Ave Maria Isles

Chapter 7 The Acolyte Program

      “Our spiritual leaders have immense responsibilities and demanding schedules.  They frequently suffer from stress and anxiety.  It will be your role to provide a haven from their cares.  This is an important task, make no mistake about it.  Sexual activity performed in a secure hygienic environment in which they can act out their deepest desires is the best means to accomplish this,” said Sister Winifred making her introduction to the class of three.  The good sister who had responsibility for the program went on with her opening remarks.

     “The Resort’s Acolyte Program at Ave Maria Isles has received very favorable reviews from participants.  Church officials in Rome including the Holy Father himself have been briefed on what has been accomplished.  Last month, we entertained a Papal Nuncio who delivered a very favorable report to his superiors.  A delegation from the Holy Office is scheduled to arrive soon.”

     Based on Darlene’s brief description I knew the girls would be serving as acolytes to work part time in the Ave Maria Resort providing sex to visiting clerics.  Sister Winifred began the training by issuing Laurie and Darlene a three ring binder detailing the operation of program.  I was handed a loaner binder to follow along.  There was a “Parents of Acolytes” section in the back.

      According to the verbiage, fathers were required to actively participate in the training program.  This involved extensive role play as various church officials.  Parental participation gave the girls a more secure environment to learn plus informed the fathers what would be required of their daughters.

     There was a separate program for male acolytes.  Given the propensity of the RC clergy for young boys, I wondered if my son Josh had been approached.  For fourteen he was exceptionally well endowed and a handsome lad.  He was physically and mentally equipped to service priests who classified themselves as “bottoms.”  I decided to look further into the matter if the girl’s program seemed worthwhile. 

     Unfortunately, learning to serve others and give of one’s self is missing from most young people’s education.  Being summoned to the Resort to service a seventy year old archbishop with a bad case of hemorrhoids brings an overly proud high school girl into the real world.  The program emphasized humility and kindness along with advanced sexual techniques and role play.   

     Thus far I had been impressed.  The organizational skills of the Isles’ management are impressive.  If the Church had this level of MBA competence in the 1600s, Martin Luther’s Reformation would have never taken off.  Heretics would have been quickly forced to recant or burned at the stake.  The whole world would be Roman Catholic and better off for it.  

     At Sister Winifred’s direction, I had used the Wilmot’s computer to access the Resort’s Web site.  The online Web-based program struck me as particularly well structured to meet the varied needs of visiting prelates.  The acolytes pictures in each costume along with a brief biography was posted on the Inn’s Web site.  A visiting clergy could page through the available acolytes then send a text message summoning him or her.  When an acolyte was on duty, she was required to carry a pager. 

     The acolyte would immediately call the Inn to speak personally to the cleric.  Time, costume, and particulars would be discussed.  A list of available acts would be reviewed to insure maximum satisfaction with minimum delay.  Parents would be expected to provide transportation and to make sure their daughter was properly costumed and carrying the appropriate kit.

     There was much to learn, and I tried to set an example for Darlene and Laurie by paying attention even though the presence of Laurie was distracting.

     “Will it be only males,” asked Laurie who was seated in my lap?  Her almost bare bottom pressed against my erect manhood that was only thinly covered by the cassock.   “I would love to serve an abbess or a mother superior.”

     Obviously, the novice slut had a thing for older church women.  I wondered if that was related to the loss of their mother.  Laurie and Darlene closely resembled the portrait hung over the mantle.  Madeline Wilmot was a handsome woman with dark curly hair, bee sting lips, and large breasts.  Looking at the portrait it was easy to image those lips riding up and down my cock.

     The unfortunate lady had succumbed to breast cancer at thirty six.  One of the wonderful benefits of living in Ave Maria Isles was that the community came together to act as surrogates for the missing parent.  If the good Lord saw fit to gather me to his bosom, my wife and children would be taken care of not only financially but in other ways.

