Converts to Pleasure

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: General Erotica  |  House: Booksiesilk Classic Group

Hope and Prudence seduce two young virgins distributing spiritual tracts on their veranda.

Our third Papa always taught my younger step-sister and me to be hospitable. God rest his soul. He passed away from a heart attack while plundering our arses while Mama was at a Country Women’s Association meeting. A stroke and orgasm combined. He died with a smile worthy of Jesus on his face.

The problem was that Mama was very strict and didn’t spare the birch rod for any blasphemy or tardy infraction in our hard small-berry farm Tasmanian lives. We received a home education from her, and our main text was the good word itself. After a trinity of husbands, sadly, she believed all flew to heaven; Mumma embraced celibacy.

We escaped the farm on Sundays but only to the church in Ouse and a pew to ourselves with Mama. Like my sissy Pru, I can’t remember many words the younger minister: The Rev. Nile, preached. We shared a fantasy of humping the unmarried hottie on his altar.

For the two seasons after Papa’s unexpected departure, friends of Mama arrived and helped us with the short but intense raspberry-picking season. Prudence and I helped ourselves to Silas Jameson in the barn.

Oh, praise the angels, the intoxicating joy. We girls had missed being finger-stuffed like roast chickens.

Mama, though, cocked her head with that suspicious god-fearing look in her eye and made excuses for never inviting the Jamesons back again.

And recently, Mama alone handled the drivers from the grocery and jam factory collecting our beautiful succulent small fruits. No chance for hanky-panky from us sisters.

Prue and I only had each other and corn cobs and sweet zucchini to share and fill our front and back holes in the passing days. Because we knew mama had hawk eyes, sweet little sis Pru and I went commando under our dresses to make the most of any opportunity, day or night, in our hell-fire and damnation lives.

Every day was not a downer. Life on a berry farm can be sweet.

We embraced sisterhood. We loved smashing and mashing; sugary, syrupy, blueberry, raspberry or strawberry pulp into each other’s mouths. And then sharing, sucking and kissing each other and dribbling the sticky mixture all over each other’s chest muffins and nibbling on each other’s tender pink nipples covered in a bluish or reddish natural salivary puree.

But best of all, when the sweet fruits of nature were smeared on the most succulent bud, each other’s clitty or garlanded around our enticing rilled rings. We entered heaven, sucking each other’s hard bead, juiced in berry paste. Then joined by our natural girly fem-creaminess, which oozed gently out of our furry slits.

But our ode to joy was a sisterly prodding tongue tip cavernous inside each other’s sensitive butthole.


Mama was flustered and overdressed on the hot summer day; she made the long trip to New Norfolk in the ageing Ford to see Mr Randolph, the bank manager. She adjusted her hair net under her hat. This meant it was serious.

Prue and I knew we could make the most of it later in the afternoon after we finished Mama’s endless list of chores. We needed to give each other; some serious private attention.

We completed a back-breaking morning in the hot sun picking punnets of strawberries and sharing a cool glass of homemade lemonade on the veranda. We tied off our blouses to our navels, opened our buttons to our equally expansive cleavages, and were fanning unashamedly and deliberately to arouse each other with our bushy private parts visible under long skirts, billowing up and down over our widely spread legs.

Prue spied the two young gents first. They walked paired along our straight, unsealed, dusty driveway.

“Hope,” she said, “Cover up, sweetie. We got male company.”

Prudence’s legs crossed. 

Then she added, “Don’t scare ‘em away with your possum pelt. Let’s settle ‘em in and give them ‘Tasmania’ to play with later.”

Butter would not have melted in our now sweet, but when alone together, foul mouths. We extended a hospitable welcome to two strapping, fine young lads.

“Good afternoon, ladies,” said the taller, dark-haired one, sweating copiously in his grey suit and tie attire.

Prue and I checked for any hint of pant bulge. None yet.

“God’s blessing be with you; can we share a few minutes of your time.”

Prue and I looked at each other.

We had more than a few minutes in mind here.

“Sure, take a seat, please and can I offer you a glass of homemade lemonade,” in my most polite ladylike voice.

“Yes, thank you,” said the stockier light-haired youth, who really wanted to loosen his blue tie. 

I judged them both to be about twenty like ourselves.

