Many weeks had passed and life for Sister Mary Atchara had been changed immeasurably. It was as if a part of her that she had never known existed before had exploded inside of her, making her a whole new woman. She had now fully embraced her voracious sexual nature and reconciled it completely with her complete and utter dedication to the Holy Church. With a wisdom that she could only attribute to prayerful meditation and guidance from above, she quickly learned to be quite discrete with her gifts of the flesh and her personal vow to use them not for her own pleasure but in the service of the Church (not that Sister Mary didn’t find rewards in the performance of her duties).

As a result of her enthusiasm and success in bringing so many faithful to the the Lord, Sister Mary Atchara’s work was nothing short of miraculous in this small, bedraggled village. It was on a windy spring morning that Father Mahara, the 57 year old Priest found the cheerful Nun humming to herself as she put away the fresh bed sheets for the dormitory. Smiling at the site of her, the balding old man pulled his threadbare black cassock straighter, outlining his round, protruding belly. Smiling to her, he felt moved to speak to her,

“You know Sister, your service to the Church has been very precious to us all during this past year. Mother Superior is quite pleased with your work and the members of our parish absolutely adore you. Your tireless dedication to easing the suffering of others is surely a sign from God of the rightness of your calling.”

“Helping and saving those lost lambs is the Lord working through me, Father. I couldn’t begin to do what little I have without you and the other Sisters here helping me, but I feel so at home here and so happy to serve The Lord in any way I can,” she said humbly, her words make the old priest smile.

“I am so glad Sister Mary. It is again your turn this evening to go about the town visiting the parish members and seeing to the needs of those who need our help. I particularly would like you to visit one of our oldest members, Mr Bishal, if you are able. He is quite alone since his wife passed away and it is his birthday; it would be a shame for him to spend it alone,” he said as he took her hand in his own, patting it with affection.

“But of course Father Mahara, I will do my best to make my rounds and I will certainly look in on your friend. ” she said brightly.

Hearing the shutters bang on the windowsill as the wind gusted outside, Father Mahara and Mary both could see the tree limbs flailing about in the strong gale. Turning to the lovely round face of the Thai nun, Father Mahara produced a shiny set of car keys from his pocket, pressing them into her hand.

“Bicycling or taking your moped is far too risky in this weather, my child. Take the Parish car for your work. God bless you and drive carefully, Sister.”

Sister Mary Atchara was all grins as she hopped behind the wheel of the old, beaten and worn Volkswagen Dasher and started the engine. One of the many joys she had discovered in her time with the Church was that she loved the thrill of driving the narrow, winding streets of the village and relished every opportunity that arose allowing her to use the Parish car. Secondly, that her rounds about the town would be completed very quickly indeed (the way she drove, anyway), allowing her to spend a good bit of extra time this afternoon with Mr Bishal.

She was quite familiar with the 90 years old’s tale, unfortunately a common one in this poor town. Born in Nepal, he and his family immigrated to been here when the town was still booming and converted to Catholicism and had been a long-standing member of the Church. He and his wife had many children who worked with them in their bakery and their many progeny thrived, taking jobs in the other local industries. Then, the economic collapse scattered his once-close family to far away lands seeking jobs while he and his wife stayed here, too stubborn to give up. After she had passed away and the bakery had long-since closed, all that was left was the poor old man living alone on his meager savings. As the years passed, his senility and infirmity also increased bit by bit and caused him great hardship to attend Church services on his own. Even walking or using the sporadic public bus was quite difficult for the elderly Mr Bishal and it soon passed to the loving care of the Father Mahara and the Nuns to keep a watchful eye on him, to take his welfare check to the store for groceries every month and to provide transport to the church when he felt able to attend.

Sister Mary gunned the old Volkswagen along the ruin paved road, eying the many abandoned buildings posted with repossession signs from the banks, grimly warning of “No Trespassing”. Finally she reached her destination, a plain and simple little house that, like it occupant, was in a state of decay. The front door was open, blocked only by a screen to keep out flies; knocking on the wooden frame, Sister Mary peered in to the dark home, spying the elderly man sitting in his chair in front of the television, having dozed off. Her knock awakening him with a jerk, the old man rose unsteadily and made his way slowly to the door.

