Katie In Love: full length erotic romance novel by Chloe Thurlow Page B

seven days a week during the school year in chapel. With my bottom resting on my heels and my elbows on the ledge of the pew in front of me, I stared at the life-sized carving of Saint Sebastian, the young Centurion martyred for his love of Christ by a flight of arrows. As I reached puberty and the first unexpected tingles began to prick my nipples, the statue began to appear to me less as an example of sacrifice than a symbol of masculine virility, a counterweight to the convent's toxic cocktail of oestrogen and exploding hormones. With his strong thighs half hidden by a toga, muscular chest, heavy lips, sharp cheekbones and dreamy eyes, Saint Sebastian looked more like a lead guitarist from a progressive band than a Christian martyr; more contemporary than historic. In my bed at lights out, alone for a moment with my own thoughts, the whittled saint with the woodworm holes drilled into his toes and sandals became an object of desire and also absurdity when I recalled the allegory of the sculptor, who makes religious images by day and kneels before them to pray at night. It's hardly surprising that I always preferred Camus to Sartre.
    Tom had slid forwards in the chair, bettering the angle for my assault. I sucked his cock in the same steady way that he had nursed my clitoris, my lips moving slowly, gently, back and forth. His fingers locked at the sides of my head. I paused to nibble the sleek helmet before swallowing it down once more, sucking and licking, pausing to give my jaws a rest, and drawing the soft outer skin between my palms. I sucked his balls, one, then the other and plunged his cock back down my throat. I gagged momentarily, taking the entire length beyond my tonsils, then out again, up and down, the music far away, the light changing as the sun slipped from the wintry sky.
    His grip grew tighter. I thought he was going to come and anticipated the stream of his semen pouring down my throat. But he stopped suddenly, grabbed the scruff of my neck and pulled me to my feet. He kept hold of me in this way, like a caveman grasping me by the hair. We crossed the room to my bedroom where he tossed me across the saffron sheets christened the night before.
    I laid back, head on the pillow. He straddled me backwards, dipped between my legs, slid his palms beneath the cheeks of my bottom and his tongue oozed back into the soggy pool of my vagina. His cock swayed above like a battering ram at the gates of the castle keep and I opened my mouth to allow him entry. The pleasure of having his tongue tending my clit and his cock in my throat was almost too much to bear and I felt a spasm like a hot needle pass through me. I was like a thirsty creature at a salt lick lapping away, my dribble keeping his cock oiled, my throat expanding and contracting as I gulped it down. His tongue parted the cowling about my clitoris like the prow of a ship furrowing the sea. The little bulb was throbbing, and I had that rare feeling of transcendence, that my whole body had become one erogenous zone, a feeling bathed in the miraculous and sublime.
    My heart beat faster. I licked and stippled, a painter with a fine brush. I sucked the bulbous head like you suck an ice cube. I bit down, his body grew tense and he withdrew, the motion jerky, unexpected, and I would have cried bitter tears but he slid round and eased up inside me, lips on my lips, his chest pinning me down. The spasms, paused like a video, started again. I arched my back, pushed down with my heels and gasped as his cock reached places never reached before, the membranes vibrating with unfamiliar sensations, my muscles firming and softening like a sea anemone swallowing a giant fish.
    He had been silent all the time I was sucking him off, but now he started to pant like a runner at the end of a race. I could feel the tension across his shoulders, in his loins. I could feel myself coming and held back. The feeling started in my chest, ran down through my tummy into my womb and I