I would have preferred he eased his zip down first. He had serious issues keeping his eyes off Pru’s and my wobbling no-bra cleavage.

Both Prudence and I detected a slight swelling in his loins.

We introduced ourselves over lemonade, and the guys told us their names and their mission for today. To pray with and share the words of The Lord with us.

We liked the word mission. Papa taught us the missionary position first in our barn education.

Aaron was the taller, Jesse the stockier. Both had solid bible names.

Prue and I winked at each other. We were more interested in really solid pants parts.

They were both taken in by our pristine Puritan-associated names, though our actions were increasingly less pure by the minute.

Aaron started by telling us he had a tract to leave with us. It was a warning of the imminent: Second Coming. I was lost and confused for a second.

I always liked it when Prue gave me a second cumming in the barn.

Still, I liked Aaron’s brown eyes and sensual moist lips and listened as he earnestly continued:

“God will punish the wicked for their sins of fornication, and only the just will rise again.”

I thought Silas must have been very just and a favourite of the Lord’s because, boy, could he get his pecker rising again, back into action after spilling his seed onto one of our sweet chests, deposited in our arseholes or into our mouths. Silas always gave both of us sweet male juice treats in the barn.

“Lust is a sin against the purity of your own body, “Aaron continued.

He sounded just like the Reverend Nile, and I wanted to fuck him. He had such a sweet face, and I longed for his hidden package.

Prue winked at me and whispered, “You hoping, Hope?”

Then Prue broke their obviously rehearsed speech by giving Jesse a second glass of lemonade and loosening his tie with her other hand. She deftly and deliberately brushed her copious bouncing titties across his handsome face in the same sweeping motion. A move much practised on me and one my aroused cunt religiously loved.

Aaron stuttered and stalled when I opened another button on my blouse. He had too much cleavage to contend with, and his cock won out over his obvious straining willpower. I saw the tell-tale throbbing stirring in his pants.

He manfully crossed his legs as I did the tempting leg opening, knowing he could see as far as my inner white thighs. No more yet. A manoeuvre that I always used to drive Prudence wild.

Oh, bugger this, I thought and asked straight out: “What about playing with yourself. How can such pleasure be a sin? Surely you guys jerk off? Come on, admit it. Do you do it together?”

“Ladies, are you testing us like the Devil did Jesus in the wilderness? Are you the daughters of Eve? You must, like us, abstain from the passions of the flesh till you are married. Only virgin marriages satisfy the Lord in our church. If you are sinners, let us pray with you and seek forgiveness.”

“Are you saying,” said Prue,” I can stuff a corn cob in my sister’s fanny on Friday night and mush blueberries in her starfish Saturday and ask for forgiveness every Sunday and use a zucchini the next week.”

“Girls, in the name of heaven, we must pray for you immediately. On your knees, and we will seek the Lord’s redemption for you,” said Aaron.

Well, the on your knees bit, both my sis and I knew from Papa and Silas. So as Aaron and Jesse laid their innocent hands on our heads, Prue and I, without a second thought, believed it was an invitation to unzip and suck pecker, and that’s what we started to do.

In heaven’s name, the command on your knees to a lass only means quaff pecker in your gob!

Halleluiah, we found redemption from incarcerated waiting. Cock, glorious cock, the apex of creation.

Well, so much for words. In the end, they remain words in the face of rigid pecker flesh, relishing the touch of a spearing tongue tip and the encircling moisture of pink corralling lips. The tactile meets the responsive nerve endings, and the sudden sweet explosive pleasure of life between the thighs dominates.

We baptised their cocks with drooly spit. 

“Orrgh, yes, yes, praise heaven,” moaned Aaron.

“Holy Moses! Ugh, Ugh, Ugh,” groaned Jesse.

Regular, sisterly mutual-masturbatory prayers for man meat had been answered.

Our sucking lips utterly overpowered the minds of two young men. Boy did we both know how to give head, and we were keen and eager as we hadn’t slurped dick in a fair while.

The boy’s hands formerly gently pressed on our crowns. They were suddenly around our heads, assisting in pushing and withdrawing our mouths from their keen happy cocks.

Once fully aroused, there was no stopping these randy young guys. They were naturals like Silas when it came to releasing titties from cloth prisons. And a bit of whispering in their ears had them both nibbling and sucking very successfully.

