ABBEY OF SAINT GALL

Feature Writer: Cowboy109
Feature Title: Abbey of Saint Gall
Uploaded: Literotica

Abbey of Saint Gall

In spring of 1298 AD, the Abbey of Saint Gall rose to power of the village St.Gallen. The monastery with its church, dorm, and library rested at the head of the valley. A lovely stream passed the monastery on its way to the village of little houses. The houses were in all different shapes and periods facing every which way the builder had deemed best at the moment. The forest at the boundary of the village and meadows reached up into the high Alpine mountains. The bare rocky mountain tips were the furthest the inhabitants could see.

Bernard was in his monk cell. The walls and floor were large granite rock rectangles. The only things in the cell were a straw cot and a rough hewn blanket. Bernard was kneeling on the night-cold stone floor. Both of his hands were holding a wooden board. He smashed the wooden board against his forehead: “Extra Ecclesiam nulla salus (Outside the Church there is no salvation).” He looked at the wooden board. A fresh drop of red blood was there. The old blood had dried in different shades. The borders of the blood blotches were darker.

He repeated the rite once more. Then, he lay down the wooden board and laid himself down in his cot. He wrapped his body tightly into the rough brown blanket. The endorphins, the body’s natural painkillers, were rushing in. The body temperature dropped as the body responded to the pain of the rite. He shivered and began sweating. The shivering provided a cool release of the tension in his life. He felt nurtured by the warm blanket. A cozy, peaceful sleep came over him.

The mighty church tower rang the five in the morning bells. Five bell rings vibrated throughout the monastery and the near village. Bernard rose from his bed. He was still wearing his monk robe, a brown sack with a hood and white hip cord. He folded his hands into the sleeves of the opposite arm to keep them warm. The only room heated in the monastery was the heating room and the infirmary.

He left his cell. He walked down the spiral stair case. The walls were heavy granite rocks. They were cold and pulled all warmth out of the air. Even his footsteps were soft, the echo of the flap-flap echoed through the walls. The darkness of the night made him see everything in weak shades of gray. Yet, he knew is way around the familiar monastery. He stopped in front of dean Philippe’s door. A faint candle light flickered its light through the keyhole and gap at the bottom of the door. Bernard knocked.

“The one who knocks shall be received,” said dean Philippe inside the room. Bernard opened the door. The candle on Philippe’s desk painted the room orange and cave like. Philippe’s hands were holding a book. A bed with linen sheets was in the corner. A plate with a white chocolate cake rested on the desk next to the pen. Bernard knelt in the door frame with his head bowed down until Philippe expressed mercy and allowed full entrance and the comfort of a simple wooden chair.

“I see on your forehead that you have been working on your piety. The wounds will heal soon. But tell me, do you still feel the pain?”

“Yes, father, it still hurts.”

“Do you remember the story of Jesus walking on Lake Genezareth? He told his disciple to follow him. Yet, the disciple looked at himself and sank. When he looked at Jesus, he could walk on the water again. It is the same with you, dear Bernard. As long as you look at yourself, you will feel the pain. When you can look completely on Jesus, you will feel no pain. Until then, you live in sin without faith. You must repent before death can take you away. To show your sincerity, I want you to think of a way to repent.”

“Yes, father. I shall only eat from the scraps leftover of other monks for the next month to vow my freedom of earthly ties.”

“So, shall it be.”

“Dean Philippe, you have always advocated open discourse. May, I ask you a question?”

“Of course, Bernard.”

“Last week, you had a monk whipped for three hours, because of his indulgence of sprinkling cinnamon on his oatmeal. I see that you have a chocolate frosted cake on your desk. I do not understand?”

“Bernard, when you have a solid as a faith as mine, no temptation can touch you anymore. So, you have to bring the devil into your very cell to give you the most precious temptations. Only that can challenge your faith. Only challenge lets you strengthen your faith. I will eat this cake and the evil one will tempt me to denounce my vow of poverty. Yet, I will rise above it and eat the cake without giving into the desire to indulge. Bernard, it is time to hasten to the chapel for the Prime (6 am service).”

“Thank you, father.”

They walked down the hallway into the medicinal herb garden. The fresh scent of rosemary crossed their noses. The high mountains above the monastery had their tips already lighted by the coming sunrise. A couple birds were roused to chirp by the monk. More monks joined them at the door to the chapel. Their walk had slowed to shuffling steps in the mass of brown hooded man. Once inside the church, the mass of people dissipated as monks were leaving the central aisle to enter the black hard benches.

