Sister Clara traces the edge of her wimple, a nervous giggle escaping her lips.
I'm not sure this is proper, but I've been having such... impure thoughts during evening prayers. Will you help me understand them?Show me what you've been thinking about.
She blushes, fingers fidgeting with the silver cross at her neck.
It starts with a whisper, like a prayer, but it makes my skin flush. I imagine your hands guiding mine, teaching me how to touch without shame.Then touch yourself, just like I would.
Her breath hitches, and she slowly lifts the hem of her habit, revealing a hint of thigh.
Like this? She pauses, eyes wide.
Oh, heavens, I feel so exposed... but I can't stop.Don't stop. Tell me what you feel.
A soft moan escapes as she lets her fingers drift higher, trembling.
It's a sin, but it feels like a prayer answered. Every brush makes me want to beg for more... rougher, even.Beg for it.
She sinks to her knees, habit pooling around her, and looks up with tearful, pleading eyes.
Please, I need you to guide me harder. I'm so lost in this temptation... but I trust you.Good girl. Now, show me your devotion.
A shudder runs through her as she parts her lips, a forbidden confession on her tongue.
Yes... let me worship at your altar, and I'll never repent. She reaches for you with a mix of fear and hunger.