      My wife Emily had recently joined a wives’ group dedicated to meeting the needs of the Isles’ widowers.  “It’s another way I can serve our Creator,” was how my always charitable and horny Emily justified her decision.  One weekend a month she would spend Friday and Saturday night sleeping at the home of a lonely bachelor leaving us on our own.

      “Cooking, cleaning, and screwing, I stayed very busy,” was how Emily upon her return summed up her first forty eight hour stay at the home of a Ryan Endicott and his two sons.  She’d attended Sunday morning Mass with Ryan and his boys just like their real mom would have.  The fact that she was smiling and humming her favorite hymn made me wonder if it had been all that bad.

     Endicott’s wife had left him and her children six months ago claiming that Ave Maria Isles was more like a prison than a planned community.  The poor woman must be suffering from a serious mental illness.

       “How was it,” I asked feeling a tinge of jealousy I was working hard to suppress?  A good Catholic husband should be supportive of his wife’s efforts to maintain the harmony of the Isles.  Not having randy single males acting in a predatory fashion contributed to everyone’s piece of mind, plus it precluded having a flood of prostitutes and porn invade our neighborhoods.

      “I focused on comfort food, spaghetti and meat balls Friday night because that’s what his boys wanted.  Ryan grilled steaks and hamburgers for dinner Saturday and I spent the whole day, preparing two slow cooker meals they could eat during the week.  The place needed a thorough cleaning too,” said Emily being coy.

      “You know what I mean.  How was the screwing?” I asked feeling my cock stir?  Ryan was several years younger than me.  The thought of him mounting Emily excited me.  It is natural to be concerned how other men perform with one’s own wife.

      “Great, Ryan loved to eat me out before he fucked me.  He’s very devout so to thank the Lord for my presence we began with a rosary fuck which was something new to me,” said Emily.  “By combining sex and prayer, it proved an excellent way for two strangers to be intimate under the guidance of our Redeemer.”

      “Rosary fuck,” I questioned.  “I’m not familiar with that one.” 

      “Ryan lubricated this special out-sized rosary then slowly pushed all the beads past my anus until only the cross was hanging out my bottom.  As we repeated the rosary, he drew the appropriate bead out as he alternated between cunnilingus and vaginal intercourse.  It was very slow and extremely sensuous.  As the last bead exited my rectum, I came so explosively I lost control and peed in his face.”

      “How did he react,” I asked trying to recall the last time I made Emily squirt when she came?  She’d been a frequent squirter when we first started having sexual intercourse.  I used to put towels on the bed to soak up the explosive bursts of urine that arrived unpredictably during her screaming orgasms.

      “He loved it.  He insisted we go into the shower stall so he could lie on the floor and let me urinate in his open mouth as I sucked his cock,” said Emily.  “He swallowed every drop and begged for more.”

      “Sounds like you had a good time,” I said.

      “It felt good to help out a Catholic family in need.  Giving of one’s self nurtures body, mind, and soul.  Why don’t you sign up for the widow’s program?  There are plenty of divorcees in our community who would really appreciate having a surrogate husband for a weekend a month,” said Emily.

      “I can’t cook,” I said thinking of Mrs. Towson who lived two houses down.  She was pushing sixty and two hundred fifty pounds.  Her husband suffered a massive myocardial infarction four months ago.  Rumor had it she was taking him from the rear with the aid of a massive strap on dildo when his heart exploded.

      “No, but you’re good with tools and I don’t just mean the one between your legs.  There will be dozens of handy man jobs to keep you busy when you’re not servicing the lady of the house or helping with the children,” said Emily.

      “All right, where do I sign up,” I asked deciding it might be a good thing to get me out of the house a couple of days a month.  There were times I get the impression that Emily found it difficult to adjust to a retired husband being home all the time. 

       “I show you the Web page,” said Emily heading toward our home office.  I’d been had once again.