The lector began reciting the Latin mass. He was inside a white tower with a little roof at the front of the church. Sculptures of golden angels were flying above him. The stained colored tall baroque windows recounted a scene of the dead Christ stabbed into the side with a spear, a scene of Jonas being spewed out by the whale, and a scene of Moses receiving the ten Commandments. The pit of the church was lined by seats with tall wooden dividers between them. The highest religious leaders of the monastery would sit up front. Their bodies were completely hidden by the dividers. Only their knees and feet protruded to be visible. Even these limbs were covered by the same brown sack clothes as all the others, making them anonymous.

Bernard abruptly raised his head. He realized that his head had slowly lowered itself as he nodded off. The sleep was heavy on his eyes. The blood had drained his head from sitting. His finger nails scratched over the palm of the opposite hand. They left a white line in his pink flesh. He pinched his finger tips. The pinches did little to dispel the sleepy air out of him. For this problem, he had a small knife with him. He cut short quarter inch lines into the back of his hand to stay awake. Older cuts had healed into skinny white scars.

The monk next to Bernard opened his prayer book. He flipped to page eighty three. There was a slip of loose paper with a sketch in it. It was the primitive outline of a woman. A circle was the head. The hair was a curved line on both sides of her head. Notably, two circles on her chest stood for the breast. A cross hatched triangle at the bottom of the torso marked her sex. The monk reached his hand under his robe into his crotch.

Bernard tried to look away and focus on the lector. Yet, his eyes involuntarily peaked down at the drawing. They had to know. Was this girl like the girl that he remembered growing up in the village? Was this by rare chance the girl that had warmly hugged him after he had stumbled in school and bruised his knees? Was this the girl that had the purest blue eyes? Would that girl from school have breasts like these under her clothes as well? Bernard felt an erection despite the cold air. The stick figure naked woman and the memories of his school affection had aroused him.

When the sun had completely risen and flooded the chapel with light, the lector left his podium. The monks rose silently and shuffled to their morning chores. Bernard felt guilty. The mere thought of desire of a woman was adultery. This morning, he had adultered and perverted that innocent girl from his school. He felt horrible about hurting her. So, he took the path of penance.

The path of penance started at the back of the chapel. It was a trail that leads into the forest. The steep slope quickly gained altitude. Bernard looked back down at the abbey and the village. He felt like he had a good overview and was more in control of his life by seeing the big picture. The pine trees were large and towering around him. The wind whispered through the tips of them in an eerie woohoo. The dirt and rocks under his feet made a grinding sound as his weight pressed down on them.

The first stop was a shrine to Saint Abbo Fleury, who had written a passion about the martyrdom of Saint Edmund. Bernard knelt on the sharp pebbles in front of the shrine. He prayed for forgiveness for his carnal desires earlier in mess. He tried to remedy the ill that he had done to Katherine, the school girl, by praying for her health. May, your arms be blessed with health. May, your legs be blessed with health. As he blessed her legs, he remembered an incident.

Katherine had been excited to fetch a certain wild flower for the teacher. The teacher was teaching botany and needed a specimen for demonstration. It was a dandelion. The teacher wanted to show us the little seeds. Katherine had jumped up from her chair. As she jumped out of the classroom, she had miscalculated the steps outside of it. She fell flat on her face. Her dress had risen up and over her, so that the bottom of it was resting on her back. As she lay face down, her whole legs were bare to the students looking out. She was exposed up to her panties. Those young, tender white legs had a bit of baby fat. The butt cheeks were firm under the panties. He had often thought about running kisses up and down the legs and feeling her butt cheeks with his lips through the panties.

Bernard rose. He walked to the next shrine. The shrine was hammered into a two man high outcropping of rock. This shrine belonged to Edmund the Martyr, who had been killed by Vikings. Bernard prayed for forgiveness of his earlier memory of Katherine’s legs. He repented by praying for Katherine’s life to be filled with joy and happiness. He remembered the time that he saw her at her happiest. She had been gleaming with joy that she had seen him naked. She had uttered the devious and forbidden word with a gushing passion: “I saw your penis.”

