The following story was posted on another site. All characters are over 18 years old. Words such as “teenager”, “teenage” and any other teen-related term or expression refer to characters who are 18 or 19 years of age.

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Often, mankind are so wicked and hypocritical that they will paint the best of men in a very dark light.

The Armistice came into effect on November 11th, 1918, at eleven o’clock. It put a long-awaited end to four years of unspeakable carnage and horror. France, just like Germany, was tested to the utmost limits of resources and manpower. The Republic drew in men from the colonies.

Moussa grew up in a village not very far from Dakar. As a tall, healthy young man, he was pressed into service for the Republic and away from his loving wife and two toddlers. After the Armistice, he had hoped to be sent back home to Senegal, but got stuck in dull garrison life, which he nonetheless welcomed since there were no more shelling and snipers to fear.

Next May, Moussa set foot in Germany for the very first time when his battalion was deployed in Rhineland along with many other units of colonial troops.

During the subsequent weeks, stories of horror started to circulate among the German population. In Berlin, when one sat in a café for a late-afternoon snack, there were voices to be heard and newspaper articles to be read about the unspeakable atrocities that colonial troops were committing throughout Rhineland. According to these stories, no one was safe from their onslaught in the Black Forest, and the Senegalese Tirailleurs were cited as the worst villains.

Months passed; summer gave way to fall that morphed into winter, and the Black Forest became white with snow-covered firs on gentle knolls and not-so-gentle hills that overlooked the Rhine. It was a wine-rich country with castles, old churches, and abbeys, and stories about ghosts, knights, and noblewomen.

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Moussa and his brothers-in-arms looked at this wintery landscape with mixed feelings. He was fascinated by this fairytale setting, with flurries of snowflakes gambolling and playing tricks with his imagination, making him think that some teenage-looking fairy was going to pop up behind the next snow-buried fir, but as he walked on the fluffy snow, he felt a deep, painful longing for his wife, whom he had not seen in more than three years.

He had fought like a lion and had risen in rank, but his Sergeant’s stripes gave him little consolation. The ebony muscleman would gladly leave them to once again walk shirtless under Senegal’s tropical sun.

Most of his twenty men had a wife or fiancée in Senegal. His two youngest men were eighteen-year-old lads who had lied about their age to enlist for the sake of adventure. They had seen a lifetime of horrors.

It was Christmas Eve. Daylight was already waning, albeit it was still afternoon. The wind was blowing. Heavy snowfall formed a veil that made it impossible for one to see more than a hundred feet ahead. They weren’t advancing as fast as planned.

The Sergeant blew his whistle to gather his men. He ordered his Corporal to call the men by name and make sure no one was left behind.

As each man was called, Moussa knew he was right. He was on his own with twenty men. Things weren’t going according to plan at all! They needed to find shelter for the night.

The second highest in rank was a Chief-Corporal by the name of Babacar, who was on friendly terms with Moussa. Their two squads marched together through the snowstorm after the men had roped themselves together. They began looking for a campsite where they could quickly build shelters with fir branches.

They wandered in the thick forest, under heavy snowfall, as the day was dying. To the west, there was an impressive clearing amid the clouds, where a patch of dusk-orange sky displayed a grandiose view of late-afternoon heavens that tainted the surrounding grey clouds with dusk-rose puffs in various tones.

This show of celestial beauty carried the elusive dream of some faraway June night—the dream of being reunited with loved ones. It brought joy, hope and sorrow in the men’s hearts.

Ousmane, the junior Corporal spearheading the foremost squad, spotted some feeble lights through the heavy snowfall. The Sergeant ordered to make for these lights and the men marched on in spite of a thickening snow cover.

They followed this guiding light like the Three Magi 1919 years earlier.

“Are we going to find Little Jesus over there, Sergeant?” Ousmane jested.

“Certainly not, Corporal, but there will be an ox, a donkey and a warm stable,” Moussa replied.

He felt it was a farm. He did not need to tell his men to be well-behaved in their dealings with local people. He thought of all these tall tales about his kind behaving like brigands; if anything, it was the local girls who were chasing his men more than the other way around.

Indeed, unlike the townsfolk who kept painting them in a sinister light, the country girls were fascinated by these African men wearing the horizon-blue uniform. They had never seen such men in person and were curious about them. Many of them believed they were all studs.

The guiding lights became brighter and plainly visible through the falling snow. They were almost there. It wasn’t a farm. There were stables all right, but it looked like some sort of monastery; the granite architecture was centuries old.

The Sergeant knocked at the front door. A female voice spoke the proverbial words, “Wer ist da?” (pronounced veristda, “who’s there?”)

Moussa answered in French. The woman beyond the door asked him to wait in a simple German sentence that he understood. Two minutes later, there was another woman who spoke perfect French and introduced herself as Sister Héloïse.

The Sergeant quickly explained that he and his twenty men got lost and he requested permission to spend the night in the stables.

The door was unbolted and opened. In front of Moussa stood a nun of about thirty years old, who welcomed him in her flawless French. The other nun was older and stood two steps behind. Both wore a black gown with a white, round collar and a black wimple with a white headband and a white hem. A rosary with a small crucifix and glistening beads hung at their belt.

Sister Héloïse, with a deferent voice, introduced Sister Martha, a sexagenarian nun who took Moussa to the Abbess while the rest of the men were asked to wait outside.

Karla, a young Abbess, received Moussa in her study, which was made of massive woodwork and contained an impressive library. She was last of a long succession of abbesses that reached all the way to the medieval centuries. Her gown and wimple accentuated this notion.

She gracefully rose from her desk and welcomed the Senegalese Sergeant as he walked into her study after Sister Martha, who promptly left. She instantly took note of his horizon-blue trench coat with a matching steel helmet, still wet with melting snow. His collar wore the number “21” in black characters.

“As black as the hell he’s been through,” thought the Abbess, then another thought crossed her mind: “Men like him deserve a reward!”

She tossed the thought aside and noticed he was still carrying his Lebel rifle. Sister Martha had forgotten to ask him to leave it at the front door, but the man stood so peacefully that the notion of him using it at present was ludicrous. He was a lot more likely to… She buried that dirty thought deep down within her.