The Nun’s cheery, “Hello, Mr Bishal!” brought a smile to his wrinkled old face. The Nepalese man was becoming quite bald with just a sparse amount of gray hair left on his liver-spotted brown head, his silver beard not as full as it once was, but his big bushy eyebrows turned up with surprise and delight and his eyes twinkled as he recognized his most favorite visitor. Not wanting him to make the trip all of the way to the front door, Sister Mary opened the screen door and stepped in, laden with her hamper of food and supplies. As she made her greetings to the old pensioner, she let him steady himself against her strong young body as they made their way to the kitchen. His trembling hands held her upper arms at first, but as she had expected from past visits, one hand quickly made its way down to her waist, “slipping” occasionally to slide appreciatively over her shapely ass. Many other Nuns had complained in the past about the lonely yet horny old man taking liberties with them, but Sister Mary sympathized with his burning needs. She reasoned that just because he had a wrinkled, pot-bellied old body didn’t mean that he still didn’t yearn for the comforts of his wife, or of any woman for that matter.

The Nun actually found herself pleased that she could provide some small measure of comfort to the sweet old man, moving her hips slightly as they walked down the narrow hallway, rotating her ass underneath his gentle touch. As they made it to the kitchen to set his supplies on the table, his other hand also “slipped” as he reached across her chest to move a vase with a withered flower in it, his shaking hand gliding over her full, ripe breasts as he pulled it back. Her thick nipples hardened immediately at his touch and Sister Mary sucked in a small breath of air as he cupped her, allowing him to feel the weight of the milky tit.

Setting the basket down, she turned to look into the smiling eyes of the old Asian. He was short, just as tall as she was and she grinned as she gave him her most wide-eyed, innocent smile as she put her arms around his neck and said,

“This is from Father Mahara, Mr Bishal; from all of us at the Church for your birthday today! We know each year has been more and more challenging for you, but your service to God and your Church is never going to be forgotten.” Leaning in close to his gray-stubbled face, the cute young Thai girl’s moist lips gave him a loving peck on his chapped old lips.

“Happy birthday, Mr Bishal and many, many more,” she said in a low, sultry voice.

The old man’s rheumy eyes widened as she shifted under his trembling hands, letting her black-cloaked form feel the warm body beneath his wandering fingers. Standing there in the golden afternoon light of the kitchen, a fat old man groped the lush firm ass of the Nun as she ground her body appreciatively against his. Giggling like a school girl, Sister Mary extracted herself from his grip and took him by the hand back into the living room. Turning his chair around from the television set and into the small room, the Nun settled the old man down and stepped back a few paces, ensuring that she was close enough for him to see her.

“I know you’ve been lonely, Mr Bishal,” she said as she looked around the room. Everywhere there were paintings of the Lord, looking handsome and kind and understanding. She saw images her namesake, Mary; beautiful, serene and (to her eyes) sexy. Crucifixes hung from the walls as well and votive candles shown dimly around a tiny altar containing pictures of Jesus and Mr Bishal’s dead wife. Somehow, the reverent and holy atmosphere of the room made Sister Mary’s head swim as she became more and more aroused at the thought of all of the Hosts of Heaven watching them, seeing into her very soul the lust that burned in her.

On the television religious music was playing, a full orchestra of piped organs and a boys choir singing in full voice. Her senses reeling, Sister Mary began to sway in time to it, slowly rolling her hips, her hands exploring the hidden curves of her body. Her flashing eyes fixed on Mr Bishal as a finger found her mouth, wetting it on her lips and tracing the curve of her breasts on the black fabric. She would turn and look over her shoulder at him, bending to display the generous curve of her ass cheeks beneath the Habit, then stand upright again and turn back, her hands moving up the sides of her face, her deft fingers reaching behind to undo the wimple and coif which fell gently to the floor behind her, freeing her long jet-black tresses. Shaking out her hair with her fingers, Sister Mary’s face was one of pure animal lust as she flashed her perfect white teeth in a smile down to the mesmerized old man.

Swaying to the uplifting sound of the choir as they built to a crescendo, the Nun unhooked her rosary beads that swung on her belt and clasped them between her teeth. Next the woolen belt was undone and dropped and as she began dipping and grinding about, the Sister carefully unbuttoned her tunic. Mr Bishal’s gasp of joy was Sister Mary’s reward as it hissed over her body to the ground, a puddle at her feet. Her incredible body was glistening with sweat from her dance, her brown skin shimmering in the dim light. Her full breasts seemed quite large for a woman of her height, her waist narrowing in then spreading to her generously wide hips, then down to her shapely legs. Bending at the waist forward, her eyes fastened on his as she saw the delight in his face at her tits swinging heavily forward, Sister Mary snatched her thin belt from the floor and stood as she fastened it again around her nude form. Taking her rosary beads from her lips, she fastened it again to her waist. Now as she danced, the 3″ long golden crucifix swung about her hips and thighs, flashing in the light.