Aaron’s amazing “Oh my God," and Jesse’s “Sweet Mother of Jesus” reactions as we hitched our skirts and gave them the full bush treat reminded us both of dear Papa.

Prue and I gave each other a lustful look. This afternoon was going to be better than just entertaining ourselves.

Pru got Jesse’s head buried between her bushy thighs, and I got Aaron’s sweet tongue burrowing into my thick fur. Wow, was I moaning, and Prue purred like a cat that had the cream.

“Mmm, mmm, lick me there, yes there, ooh, ooh, ooh!”

Prudence had the cream; I noticed all right. She was sopping, and her juicy slit oozed her nectareous fanny fem-cum.

I added my own, “Ah yes, ah yes!” as I guided a tongue to lick my arsehole.

My buttocks trembled wilder than a Tasmanian Devil.

We quivered randy versus the two guys over-ready. They removed their clothes quicker than us, and we were two fast girls.

It only seemed logical with two peckers available to do our usual side-by-side, as we had with Daddy or Silas. Though one of us always had to wait and play with ourselves.

No waiting today. We were spread-eagled across the outdoor blackwood table. Two big bushy dark Tasmanian V’s and sweet spread glistening pinky bits awaiting a stern hammering from rigid dick.

Boy, were they young and full of energy, and they pumped, and we locked our legs behind their arses. It was all male groans and fem-whimpers of pleasure till a splash of collective orgasms approached.

The guy’s got blasphemous with cries of “Oh Fucking Hell” and “Sweet Satan,” while Prudence and I were moaning and shaking our heads and rocking our bodies as the sensation we both loved came to us in turn.

“Oooh, oooh, “in tandem.

Pru peaked just before me.

As Papa taught us, we guided the lads to our pregnancy avoidance holes.

“Enter the pit,” I instructed Jesse.

“Enjoy my abyss,” rasped my sis to Aaron.

“Oh, hell yes! Oh, my God!” mouthed Jesse stabbing into my sister’s happy arse.

“Bloody Hell!” uttered Arron as he shafted me hell for leather with his pumping meat stick.

The boys were in one hell of a hurry to cum in our bums.

Prue and my legs slid past our ears at this point.

There is deep anal debasement, and there is hell-raising arse probing. Twin lances plunged into our basements. Cocks stabbed and raked, exposing gawped balloon knots.

Prue had to say, “Oh, crucify us!”  

And the lads complied.

Sis and I spread our bodies against the house wall, letting them pin our arms wide whilst our arses were jammed with peckers. We kept our legs together and flexed our buttocks from our toes.

As God is my witness, my petite starfish entered the promised land. Anal-paradise. Cock wedged in my tightness deeper than Moses’s parting of the Red Sea. Prodding, nudging, jamming and packing.

“Orrgh, yes, yes, yes! Holy Mary! Yes, oh yes!” I mouthed.

Prue was filthy, “Jam my arse, yes, oh yes, fuck my arse, deeper, deeper, fucking deeper! Ooh! Ooh! Ooh!”

Together our heads danced wilder than Salome before Herod, thrown back in anal-pierced ecstasy.

Arseholes skewered. Bum-holes harpooned! Crinkled stars flexed raw. Corn holes speared.

Aaron shot off in my rear. He kept pumping as happiness streamed through my body, especially as his jizz seeped from me, splattering like spilled communion wine.

Prue received a banana canyon creaming too. Her cute butt freckle oozed, then dribbled man-glue to the porch’s broad weathered, creaking, spotted gum boards.

After redressing and revitalising ourselves with another lemonade, Aaron sheepishly informed us they made regular house calls for instruction.

He paused, then added, “Would Prue and you like us to call again?”

I replied, kissing his cheek, “Mama is not as hospitable as us. Are you okay with private instruction in the barn and the cornfield?”

In sync, thumbs-up from the guys.

Pru and I never became believers in their church, but we instructed the two guys to be: Converts to pleasure.

Submitted: May 03, 2023

© Copyright 2023 Janus. All rights reserved.

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Add Your Comments:



Well I guess you girls baptized the men into your own kind of religion before they found a way to bring you any kind of conversion!

Thu, May 4th, 2023 7:27am


Thanks, Spyguy.

Your baptism quip led to an extra inserted filthy line.

Thu, May 4th, 2023 8:05am

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