The Prince and the Nun

Therese looked again in the mirror. The stockings made her legs seem very long. The black of the stockings and lace stood out against the white of her skin, and the neat patch of dark hair that Wanda had left was framed by the straps of the suspender belt. Her hair did nothing to hide the furrow below and the pink frills peeping from it. She found the picture interesting. Did all ladies look like this under their dresses? Nuns certainly did not look like this under their habits.

“Stop admiring yourself and put this on.”

Therese reddened and reached for the dress. As she pulled it over her head, it seemed no more than un-sewn scraps of silky material. She pulled the straps up onto her shoulders, and the dress hung loosely from her.

“Wait a minute.” Wanda was behind her and fumbling low on her hips. She found the zip and started to pull it up. The dress tightened; first around her hips, and then upwards. It squeezed her and tightened about her chest as Wanda clicked the zip home. The bodice of the dress trapped her breasts uncomfortably, and she reached into the décolletage to pull them into place. The effect shocked her. The dress was cut so low that her breasts were almost completely exposed. Worse still, they were lifted up and offered like two ripe fruits on a tray. She stared in horror at the mirror.

Wanda stood back and looked at her critically. “That’s a very good fit. Especially at the front. Turn around!”

As she moved, she found her legs restricted by the tightness of the dress around her thighs. In the mirror she could see the shiny blackness moulding her hips and thighs. A lacy flare reached down from her knees to her ankles. Her bottom looked big and obvious.

Wanda clapped her hands and laughed. “Dear Serge! He loves a good dupka, though not usually female ones. He just can’t help himself. I must get a photograph of you. He’ll be so happy.”

“But it’s not like me….”

“Of course not. You used to be a nun, but now…now it’s perfect. If I looked like that I could be Queen of Vienna. Stop complaining and see if you can do your hair and makeup the way I showed you.”

The room was dark when they entered, lit only by the lights behind the bar and a single bulb of the many in the chandelier. Mefist sat at a table at the edge of the dance floor, and he stood to receive them. The table had glasses, a candle and a bottle of champagne. Wanda led her to him and twirled her around.

“Doesn’t she look beautiful? Serge deserves a medal, and he’s never even seen her.”

“My dear, you look wonderful,” said Mefist, bowing to kiss her hand, “and you too, Wanda. If you were in Vienna together, your beauty would set the world on fire. Sit down and we’ll toast the future.”

While Mefist filled their glasses, Wanda put a record on the gramophone. American music, Cole Porter. The curtain over the entrance to the girls’ rooms rattled aside, and they danced into the room.

Therese was stunned. After seeing the girls dance naked for so long, seeing them in their new clothes came as a shock. Not that any of them had dresses. They all wore stockings and heeled shoes, but none of them wore knickers. Above their stockings they wore a colourful mix of underwear. Short slips, lacy brassieres, bustiers or transparent night dresses, all different. As they danced in the semi-darkness, they hinted at sex and wickedness. Therese had seen none of this worldliness in them before.

“Dance with them,” whispered Mefist. “They’re your girls….”

Moving carefully in her high shoes, Therese was passed from arm to arm as she danced. Suddenly she no longer knew these girls, these beautiful women with their erotic clothes and their naked, siren sexes. They were elegant and smooth in her arms. Their hair swayed as they moved, and their red lips smiled at her. They frightened her.

ADULT EXCERPT

“The village doesn’t realize how lucky they are to have you here, Mefist.”

“They don’t realize how lucky they are to have you here, but I do. God, your breasts are beautiful. Do they drink champagne?”

“I don’t know. Try and offer them some.”

Mefist pressed the rim of his glass to the base of her left nipple and tipped it gently until the champagne splashed her. It tickled and made Therese laugh. “Perhaps it’s not thirsty.”

“I’ll try the other one.”

Therese watched as the pale golden liquid rose to lap her nipple. It looked and felt delightfully naughty, and the little button tightened and stood out in anticipation.

“No, not thirsty,” said Mefist. “Never mind, there’ll be more for us. Oh look, they’re wet. May I lick them dry?”

