The next morning, after Lauds, Mother Superior Agnes sat behind the heavy oak desk in her private study. Her black habit was perfectly arranged, her veil pinned neatly, but beneath the heavy wool, her new futa c**k throbbed insistently against her thigh, already half-hard and leaking.
She had barely slept. Every time she closed her eyes she saw herself stroking that massive, divine gift until thick ropes of c*m painted the walls. The memory made her new c**k twitch and her original p***y grow slick with shame and desire.
She rang the small silver bell on her desk.
A soft knock came moments later.
“Come in, Sister Clara.”
The door opened and the youngest nun stepped inside, eyes downcast in perfect obedience. Sister Clara was barely nineteen, with smooth porcelain skin, large innocent
