can see you."

"I do it here all the time," I assured her, "and this Is the first time I ever got caught." I hesitated, then begged. "You won't tell my old man, will you? He'd kill me-he really would. He caught me up in the bathroom one day with a French postcard, and he beat the living shit out of me." I was pretty nervous, but Olive only giggled. She had a very grown-up giggle-I guess she way pretty grown up. It reassured me a little bit.

"Of course not, silly. Don't the girls give you enough pussy?"

"Uh-uh."

"Do they give you any!" she asked pointedly.

"Sure," I lied. "Lotsa times."

"You must be a good lay."

"You'd better believe it." I was laying it on thick.

She giggled again in a very discomfiting way. "I don't."

"Then why don't you find out?" I bluffed.

"I intend to." This was like a bombshell. It took the wind out of my sails on the one hand, but on the other...even in my wildest fantasies I had never imagined fucking her. That was what she meant, wasn't it?

"Do ... do," I stammered, "you mean you want me to do it with you?"

"I want you to fuck me."

"When?"

"Right now."

"Where?" I asked. "Here?"

"Of course not," she cut me down. "I caught you here-it would really be raw if we got caught here. No ... We'll go to my house. My parents are gone."

She had to take me by the hand and lead me. I was stunned. I couldn't believe that it was happening, but I wasn't real sure that I was thrilled. After all, I'd given myself an image to live up to. Well ... I'd read a lot of dirty magazines. Maybe I could fake it. And I'd seen Grace Martin's cunt up close once, so I could probably find the hole. I'd tried to fuck Grace, but it wouldn't fit. That's another story.

We got to her house and up the bedroom in record time. Olive started taking her clothes off right away, pausing every few minutes to shake that long hair of hers back. I started in on mine, too, but I was a little slower. I was nervous-aren't we all that "first time?" But even if I didn't know how to fuck, I knew one thing-I had an excruciating hard-on. It actually ached and I started fantasizing her cunt again, even as close to seeing the real thing as I was. I looked over as she pulled her bra off and spilled out her tits.

I almost came in my pants when I saw those milky white globes. And what nipples! They were wide and flat, a cocoa color but with high-standing centers. There were no edges to her points-have you ever blown up a hot dog balloon and twisted it in the middle? The part forward from the twist resembles her erect caps.

I saw pictures of tits all the time, but always stills. A still could never capture the fluid way that her tits jiggled every time she moved or the way I could actually see her nipples swelling with lust. She glanced at me, as I had just taken off my shirt, then went back to undressing. She was wearing blue jeans-they came off pretty quick, and she pulled her panties down. Wow!

I'd seen cunts before: my sisters' a few times, and Grace's, of course, but I'd never seen a truly blonde pussy. It was spectacularly beautiful. The hair shimmered and set off the little bit of her overflowing pink slash that I could see. I saw at first glance that her crack was wide- there was a quarter-inch of pinkness showing where a crack couldn't even be seen on Grace. Or maybe Grace just had a small cunt-it was hard to tell. There was a little bit of the filmy slick-em that Grace had produced on Olive's box, and her pink lips glistened at me. I suddenly realized that I was drooling. I could hardly wait to get down to the real nitty-gritty. I shut my trap and dropped my pants and drawers, exposing my full hard-on. I was hot to trot, believe me, and we hadn't -even started the action. Olive grinned at me.

"Would you like to fess up before we start, Don Juan?"

I swallowed hard and hesitated before I ate humble pie and said, "I confess that I have not fucked a girl." It hurt to say it, and I felt like an asshole, but Olive didn't seem to mind.

"I know. Now that we have an understanding, we can have a better fuck. Remember that." I nodded.

"Okay."

"What you do," she instructed, the honesty case out of the way, "is lie on your back on the bed."

"Hmmm?" I thought there was only one way. Olive laughed again. That whore was forever laughing at me, but I was too horny to let it gall me.

"I want a good tight fit," she explained. "Your dick is kind of small." Boy, was that ever a nice remark. I ignored it, and did what she said. "Now, bend at the hips and stick your legs up in the air and about three feet apart." It was quickly done.

Father, you wouldn't believe the position that this girl executed. I've used it since, of course, and she probably has, too. I've seen it other places, but I was really stunned at the time. I know I would never have thought of it by myself.

She parted her thighs only a little bit and rested most of her weight on my legs and on her own knees. She had my feet under her armpits like crutches, but she stayed entirely south of my ass, and she carefully impaled herself on my pecker. I looked across my stomach and saw her thick pink lips, running wet, grinning widely and the light thatch darkened with wetness. Her cunt felt warm and slippery around my prick and I came just looking at her. Olive sighed.