“Certainly not! No touching, remember? Still, since you’ve been kind to them...” She carefully wiped her nipple dry with her finger and gave it to him to lick. “Nice?”

“Magic–but what about your ‘equipment’? Does it drink champagne?”

“Certainly not!” She leant forward so her equipment was tucked further underneath her. “I felt a complete idiot the other night. I don’t know what came over me, letting you look at me like that when everyone else was there.”

“It was very, very pretty,” he said wistfully. “Can I look now, when there’s no one else here?”

“No!” she said sharply, and then relented a little. “Do you really think it’s pretty?”

“Of course. It’s very pretty. Gorgeous, in fact, and tasty. I can vouch for that. Don’t you think it’s pretty?”

“Of course not! It’s just me; it’s just my thing. How could I think it’s pretty?”

“Why not? You know your face is pretty, and your breasts, and your figure. Your legs are elegant and your dupka is very desirable. Why shouldn’t your little flower be pretty?”

“I don’t know. I suppose I’ve never really looked at it, and I’ve never seen anyone else’s. Except the girls’, of course, and I suppose they might be quite pretty. I was a bit surprised that they’re all different, but I suppose that’s natural when you think about it. Come to think of it, Agata showed me hers just after the General had her for the first time, and it was pretty in its own way. Prettier than mine, anyway.”

“Can’t say I’ve studied Agata’s with the same devotion as yours, but I seem to remember that yours is much nicer.”

“Mefist, you’re crazy,” she said, but something inside her appreciated his compliment. “I’m sure you’ve forgotten what it looks like anyway.”

“You could refresh my memory. Please? I promise not to touch.”

She thought about it. She liked Mefist; in fact she was growing more and more fond of him every day. Something inside her wanted to show him because it felt nice to be admired, especially by Mefist, and besides, what harm could it do?

“You have to promise me you won’t touch. I think I might go crazy if you did, and then anything could happen.”

“What a delightful thought! Anyway, I’ll promise. Look but don’t touch.”

Therese shuffled forwards a little and leant back, supported by his encircling arm. “Show me,” he whispered. They looked down between her closed thighs. The vee of her dark hair pointed down to her closed, fleshy lips. The tight furrow between them disappeared out of sight. “Show me,” he whispered again.

She tried to open her legs, but the desk stopped her. Slowly she lifted her foot and rested it on the desktop. Mefist dipped his hand under her other thigh, lifting it up to rest across his chest. She was lying back, cradled by his arms.

At her centre they could see her pink inner lips twisted tightly together and reaching provocatively out beyond the tight cushions on either side. “It’s beautiful! Show me more.” Obediently she pressed two fingertips to the top of her furrow and pulled up. The movement opened her sex, and the petals of her inner lips fell apart. “Oh, so sweet!” he whispered. “How is your button?”

“My button?”

“Yes, your button. Your clitoris. How is it?”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s there, under that cover. Touch it. It should feel good.”

She studied herself and moved her fingertip to the long cover that ran down from near the top of her furrow to the springing of her inner lips. She pressed it gently and felt a hard rib underneath. It felt good. “That’s it. Is that good? Now rub it up and down a little.”

“Ooh!” she moaned gently. “That is good.”

“Try and pull the hood back, and your little button will pop out. Try it!”

Uncertainly she reached a little lower, pressed and pulled back. A pink pearl was uncovered at the top of her inner lips. “That’s it,” he whispered. “Touch it.”

She moved her thumb to hold the cover back and brushed the pearl with her fingertip. “It tickles,” she said.

“That’s right,” he said. “To start with it tickles, and then it wants more and more. Rub it up and down again.”

She returned two fingertips to the cover and rubbed up and down. “Oh Mefist! That’s exciting!” She continued to rub gently up and down. Her sex began to wake up and take interest in what was happening. She settled into a rhythm, and the two of them watched expectantly.

“Don’t stop,” he said, kissing her brow lightly. Her fingers built up excitement inside her. Mefist’s head rested against hers as they watched together, and the feel and the scent of him filled her mind. Her red varnished fingernails moved firmly and inevitably in the groove of her sex. She knew she would carry on to the end.