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underwear, which was plain and ample, but quite revealing enough to send the blood pumping to his cock, especially as she herself was young and beautiful. Her chest and belly were hidden beneath a full girdle, but it held her heavy breasts high and proud while accentuating the sculpted curves of her waist and hips, with the hem half covering her bottom to leave the seat of her full white panties (and quite a bit of plump young cheek) peeping out beneath. Taut suspender straps led down from her girdle, three at each side, to support thick, tan colored stockings, each topped by a soft bulge of pale thigh. Better still, the way she was working at the tub kept her bottom nicely presented, with her flesh moving to the gentle rhythm of her work.
    Time and again Tiffany had railed against the smug, holier-then-thou attitude of the nuns, especially their assumption of superiority through their vows of chastity. To see one of them stripped down to her underwear was a magnificent outrage, better still when she was so attractive, and it was the work of an instant for Peter to free his mischievous cock. He began to masturbate, an act as deliberately and delightfully insolent as it was impossible to resist, all the while praying that she’d add her girdle and panties to the load in the wash tub, treating him to a view of her bare bottom and full breasts.
    It was easy to imagine, her girdle unfastened and slipped off to let her breasts loll forward, round and heavy and bare as they swung to the motion of her work, her nipples large and stiff. Then her panties, pushed down over her glorious bottom and down her fine, shapely legs. She’d have to bend down to take them right off, perhaps far enough to allow him one brief, fleeting glimpse of her rear view in its full glory, with her virgin cunt and the tight dimple of her anus naked to his gaze. Not that she showed the least inclination to strip completely, but it was too late anyway. Peter had cum in his hand.
    The laundry room had also begun to get steamy, with condensation on the window making it difficult to see. As he sank down against the wall he was glad to have finished in time, and gladder still when the window directly above him was pushed open. He froze, sure that she would lean out and catch him, with his erect cock still sticking out from his trousers, sticky with cum and revealing the full extent of his abominable transgression. But nothing happened, and presently the gentle, rhythmic thump of the washing baton began once more.
    Peter moved into the deeper shadows where the laundry jutted out from the wall. As he cleaned himself up, he told himself that he’d done enough for one night: a successful reconnaissance culminating in an act of spectacular impropriety. Tiffany would be delighted, but she would also want to know why he hadn’t continued on his mission. He stayed put, his thoughts moving between a bold, near demented delight in his behavior and the further possibilities that cool, reasoned caution would make all the more probable. His orgasm had taken the edge off his need, but he knew he’d be ready again after a few minutes in bed with Tiffany, while the open window above offered a tempting route into the convent, and out again once he was done.
    The light went off, the nun’s gentle singing receded, but the window remained open, and with that Peter decided to act. He was inside in an instant, blinking in the gloom until his eyes grew accustomed to what little moonlight came in at the windows. The scent of freshly washed clothes was strong in the air, at which a new possibility occurred to him. To think was to act, and he had quickly wriggled himself into a habit and wimple, with his face contorted into a manic, daring grin as he peered out from the laundry room. A corridor led away into dimness that could only be part of the main building. He was inside.
    As he started along the corridor he lowered his gaze to the ground and laced his fingers