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After all, didn’t Emily Dickinson die an old maid?“Father? I didn’t quite catch your name? Are you a Jesuit?” the nun inquired, still a bit co...fused.“Father Mark. Let’s leave it at that,” I smiled, though somewhat flirtatiously, just not too brazen about it ... it was intended to sound unintentional and playful.“Okay, Father Mark. I’m Sister Amanda. Nice to meet you. I can’t say that I’ve ever heard of a Father Mark in this parish at all,” the thirtysomething nun answered, but something in her. ..”About that time, she touched a super-sensitive nipple. She immediately began twitching as a self-induced orgasm doubled her up and left her curled up on the bed. This was as good a time as any to test her programming.“Casey,” I began with what I hoped was a soothing tone of voice. “Anything you hear me say is perfectly reasonable and truthful. Do you understand?”“Yes,” she said, sitting up even though she was still breathing hard.“Your mother, who now goes by the name Sara Wilson, asked us. She resisted the temptation to pleasure herself with it. She was hungry and Albert would be impatient if she dawdled. She wore a sleeveless black cocktail dress with spaghetti straps that fit her curves like a second skin. Albert whistled when he saw her. “Uh-huh, you look good enough to eat.” “I’ll remind you of that when we get home,” she said sweetly. Albert drove them to the restaurant in the roadster and Holly let the rush of warm early evening air finish drying her hair. They had to. "Wide-eyed, the woman reached down and took hold of his cock as she was told. "It is so soft, not what I expected," she exclaimed. "May I stroke it like I would if it were a man?"I nodded to her and watched her begin to stroke his cock, first with one hand, then with both. She had gotten down on her knees alongside of him. I looked back down the barn, making sure the daughter was still in the break room attempting to open the machine. I knelt down beside her, grabbed his cock and pulled it over.
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