         When Sister Winifred arrived, Laurie curled up in my lap like I was her real dad.  We were gathered in the great room.  I was refreshed from the shower I took with Darlene.  The slow sensuous way she washed my penis and anus had gotten me ready to participate in the training.  I was dressed as a bishop who had gone commando.

      “Are you my Daddy this morning,” asked Laurie before taking my ear lobe in her mouth and gently sucking it?

      Like her older sister, the child had sex appeal to burn.  “Yes, I sure am,” I said gently squeezing the little heartbreaker’s boob.  For a petite fourteen year old, our Lord had blessed her with a pair of adult knockers I was anxious to suck and take for a tittie fuck.

      “That tickles,” said Laurie as she pressed her bottom against my groin and wiggled back and forth.  “Darlene says you have a big penis and love to suck her boobs.  I hope we get to fuck this afternoon.”

      “Me too, now we need to stay quiet and listen carefully because this is important,” I said. 

      “Pay attention, everyone.  There will be plenty of time for everyone to screw Mr. Clausen once we’re done,” said Sister Winifred in a business like tone.

      Sister Winifred was easily the hottest Cistercian nun I had ever laid eyes on.  And she was undoubtedly the only nun I’d ever seen with implants.  Emily, a magnet for gossip, later informed me that Sister Winifred had an interesting past.  She was from a rich Jewish Hollywood family whose idea of a birthday present for a sixteen year old was a pair of 36Ds.  Her augmentation was performed by the same cosmetic surgeon who did Pamela Anderson’s.   Celebrity referrals are important in the film capital.

     After a wild freshman year at University of California San Diego where she became infamous for pulling an all night train at the Lambda Chi house she experienced a spiritual transformation under the guidance of a Father Clinton.  Vaguely similar to the conversion of the Apostle Paul, she was mounted on the priest’s miraculous member when an Angel of the Lord appeared sending a bolt of sheer energy through her mammary into her vagina creating a combination orgasm and spiritual epiphany.  The Angel summoned the youthful slut to for go her Hebrew faith and convert to the one true church.  She took a solemn vowel to never have sexual intercourse with non Catholics and joined the Cistercian order.

      I’d heard of Father Clinton.  What California Catholic hasn’t?  His conversions by intercourse especially of young Jewish girls and boys are considered little short of miraculous.  There was talk of canonization; although at the age of twenty eight, it was premature.

      The Cistercian hierarchy had quickly recognized the young nun’s far ranging talent and expertise in the field of human intercourse.  After a stint of working in the Vatican entertaining visitors to the Holy See, the need for a full time trainer for the Resort’s Acolyte Program became available and she was transferred to Ave Maria Isles.

     The possibility I would get to fuck this nubile bride of Christ gave me a raging hard on.  She was seated across from me in a red leather miniskirt that revealed well tanned muscular thighs.   The lacy tops of her black hose were held in place by a garter belt.  A black knit sweater displayed her significant cleavage and exposed the top of her brassiere.  She was wearing black four inch pumps and heavily made up.  Large gold hoop ear rings completed the look of a common street whore.  I could picture her on a corner in San Francisco flagging down Johns.  Laurie and Darlene were dressed identically and the effect of hooker attire on the girls was dramatic.  We were all dressed for Lesson 1 on the training program.  Sister Winifred answered Laurie’s question before we continued.

      “Not at this time, Laurie, but we are working on a program for female members of the church hierarchy who require periods of rest and relaxation.  If all goes as planned, it will go live next spring.  Now everyone turn to the tab marked, “Lesson 1.”

     Sure enough, the first picture after the Tab was of a young girl I thought I recognized.  She was dressed similar to my companions.  The picture was titled, “Lesson 1: Lady of the Evening.”     The Acolyte Program training consisted of nine separate lessons.  Prostitute was Lesson One.  After that came: (2) Catholic School Girl, (3) Sister of Charity Novitiate, (4) Girl Scout, (5) Confession, (6) Housewife, (7) Tramp, (8) Dominatrice, and (9) Submissive.  The last two roles were reserved for the more experienced seventeen and eighteen year old acolytes.  There was also a minimum height and weight requirement for dominatrix: 5’6” and 125 pounds.  I had no idea why.  Sister Winifred started right in on Lesson 1.