In the study’s peaceful silence, the African man observed the fascinating woman as she walked toward him and stopped a couple of paces away. She was neither tall nor short, but Moussa was so tall and broad-shouldered that she looked short and petite next to him. He couldn’t help but notice the noble curves of her breasts, which he found much to his liking—not very large, yet perky and quite inviting. The onyx crucifix she wore between these modest mounds added a taboo element.

He enjoyed the daintiness of her hands and the bright paleness of her rich complexion as the Abbess chastely rested them together on her lap and spoke, in very good French…

“The St. Ingrid Abbey welcomes you, noble stranger. I am Abbess Karla von Löwen and I’m your most humble servant”, she said as she looked into his eyes with a surprising intensity that nearly set her green eyes ablaze.

Indeed, she had not been so close to a young man for a very long time. She sensed how strong and heavy he must be, and she had to curb the natural instincts that began stirring within her body as she felt his gaze on her bosom.

As he looked back at her in the study’s peaceful silence, Moussa didn’t know what to do, so he took a step toward the noble Abbess and went to gently take her hand to greet her, but she recoiled and looked at him with some measure of alarm in her eyes that looked like pure jade under the soft candlelight bathing the wooden room.

She was panting slightly; Moussa heard it and felt her trouble. This greatly aroused him and he had to mentally keep his sexual urges in check as he started to picture himself grabbing this gorgeous blonde—he had noticed a stray thread of her hair—and savagely taking her on that desk.

He cleared his voice and introduced himself…

“I am Sergeant Moussa Youssef from the 21st Regiment of Tirailleurs; I am from Senegal and I warmly salute you, Milady Abbess.”

She listened to his suave, baritone voice, just as if she were enjoying some exotic fruit from Africa. Her breathing and her heartbeats were still accelerated. She enjoyed his gaze on her and she knew that if this young man decided to go for her, she’d try to escape him, but she would let him catch her, and then… Oh, but she was a young woman of God!

This was her strongest temptation ever.

“You…” she began saying, trying to calm down.

“We would like to use your stables as sleeping quarters; we won’t make any trouble and we’ll be gone tomorrow, Milady Abbess…”

She liked the preposterous way he called her “Milady Abbess” with authentic deference, yet his onyx-dark eyes sparkled with savage lights that told her that he would immensely enjoy stripping her and running his hands all over her nakedness, which only God had ever seen.

“The stables…” She answered, while offering him a Jocund-subtle smile. “Nonsense! You and all your men will be welcome within my, uh, within our walls. This is Christmas Eve and this house of God is open to any man in need of lov… uh, in need of a shelter.”

Moussa heard her stutter and sensed her trouble. He smiled at her, quietly and warmly, just like he would smile at his wife, and he nodded.

“There are twenty-one of us, Milady Abbess, and there may not be enough…”

“Oh, we’ll get you some rooms; my sisters can certainly sleep in closer quarters for one night. No, no, I will not accept any refusal. I formally invite you, Sergeant!”

As she finished her sentence, she spoke nobly, putting all the warmth she could muster in her soprano voice, and she lingered on the double “L” as she said “officiellement” (formally). Her voice only lingered like this when she was sexually aroused; she knew this. Her face blushed.

Moussa perceived this and itched a bit; he felt like taking her in his arms and kissing her. She was so beautiful! She truly looked like a noblewoman from a past century.

The Abbess sensed his lust and began panting again; her womanhood was flooded, her face flushed and she suddenly realized that she had shifted her position as she spoke; she was now facing him in a three-quarter profile, which highlighted the shapes of her breasts, an effect that wasn’t lessened by the rope she wore as a belt, which was a symbol of humility that ironically accentuated her violoncello-shaped hips.

“Dinner will be served, Sergeant. My sisters and I will be delighted to have you as our honoured guests. If you like roasted chestnuts, then you’re in luck as we have plenty, and since it’s Christmas Eve, we’ll have large Black Forest cakes and Belgian chocolate for dessert, as well as French coffee and peach schnapps. We have a great many things to offer that you will like very much; I am certain that you will greatly enjoy your stay with, uh, among us, Sergeant…”

As she spoke, she had to check her natural urge to move closer to him; he stood so tall and dominating above her five-foot-three frame! She felt curious to touch and feel his manly arms. She also felt curious to touch and caress his Lebel rifle. She mentally pictured herself sucking its muzzle in front of him and she urgently buried that impure thought.

Moussa awkwardly, yet very politely took his leave. He knew he was going to masturbate at the first opportunity, unless he… but no, he was a gentleman.

The Abbess went straight to the kitchen to order twenty-one extra helpings of soup, more bread, cheese, etc. The head cook swore and said the dinner would be two hours late, but when she learned that her new customers were young, uniformed men, the fifty-year-old Sister smiled with the few teeth she had left. She dutifully went about her work while wondering whether these men would notice the generous size of her assets.

As soon as she was done giving her orders, the Abbess rushed back upstairs. Once she was safe in her study, behind locked doors, she intensely masturbated while bending herself over her desk and picturing this Sergeant Moussa holding her waist tightly and fucking her from behind like a grunting stallion!

She took the lower part of her ample sleeve and bit into the thick fabric to muffle the sounds of her intense bliss as she kept fingering her juicy cunt while her face rested on her lacquered desk. Oh, yes! The dick of a man… She was already twenty-seven years old and she had no idea what it felt like; and this man was Senegalese… She had heard that their… their thing was absolutely huge!

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The nunnery’s most unusual guests had a full section of the refectory to themselves. As the men ate their soup, the nuns watched them closely.

The nuns, young and old, kept whispering and giggling among themselves while eating. They were all excited like little girls and had a difficult time keeping their composure.

The Abbess drank her wine nobly, as usual. She showed remarkable self-mastery while she kept watching Moussa, who looked like an African king among his men. She could tell these men were literally worshipping him. Winning Moussa would be winning them all.

