Sister Agnes felt both apprehension and excitement as she prepared for the Friday Fuckfest. The word “fuck” still rolled off her tongue with difficulty, but she had lost her life-long virginity at her first Fuckfest – and it had been fun. What awaited her at her second? Another sexual experience, to be sure, that was the rule. But with whom?

As the sun declined in the sky, she contemplated what she would wear. God and his helpers had not provided a munificent wardrobe for her life in the virtual medieval environment of Heavenly Aden. She had two pairs of shorts – too short for her taste – two sleeveless blouses – too sheer and revealing -- and one dress. No bras, no underwear.

She tried on the dress. It was of thin cloth with a flowery pattern and a length that ended above her knees. It was sleeveless, cut-low over her breasts, and held on by strings that tied over her shoulders. She knotted the strings. She had no mirror to evaluate her appearance, but the dress was immodest. The slightest lean forward would expose her breasts. She retied the straps to to reduce the display of her cleavage, but then the dress was too short, barely covering her nether parts. She shrugged and decided to wear it.

“I’ll have to take care with my posture,” she told herself, but she would be more modestly dressed that some people, or rather spirits, who had attended last week's party in every stage of dress and undress. “I wonder what God has against underwear,” she asked herself.

Despite Agnes’s apprehension, she liked the scanty dress. It swished around her hips when she walked; her legs were slender and her breasts were ample and bounced with each step she took. Her nipples were pink – a sign perhaps that they had never been touched by another person during her eighty-two years of earthly existence. She pleaded guilty to the sin of vanity. She recalled being proud of her body as a young woman – and she was thirty-five years old again in this virtual reality.

The dress needed shape. She fastened a belt around her waist and was gratified that it highlighted the gentle curve of her hips. She then tied her long, light-brown hair into a pony tail. To bolster her courage, she read again the plaque on her wall: “The spirits who reside in this afterlife believe that possession and ownership are the source of human misery. Here, you must share what little you have, including your body.

The sun was low in the sky when she set off walking down the narrow, shady dirt road to the village a few hundred meters distant from her stone house. She shared the road with the enthusiastic spirits of other people, also walking to attend Fuckfest. When she reached the main plaza of the village, Melody, wife of Burt, mayor of Heavenly Aden, was the first to greet her.

“Agnes!” Melody gushed, rushing over to her. “I'm so glad to see you. I need help.” The previous Friday, Melody had been wearing a diaphanous Roman toga. This week her nipples were bare. Her breasts were covered by red and black streaks of paint radiating along the curves of her large breasts. She wore a loincloth of tan-colored cloth that bared her ample hips and was barely long enough to cover her pubic area and buttocks. Agnes lost her fear that her dress would be too immodest.

“What can I do?” asked Agnes, always willing to be helpful.

“The Three Amigos have chosen me for their Friday entertainment. I can't take on all three of them. How about joining us?” She gestured to her rear.

Agnes looked at the three men, boys really, about twenty years old and standing behind Melody. One was tall and black, one was middle-sized and white, and one was short and Asian. All were bare-breasted and wearing loincloths similar to Melody's

The tall black boy stepped forward, shook her hand and kissed her cheek. “Hi, I'm Tom.”

The middle-sized white boy stepped forward, shook her hand and kissed her cheek. “Hi, I'm Dick.”

The short Asian boy stepped forward, shook her hand and kissed her cheek. “Hi, I'm Harry.”

Melody took Agnes by the hand. “Let's go to the dance first. It's fun, especially around sunset.” She led Agnes to a flat sandy place about the size of a tennis court with a pyre of logs in the middle. At one side of the sand was a raised platform on which four musicians were playing music. A young man with a guitar was playing and singing a country song. He was backed up by a drummer, a violinist, and another guitarist. About one hundred people were crowded onto the sand dancing to the music.

“That singer looks like Elvis Presley,” Agnes said. “I remember him from when I was a teenager.”

“That singer is the spirit of Elvis Presley,” answered Melody. “He's on tour in Heaven. We're pleased to have him here tonight. He’s much in demand.”

“Let's dance,” Tom, the black boy, put his hand around Agnes's waist and led her into the crowd of dancers.

“I don't know how to do this,” said Agnes.

“Just wiggle and sway,” said Tom.

Agnes did her best and soon Tom passed her off to another man, and he passed her off to a woman, and she circulated around the sand, going from one partner to another in quick succession as the band ran through a series of rocking and romantic tunes.

A naked man ran into the sand holding a burning torch. “It's time to light the pyre,” he shouted and tossed the torch onto the mound of logs which flamed instantaneously.

“It's sunset,” the man with whom she was dancing – and who was holding her much too closely – explained. “The ceremony is about to begin.” He was gone before she had a chance to ask what the ceremony was.

As the fire burned brightly and reached toward the sky, Elvis and the musicians increased the intensity of their singing and playing and what had been a sedate minuet, turned into an orgiastic celebration. All 100 people frantically danced around the fire, circling from one partner to another, men with women, men with men, women with women. Agnes felt herself thrown from one person to the next, their hands running over her body, her hips, waist, and chest, the feel of erect penises, covered and uncovered, touching her, other breasts brushing hers, whirling hair rushing over her face, lips touching her neck and shoulders – and all that as the dusk thickened and night came closer.