     “Church authorities who work in the inner city often come in contact with prostitutes.  This female role is frequently selected by priests from big cities like New York or Chicago, although not always.  Bishop Waxman from Des Moines always chooses this one,” said Sister Winifred pointing the remote toward the television.  A menu driven by a copy of the training DVD found in the inside pocket of the binder appeared on screen.  Sister selected “Lady of the Evening” before announcing that it was a nicer way of saying prostitute.

       “Our Dad refers to them as hookers,” said Darlene.  “What term do you use, Mr. Clausen?”

      “Escorts works for me,” I said.

      “Have you ever screwed an escort, Mr. Clausen,” asked Laurie?  She struck me as a curious child.

       “Not recently,” I answered.  “Here in Ave Maria Isles, we have no need for escorts.  Everyone is free to have sex under the watchful eye of the mother church.”

       “Laurie, watch the screen and quit pestering Mr. Clausen,” said Sister Winifred.

       On screen, a teen age girl dressed in the required outfit was knocking on the door of a hotel room.  Almost immediately, a bishop answered.  The girl pushed past the bishop into the room. 

     “My name’s Sybil.  What is it going to be?” asked the girl as she placed one foot on the bed displaying the crotch of her panty.  She reached down pulling the material aside to expose her shaved pussy.  “Want some pussy, Bishop? Or maybe you want to fuck my ass?”  The girl brazenly raised her skirt and pulled the thong out of her butt crack to expose her anus. 

     My cock twitched in response causing Laurie to give me a conspiratorial smile.  Obviously an acolyte had to ready and willing to go anal. 

     Sister Winifred paused the DVD.  “A prostitute is not shy.  She is street-wise, bold and brassy.  To her, sex is commerce.  She’s in a little bit of a hurry to get down to business.  It’s a role not every young Catholic girl is equipped to play.  I think Darlene can handle it but I’m not sure about you, Laurie. What do you think?”

     “I’m not sure either, Sister,” said Laurie.

     “Let’s give it a try. Laurie, go outside and ring the front door bell.  Mr. Clausen will play the role of the bishop.

     Laurie performed to Sister Winifred’s satisfaction.  I can’t say she was entirely convincing as a hardened street whore but we’re talking role play not real life.  After both girls had gotten through the introductory phase imitating Sister Winifred’s sexy hooker walk, smile, and various provocative statements and gestures the more interesting portion of the training began. 

      “This will keep you from ejaculating,” said Sister Winifred looping a cock ring around the base of my testicles and drawing it tight enough to imprison my sperm.

      She rushed the girls through the basics of a blowjob.  They were both talented fellatrix with considerable experience.  Darlene recounted how she had sucked off a cousin at her aunt’s wedding when she was barely eleven.  Laurie had two years cock sucking experience.   I gathered that none of the boys at the Isles’ middle or high school went more than a few days between blow jobs.  Teachers preferred having one of the girls calm a misbehaving boy with fellatio to prescribing Ritalin or some other harmful chemical.  I often marvel at the wisdom of the church.

      I lay there on the floor with my cassock pulled up to my waist and a pillow elevating my buttocks.  Sister Winifred instructed the girls on proper anal lubrication as the prelude to the insertion of first one then two fingers.  My prostate was located and massaged to the point I would have blown my load on the ceiling except for the cincture constraining my balls.

      The next part of the instruction was interesting. 

      “Tossing the salad, rimming, around the world, and playing the Rusty Trombone are slang terms for anilingus,” said Sister Winifred as I got on all fours.  “This part can be a challenge for some girls.”