As she finished her soup, the Abbess started wondering what it would feel like, to be alone and Eve-naked in the middle of these men and letting them touch and kiss her everywhere. She let the thoughts and the sensations run their course within her as she drank more wine.

She asked a novice, Sister Wilhelmina, or simply Mina, to read the story for the day.

Mina had been there for less than a year. She was only eighteen. Many Senegalese soldiers had fire in their eyes as they watched her kneel in a perfect show of innocence and humility.

The golden-haired teen angel wore her belt a little too tightly for modesty—she had purposefully tightened it upon hearing the big news about Senegalese soldiers being guests in the abbey.

As she knelt, Mina knew the nubile curves of her petite hips and legs were showing in their full glory, even under her black gown, not to mention her fascinating breast curves; she had rather small boobs, yet they rode high on her chest and stood out as mounds of tantalizing splendour for all men and lesbians to behold.

Indeed, the four lesbian Sisters, and the others who were more or less bisexual, including the Abbess herself, took immense delight in contemplating Sister Mina as she began to read, holding the book in her tiny hands.

Corporal Ousmane was glad there was a table, for he experienced a titanic erection as he imagined her hands holding his love rod with her dainty mouth giving a hot fellatio.

Mina read the tale of St. Nicolas and the Evil Butcher. The men didn’t understand German well enough to follow the story. They did follow the shapes of Mina’s breasts as she breathed and kept nervously throwing sideway glances at her dark-faced guests.

Moussa observed the nuns, each of whom would shyly look down upon sensing his gaze on her. There were about thirty or thirty-five nuns and half of them were still quite young. There were even a few other novices like Mina.

He knew he had to behave. This was a golden opportunity to show the local population that they had nothing to fear from them, but what if these nuns started something? Moussa could feel the intensity in the way both groups were observing each other.

The snowstorm raging outside brought a strong sense of isolation that only intensified this loaded atmosphere.

Hopefully, the nuns were going to retire in their chapel to pray for Christmas and nothing preposterous would happen and they would be off next morning. Yet, Moussa knew he would feel terribly disappointed if nothing happened.

He kept looking at the Abbess and often, their eyes met and she would quickly look down, only to look his way again as she drank her wine.

When dessert was served, Moussa started noticing strange things in the way the nuns were eating their Black Forest cake. Mina, who was back in her seat, would pick up a cherry in her hand and lick it while looking at a man, then she would cast her head back and up as she swallowed her maraschino cherry.

The other novice nuns followed suit; they all looked at the men while eating their maraschino cherries in a uniquely sensual way, both innocent and erotic.

The older nuns severely reprimanded them, yet Moussa noticed that the Abbess was keeping her wineglass in front of her mouth to hide how funny and predictable she was finding these teenage-girl antics.

As she took the final sip of her last glass of wine, the Abbess cast her head a bit higher and offered her neck as she intensely looked at Moussa. She knew she was not going to resist the temptation. Why pretend?

Moussa loved what he saw in the Abbess. He knew that she would most likely give herself to him if he went to her, but he felt the pang of guilt. What about his wife in Senegal? The more he contemplated the Abbess in her medieval-looking gown and wimple, the more he felt he was not going to resist the urge of seeking her.

Then, rooms were assigned to the men, who would sleep four of five in each bedroom, which only had three beds, so most men would have to share the bed like Moby Dick’s hero at the onset of the famous novel.

The fifteen young nuns who found themselves without a room would all share a bed with and cuddle one of their older peers. Human heat is a great way to stay warm during a wintery night.

After the men were left to wind down in their guest rooms, the Abbess gathered all the sisters in the chapel for the special prayers of Christmas Eve. Then, she made a stern speech in which she reminded her pupils of their sacred vows to God. They all had given their love, body and soul, to the Lord, and as such, they were far and above the impure lusts and desires of the flesh.

As she spoke, Mina thought about the best plan to get passed the wardens and reach a room full of these men. Maybe Ingrid would have a good idea; she was so bright! The other teen girls were terrified of becoming damned souls if they gave way to their bodily lusts, like most of their older peers.

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As she retired for the night, the Abbess found herself in the peace and silence of her study. She loosened her belt and walked in her bedroom, where she freed her feet from her shoes and removed the wool leggings all nuns wore under their gown during the cold months.

Then, she washed herself using fir-scented soap. As she stood in front of her modest mirror, Karla knew she had made the right decision. She knelt, crossed herself and started to pray.

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“Shhh! Not so loud, Mina! And what are you doing here?” Sister Helsa whispered to the eighteen-year-old novice, who had taken to the hallways along with Ingrid, a same-age novice.

“I could ask you the same question, Sister Helsa,” the daring teenager replied to her grown-up peer, a full-fledged sister in her mid-twenties.

“Quiet! You know Sister Martha has very good ears…” Sister Héloïse added.

Following Helsa’s lead, the four other nuns walked gracefully as their dainty feet only emitted a pitter-patter of pure female shuffle under their black gowns; they didn’t wear shoes and walked in wool leggings as silently as possible through the old, alcove-lined hallways.

“Do you know where you’re going, Helsa?” Yula inquired in a whispering voice; her lovely accent would alter the beliefs of anyone who thought German was a coarse language only fit for horses, for she spoke with as much grace as a dryad, and she looked the part too.

“Yes… Quiet now…”

Helsa took a narrow side alley, which was pitch-dark. She partly removed the cover of the small, black-iron lantern she was carrying. She then stopped near the end of the cul-de-sac, placed her feebly lit lantern at her feet and knelt down at the foot of the side wall, where she carefully removed a loose brick.

“It’s here,” whispered Helsa. “Now, we only have to wait; I’ll let you know when I’ll see her pass through the secret passage.”

“Are you sure she will go?” asked Héloïse with her subtle French accent.

“Yes, my sweet,” Helsa softly replied as she tenderly kissed Héloïse on her lily-white cheek. “As sure as you mispronounce your ‘R’s,” she jested and kissed her again.

“How can you be so sure?” Mina inquired with the naturally curious voice of a novice girl.

“Just from the way she was drinking her wine while looking at their Sergeant all the time. It was plain as day, but quiet now; she won’t be long now.

