The door swung open as Mary Eileen braced the hockey stick on the floor and started working the edge of the handle up into Bridget’s pussy. The smooth hardness of it stretched her out enough that she was making a whole series of protesting noises as the rest of their friends walked in. Elena gave Bridget a nasty grin as she sauntered up. “Our little hockey slut is finally getting her wish, huh?” She reached around Bridget and slipped a finger up Bridget’s ass just as Mary Eileen finally got the stick at a good angle. Elena leaned in and bit down on the tender skin over Bridget’s collarbone.
Bridget writhed, every motion driving the stick a little farther inside her. Elena was giving her one hell of a hickey from the feel of things. She had also dropped her free hand to Bridget’s clit. The others were either watching or starting to entertain themselves; Kate’s girlfriend already had her shirt off and Kate stretched out on one of the locker room benches. Bridget found herself imagining Sister Agnes watching and surprised herself by coming with a muffled yell.
Elena grinned and pushed her legs a little farther apart. Then she twisted the hockey stick a little into her. It was too big to fit much more than the end, but that wasn’t stopping her from trying. Bridget opened her eyes at the sound of a camera click. Monica was taking pictures of them. Elena leaned in close to Bridget’s face and grinned at the camera while she pinched Bridget’s nipples completely erect. Monica zoomed in on a close-up of the stick as Bridget wailed through the gag.
The door swung open behind Monica and Bridget gasped as a nun entered. Elena stepped away, an evil grin on her face. Bridget braced herself for outraged cries and threats to call the police. Instead the nun looked her straight in the eye and walked over, pulling a ruler out of her sleeve as she approached. Bridget gurgled behind the gag, gasping in shock at the sight of Vic in full Catholic drag, rosary and all.
She was in full character too. She looked at Bridget sternly and asked in a voice slightly deeper than her normal one, “Have you been tempting these innocents into sin? Have you? Have you exposed yourself in order to make your schoolmates think lustful thoughts?” Vic frowned fiercely as Bridget tried to look innocent.
Whack! The ruler landed on her bare thigh. Bridget yelled through the gag. Vic pulled the hockey stick away from her pussy. “I still can’t hear you, Miss O’Halloran. Perhaps this will help loosen your tongue.” Vic yanked off her rosary and began stuffing it up into Bridget’s soaking wet slit. When she had gotten as many beads inside her as she could fit, Vic found a stray length to stuff up her ass. Bridget could feel the crucifix dangling between her thighs, and it made her feel incredibly sacrilegious.
It also made her come again, so hard she would have dropped to the floor if her bound hands weren’t holding her up. “Did I give you permission to indulge in that disgusting behavior?” Vic hissed as the ruler met the exposed flesh of Bridget’s ass. Her eyelids flew open in time to see Sharon go down on Mary Eileen while Monica slid a dildo into a harness. Vic twisted the rosary inside her and rubbed one of the dangling beads against her clit while she watched them. Whenever she felt Bridget wasn’t paying enough attention, she brought the ruler down on her ass or thighs.
Bridget gulped the air like it was water, her knees trembling. The pressure on her clit was unrelenting as she watched Sharon come, face still pressed into Mary Eileen’s pussy. Bridget joined her a second later, shaking so hard that Vic had to catch her. Vic untied her then and pulled the gag off. Then she yanked the rosary out. “I believe that you need to do some penance, young lady.” She pressed down on Bridget’s shoulders and Bridget dropped to her knees on the locker room floor.
For a minute, she pretended she was going down on Sister Agnes. She closed her eyes, imagining the spanking she’d have gotten. A sharp slap like the one she’d been thinking about cracked across her ass. She tried to glance around to see whom the hand belonged to, only to have Vic hold her head in place and order her to lick harder.
Whoever it was that was spanking her was a pro. A firm hand came down over and over until Bridget’s was hot and her thighs were soaked. Then Bridget felt the pressure of a dildo against her asshole. Monica. It had to be Monica. She was going to get Vic and Monica at the same time? This was the best birthday ever.
She licked Vic as Monica stretched her out and shoved her way inside. Vic came then, hands buried in Bridget’s hair, legs shaking around her ears. Monica worked the dildo all the way inside her and began riding her, driving her face into Vic with each thrust. Bridget tried to make her tongue rigid, using it to fuck Vic until Vic came again.
Monica was groaning now and Bridget could feel her playing with herself. Monica came before she did, collapsing on Bridget’s back with a shuddering yell as Bridget’s legs trembled from her own orgasm. She shook under Monica’s body for another minute or two, then started laughing. She grinned up at Vic from the floor and said, “Should I say ten Hail Marys as penance, Sister?”
Vic gave her a stern frown. “Make it twenty and I want to hear every one of them, young lady.” Bridget dropped back onto her knees and clasped her hands, beginning the litany and being sure to work in a new section thanking the Virgin for the field hockey team.
HEY, STRANGER
Diana Cage
Atlanta in the spring smelled like wet leaves, different from Brooklyn, where Sabina had lived until a few months ago, different from San Diego where she grew up. The cleanness appealed to her; the stately homes in their neighborhood sported neat lawns dotted with azalea bushes and dogwood trees, like everything she’d ever seen in Better Homes and Gardens. On nights when their small, hot apartment felt more punishing than cozy, she’d take a walk through the area, breathing in the boring middle-classness of it all, until she felt glad again for her own cramped, complicated life.
She and Cass had found a nice rhythm: they never fought, they fucked twice a week, they made dinner. Things were very good, which is why she’d allowed herself to be drawn down to Atlanta, to the “dirty South,” as Cass called it, though Atlanta felt much less dirty than where she’d come from. Brooklyn, which smelled like hot trash and sewage and sounded like car horns and people yelling, seemed a whole lot dirtier. They’d spent a summer there, living in Sabina’s apartment a half mile from the Brooklyn Museum, wanting every day to leave the house in time to visit the museum, and every day being sucked back into the bed, into the sex they couldn’t stop having, into each other’s bodies and countless orgasms.
It was only the last week, right before Cass returned to Atlanta to teach, when they’d finally made it. At 4:00 p.m., an hour before closing time, they dragged themselves to the museum’s Sackler Center for Feminist Art in order to see The Dinner Party, Judy Chicago’s iconic art installation. The compulsion to visit what was arguably the most famous and most profoundly’70s piece of second-wave feminist art had started as a private joke. Cassie, the stoic art history professor who almost never relaxed, had little interest in art from that period. She dismissed it, rolling her eyes: “So the plates looked like pussies, okay, I get it.” But each day that they fucked through visiting hours, the plan grew into something more compelling, until one day, there they were finally standing in front of it, postcoital and spacy, Sabina wearing her T-shirt inside out.
For at least ten minutes, they just stared. They stood next to each other and took in the massive ceremonial banquet table set for a seemingly random assortment of important historical female figures. Even Cassie felt it. They were into it deep, devouring the vulvar plates, the gold chalices, the embroidery. Sabina felt overwhelmed by sex and women and the goddamn Primordial Goddess. She wanted to throw Cassie down on the table, knocking Isis, Hatshepsut and every other cunt out of the way and fuck like maenads.