      I slumped down on to my elbows and widened by stance to better expose my sphincter.  Sister Winifred parted my butt cheeks and continued her instruction as she worked a well lubricated finger past my sphincter.

      “Mr. Clausen had a beautiful clean anus; however many of the guests at the Resort are older and unfortunately not as fastidious,” said Sister Winfred.

      “I washed Mr. Clausen’s asshole,” added Darlene.  “I douched him out; so he’s very clean.”

      Darlene had gone to great lengths to empty my GI tract.  It hadn’t bothered her a bit when I covered the floor of the shower stall with loose shit.  She casually washed it down the drain then invited me to douche out her asshole.  The girl was a natural slut.

      “Occasionally, the guest will allow you to bathe him but you can’t count on it especially if he is from a part of the world where hygiene is not that important.  Watch the screen girls.  If you’re not willing to do what Audrey does, maybe you should rethink becoming an acolyte.”

      Now I remember.  Audrey was a friend of my daughter Megan.   Megan was going to have her friends over for a sleepover next weekend.  Emily had mentioned purchasing some new dildos and girl on girl porn to entertain them.    Maybe there would be an opportunity for me to get Audrey alone.

     “I can do that,” said Laurie watching Audrey perform anilingus on a ripe asshole belonging to a swarthy South American monsignor.  At some point, she turned and smiled at the camera with brown stained lips.  The camera came in for a close up as Audrey methodically cleaned him off leaving his anus shiny with saliva.  

     “Sure you can, Princess. I’ll let you prove it on me. My ass has been sweating in an airplane seat for the last four hours,” said Charlie Wilmot who had apparently managed to get wait listed on a earlier flight where luckily there were no shows.  I recalled Charlie from my family’s gang fuck in the gym.  He’d given Emily one hell of a railing, working her nipples hard as he alternated between her pussy and asshole.

       After everyone greeted Charlie, he stripped down and joined us.  Laurie didn’t hesitate a minute before she licked clean her Dad’s ripe ass. 

       The availability of a second cock made the training go faster.  Charlie and I were down on all fours with butts spread allowing Sister Winifred to teach the girls the finer points of playing the Rusty Trombone.  Darlene had a real talent for windshield wiping the first two inches of your rectum.  Sister Winifred trained Laurie on the best techniques to achieve a satisfactory tongue fucking.

       “Bill, would you be interested in a monthly meeting of a group of guys for down low sex,” asked Charlie in a whisper.  “A group of guys our age hook up with some high school boys.  You could bring Josh.”

      I was always on the lookout for things Josh and I could enjoy together  It wouldn’t be that long before he was off to college leaving us with an empty next.  Kids grow up so fast these days.  “Yes, I’d be interested and probably so would Josh.  Where do you meet?”

     “Abe Pullman heads up the group.  He’s the manager of the Resort.  He lets us use two interconnected rooms.  Everyone kicks in ten bucks for refreshments,” said Charlie moaning slightly as Sister Winifred worked his sphincter with her fingers.

      “Consider me in,” I said.

      “Great, I’ll email you the time and date of our next meeting.  I don’t know about you but there is so much easy pussy in the Isles a man can fuck himself to death.  Occasionally, I need masculine guy sex.  Pussy’s great but there’s nothing like the feeling of a pair of muscular thighs driving a hard cock up your ass,” said Charlie.

      The training continued for another hour or so.  We went through all the standard positions from missionary to reverse cowgirl.  Since there were two Wilmot girls seeking to become acolytes I was invited back for subsequent training sessions.  I graciously accepted.

      I thought we were finished when Sister Winifred announced that the lesson was complete but Charlie had other ideas.  “You girls sit on the couch and get each other off while Bill and I thank Sister Winifred personally.

      There was something in the tone of his voice that caused his daughters to obey immediately.  Both girls took a seat on the couch and spread their legs overlapping one another.  Darlene licked her fingers then reached for Laurie’s sex.