Helsa covered her light and all five nuns remained silent in the dark, cold side alley; none of them would have ventured there alone, for this was a very old building with a long, rich history. Eerie sounds were heard in these passageways at night and it was natural to think that some ghosts and spirits were present.

Indeed, the howling wind from outside made strange repercussions beyond the visible darkness. The fellow sisters pressed themselves against one another as they listened to these eerie sounds. There were no signs of sisters Martha and Teresa, the two elderly nuns who had been delegated as wardens by the Abbess.

A few minutes later, Helsa saw a feeble light through the brick hole. She heard mysterious steps that approached in a steady pitter-patter; the lamplight increased in intensity as the steps drew near.

Then, she saw her. It was the Abbess all right. She was barefoot and quietly walking toward the rooms where the Senegalese men were to spend the night.

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When they saw a wooden panel opening in their room, Sergeant Moussa and his Corporals were transfixed. Their jaws dropped in sheer amazement as they saw some blonde goddess wearing the black and white robes of a nun, but no wimple; her hair flowed down in glorious rivers of golden light under the room’s tawny oil lamp.

It was the Abbess.

She whispered to Moussa and told him to follow her.

Corporal Babacar usually preferred his own Senegalese women, but when he noticed the Abbess was barefoot, he threw himself down at her feet and began to caress and worship them with his mouth and tongue.

“Not here! Please, all of you, follow me. This passage leads to my private suite.”

She disappeared into the dark opening.

Moussa and the two Corporals looked at each other. Not a word was spoken. They followed the Abbess.

As she led the way with her lantern, Moussa and Babacar were at full leisure to admire the tightness of her belt around her slim waist that displayed so perfectly the virginal, yet child-bearing curves of her hips and buttocks through her nun’s gown, the blackness of which symbolized her consecration to God.

The three men walked with some discomfort as they followed the aristocratic-looking Abbess; each had a monster erection between their legs.

As she walked, the Abbess felt her legs turn to water and she breathed deeper as she was nearing her destination.

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“I knew it!” Helsa whispered in a raging hiss after observing the Abbess through the brick hole. “What a dirty hypocrite! She is taking three men, three, for herself! And the Sergeant’s among them. The dirty harlot!”

“Well,” replied Yula, “that leaves the eighteen others for us! I’ve counted them; there are twenty-one of these big boys within our walls.”

“Oohh, I do want them within my walls!” Héloïse added. “I want so much to know what it’s like to be filled up with their seed!”

“Three times seven… The Trinity and the number of mankind; it’s the divine that unites with the flesh. Oh, this is a wonderful sign of God!” Yula concluded.

“And this is the safest time of our month. The Lord wants us to enjoy Christmas. He’s rewarding our years of sacrifice!” Héloïse replied.

“Quiet!” Helsa snapped. “Martha must not be far…”

Martha was nowhere to be seen. None of the sexagenarian nuns were to be seen or heard as the naughty nuns took the main passageway again. Now that the Abbess was leading by example, they became bolder.

“Where’s Mina?” wondered Héloïse.

“She vanished, Ingrid too… Too bad for them; they’re going to miss the fun,” Helsa said.

“Choose the right door, Helsa,” Yula replied. “I want a room with five of them! I want two of them inside me, oooh… Oh, Lord Jesus, Mary, and the Holy Ghost, forgive your humble servant!”

Helsa’s hand was guided by good fortune. When she turned the unlocked brass knob and the door opened, the three young women of God found five pairs of Senegalese eyes and five thick-lipped mouths that opened in flabbergasted amazement. Yula’s heart leaped in her chest.

Héloïse entered the room and locked gazes with a young soldier, who smiled at her. Héloïse flung herself in his arms and the improbable lovers began kissing and making out.

Then, Helsa saw a kneeling figure doing something that she couldn’t nor wanted to believe.

It was Sister Teresa, giving fellatio. The petite Italian woman had discarded her wimple and let her silvery hair cascade down in surreal freedom. It covered her entire back, almost reaching her butt, which looked oddly beautiful and erotic. Little Teresa, who had been a teenage novice in her own years, was showing that she could really polish a helmet with her relentless tongue work.

Under the lamplight, the dark hand of a Senegalese soldier was gently stroking her silver threads that were once sleek and black, while Sister Teresa kept her mouth sealed around his dick, which she was also holding with her hand while keeping her other hand against his upper thigh to keep her balance. Her head kept bobbing back and forth, in complete harmony with the man’s grunts of delighted astonishment. Helsa saw wonder and surprise in the lad’s features.

Helsa and Yula couldn’t take their eyes off that African dick, so gloriously hard and dark while Teresa kept holding and pleasuring it.

The other men did not remain idle. They instantly spotted Helsa’s and Yula’s youthful charms; both women were still in their prime child-bearing years, and their curves were easily seen through their tight-roped gowns.

Yula yelped with delight as two thoroughbred studs rushed at and grabbed her; just like she had anticipated.

“Ohh, ja! Ja! Oh, zieht mich aus! Bitte, bitte! Zieht mich aus!” (Ohh, yes! Yes! Oh, undress me! Please, please! Undress me!) Yula begged these two uniformed Senegalese.

They didn’t understand much German, but they easily got her drift from the burning kisses she was covering them with.

They pinned Yula between them in a corner of the room. They promptly liberated her brown hair by removing her wimple. They had misunderstood her use of the German verb “ziehen” and thought she wanted them to rip her garments off, so they grabbed the top of her gown and pulled as hard as they could.

The fabric was tough and their pulling force made Yula yelp with pain and even more arousal as they hit her most secret fantasy. They kept straining and suddenly filled the room with a sharp ripping sound as her God-consecrated gown gave way under the mighty hands of these sons of Allah, who grunted with savage delight as Yula’s pale breasts came into full display along with the brownness of her nipples. Yula was melting in their arms!

Her breasts looked all strange to them—so pale with contrasting nipples and areolas. They cupped, kneaded and took a taste of them, discovering the intimate side of Europe while listening to her German whimpers as she begged them to completely disrobe her.

