The Wet Bed Sheets: Erotica Short Stories with Explicit Sex to Read in Bed

By Sabrina Karen

This book contains raunchy stories about male dominance and female submission. Some of the women in these stories have always desired to submit to a man. Others did not realize they required it until it was too late. Whatever brought them to their Masters' feet, it is where they belong.

I'm not just going to let you into my wild imagination; I'm going to let you into the intense feelings and intimacy that occur in a real BDSM relationship.

Please do not read if you are under the age of 18.

All characters depicted in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Meg Congelosi
• Release date: Feb 16, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215470367

Book preview

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Table of Contents

The last day of school

Men's excess

Defenseless

The Wet Bed Sheets: Erotica Short Stories with Explicit Sex to Read in Bed

Author: Sabrina Karen

© Copyright 2023 - All Rights Reserved.

The content contained within this book may not be reproduced, duplicated, or transmitted without direct written permission from the author or the publisher.

Under no circumstances will any blame or legal responsibility be held against the publisher, or author, for any damages, reparation, or monetary loss due to the information contained within this book. Either directly or indirectly.

Note: All characters depicted in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.

Please do not read if you are under the age of 18

nun punishments

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I woke up in a sweat again. A glance at the clock told me it was 3:21 am. About two hours before the first morning devotional - too early to get up. I fluffed out the wet sheets, closed the window in my little sister's room, and lay back down. As soon as I closed my eyes, they returned: all the dirty images, thoughts and longings that had driven me to this monastery in the first place.

It had started so well a year ago. I just knocked at the main gate with a small suitcase under my arm and was welcomed into the convent of St. Agnecia with open arms by lovely nuns - most of them hardly older than me. Although I kept quiet about the real reasons for my request for refuge, I was still believed to have been in dire need, and so I finally managed to make a new start. No more discos, no more bars, no more men, no more wild nights. The night before I left for St. Agnecia, Jennifer had stood me up, indirectly reorienting my destiny. I had already done my makeup extensively, put on my beloved gold sequined dress with matching accessories and prepared a bottle of champagne with snacks from the deli. Then came her rejection. By texting. Without further ado, I decided to drink the champagne alone and still go. Bouncers and bartenders in all the hip places knew me and there was no other way to control my urges - I had to bow to them. I needed a man and above all his best tools. At some point on that fateful night, I ended up in a box with three guys. They couldn't believe their luck and gorged themselves on my tight body like wild dogs for hours, but when I woke up the following morning, they were gone. I was left naked and embarrassed - with cum tugging in my hair and the fridge eaten empty. At that moment I decided to make a drastic change of course and found myself at St. Agnecia a few hours later. I felt like a different person when I arrived. The weeks just flew by and I enjoyed the regular church services, the fixed procedures and the soon familiar ways. The renunciation of all other worldly pursuits allowed me to flourish. Everything seemed perfect until a burst pipe at the Order's monastic abbey led to four monks being billeted with us. Although we were a nunnery, it was not in the sisters' image to let anyone down. Suddenly I was faced with men again and to my regret I quickly found that the restoration of the damaged abbey would take months. I made the best of my situation and met each individual wearer in a friendly but distanced manner. Unfortunately, I quickly realized that this was not enough. With the arrival of strange men, my calm was gone. I couldn't concentrate, got stuck on the psalms, and let the food burn when I was assigned to cook. There was only one way out: I had to ease the pressing needs of my slit without succumbing to carnal sin again. So I masturbated. First shyly and furtively in the toilet, then more extensively in my bed and eventually blatantly during the service. It even turned me on to sit there as chastity personified and secretly twirl my hand in my pocket. Nobody noticed anything - except my conscience. That nagged at me terribly, because I had set myself a minimum goal of two years. At least that's how long I wanted to stay in the monastery and practice chastity to get my escapades under control.

And now this. Except for Richard, these monks weren't even good-looking, but their presence bothered me nonetheless. My first self-gratification in weeks, which I had performed uncharacteristically shyly in the toilet, was so soaked with guilt that I rewrote my resolutions and wanted to allow myself fingering from now on. Unfortunately, this soon became a daily endeavour, which I did for almost an hour.

I was addicted to orgasms again, so that night I got rid of my demons by making them the sweetest sacrifice of all: I put my hands between my legs and innocently let my fingers caress my crotch. As if they belonged to someone else. Then I took both hands and pulled my hole apart, causing the inner labia to separate and heralding my lust with a soft smacking noise. I quickly tested how aroused I already was with a fingertip and then really dove in. First one finger disappeared inside me, then quite quickly the second. I licked them from time to time to get intoxicated by my taste and then took the other hand to help, which had to take care of my throbbing clit with lust. In my mind I imagined how the food had burned to me again and how the monks' collars burst this time. They grabbed me, lifted their robes and gave me a thorough go-around. A scenario to my liking that quickly brought me on course for orgasm. But when I was about to, I broke off abruptly, got up and sat on my hands. it could not go on like that. Each subsequent orgasm would leave me more fragile and I was here to make a change. With great effort I resisted, dragged myself into the cold shower, and then took a walk in the monastery garden before going to morning prayers. It felt good, very good, because my sudden attack of willpower also brought confidence back: I could change. I was stronger than the needs of my flesh. I wanted and had to take a different path. After the first breakfast I initiated Sister Marianne into my past and the real reasons for my career as a nun. I looked at her with wide eyes when I found out that she too had suffered from sexual compulsions and that was why she also embarked on this path. Slim Marianne, in her late 30s, used to be almost more sly than me. She didn't go into detail, but her hints suggested that she had been a sly old dog. I was shocked. And relieved at the same time. If she could do it, so could I.