A strap on her dress became untied and slipped off her shoulder and a breast was suddenly exposed. She reached down to pull the dress up – but a man's hand stayed hers. “Leave it,” he said, and he reached up and untied the strap on the other shoulder and the dress fell to her waist leaving both breasts exposed.

And, now, as the sky darkened, the band reached a new level of frenzy with Elvis and his band mates screaming the lyrics of “YMCA” accompanied by a pounding drum beat, the rhythm of the guitars and a whining violin. Agnes kept dancing, sweat dripping off her face, running down her torso, breasts bouncing, swinging wildly, her dress flying around her spinning body, throwing herself into the arms of one person after another, shouting out as did all the others the words to the song.

Suddenly the music ceased. Every one of the dancing 100 stopped dead in their tracks and sank to the sand, exhausted.

From the stage, Elvis said, “Thank you very much.” He and his band walked off the stage and only the sounds of heavy breathing, chirping crickets, and the murmur of water flowing by in the nearby river were heard. Agnes lay on her back, breathing hard, and men on either side of her touched her hips with theirs and their hands reached across her to caress her breasts.

A scream came, and Agnes turned her head to see its source. An enormous naked woman was at the edge of the sandy dance floor. She must have weighed 150 kilograms, with several chins, thunderous thighs, huge breasts that sagged to her waist, and rolls of fat hanging from her back, her buttocks, and each of her arms. She advanced toward the elevated stage, one slow, methodical, painful step at a time, each foot hitting the ground with emphasis.

“The Earth Mother,” the man laying next to Agnes whispered.

Agnes started to ask about her, but was hushed with a finger. The fat woman continued her stately walk toward the stage and, on reaching it, lay down on her back, her legs spread and hanging over the edge of the stage.

“That's the signal that sex can begin,” said the man next to Agnes. He patted her on the stomach and sat up and said, “Sorry I have to leave you. I want to fuck the Earth Mother. After the first half dozen men, it gets messy.”

With that, he stood up and walked to the stage, standing in line behind another man, who was already standing over the fat lady between her thighs and thrusting his penis into her. Still other men arrived and took their place in line. The dancers, including Agnes, rose to their feet and began to disperse. The fiery pyre in the middle of the dance floor was burning low and the dusk had turned to night. Stars and a full-moon hung over the village.

Melody came to Agnes's side, the Three Amigos in her train. She kissed her and stepped back to look at Agnes, her hair wildly deranged and matted to her head by sweat, her breasts bare and still heaving from excitement and breathlessness, and the limp dress hanging over the belt around her waists. “Oh, my God, you are so beautiful,” said Melody. “I would be jealous – if jealousy were not prohibited in Heaven. Let's go to the river and wash away the sand.” She took Agnes by the hand and led her away, beckoning for the Three Amigos to follow.

The river was only a few steps distant and several other people were bathing in the water. In the corner of her eye, Agnes saw a trio on the ground, a man on his back, a woman kneeling over him with his penis in her mouth, and a man standing behind the woman, his penis within her. “They didn't waste any time getting on with it,” Agnes thought.

Melody stripped off her loincloth and put it on a bush, then turned to Agnes and unfastened the belt around her waist. The dress dropped to Agnes's feet, she stepped out of it. Melody picked it up and threw it on a bush. “Leave it here,” she said. “You can get it back tomorrow morning.” The Three Amigos also took off their loincloths and they were all naked. Agnes, Melody, and the boys waded into the cool water of the river and, laughing, splashed water on themselves and each other. Agnes dipped her head into the water and untangled her hair. Melody washed the remnants of the painted stripes off her breasts. During her long earthly life Agnes had never felt so elated. “Freedom,” she thought, “Freedom to love, to fuck, to enjoy heaven and all its delights. Thank you, God!”

“We'll go to my house for the rest of the night,” said Melody. Agnes and the Three Amigos followed her to a small stone house along the dirt street of the village. Inside was a single room with an overlooking loft. A fireplace was at the center of one wall, crude kitchen cupboards and a dining table were at the other. Cushions and pillows were scattered around the floor. “Burt and Melody, the Mayor and his wife, live no better than I do,” thought Agnes. “Equality is the norm here. I like that.”

Agnes stood uncomfortably at the center of the room, surrounded by the three naked men and Melody, equally naked. Harry, the short Asian, took command. He wrapped his arms around Agnes and kissed her passionately on her lips and pulled her hand down to his erect penis. She explored the length of his penis with her hand.

Harry pulled his lips away from her. “Did that feel good?”

“Oh, yes,” she said, eager for more kissing, more exploration.

“Dick's turn,” Harry answered. “If that's okay with you.”

“Yes,” she said again as middle-sized Dick pulled her to him and, this time, her hand found his penis without assistance. It was another long kiss, and his tongue went into her mouth and she stroked his penis.