The forty-something man told Helsa how pretty she was as he stroked her chestnut hair and enjoyed its long, free-flowing threads while discarding her wimple, although she understood very little French. He laid her down on a bed while keeping the kisses flowing.

This was Helsa’s first kisses with a man. She felt a myriad of unknown sensations as the dark-faced man tenderly cupped her breasts through her gown; she felt them yield and start to swell under his forbidden touch. His musk overwhelmed her European nostrils as she caressed his greying temples and let him untie her rope belt.

Héloïse, thirty-two years old, felt somewhat nervous with this lad who was clearly less than twenty years old. The teenage boy from Dakar thanked Allah as he undid her rope belt before lifting her gown all the way up and past her long raven hair as she rose her arms up to help him undress her.

She wore nothing under her gown barring her wool leggings. Héloïse was panting in wild excitement as she felt his teenage gaze on her bare breasts.

Her heart bounced within her chest as the Senegalese boy cupped her right one and gently squeezed it; her snow-white firmness yielded under his chocolate-brown hand. She reverted to her native French and let out a wild “Oh, oui…” (Oh, yes…) as she felt the whiteness of her virtue melt under his tropical touch. He was nervous too, as this was his first time with any woman.

The young man being sucked by Sister Teresa was on the verge of cumming when he stopped her. With delighted joy, the sexagenarian nun quickly removed her robes and stood naked in front of him, displaying a surprising beauty for her years.

Teresa moaned with marvelled ecstasy as the Senegalese man lifted her up in his arms and laid her down on a bed, where he urgently penetrated her in the missionary style, licking and kissing her perky breasts as he forcefully fucked her; he found a rhythm and kept shaking her on the creaking bed while her girly fingers explored his exotic hair.

Soon, the young stud filled the room with a victorious groan as he delightfully shot his jism inside Teresa. It was so good to be fucking a white woman; at last!

Helsa surprised her older lover when he took off her gown, as she had vanilla nipples that were almost as pale as her almond-white complexion. She was also busty, offering sweeping curves that more than filled her man’s hand. The Senegalese man had much joy playing with these fleshy melons.

He then started kissing her silky-smooth abdomen and went further south. As she felt his plump lips brush the small forest of her cunt, Helsa exhaled hard and bellowed “Oh, mein Gott!” as she caressed the man’s curly hair and felt his tongue reach down for her virgin clitoris. The young nun moaned hard as the Muslim man took her to Heaven.

Héloïse’s milky-white boobs and perky nipples delighted her young stud and fed his erection.

“The white woman! The white woman!” he kept repeating as he laid her down on the third bed and promptly peeled off her wool leggings, caressing her alluring, petite legs all the way to her small feet as he went. He uncovered the most fascinating cunt bush he had ever seen—a perfect triangle of jet-black hair on snow-white skin.

Seeing the older soldier giving cunnilingus to the chestnut-haired nun, the eighteen-year-old Private did likewise for her raven-haired belle. Héloïse went nuts and lost all notions of chastity as his tongue explored the light-pink folds below her black bush. She frantically stroked his woolly hair as she climaxed hard…

In her French from Lille, she begged him to keep going while closing her eyes and selling off her soul to her own body, which had just turned into a sexual inferno.

“Oh, oui! Oui! Prends-moi, mon bel étalon noir!” (Oh, yes! Yes! Take me, my handsome black stallion!) she let out when he flipped her around and inserted a finger inside her slit while covering the pure-white smoothness of her butt with African kisses.

Héloïse asked the Lord’s forgiveness as the young stud positioned her on all fours and stuck out his eager manhood. Then, she screamed her ungodly bliss as he powerfully rammed her and found a vigorous rhythm. He gleefully held her slim waist and copulated with this older girl on the creaking bed, mounting her doggy style with punishing thrusts as he contemplated the surreal whiteness of her buttocks, which kept buffeting against his dark-brown lap.

As he pounded the whimpering nun, the young man watched Ahmed, his old mate, who was presently fucking Helsa while kissing her neck and her large breasts while she wrapped her limbs around his naked body and howled with delight as he gave her the unbridled vigour of his thrusts inside her sanctum.

In a corner of the room, Helsa was getting bucked by the first soldier while the other one kept kissing her and caressing her legs. They had stripped her naked as she had begged them to, and now she was receiving the powerful thrusts of a Senegalese man between her legs as she pretty much melted in his arms.

Her bright white thighs brushed the horizon-blue flanks of his uniform as she whimpered and enjoyed her deflowering, pinned on the wall and relentlessly fucked and Africanised while she kept her legs tightly wrapped around him.

She screamed her primitive bliss as he furiously spewed his hot seed inside her taken virginity and growled while burying his face in her shimmering brown hair, vanquished as he was by her sweet scent.

Helsa basked in her post-climax bliss, but, oh! They were not done with her!

The other soldier took his turn inside her. He buffeted her against the corner of the room while the naked nun wrapped her legs around him and soon whimpered with renewed fires. This man, shorter than the first one, fucked her in fast, nervous strokes that had her climaxing again.

As she groaned her delight while receiving the unabated barrage of dick thrusts, Yula looked at Héloïse, who presently received her lover’s final thrusts followed with a steaming load of youthfull spunk as he exploded inside her. At about the same time, Helsa felt her own man’s hot stickiness that flooded her and heard his long growl as he emptied his sperm stores.

Teresa, who had sucked her boy’s dick back to full-fledged hardness, was rewarded with a second round of tropical sex. She received him deep inside her and wrapped her legs around him as she felt his loving kisses on her neck while enjoying this break from her long chaste life.

The show of Teresa’s youthful-looking feet as she crossed her delicate ankles above her lover’s flexing butt greatly aroused Héloïse’s lover, who politely asked the French-born nun if she wanted another ride with him. She kissed him and told him he could do all he wanted with her until next morning.

Héloïse laughed; his tongue felt a bit tickly as he took a voyage all the way down her side, her hips, then her legs and feet, which he kissed and licked with religious fervour. Héloïse closed her eyes and abandoned herself; this interest for her feet greatly surprised her; she had no idea her feet could spur such excitement in a man, but judging the way he acted, they did.