"Jim," she said, "you must control yourself. I have rocks I have to get off, too." She made no move to break our union, though. I felt myself getting soft but as I gazed at that pussy I got quickly hard again.

"Now you're talking," she approved. "Just lie still and take it easy, and we'll work this thing out."

Of course I couldn't wait. There's just something about being fifteen that prevents control. I was puffing and grunting and all kinds of things, flailing about wildly and fucking for Old Glory. We were joined for better than an hour while I came six times without satisfying her. At last she came. I could feel the hot walls of her cunt trying to suck me up inside her and I knew that she was there. I was elated-she had entirely worn me out. My cum was all over everything-I didn't think I could have produced so much cum. Olive vanished into the John and returned with a face cloth, with which she wiped first my pecker then her oozing crack. It was probably her brother's bath cloth, but that was his problem. When she had finally wiped me clean of all my fluid, I started dressing.

Two hours earlier I could not have imagined a time when I wouldn't want to fuck, but I had reached that point. My cock felt like it had done ten rounds with a Mixmaster, and it probably had deep inside Olive where I couldn't see. She didn't bother to dress. I looked at her and even though I sure didn't want her, she was still beautiful-all that creamy naked skin, her tits, her cunt and her erotic hair boggled my eyes. I finished dressing and left.

I balled Olive a few more times in the weeks afterward. We made it in every way imaginable, take my word for it Olive was a regular marriage manual of creative fucking. After a few months, though, I got a job playing drums in a small bar with "Earl" Duke and his country band. About that time I met Amanda.

The hotel I was working was owned by a busty Mae West type named Yvette. After a few weeks of employment, it occurred to me that Yvette had a lot of steady female roomers with unsteady male companions, among them a number of local officials, a few miscellaneous Congressmen, three regional bankers and a Senator. Yvette was running a whorehouse.

Amanda was one of the girls, a retiring dusky belle who never went a trick more than she had to-like she didn't like her job. We talked during the weeks, and I learned- verbally only-that she had nothing against fucking but had never cum by a client and didn't want to. Some of the men just wanted blow-jobs because their wives wouldn't blow them, but a lot of them were disrespectful perverts who wanted her to do really far-out things to them.

We finally made what was almost a business deal, though it was between "friends". She would teach me a few tricks in return for stud service-because I was an employee of the establishment, no cash would change hands. I'll tell you about one of our nights. Maybe you'll see why the celibate way of life looks so bad.

You've heard of leather freaks, I'm sure. Amanda wasn't one of them, I don't think. At least not exclusively, though she kept a lot of knowledge and equipment for those who were. She had a heavy, steel-sided suitcase under the bed in which she kept her "supplies". Among these were vibrators, dildoes, stockings, masks, leather goods and whips. She had about a dozen whips of various sizes and forms: cats, horsewhips and tiny whips for delicate places. After deliberation, she pulled a middle-sized thong from her pile and shoved the case back under the bed. The strap was long and the handle short, sweat-stained and worn.

"I'm going to instruct you in the use of this," she announced. "Watch closely."

She hurled the thong out violently at a chair, then twisted quickly back before it struck. The whip wrapped several times around the back and the very tip struck with only a tap. I was surprised.

"I thought you were going to cut that chair in half," I admitted.

She grinned ... "All in knowing what you're doing. Watch again." She repeated the trick. "Okay. You try it."

I took the handle hesitantly and tried to imitate her. The first fling brought the strap down with a velocity that would have felled a rhino, but the second and third were better. It was in the wrist. My fifth toss was perfect. "How am I doing?"

"Good. Try to aim it. You see how the tip shoots up on the end? Try to get it to flip over the middle of the chair-back." I moved in and mastered this.

I started to see what she was getting at. If I were flogging a girl, I would be able to hit just the right spot. I practiced a little more.

"Excellent," Amanda encouraged me. Let's try some action. Take your clothes off."

By this time I'd been fucking long enough that I had no silly hang-ups about undressing. I remembered acutely how embarrassed I'd been taking my pants down in front of Olive and almost laughed as I and Amanda both eagerly disrobed. All she was wearing was a clinging shift-no bra or panties-and this she pulled over her head to become suddenly naked.