“My turn,” said Tom. She broke away from Dick and closed with Tom, who was so tall that she had to stand on her toes to reach his face. He lifted her off her feet, put his hands beneath her hips, and she curled her legs around him and felt his penis probing her vagina – and then it was inside her, but only barely, and she felt the uncircumcised skin moving back and forth, caressing her vaginal walls.

“Don't forget me,” said Melody. “I'm not just a potted plant standing here.”

Tom lowered Agnes to her feet and stepped away. Melody dropped to her knees and pulled Agnes to her and her tongue flicked her clitoris and penetrated her vagina and Agnes hunched in time with the motions of Melody's tongue and mouth. Harry stood behind her, kissing her neck and ears and tweaking her nipples with his hands. “Oh, my God,” thought Agnes. “I am doing things I never even dreamed of during my life.”

Tom lowered Agnes to a cushion on the floor and cradled her head in his lap, his hands over her breasts. Melody crouched over Agnes, put her head between Agnes's legs and continued to suck her clitoris. Harry stood behind Melody and, holding his penis in his hand, inserted it into Melody. “Where?” wondered Agnes. “Her pussy or her anus?” He stroked back and forth.

“Where do I fit in here?” asked Dick. He sat down on his knees at Agnes's side and his penis hovered over her face. “Have you ever had one of these in your mouth?” he asked.

“No,” she answered, “but I guess I had better try it.” She used a free hand to guide Dick's penis into her mouth. It tasted clean and dry and she explored its tip and up and down its length with her tongue and mouth but gagged when it entered her throat.

“Sorry,” said Dick. “I won't do that again.”

“It's okay,” said Agnes, catching her breath. “I need to learn how to do...uh...blow jobs.” The words came out of her mouth with difficulty.

“Practice makes perfect,” Dick answered. “You can look forward to Tom's dick. Now, that's a mouthful!”

“I can feel it pressing against my back,” Agnes said with a laugh. “It feels like a log back there.” She took Dick's penis into her mouth again;

“This girl is a comedian,” said Harry.

“I was sometimes accused of frivolity when I was in the nunnery,” said Agnes, taking Dick's penis out of her mouth. “I wasn't really a very good nun, but I tried to be.”

“I perceive a long and beautiful relationship for you with the Three Amigos and Melody – and everybody else in Heaven.”

“I can hardly wait to expand my horizons,” said Agnes, with a touch of sarcasm. “Back to the business at hand.” She took Dick's penis in her mouth again and began licking it with her tongue.

“Melody lifted her head from Agnes's crotch. “Are you liking what I'm doing to you or do you want one of the guys to fuck you?”

“I am feeling fine,” said Agnes. “Your mouth is going to make me come very soon. Is that okay?” Agnes spread her legs wider to take Melody deeper; her nipples were hard and throbbing from the touches of Tom's hands, and Harry has resumed his rhythmic stroking of Melody's backside. She moved in impassioned concert with the others, thrills racing through every muscle.

“I'm going to come in your mouth,” said Dick. He was hunching back and forth, driving his penis to every part of her mouth and throat. Her lips clamped down on it to increase the pressure and with a convulsion, she felt the hot sperm inside her mouth and down her throat and tasted the saltiness of it with her tongue. She had little time to enjoy it before she felt tell-tale quivers in her crotch and extending down into her twitching legs, and upward to her hard, pointed nipples

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck!” Agnes screamed, “Now I'm going to come.” Melody, hands under Agnes's hips was raising her off the floor, driving her tongue deep within the wetness of her vagina. Agnes's body shook with excitement, her vaginal walls radiated nerves, and she could have sworn that her breasts, stroked by Tom, were lactating and spraying milk in a long arc upward. Her toes and fingers tingled. She fought for breath, trying to swallow the sticky sperm in her mouth, but feeling it dribbling out of her mouth.

“It's my turn now!” said Melody. She raised her head from Agnes's vagina and slid it along her stomach as Harry's penis pounded her from behind. She grasped Agnes in her hands for support and Agnes felt Melody’s body shake as she climaxed and collapsed, her hot breath on Agnes's breasts.

When it was all over, Melody, Agnes, and the Three Amigos all lay side by side on the cushions and pillows in a contemplative, peaceful, and euphoric after-sex state of mind.

Tom spoke first. “I seem to be the only one here who hasn't had an orgasm yet. “How about it, Agnes? How about a conventional fuck? Missionary style? Or something more exotic?

Agnes looked down as his large, erect penis, and briefly worried that it wouldn't fit into her. “Give me a moment,” she said. “Missionary is fine. I'm too tired to do more than lay here.”

Melody rose to her feet. “I'm starving. Come boys, leave Tom and Agnes alone and help me fix some dinner.” Dick and Harry stood up and followed her into the primitive kitchen in her house. She lit candles for light and stoked the ashes of her wood-burning stove. Flames made flickering patterns against the stone walls.

“I'm ready now,” said Agnes. Tom rolled over on top of her and inserted his penis. She stiffened until she felt it inside her. She clutched him close and, before moving in concert with him, said to Melody, “Save some food for me. And thank you for inviting me to meet the Three Amigos.”

She felt wonderful. As she felt that long, black penis slide in and out of her, she knew that she would come again.