| Hot punk girls whimpered softly, once, as he transferred his attentions to the other breast, and brought one hand around to stroke and tickle her freshly shaven mons. Soft, damp, pink and nude, she was totally vulnerable, stood in the middle of this dark vaulted room, exposed to the hot girls in bathing suits stares of the Brothers in their dark robes. His fingers parted her labia, discovering the wet warmth of her private parts; as one fingertip quivered gently on her clitoris, she shuddered and parted her thighs to allow him greater access.
He lifted his head from her breast, gave her bottom a final pat, and withdrew his hand from between her legs.
'Go, my daughter. Robe yourself. You grow chilled.'
She stood hot girls in bras for a second, then a touch on her arm and a fleeting caress of her buttocks made her jump. Brother Francis was there, her cloak already settling on her shoulders, covering her nakedness with dark warm wool.
Tall, lean and silent, Brother Francis led her from the warming room, now huddled in her cloak and stumbling as her body kept replaying the shocking sensations of being presented to the Abbott. She could feel the wet heat between her legs, the sensitive clean-shaven skin of her labia twitching and quivering with every step, her clitoris dancing in time. Her nipples, painfully erect from Father Abbott's attentive tongue, rubbed harshly against her cloak.
Brother Francis was a moving patch of darkness in the patterned dark of the cloisters ahead of her, and her sandalled feet pattered along after him, trying to keep close. They stopped at the door to hot raver girls rooms, and she followed him in, brushing close against him in the narrow entry way as he waited to close and bolt the door after her. | |