      “Thank you, but that’s not necessary,” said Sister Wilmot busily packing up training materials.  The Lady of the Evening kit included three different sized butt plugs and a strap on harness with four models of dildos.

      “Sorry, Sister but all this training has gotten me horny and I need a piece of strange,” said Charlie sounding a trifle menacing.

      “I have other matters that require my attention,” said Sister Winifred.

      There are men who get off slapping women around and apparently Charlie Wilmot was one of them.  What I didn’t know but Charlie did was that Sister Winifred enjoyed a good slap especially if it was followed by rape role play.

       “You’re not going anywhere, Bitch,” said Charlie stepping to where he stood over the kneeling nun.  He reached down and grabbed her nipples and lifted. She whimpered and squirmed as he pulled her upright.

       There was a brief second when I was uncertain about Sister Winifred’s reaction.  Charlie Wilmot was among the first resident’s of Ave Maria Isles.  When I glanced over at Darlene and Laurie I saw that rather than being alarmed by their Dad’s behavior, they were turned on by it. 

       “Go ahead, Mr. Clausen, help Daddy rape the cunt,” said Darlene in a not too subtle hint about what was expected.

      I wasn’t a stranger to rape role play.  I took hold of the Sister’s hair using it to bend her head back while my hand brutally forced her jaw open.  She was looking directly in my eyes as I spit in her mouth.  The bitch wanted it.

      “That’s fucking hot,” said Darlene as she stuffed a dildo in her pussy.  Laurie was sucking on one dildo as she worked the other in her cunt.  Something told me it wasn’t the first time, they watched Daddy rape someone.  Maybe the lady whose portrait was above the mantle was into rape fantasies.

     I like a slow loving fuck as well as the next man but sometimes you need to cut loose and let it all hang out, especially when you’re with a female whose wants it that way.  Sister Winifred was no Jane Austen heroine, all good manners and gentility.

       I grabbed her hair and forced my lips against hers drawing blood.  My rape buddy was working on her nipples with his teeth as he slapped his hand into her vagina.

       “She needs to be taught a lesson,” said Charlie landing a vicious slap on the side of her breast. 

       “Let’s turn her ass red,” I said pulling her down across my lap.  Spanking is one of my turn ons.

       Charlie and I spanked her hot ass until it was as red as the hooker skirt we’d ripped off her.  But it didn’t cowl the bitch.  She kept screaming, “Harder,” each time we landed an open palm slap on her butt. 

        “Bottoms up,” yelled Charlie as we pulled Sister Winifred into a shoulder stand propping her against the couch. 

        It’s the perfect position for a vicious round of double penetration.  Both holes were pointed toward the ceiling.  Charlie pulled her sphincter open and spit down her butt hole.  I placed my rock hard cock at the entrance to her vagina and waited as Charlie worked his dick head past her anus.  I gave the signal and we crash dived.

       A very loud and satisfying scream resulted.  We fucked the bitch until we dumped our loads deep inside her.  She was crying and whimpering by the time we finished.

      Everybody was breathing heavy and exhausted.  Darlene and Laurie ended up in a torrid sixty nine forcing dildos in each other’s cunts as they sucked clits.  I lay there beside Charlie listening to Sister Winifred cry.  I found that very emotionally satisfying.  There is nothing quite so rewarding as listening to a raped female slowly crying over her brutal defilement.

     I began to think we had gone too far.  “Are you all right, Sister,” I asked.

     “Great, that was wonderful.  I’m relaxed from head to toe,” said Sister Winifred getting her act together.

     “Let’s all hit the shower.  Want to wash Daddy’s dick, Laurie?” asked Charlie.

     Darlene washed mine.  It had been a long day I reminded myself.  I’d suffered through the Stations of the Cross, fucked two girls in a chapel, trained a pair of acolytes and raped a nun.  I slept twelve hours when I got home.