In the weeks that followed, with the help of her advice, I renounced again and successfully renounced all carnal desires for weeks. I felt a bit uncomfortable that she brought up my problems in the presence of other nuns, but as long as it helped, I accepted it. The only thing that bothered me was that she wanted every questionable dream and every wicked thought explained in detail, eliciting an irritated look from many a fellow nun. Recalling my vicious images made them more difficult to deal with, and I explained this to Sister Marianne, but she nonetheless insisted on the details to assess the extent of my vulnerability. So I told her about the bonds, men behind masks, the cocks I saw and how they felt when I imagined those hammers impaling me mercilessly. Most confessions like this took place at the breakfast table and I didn't think much of it until one morning because of an intolerable muesli I went to the toilets next to the dining room. Breakfast had been over for half an hour and I quickly noticed an unusual panting in the cabin next to me. Unsure, I held my breath and kept my legs still, because I could classify this type of breathing only too well. Then someone put a hand on himself. I got up as quietly as a mouse and climbed very quietly in slow motion onto the toilet bowl to look over the cabin wall to see if anyone needed help. I almost got struck by lightning and almost fell backwards off the bowl, because Sister Marianne's exposed and shaved crotch beamed excitedly at me. She sat stretched out on the closed pot, her legs bent as steeply as possible. She fucked herself intoxicatedly with a wooden object. Her eyes were closed, her tongue greedily stroked her own lips again and again. She looked like she was in a horny trance - this filthy bitch, I thought, climbed down from the bowl and lifted my toilet seat, only to slam it down loudly. That fit, her horny gasping abruptly stopped and it became completely still. Now Marianne stopped and listened. A fiery anger had seized me by now, which spontaneously became a welcome outlet for all the frustration, so I quickly stomped out of my cabin, banged on her door, and yelled, Is everything alright in there? I heard her breathing hard!

I had to bite back a nasty grin with all my might. Nurse Marianne squeaked back in a low voice, It's me, dear! It's okay... the muesli! Someone meant too well with me...

I played along and explained to her that I was reassured and wanted to sit in the sun, turned on the tap briefly and let the door to the nurses' toilet slam open and shut again. She was deliberately supposed to feel safe, because I didn't want to let her off the hook that easily. She forbade even the most innocent thoughts and bathed in my shame, but she bluntly rammed a wooden dildo into the grotto herself. It lasted two minutes, I could hardly keep still, when she started again. Her feet pressed against the walls again, her breathing grew louder and the wooden pleasure dispenser made a flapping sound with each thrust. I was aware that what I was doing could be to my detriment, but I couldn't just ignore her hypocrisy, and I didn't want her to feel it at least. So, in a flash, I climbed back onto the dish in the cabin next door, stuck my head over the partition so that she could see me, and shouted like a soldier: I knew it!

Marianne's eyes widened in panic, and she folded her thighs frantically, losing her balance and falling to the ground. Red-faced, she immediately resorted to excuses and stormed out of the cabin: It's definitely not what it looks like! I just wanted to understand the magnitude of your sins firsthand so I could care for you righteously. ... As you can see, I am not above sinning myself to save one of my nuns from the lustful grasp of the devil.

She presented her justification convincingly and practiced, but I didn't believe a word she said. And my smug grin betrayed it without having to answer too much. Then she left me with a derogatory gesture and ran out of the toilet.

I was beaming all morning because this number was supposed to give me the rest I needed. Sister Marianne asked so often and so intensely that she had become a problem, not my dirty thoughts. Relieved, I then spent the morning with a prayer book in the study, until I had the bad idea of finally silencing the lying sister with a little confession. I had confided in her completely and not only had she happily recounted these embarrassing things and pressured me into confessions in front of other nurses, she had also used me as a source of inspiration for her own lust, because the way she had bent her legs on the toilet, corresponded exactly to my personal preference, which I had had to describe to her in one of my confessions. There was no other way - I just had to give her a reminder and so I made my way to the confession in big strides.

Except for a monk, there was no one present in the small court chapel to relieve themselves, so I entered happily and winced a moment later, realizing that the priest in charge of hearing confessions should be Richard. At first I wanted to back out of the chapel, but he had already spotted me. So I wrestled with myself for a moment as to whether I should unpack my own story at the same time or stick with the accusation against Marianne. When he smiled at me and silently pointed in the direction of the confessional, I quickly decided on the latter. There was still enough time for my own missteps in the following weeks. First I wanted to take care of Marianne and her cunning backbiter.

»Forgive me Father, for I have sinned...«, I opened up my evil plan, »I caught Sister Marianne indulging in self-abuse and now I fear that the demons will spread to me. Not long ago I was weak myself and indulged in carnal desires. I don't