While Yula knelt in front of her two admirers and took one dick inside her mouth while caressing the other one with her dainty hand, Héloïse got fucked again. This time her stud took her with her legs propped up and pinned under his shoulders as he powerfully shook her petite frame with her feet pointing all the way up; her loud moans and whimpers mingled with the bed’s loud creaking as Héloïse surrendered and let herself get blissfully shaken under his steady pounding.

He kept this up and watched her perky tits jiggle in the tumult as he passed his edge; he then contemplated her ankles and feet and uttered a loud Wolof scream and Héloïse got flooded by a tsunami of hot cream.

As she felt this steaming heat inside her, the panting, sweating nun shouted her praise…

“Ah, oui! Le bon sperme africain, tout frais ! Oohhh, je suis prise et capturée !” (Oh, yeah! Good African sperm, all fresh! I’m captured and taken!)

Héloïse disentangled herself from under the young soldier, who still wore his uniform. The naked nun moved with amazing grace and speed. Her agile hands quickly undressed him and she avidly kissed his dark brown muscles and drank his sweat as she went. She told him all sorts of sweet-nothings in French as she did so.

She begged him to fuck her again and took his dick inside her mouth. She looked right into him with her lust-loaded eyes as she began to frantically suck his beginner’s cock, which soon swelled into glorious proportions. She then massaged his hardness, using both hands as she gleefully tasted the strong musk and licked, licked and licked this young dick she couldn’t get enough of.

By that time, other sisters had ventured in this part of the gothic abbey. They heard the moans and grunts through the door where Héloïse, Helsa and the others were having their biological clock fixed.

Before long, some fifteen nuns were in the guest rooms having their cunts filled up with Senegalese passion, hardness and spunk. They were of all ages, from late-teen years to eighty-two.

Mother Isabel, who used that title for being the eldest nun in the convent, found herself riding the dick of a twenty-six-year-old Private First Class, who went very gently with her, but when she had warmed up, she commanded him to go rougher, telling him that back in her day, people were a lot tougher.

As she felt her soft breasts smoothly jiggle up and down and enjoyed getting drilled by that young, throbbing shaft, Mother Isabel had time to go through a diffuse orgasm, which she basked in as she felt a man twitch and ejaculate inside her for the very first time since an old bishop took her eighteen-year-old virginity back in 1855.

The fifty-year-old cook learned that some of these men didn’t require a woman to be exquisitely beautiful. She freely offered her plump breasts to all comers and eventually found a dick to take deep inside her. The man fucked her while pressing her giant udders.

Two paces away, a forty-five-year old soldier was fucking a novice nun and urgently sliding his dick inside her unbelievably tight virginity. He gloriously concluded by shouting “Allah!” and she received his splashing heat in a state of astonished pleasure. The old Private found that fucking a white girl felt unfathomably liberating.

The hallways resonated with female moans, whimpers and groans mixed with male grunts, exclamations and groans, German words of dirty fantasies with French and Wolof words of satisfied male lust. This wintery orgy would eventually abate; the nuns would sleep tucked against these lonely men, many of whom would wake up in the arms of a naked woman and wonder where they were.

Christmas rejoicing is often done with wild excesses.

***************************************

When she was back in her study and closed the secret library panel after letting in the tall Sergeant and the equally tall corporals, the Abbess flung herself in their arms and, in her wonderful French voice, tainted with her sweet Freiburg accent, she begged them to rip her robes off and take her on her desk.

She requested that they be just as rough as if they were sacking the nunnery and having their way with her. She asked them to keep their uniform. She even handed her sharp letter cutter to Moussa and asked him to use it like a knife to make a dent in her white collar.

At her request, Babacar and Ousmane grabbed and restrained her arms while Moussa kissed the aristocratic-looking Abbess, who “fought” to escape while immensely enjoying the game; her God-consecrated pussy was flooded with arousal as she felt overpowered by the three Senegalese Tirailleurs.

She screamed and acted in German while Moussa used her letter cutter like a knife and made a clean dent in her white collar, just like she wanted.

She yelped with unadulterated delight as Moussa’s dark hands grabbed her dented gown and brutally tore it in a swiftly expanding “V” as the sharp fabric-tearing sound filled her study and echoed against the dignified gospel books lining her dark-oak shelves.

Moussa uttered a clear grunt of satisfied lust as all three men ragingly pulled the remnants of her torn gown down her luminous shoulders and arms, discovering the glorious, forbidden whiteness of her goddess-like breasts.

Moussa commented the alluring beauty of her girly mounds, his words urging more juices down her crazy-aroused womanhood as he grinned and played her game.

She shouted another quite convincing scream of “protest” as Corporal Ousmane swept her desk with a wild swing of his hand, making a clean slate by sending all the papers flying down on her rug, which displayed arabesque patterns of various reddish-brown tones.

As she kept “fighting”, Moussa and Babacar lifted the topless Abbess like a feather and pinned her on her desk while she kept “protesting” and wriggling in their arms without really trying to escape… Her moving breasts with light-brown nipples were a beauty to behold as she did so.

Each time the Abbess protested, a massive jolt of savage arousal coursed through her body like a burning tsunami of taboo arousal. She kept playing her part with ungodly delight while burying her sense of guilt and moral failure deep inside her bosom.

Oh, it was so sweet to feel powerless and utterly taken in their arms! She was going to melt! They were so strong and powerful!

When Babacar and Ousmane pressed and kneaded her youthfull breasts while restraining her arms with ease, she yelped with burning pleasure and moaned like a woman possessed.

Then, she screamed and exploded with wild anticipation as Moussa urgently pushed her gown all the way up her thighs, uncovering the blinding whiteness of her skin against the black fabric, and as she felt his gaze on her secret forest of golden hair, which she always kept trimmed and clean in a perfect triangle as a noblewoman ought to.

Karla’s hollers of bliss echoed throughout her study as Moussa began licking the golden bush of her cunt, caressing her slit with his tongue and kissing her sensitive skin, his eyes utterly fascinated by her spotless skin, immaculate with a subtle tinge of cream yellow in her pale complexion.