Closer and closer the Nun danced to the seated man, allowing his withered but hot old fingers the chance to touch the supple young body of his sexy Angel of Mercy. Presenting her ass to within 6″ of his face, she shuddered with delight as she felt his rapid breathing warm her skin, making goose pimples pop upon her flesh. Wet kisses followed, the widower tasting the salty moisture of her globes, making he Sister moan. Turning to face him, she stood with her legs on either side of his knobby knees and looked down, happy at the straining fabric tenting up the crotch of his faded, threadbare drawstring pants. Her hands gently rubbed the stained sleeveless t-shirt he wore, massaging his sunken chest and pushing him back in the chair slightly. Leaning forward, her full tits dragged over his pot belly and chest until a thick, 4″ diameter brown areola bumped against his stubbly chin. Raising herself slightly, Sister Mary bumped her eraser-thick nipple into his mouth where the old man instinctively latched onto her.

“Drink from me, Mr Bishal! Mmmm…have your birthday drink from me,” the Nun purred, groaning at the delightful friction of his scraggly beard and rotten old teeth against her sensitive tit flesh. Needle-like jets of milk shot from her as sweet, hot milk flowed. Only recently had the sexy Nun discovered that she was lactating and took it as a definite sign from God that she was doing His work. Now she could not only give the love and comfort she knew came from Him, but she could nourish her charges as well. What a Holy Gift!

White streams leaked from around Mr Bishal’s craggy lips and trickled down his chin onto his shirt. Sister Mary ran her fingers through the old man’s wispy hair, cooing lovingly like a mother to child as he thirstily suckled on her. Another hand shot down between them, her hand finding the stiffness pushing the fabric of his flannel pants outward. Her warm hand gripped his astonishing (for his age) hardness and slowly jacked him while he fed. When his frantic pulls on her pleasantly tingling breasts had slowed somewhat, the Nun pulled back and dropped to her knees, eager for what she knew waited for her. Pulling the string of his pants, unknotting them, she pulled down the front of his pants and let his engorged dick pop free, bobbing straight up before her. Open-mouthed and wide-eyed, Sister Mary wrapped her fingers around the thick girth of a truly spectacular 10″ cock. Frosted at the base with snow-white pubes, thick veins roped around and around the shaft that jutted up, ending in a dark brown helmet, smeared and glistening with pre-cum. The other hand glided her fingertips down the underside of the shaft, making Mr Bishal moan. That hand found the sagging ball sack, almost hidden in a mass of gray wiry hair as well, hot to her touch with each bloated orb heavily laden with saved-up cum. Focusing her gaze past the pulsing dick in her hands, Sister Mary looked into Mr Bishal’s eyes and said throatily,

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph bless you, Mr Bishal. Happy birthday!” as she took his thick round tip into her mouth. Her tongue swirled around the glans, loving the velvety smoothness, the saltiness making her mouth water. Teasing his piss-hole, she alternated between sucking hard on as much of his dick as she could force into her throat and breaking her seal, panting as she laved her tongue up and down the sides of his cock, slurping up her own saliva. Diving down to the musky balls, Sister Mary would jack his wet cock slowly as she tasted his nut sack, dancing his full testicles inside her hungry mouth, cleaning them.

The choir sang “Hosanna!” on the television as the old parishioner moaned and twisted in his chair under the stimulation and teasing of the sexy Nun. The happy sounds of slurping and swallowing filled the parlor as the Nun prepared Mr Bishal for his birthday treat. One of Sister Mary’s hands had crept down to her between her own legs and she had shoved two, then three fingers inside her own black-furred cunt, stretching and preparing her hole for this tremendous meat. Pulling her face off of his dick with a satisfied , Sister Mary stood and quickly straddled his quivering member, letting the fat head of his cock split her lips open, allowing him to relish her heat on his tip. Her fingers, fairly dripping with her own juices went to her mouth as she smeared her lips with her own flavor. Leaning in, she deeply kissed the old wrinkled man, letting him taste her from her lips as she sank inch after inch of him into her. Mid-way down, Sister Mary could feel his thick cock stretching her wider and wider, the wicked ache in her loins making her more and more excited. Grimacing but maintaining their sensual kiss, Sister Mary forced herself down, willing her straining cunt to relax around the girth of the old man. His hands were like bony claws as they dug fiercely into her breasts, kneading the flesh like dough as he felt his dick enveloped for the first time in decades.