Amanda was the first black girl I'd ever seen in the raw. There were strap marks across her shoulders and I could see the plain outline of a bathing suit. Her floppy tits were lighter than the rest of her body, the nipples almost black and perfectly formed-beautiful, the same flawless shape I'd like to see a white girl match in pink. Thick wire-wooly cunt hair mad a shield from her navel to her cunt-bun and as she parted her legs I could see the good, old, familiar pink crack. Amanda was equal, okay.

"Try it on me, now," she invited.

I was hesitant, but did as she said. I wrapped the whip around her midsection, estimating my range and the aim of the tip that struck dully against her tummy. On my third toss I wrapped it around her hips and planted the tip just to the left of her cunt-mmmmmmm, I thought, I'll have to move in just a little. I was getting good at it though. The next time I coiled the whip around her and slipped the flailing tip through the slash of her cunt, to her delight. I could see that she was getting hot. She liked being beaten. It was sick, I thought, yet I continued to masturbate her with the tip of the whip, sometimes wrapping it around her shoulders and slapping the end against one of her nipples. I saw them swelling, lightening in color as they filled. I was getting very turned on myself.

I moved in a little closer and started going for the crack of her ass. I could feel it through the handle when I struck it, and could hear a delighted moan from Amanda. By giving the whip still more slack, I tried to poke at her asshole-I don't know if I ever hit it, but I was "hitting Amanda where she lived. She was loving it. Of course, I wasn't hurting her-at worst the whip left a pink mark, never a welt. But since she wanted to be abused, and I could see between her widely-parted legs that she was wet and hot, I stopped my flogging and grabbed her, wrapped my arms around her and hurled her onto the bed.

"Yes!" she sobbed.

I had a moment of inspiration then. I took the quarter-inch-wide tong of the whip and wrapped it tightly around my cock enclosing it from base to tip, then made a small knot near the throbbing knob that left about an inch of leather dangling from the end of the tube that enclosed my pecker-like a French tickler. Even Amanda, who had been around the world, looked at me askance. I only smiled.

As she parted her legs I took the handle of the whip and shoved it into her ass while I slowly plunged my armored cock into her. I don't know if she came when she felt that leather tongue deep in her cunt or not-she looked the part, though. I fucked her with long, hard, fast strokes as the leather teased her deep in her cunt while the added dimensions of my cock stretched her. I'd learned some control by then, but needed little since the leather deadened the stimulation. I could have made myself cum anytime but wanted to wait a while and make Amanda wait as well.

She was going wild beneath me as the cowhide tickler titillated uncharted places. I was getting turned on mostly by mental stimulation, but I was good and hot. When I surmised that she'd cum about three times I allowed myself to cum. I could feel the sperm fight its way up past its bonds and blow deeply into her twat; could feel her cum again, making it harder for me to move. It was at once agony and supreme delight. And that was just my first encounter with her!

All these things I was doing and enjoying started to bother me after a while, Father. I fell in, by chance, with some religious fanatics, and after a lifetime of enjoyable debauchery I took my vows at age thirty. I thought that I was happy as a priest-happier than I had been as a rake. What self-delusion! But let me tell you what happened last Wednesday; what brought all my nasty old memories and desires back in their proper perspective.

It was late at night, possibly 11 or 12 o'clock. I was walking back to my quarters from a brief walk in the woods. I had been having particularly annoying trouble dedicating myself to celibacy and was contemplating whacking off, but opted for a shower instead. A cold one.

Father, I am a fairly attractive man. Sorry, honey, that's the way it is. I'm no cretin, except when I've got a funky haircut and have to walk around in a dress all day. I was walking across the flagstones of the courtyard and almost to the other side when four figures jumped out of the bushes, grabbed me, stifled my cry and carried me into the woods again. How many yards they carried me I have no idea but it was some distance-more than I would have given what I was soon to learn were four young ladies strength for, carrying a healthy and struggling priest. My thought was that I was going to be murdered, or perhaps raped, some young thugs haven mistaken my priestly attire in the dark for the maxi-dress of a student.

We reached a clearing at least and I was dumped unceremoniously to the ground. I tried to rise and run but was tackled. It was then that I heard a voice for the first time-a female voice.

"Don't run off, lover," she cooed. "We aren't here to hurt you." The other figures giggled and I realized that the lot of them were girls.

They pulled their hoods off and shook their hair loose, and in the dim light I could see that all were shapely creatures. My earlier horniness quickly returned-I wondered what on earth they could possibly want, and at the same time I imagined.

"Get the lantern, Cathy," instructed the apparent leader of the group who was a busty blonde, A brunette responded.