Her skin captured all the tawny lights of the room as her perky breasts swelled under Babacar’s and Ousmane’s loving attention. They kneaded her aristocratic boobs. Babacar liked pressing that flesh to form a cone of inebriating smoothness and he gleefully engulfed the entirety of her light-brown nipple and areola, while Ousmane preferred to sniff her scent while titillating the perfect bead of her nipple and getting lost in the tiny goose bumps on her areola.

The softness of her skin was so unreal that Ousmane wondered if she was a human being. She felt more like a fairy.

“You see, Ingrid, I told you! It’s just a game she’s playing with them! There’s nothing to worry about,” Mina whispered to her peer as both teenage nuns were spying on the foursome. Mina had picked the lock and gained access to the Abbess’s study; she had rushed there as soon as she knew this study would become the hottest spot.

Both girls were living torches of arousal as they followed every little move the Senegalese men made on the half-naked Abbess.

Ingrid and Mina began to masturbate as they watched the Abbess hit a hard climax and shout a loud, high-pitched “aaahh, yaaa!” across the room.

Moussa felt her squirting juices on his titillating tongue. He kept at it and had her hips savagely tensing in his arms as he gave her a follow-up climax and felt her hands frantically run through his hair. His nostrils were full of her sweet fish scent; he also perceived a strange tinge of vanilla, which came from the vanilla liquor she had rubbed her cunt with during her preparations for this high adventure.

Sensing she was more than ready, Moussa kept his Sergeant’s uniform like she had instructed him to and urgently stuck his raging erection out of his trousers. Mina pressed her hand on her mouth to repress her yelp of marvelled surprise as she saw his amazing size.

Moussa had no difficulty in ramming his dick home inside the well-lubricated Abbess, who uttered another heart-felt “ya” followed with a long-lasting moan as he began to pound her and slide her light body on the surface of her desk. Her head beautifully bobbed backed and forth as she took the wild pounding while gleefully repeating “Ya… Ya… Ya…”

As he watched her gorgeous breasts jiggle under Ousmane and Babacar, the Senegalese Sergeant surrendered to the unfathomable pleasure of doing exactly what he had wanted to do since he had first met the Abbess in this very room. He became a beast and upped his tempo, much to the delight of the Abbess, he kept repeating her loud, high-pitched ya’s.

He fucked her with unrestrained abandon while the novice nuns kept spying on him; they were intensely masturbating while watching their Abbess get gang-fucked on her desk.

Her golden hair formed a moving fan on the dark wooden surface of the desk while her head kept bobbing along with her bouncing breasts as she loudly received Moussa’s barrage of ramming thrusts.

Panting from the heavy exertion, his mouth wide open with the unbearable sense of elation, Moussa blissfully passed his no-return point and was suddenly caught by an ungodly blast of delight.

He screamed “Allah is great! Allah is great! Hhnnngg hhhrrr!” and groaned as his legs turned to water and his dick exploded. He nearly died out of sheer pleasure as he felt three powerful blasts of hot semen shoot out of him to go take a swim inside the Abbess, who was panting and sweating just as hard as her African conqueror.

Mina almost screamed with joy as she realized that this was far from being over.

Babacar unbuttoned the opening of his trousers and presented his savagely dark erection to the noble Abbess, before introducing its whole length inside her cunt.

She got pounded just as hard as with Moussa, and Babacar’s grip on her waist had the same tightness.

Oh, yes! It felt so good to get taken like this on her desk! She had been fantasizing about this since the war began in 1914. Now, soldiers had savagely disrobed her before urgently whoring her on her dignified desk, making this temple of God resonate with her harlot-like whimpers.

She climaxed again in their arms; and again!

Babacar emitted a beastly groan that sounded like a rutting camel when he filled her up and shot his steaming load with unfathomable bliss. He felt immense elation as he emptied his sperm stores inside the noble blonde.

Ousmane did not take his turn inside the Abbess. Moussa was the first to spot Mina as she walked to the junior Corporal and boldly took his hand with an inviting smile; the Abbess was in such a state of shocked bliss that she barely noticed.

While Mina led Ousmane by the hand and walked into the adjoining bedroom, followed by a timid Ingrid, Moussa moved the Abbess’s head close to the desk’s edge and turned her pretty face toward his flaccid dick.

He rubbed his dick on her pretty face; this felt amazing!

She began licking his cock and cleaned it from the fresh cum and juices that covered it. Slowly but surely, Moussa’s manhood sprung back to life as he was given fellatio by the noble-looking woman, gently stroking her long threads of golden hair as she looked up into him with her green eyes and kept using her fast-learning tongue. She took it in her hand as soon as he was hard enough.

Moussa thought of the noble, off-limits Abbess he had first spoken to a half day before. That same Abbess presently had his dick inside her dainty mouth, which worked its magic and made him granite-hard again.

He finished getting wildly horny by completely stripping her. After removing and discarding her black robes, he placed her in foetal position on her desk, and took her from behind, sideways, from where he stood.

This angle was truly delightful and he had a breathtaking view on her curvy hips and buttocks, her alluring legs and her dainty feet, so glorious in their bright whiteness against the dark wooden surface. He fucked her gently, keeping the brunt of his strokes near her entrance, which sent shockwaves of pleasure throughout her virginal nakedness.

The Senegalese Sergeant caressed her lower legs and her feet as he quickly approached his climax. He decided to slow down and delay his final explosion. His smooth strokes, which he kept concentrated near her entrance, drove her crazy; she pictured a scene where a full company of Senegalese Tirailleurs were sacking her abbey and making her and all the other nuns melt in their arms as they took their pleasure.

“Aaahh, Gott und Himmel!” (Oh, my God!) the Abbess hollered before emitting a series of high-pitched groans as she hit a powerful orgasm.

Moussa kept contemplating the ungodly graceful joy of her feet and lower legs as he caressed their silky softness, then he gleefully returned his gaze to the forbidden curves of her pristine butt, all the whiter with his contrasting hand resting on her hip while he ragingly rammed the girl with repeated abandon, and she kept taking the punishment in her foetal position.