The nun broke their kiss and reared upright over him, her voice raised in unison with the children’s choir on television, her song a wail of ecstasy as Mr Bishal bottomed out on her, the entire length of his wrinkled old cock wedged tightly up inside the sexy Thai Nun. Her breasts jutted out as she arched her back and as Mr Bishal squeezed them in his arthritic grip, white jets of liquid sprayed from her nipples, soaking his face with milk. As Sister Mary began the wonderfully arduous task of raising and lowering herself on the skinny hips of the man, she had just enough presence of mind not to be too rough with him, lest she injure his withering old body. Still, sexual heat got the better of both of them and soon they were grinding and pushing against each other, man and woman together, transcending all age and social boundaries as they simply fucked like animals. Mr Bishal wheezed and gasped with such effort but could not stop himself as he pushed as best he could up into the Heavenly folds of this Angel sent to him. Passionately he chewed her thick, wet nipples with craggy old teeth, sending shivers of electric delight up Sister Mary’s tits with each sharp bite. Her head lolled about as she was possessed by a feeling of almost golden rapture, visions of The Lord and Mother Mary filling her head and a voice like thunder filling her ears. Her body was on fire and cool at the same time as her pussy hummed with the exquisite pressure of having such a thick, hot piece of meat sawing in and out of her tiny hole.

Her tits fell free, swinging heavily and jiggling with each blow from Mr Bishal’s hips as he gripped her ass now, finding once-forgotten strength as he mustered enough power to seriously jack-hammer his thickness into her at greater speed. Ignoring any thought of frailty, the old man was young again as he grunted like a bull, bellowing his dominance of this young pussy wrapped around his glory. Sister Mary’s brown skin shimmered with sweat as her rosary beads flailed about, bouncing the metal crucifix between her flat stomach and his round, pot belly. His roar announced the massive pulses of cum that jetted from his dick, the power of which consumed the now-shaking Nun. Where moments before she had been giving a kindness to a feeble old man, she now felt helpless and small before a mighty force, his manly grip and irresistible power overwhelming her. An iron hand took the back of her head and pulled her in for a hard kiss, his tongue rasping deep into her mouth.

The Nun’s senses exploded as his rod, greased by his thick cum, slid even faster inside of her, heating the upper lining of her cunt walls, sparking off an intense, body-shaking orgasm of her own. Gurgling into his mouth, Sister Mary felt as if beams of light were bursting from every cell in her body. Her toes curled, her skin was on fire and she wrapped her arms tightly about the heaving body below her, pulling the fat old man to her as she rolled through the throws of ecstasy.

Suddenly she was jerked back to reality as Mr Bishal pushed her away, his strong hands gripping her head like a melon. Bleary-eyed and unable to understand what was happening, Sister Mary could only feel she were sliding down his body when suddenly her mouth filled with his thickness. Slimy with their mutual cum, it caked in a ring around her stretched lips as he forced his meat past her tonsils and into the back of her throat. Gagging, her throat convulsed around the turgid cock as she reflexively swallowed, allowing every bit of it down. Fuzzy gray hairs mashed into her nose and she could smell his intoxicating musk as he held her there, growling in pleasure as his cock amazingly pulsed again, sending more thick wads of his clotted semen down her throat. She never wanted it to end; the taste, the pressure on her throat, the way her tongue felt forced against his hairy old dick…it was wonderful! For his part, old Mr Bishal would have died happily at that moment if he didn’t feel so alive, more so than he had in years. With his dick so wet and throbbing inside this beautiful young girl, the old man felt revitalized and able to face many more days than he had imagined he could.

An hour later, Sister Mary emerged from the shabby old bathroom, smoothing her Habit back down; every hair neatly tucked back under her coif and her clothing immaculate once more. Peeking in to the bedroom where she had taken Mr Bishal, she had bathed the sleeping man with a sponge and basin of water, taking care not to disturb the exhausted man’s sleep. She smiled lovingly as he snored and closed the door, checking the kitchen that all of the supplies were put away and her note to him was left prominently on his table. It told him that she would petition Father Mahara to be allowed to visit him regularly and to promise to bring him personally to services every week. Locking both the front and screen door as she left, Sister Mary turned the key on the engine and thought that a man who could perform as he had, regardless of his advanced age, should be able to manage to make it to Church every week. Especially if he had Sister Mary to accompany him on his journey.