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on the pursuit of salvation

10:57 am Thursday, 26th September, 2013

when i was fifteen years old J.B. - a close friend of my older sister - came into my room and sat at the end of my bed. she had brought old book with her and told me that she wanted to read me a few passages from it, to see what i thought.

I had never paid J.B. much notice. she was a sturdy, passingly pretty girl with an open face and shy manner. unlike the majority of my sister's friends i had never taken time to flirt with her, or even exchange much by way of pleasantries. i noted only that her breasts looked firm and that she blushed when i nodded my perfunctory greeting on passing her in the school corridor. until the day she entered my bedroom i don't believe i was even very sure of her name.
her face flushed as she opened the book. though she had asked my permission she did not wait for my consent before proceeding. she did not look in my direction but only at f the old book, pages yellowed and broken across the spine.
to begin with i barely even listened. i rarely invited girls into my bedroom then and it was far rarer to have on sitting on my bed. though i had never paid J.B. much attention before i did then. perhaps it was proximity that made her more alluring. perhaps it was that she had made herself somehow.. available to me.
the book, as it slowly revealed itself to my mind, turned out to be some sort of clumsy erotica - mimicking (though far from exactly) the medieval style. so there were wildly wanton nuns and randy priests - all beyond penitence. a bishop and a bell ringer seemed particularly beyond saving - as was the goat in the yard that they eyed lustfully from time to time while taking turns to penetrate each other 'in the most sinful manner'.
J.b. paused before continuing. she licked her lips, almost glanced in my direction, before placing her hand almost gently on my thigh.
'this is the bit,' she said, quietly.
a priest had entered a novices cell. according to the book - and convention - she was the only true innocent remaining in this Babylon. a country girl 'of little learning, either of the ways of books, nor of the world'. she was on her knees and, crucifix clutched, prayed with 'and unusual earnestness'. this show of devotion, it appeared, so 'inflamed the priests member that it rose up in rebellion under his frock and would not be denied.' (or something to that effect).
this priest - again according to convention - was himself something of an 'innocent' and he took great offense that this virgin girl should arouse the 'devil in him'. rather than chastise himself for 'the weakness of his flesh' he chose instead to chastise her. forcing the novice to her feet he ordered her to bare her buttocks 'so that he drive the devils from her'
J.B.'s voice almost faded as she described how the priest whipped the poor girl with the hemp cord from her own habit. she was looking at me then, having taken care, at some point, to memorise the passage. her hand remained where it was though i sensed that she wanted to shift it then. curious to confirm her suspicions that i was, by then, sporting, an erection.
meanwhile the priest, having striped the virgins buttocks, cast holy water on her wounds, and penetrated her with the wooden crucifix she had been clasping as she prayed.
J.b. closed the book, and no longer blushing (though still a little flushed) asked me what i thought of it.
rather than answer i told her to stand and raise her skirt. then i told her to take hold of the edges of the chest that sat at the end of my bed. she complied and there was even a look of triumph in her eyes then, i thought. skirt hoist and leaning i pulled down her underwear until she was revealed and then i told her to stay exactly as she was until i returned with my sister's skipping rope.
by the time i returned she was quivering, her hips visibly shaking and the spasms of her cunt were clearly visible. a delicious trail of creamy wetness now decorated both of her inner thighs. that may have been the day i learned the virtue of.. anticipation. i've often wondered how much less exquisite the moment might have been if that skipping rope had been more readily to hand.
as it was she withheld orgasm for surprisingly few strokes.. seven or eight at most. her buttocks were barely pink before she came... quietly but completely.
afterwards i inserted the wooden handle of the skipping rope into her... a little way, and made her lick it clean so that my sister would not have to endure the scent of her friends cunt while she skipped...
there was more to it than that but i think that's all i care to share at the moment. J.B. was later 'saved' and married a evangelical minister (true) - though i like to think that she still, occasionally, takes some pleasure in my corruption......

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