(with apologies to Night Ranger, wherever they are)

It had been raining for two days and nights, and when the sun rose on the third day, the woods almost sparkled with vibrant greenness. Sister Christian awoke early and knelt in front of the mirror, an eternal reminder of the teachings at the Abbey: to be vigilant of the inherent weakness of the flesh. The cool morning breeze made the young novitiate tremble, and the reflection of her puckered nipples in response to the touch of God made her shudder with reverent delight. She spent thirty minutes in silent meditation on her knees, pondering on the mysteries of the rapture until the soft toll of the bell. She swiftly slipped on her blouse and dress, mindful that there were no undergarments that might tempt the faithful into wickedness due to their immodest intimacies with those parts of the body. A beatific smile on her lips, the coltish beauty left her cell, padding along the stone corridors of the cloister to the kitchen, where hunched Sister Hagatha had left her lunch, a half-dozen biscuits in a small sack. The serene postulant picked them up, heading for the stables.

The Abbess had decided long ago that Sister Christian was far too willful, too proud and decided that the answer to humble her, the lovechild of a not-so-subtle dalliance between a noble lady and one of her servants, was to make her a milkmaid. Not only would this demeaning job teach her humility, the long hours of solitude would allow her plenty of time to contemplate the folly of her headstrong ways. In truth though, Sister Christian could not have been happier. She loved the feel of the moist earth squish between her toes, listen to the distant chirping of sparrows to their mates and the croaks of breeding frogs as she led her cows through the forest and into the rolling pastures beyond. It took her most of the morning to get the lazy bovines to trod along the well-worn path and the growing heat of the day made her feel hot and sticky.

Just inside the woods encircling the pastures was a narrow stream. With the cows grazing peacefully, the pretty milkmaid waded up to her slim ankles and followed the burbling brook deeper into the forest, watching the silvery flash of minnows darting to and fro in her wake. The iciness of the quick-moving rill made her nipples draw sharply taut so that the swollen tips strained against her tight cotton dress. The friction of nipple and cloth was at once a delectable and stinging sensation, and after a short time, she decided in favor of shedding her clothes.

Being naked in the forest was no knew thing for this particular novitiate. Admittedly, the first time she had blushed furiously to herself but earlier in the year, when the scalding summer heat had been at it's worst, not a day went by that didn't see her frolicking about in the refreshingly chill waters like some dreamy wood nymph. She undid the front buttons without breaking her steady pace along the creek, first watching her girlish, perky breasts bounce free, the impudent nipples jutting proudly. Her soft tummy and feminine hips were revealed next, along with a nest of golden curls, sparkling the color of ripened wheat, tucked into the delta between svelte thighs.

Sister Christian casually tossed her garments over her shoulder, reveling in her nakedness. As she strode through the ever deepening water, tiny ripples nearly washing over her knees, she couldn't resist smoothing her hand over her the gentle flow of her belly, couldn't resist touching the crest of a pudgy nipple with the tip of her pinky, sighing at the familiar subtle quiver of joy that ran down to her loins. With a playful giggle, she impulsively stooped down and cupped the crystalline blue waters in her hands, dousing her breasts, tummy and thighs with it. The young lady watched in fascination at the tiny droplets sparkle in the tawny tangle that covered her plump mound for several moments, pretending they were tiny diamonds offered to her by adoring suitors, before quitting the stream. She mounted the slippery bank stark naked, the swirling wind gently drying the dripping moisture. Her senses reeling, the slightly trembling girl stood upon a huge rocky outcropping, her stance wide, fully enjoying the way the warm zephyrs so lightly caressed her tingling flesh.

Eventually Sister Christian folded her rough cotton vestments and placed them in the bag with her lunch. Completely naked save for a simple silver cross, she resumed her stroll through the grove, acutely aware of her breasts and buttocks wiggling with each slow step. Soon she came to a small clearing, one she knew and loved, an intimate hollow shielded by three great oaks, their majestic, spreading limbs open in greeting to both warm sun and cool rain and any others who chanced to meet them. This was the willowy blonde's private sanctuary, the only place where she felt completely safe from the nuns and their repressive dogma.

Her angelic face luminous with a radiant smile, Sister Christian simply collapsed, falling facedown into the plush grass, her legs carelessly splayed, her pale toes digging into the moist, loamy earth. Within a few moments one hand was stroking her smooth tummy and as she shrugged her shoulders to be able to move her fingers, her erect nipples rubbed against a length of gnarled tree root protruding from the earth and she felt a delicious shudder of delight run down to her sex. Sighing she repeated the motion more purposefully. For a moment she lay there, panting, feeling the familiar hunger below her belly, her flesh aching with nameless desires. Yet all too soon it was clear that she needed something more and instinctively her free hand reached for the precious silver cross that adorned her naked throat, her mind awash with the vivid images of what had happened a few days before …

With her head tucked into her shoulder, the aroused sister found herself writhing, naked on the bare, damp forest floor, the motion of her shoulders rubbing her thickened nipples against the great tree root beneath her chest. The bark was rough, but it grew softer as her heaving young bosom massaged into it the moisture of the rich loam. She craved the sensation, and though she knew the crude self-stimulation might leave her sore, right then the ache in her throbbing nipples was a greater pang. She could so easily picture a cute man tearing away the robes from her breasts, squeezing them, pinching the ripe strawberries that crested each creamy peak, taking them in his sultry mouth, kissing and nipping them …

Unable to ignore the ravenous appetite of her loins, Sister Christian struggled to push her awkward hand further down her belly. Her questing fingers touched the moist blonde curls and instinctively reached farther. With practiced ease, she hooked her middle finger into the top of her open cleft and slowly began to comfort herself. She was sticky and wet there, could feel the syrupy dew oozing through her pulsing pussy, moistening the pink, fleshy folds. When she raised her haunches, she could smell herself on the breeze, a musky scent of pure womanhood. The salty wet aroma of her naked lust was deliciously arousing and a fierce blush spilled over her lovely features as she remembered he had made her smell like that. She brought up that lusciously decadent image of her fantasy lover on his knees in front of her, his rough strong hands cupping the cheeks of her rump as he shamelessly touched her with his hands and with his mouth, had made her wet and slippery inside. She breathed deeply, rubbing her fingertips wistfully over sodden velvety flesh.