"Sure, Lois." She located an old oil lamp under one of the bushes, lit it and hung it from a low-hanging bough. The clearing was well-illuminated now, and I could see the girls.

There wasn't a dog in the lot. All of them wore jeans and navy turtlenecks-attractively tight ones. Their high young tits stretched the weaves to their limits. Much to my surprise as I lay, uncomprehending in the clearing, the girls started to remove their clothes.

"What's happening here?" I demanded.

"Ever heard of a gang-bang, Father? Well," explained the leader in a soothing voice, "that's exactly what we're going to do."

"I don't understand."

"Horseshit. You understand fine. Paula, Lambeth," she indicated two of the other girls, "strip his clothes off. I'm really horny, and I imagine you are, too." The other girls made sounds to indicate agreement.

This was due to be a highly embarrassing thing, I knew, and resisted. I had a royal hard-on, but it simply wouldn't do to show the girls. Cleric or not, my cock could be just as unruly as the next man's!

Between the four of them, though, they succeeded in stripping me naked and holding me down. Lois had the pleasure of pealing my last article of clothing off-my shorts.

"Well," she said with a satisfied smile, "wouldja take a look at this? The other girls, who were pulling the smock over my head, looked up at my erection. They laughed.

"He's as ready as we are, I see," said Lambeth.

"Yeah."

Well, Father, that's when I realized clearly that the life I was leading was not only wrong for me, but wrong for those around me. This life was responsible for the sordid kidnapping of which I was the object, if you catch my drift. This life was depriving these girls of any normal outlet and leading them to the depravity they were committing.

"You're right," I said defiantly. "I am ready."

Let me give you a run-down of the four:

LOIS THOMAS: She had long blonde hair and white skin, almost pure white on her firm tits. When she was naked her small, dust-colored nipples pointed in different directions: one up, one down. She had almost no hair at all on her cunt and what little she had was close-cropped and covered little area. She wanted a straight fuck for her fairly tight crack, the slippery lips and longing hole of which were a very, very red shade of pink. She scared me when we balled-I found out the hard way that she was a screamer.

LAMBETH LOREY: She had short bobbed dark hair and a very sexy mustache. That may seem an odd description, but it was-she looked feline and crafty and uninhibited. Her tits were sharply pointed and her nipples the color of Lois's box. They weren't very big around, but stood high. She took the superior position of a straight fuck but had me eat her a little beforehand.

CATHY COMER: A little overweight with huge floppy tits and a hot, hot red crack. Her hair was jet-black and her cunt-hair straight and thick. On her tits were rich brown nipples that she loved to have me suck on and play with while I fucked her dog-style. I thought I'd get lost in her huge, oily, lippy cunt.

PAULA LERNER: Paula was probably the best-looking of the lot of them. She was a short girl with an unruly mane of red hair, a toothy smile and big eyes under wire frame glasses. Her voice was sort of hard to pinpoint-squeaky-raspy-nasal all at once, but cute. Also cute were her nice firm tits, but big with coffee-colored nipples. Her cunt hah" was the same color as that on her head, very thick and bushy, spilling down her legs a little and back over her tight asshole. She liked to have me fuck her cunt and her asshole together with my hand and ended up sucking me off in a way that was out of this world! Jesus, was she great! I gave her about two loads with one cum, she drank it all and still wanted more.

Her crack was very tight-possibly she was a virgin. At any rate, she didn't want me to fuck her even though she was wet and hot. What a yummy! I'd like to see her again.

We balled and switched off until four in the morning. I got dressed as best I could-there were a few tears in my clothes-let the girls back into their halls with my keys to the place and headed back to my quarters.

I had a lot of thinking to do. Between the next day and Sunday, I did my job, picked up my paycheck, and ran it over and over in my mind. That cunt Rexhaven came in while I was hearing confessions and told me about some more of her strange pussy. I was getting sick of that kind of stuff-maybe she made up my mind for me. At any rate I had my civvies on by the next morning and had hiked to the commune by the time the last mass was due to be over.

I dig it here, Father. There are more good people here than in the whole of the Church. They're gentle, unselfish, hardworking ... every virtue you'd care to name, except chaste- but that's a debatable virtue anyway.

As I write this there are two young ladies sitting next to me without clothes, as I am without clothes. One of them is fingering and stroking my pecker and, amazingly enough, it's getting hard again. Pardon me while I give her tit at good squeeze. Ahhhh, that felt good-for both of us.

Well, Father, Nancy seems to have given me an erection, so I'd best put it to use.

Peace and love,

Jim