Sisterhood of Sin -- 13 -- The Cousin Who Isn't - Sex Stories

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Sisterhood of Sin -- 13 -- The Cousin Who Isn't

Date: 11/11/2014, Categories: Straight Sex, Author: LastWife, Rating: 2, Source: LushStories

insists that I tell Celine. She says that she doesn't know what rocks I could have been looking under to learn this news, and she doesn't want to know, but when she hears that the man died a year earlier, she correctly guesses his identity. "It all makes sense now. He was so handsome back then, but too young to be hearing the confessions of young women. Tell her, Catherine. You are a mother. You would want your own daughter to know such a thing. I would want my own daughters to know such a thing. Thank you for asking me about this, Catherine. It means a lot to me. The poor girl deserves to know, and I can tell her why it makes sense, but I don't want to be the one who tells her and I don't want to know how you learned this." Lini is glad to hear from me and really excited by the news. She thinks she can find a relative of the priest and confirm their common ancestry through DNA. Of course she is also curious about the source of my news and I tell her about Sister Twisted. She wants to know more and decides to visit her. I'm not surprised. I also tell her that Mother Angel did not know, but guessed it when I asked her advice. "She has offered to tell you why it makes sense. She wants you to be happy." "I'll call her. Thank you, Catherine, from the bottom of my heart." I return home and reflect on all I have learned. Dan is away on business for one night only and we have been having lots of sex, to the point where I think he can use time to recharge for the weekend I have ... planned, so I haven't arranged a gift for him. I am alone to reflect on what I have learned. I place myself in the role of Celine as I fantasize about that night. I imagine myself telling the story to myself in her strangely erotic lilt. I'm waiting in the dark. I'm seeing Dan naked and as youthful as I can remember him being. I'm as youthful as I was when I met him. It isn't long before I am rubbing myself as my imagination runs to how a short pudgy big-boobed twenty year old brunette orders us both around, orders me to touch his cock, to let him lick my most intimate secret place, to let him feel my petite breasts, to suck his cock and swallow his cum, to watch and masturbate as he strokes himself while she massages his prostate. Supervised masturbation it's called, and it's surprisingly appealing. I come, as if at her command, when she comes, and when his cum is arcing through the air. I should stop here, but I keep remembering what Sister Beatrice said. What comes next is bad. I witness his shaming, the transfer of my most feminine garment from his head to his privates, and I feel embarrassed for him, humiliated by her, and disgusted with myself for being so aroused. I come again as I imagine his cock, bulging out at me while imprisoned in tight pink cotton. This is too far. My Dan did not deserve that. He was only seventeen. I can't fault him for being fucked up by the same abusive culture that inspired my own darkest fantasies. I am suddenly flooded with memories from my own ...