Rolling about within the intimate confines of the sylvan glade, the exhilarated lass began rubbing herself harder and harder against the moist earth. She continued to thrust the tender dark peaks of her vanilla-hued breasts against the coarse root, as though she were making love not only to herself but the whole of Nature. The ancient oak before which she prostrated herself so shamelessly in pleasure extended into the heavens,, yet it also remained anchored deep in the living earth. In it's lifetimes of inexorable growth, the great tree had twined its tapering rootlets ever deeper – and ever wider – into the nourishing soil, while its heavy trunk had pushed rustling, spreading leaves into the sweet breezes of the sun-warmed sky. A welcome fire spread from her pale, rose-nippled mounds to her tremulous tummy, and she felt that she, too, was like that tremendous matriarchal growth, anchored firmly in -–and reaching hungrily into- both earth and sky. Her natural lusts united her with the wild passions of the untamed, pagan world.

The honeyed sensation below her fluttering belly helped to assuage the carnal hunger which consumed Sister Christian. She was touching herself rhythmically, drawing moist fingertips about the trembling bud nestled within the fragrant pink petals of her womanhood. Then she slowly pulled her hand back toward her face. It smelled deliciously of her own essences. She shuddered and inhaled deeply of the fragrance of her own body, savoring its undercurrents, its subtleties. Gently, almost reverently, she traced her musky fingertips about her dilated nostrils, the sensitive skin of her lips. It smelled so good, so enticing that she began to lick the traces of savory juices from her tapering fingers. The taste – the tangy, intimate taste of her own forbidden sexuality – pooled on the back of her tongue. It was exquisite - and right somehow, she told herself. She nursed hungrily at her sticky fingertips, the heavenly flavor filling her billowing lungs. Her nipples burned.

Sister Christian groveled joyously, naked on the forest floor as she masturbated herself. Had any other soul been able to creep up and spy upon her in those most private of moments, they would have been treated to a breathlessly erotic sight. The willowy blonde's pouty labia, swollen and open, had blushed the unique hue of a hothouse tulip in bloom. Her nimble fingers drew blissful circles around the hidden nubbin of delight they found trembling in a nest of silken curls. Her deft touch teased and stroked the Eden of pure sensuality it discovered, eliciting a pleasure between her splayed thighs so exquisite she could not help gasping aloud.

On and on she prodded herself, summoning up the heady sensations throbbing at the trembling core of her very soul, spreading in waves through her shaking limbs. Her fingertips tingled, her thighs quaked, her heart pounded wildly beneath supple breasts whose tender nipples she ground roughly against the unyielding root of the great oak. Sister Christian reveled in her lonely sensuality, free of the shackles of a disapproving, hypocritical society. She could not be denied her rightful, natural pleasures, she realized, exulting. There was no sin in giving herself such pleasure, she sensed, nearly swooning with delight. Indeed, such self-love was a noble virtue, the definition of our selves on the most fundamentally spiritual level. Her eyes rolled up in heavy lids, stung by tears of pride. She quivered upon the brink of a sumptuous climax, yet she would not slow her hand. Onward, she rushed, onward!

Facedown on the forest floor, the golden-haired maiden shamelessly spread her spasming netherlips with the thumb and finger of her awkward left hand. With her bunched index and middle fingers she stroked frenziedly at the slippery bud of naked pink while heaving shoulders thrust the ravaged cherries of her pale breasts against the rough bark of the pleasuring tree root. The musky taste of her own sweet honey pot delighted her watering mouth. The wildly turbulent, joyous sensations spread, seeping from the molten core of her being, quaking in her belly, reverberating up and down her trembling limbs in a resplendent crescendo.

A soft mewling cry tore from her body as Sister Christian dreamed her fantasy lover was putting his thick cock inside her. Echoing blisses throbbed and coiled about in the swollen tips of her breasts. Her cunny was flooded with fragrant liquid, her naughty digits reveling in the squelching, nectared grotto until her own juices were running in dripping rivulets down her wrists and splashing all over the twisted stalks of grass. The whispery cry built to a throaty scream of excruciating ecstasy, on and on, as the slow-building culmination of her desires pulsed through her surging veins and glowed hotly behind her beatifically closed eyelids. This sweetest death seemed to course ever onward, endlessly…

Sister Christian lay there for some time, her hand cupped over her quieting sex, refusing to give up that precious intimacy. She could hear all the sounds of the forest, the rustling of leaves on the stately oaks and graceful poplars, the musical burble of the nearby stream, and she knew an inner tranquility she'd rarely known before. She experienced an epiphany that this thing she'd done was not the aberration the nuns claimed but true and pure, an integral part of God's plan as anything else, from the daily birth of the sun to the death of the smallest leaf. There was a soft, serene smile on her lovely face as she got up and slipped back into her robes, an almost palpable sense of fresh perspective in her stride back to her cows, back to life