She moaned with a howling sound as he shot his seed and filled her once more with his Senegalese fire.

Babacar also took a second turn inside the Abbess.

He took her feet off the desk and ordered her to stand and bend over. Then, the pious Abbess spent the next few minutes with her lovely face sliding on the lacquered surface of her desk as she felt Babacar’s unfaltering grip around her slender waist. The Senegalese Corporal enjoyed the gorgeous view on her heart-shaped behind as he kept slamming her booty against him only to slam her back against the creaking desk.

The Abbess moaned like a howling bitch under the repeated thrusts, all heavy and savage thrusts, as she surrendered to this African power. She climaxed again while picturing herself as a plaything for Senegalese troops during the imagined sack of her abbey.

She gleefully received Babacar’s load and listened to his savage roar of victory as he hollered something about his joy of taking their women.

After Babacar pulled out, Moussa drove his half-flaccid dick in an attempted third go inside the gorgeous Abbess. He wasn’t sure about this one, but he felt it was worth the try. Much to his surprise and joy, he felt his dick blissfully harden and expand inside her as he enjoyed the sight of her white splendour and the mind-boggling beauty of her curvy butt, which he also caressed; he loved watching his dark brown hands on her white flesh.

Holding her waist, Moussa gave all he had. “Now! Now,” he told the Abbess, “now we have captured you, Milady Abbess! You will be used by each and every man! We’re all going to use you by descending order of rank! Now, Milady, now… rrrhh… rrh, rrh…”

Moussa held nothing back. He accelerated to a frantic, almost blurry pace and listened to her loud whimpers as he kept savagely fucking her, until he felt an unspeakable elation and realized with disbelief that he was going to… Ejaculate!

Moussa uttered a long-lasted growl and screamed like a banshee as he gave his very last drops to the whimpering Abbess.

Babacar was impressed with his Sergeant’s performance. He had been frantically masturbating with the clear intent to duplicate this feat of stamina. He had to; it was a matter of pride.

He knew that there was only one position that could allow him to succeed. He lifted the Abbess up like a feather and put her back on her desk, where he rubbed her feet against his dick. The taboo sight of her noble feet of perfect whiteness against his African dick was magic enough to cast the spell; after some rubbing, Babacar was hard enough to give joy to the Abbess.

With a dominating voice, he called her a strumpet and propped her legs up, then he savagely penetrated her while grabbing her ankles and began kissing and licking her feet. Oh, the feet of a white woman! What a lovely thing to do while taking her!

The scent of her feet and the contact of her toes on his rugged face spurred his dick to preternatural life. He then rested her ankles on his large shoulders and grabbed her waist to pound her with all he had.

Once again pounded deep and hard, the Abbess let the Senegalese Corporal use her all he wanted; she was utterly shaken and felt the savage jiggling of her breasts as her head kept bobbing. She greatly enjoyed being taken again, again and again by these amazing studs.

As Babacar kept bucking her with foaming slobber dripping from his panting mouth, she moaned out loud while flailing her arms and acting as if she were trying to escape the clutches of a group of soldiers restraining her.

Moussa stooped down and kissed her and started cupping and kneading her breasts while Babacar kept punishing her pussy. She put her arms around Moussa’s neck and kissed him back with fire in her mouth. The white woman moaned inside his kissing mouth.

The incredible feat of stamina from both men reinforced her sense of being utterly dominated by many Senegalese Tirailleurs.

When Babacar finally shot his liberating load, she shouted a loud “Ah, Nein!” and nearly climaxed yet again.

She got up from the deck with surprising energy and rewarded her loyal knights by kneeling down before them and taking hold of their dicks. She covered their cocks with kisses from her vermillion mouth and licked their flaccid dicks clean, but there was nothing she could do to make them hard again.

The Abbess got up in her dignified nakedness. She looked like a naked noblewoman with her long hair freely falling in rich threads of gold over her shoulders and down her back.

After kissing both men, she took their hand and led them to her bedroom, where Ousmane, Mina and Ingrid were already sleeping together in her own bed. All three were naked under the sheets and it was clear they had shared a session of intense sex.

The Abbess noticed a tell-tale spot of blood—virginal blood—on a discarded sheet. Both teenage girls, with happiness on their faces, were sleeping while cuddling Ousmane, who was basking in that heaven of girly warmth and scent.

As he lapsed into sleep, Ousmane smiled and relived the wild sex he had just experienced with these two lovely girls.

He thought of Mina and her lithe body, bouncing on his lap and offering the taboo display of her pointy breasts, with her rosy nipples dancing in forbidden freedom as he held her nymphet’s waist and felt the choking tightness of her virgin pussy. He would never forget the moment when her opening yielded and Mina yelped in pain and looked down at him with her astonished eyes as he broke her in. The moans of her innocent climax and his final eruption where he properly Africanised her would always remain a most vivid memory.

Ingrid was even shorter and tinier than Mina. She had arranged her long, auburn hair in a long braid. She had tried to tell him the reason why in German and Mina had translated her words with a very thick German accent—she had arranged her hair in such a braid to make herself beautiful for the Lord on Christmas Eve.

Ingrid had been timid at first, but she had warmed up by the time he had filled Mina up. Fucking two white girls was so thrilling that he had no trouble getting hard for her as well. He fucked her kneeling and lifting her small hips clean off the creaking bed. He broke her in and punched through all social barriers and conventions as he watched her small breasts jiggle and her high nipples following their erotic chaos. He almost died inside her when he passed the edge and took an intense look at her luxuriant triangle of dark hair, and then… The unbelievably powerful explosion when his massive bolts of hot seed blissfully shot out of him to fulfill nature’s call inside the whimpering teen girl, who ended up enjoying that taste of African manliness.

At present, all souls were asleep in St. Ingrid Abbey. Two-thirds of the nuns were sleeping against the heat of a son of Senegal, while the four lesbians were sharing two beds between themselves. The others spent the night in prayers and were unable not to masturbate.

Snow kept falling. All was white in Rhineland, as opposed to the black letters of stories published in the newspapers.

The End. Merry Christmas!