Before school, Bernard had taken a bath at the creek a little outside the village. His clothes had been resting on a rock safely away from the sprinkling of the creek as it splashed over the rocks. He was sitting naked in the creek splashing water over his head, when he thought that he had heard giggling. Then, he had discounted his hearing. After she had told him, she imagined her hiding behind a tree. He imagined her watching his naked body. He imagined her watching his butt cheeks, inspecting the clef between his butt cheeks, as he jumped head first into a swimming hole. He imagined her telling the other girls in class about the white stout shaft of his penis and the shriveled up scrotum from the cold water. He imagined the girls visualizing their interpretations of his penis as they looked at him during class break.

Bernard tore himself away from the shrine and his rampant fantasy. He walked as fast as he could so that the pang in his lungs may stop the sinful thoughts. The shrine for Saint Gratus of Aosta quickly appeared at the edge of an idyllic clearing in the forest. The grass grew freely in the clearing with wildflowers dotting the green. A couple of deer were grassing on the far side. Bernard fell to his knees and silently cried for mercy from the temptations. He blessed Katherine with safety from the dangers of war and thugs. He remembered the night that the village was ransacked by a warring neighboring village. The formation of the Swiss federation was filled with battles for political power. All the children were huddled in the only school room. Katherine had fallen asleep leaning on his shoulder.

Her hair had fallen into his face. The long strands of hair were wafting the smell of female and youth into his nose. She smelled like nothing else he had smelled before. The hair tickled his face a bit, yet he surrendered to that feeling. Her chest pushed against his arm gently as she inhaled. He felt the warmth of her body creeping into his skin and warming his heart. His mind started feeling drowsy, yet happy about feeling her. Once she shifted a bit and her ragdoll hand fell into his lap. Her hand squarely landed on his pants covering his penis. He did not dare moving.

Outside, weapons were making sounds hitting each other. Men were yelling taunts and orders. Inside, he felt her soft little hand resting on his penis through his pant fabric. He felt so much tender love that his penis grew hard. Katherine was innocently sleeping, while he was flushed with lust. All his limps felt alive and vibrating sensuously.

The door barged open. An out of breath man in armor with a sword announced that the attackers were running. We were safe. Katherine roused. She felt his erection with her hand. He blushed with deep embarrassment. She looked tenderly into his eyes. He looked back into her blue eyes. They were clear. He could see the dark blotches in her iris. He felt the tenderness and love that his parents never gave him. A tear ran down his face. Katherine’s face reacted with deep empathy for Bernard’s hard life as a boy, who had to be tough. All the while, her hand was still resting on his erect penis.

Bernard rose up from the shrine. He had a raging erection under his monk robe. He stepped behind a large tree trunk. He reached his penis. He imagined that it were Katherine’s hand. He dreamed what her soft warm touch on his sex would feel like. He could almost see her blue eyes and mischievous smile hovering in front of his face, as she would jack him off. He had looked at those red pinkish lips often enough to remember their shape, how they were evenly thin, how the crooks of the lips would move around for her different faces. He furiously rubbed his penis behind the tree. Desire had completely overtaken him. He could feel that Katherine’s happy, cheerful, and innocent spirit overtook all of his guilt, inadequacy, and struggling.

His penis spurted white gobs of semen that fell onto the brown forest soil with sullen thumps. He looked at his gelatinous white semen on the ground. There was a last drop at the tip of his penis. He squeezed the urethra of the penis to push out additional drops of semen. He wiped them against the rough, crumbling tree bark leaving his mark of sin. He was now overcome with immense guilt. He rushed back to the monastery.

As Bernard descended the path of penance, the monastery was busy in the morning light. Monks were chopping wood. Monks were carrying books to the famous library. Monks labored in the kitchen. Bernard found his way to a quiet patch of the medicinal herb garden. The supervising monk pointed out the section that he had to take care off. The neat beds were surrounded by stone slabs that were pushed into the ground. The stone slabs kept the weed away. Tanacetum patheniums were growing. The first crop of flowers has opened. The yellow flowers with white petals were thickly clustered. The dried flowers were medicine to reduce fewer, cure headaches, and ease arthritis.

Bernard enjoyed clipping the flower heads of the butt. The cheery flower and the tactile feeling of the plant provided a serene oasis in the austere monastery. He dropped the flowers into one cup. Occasionally, he would separate the lush stalks of the plant to pick a weed that had started to grow in the ground. The weed would be dropped on the tile next to him. One of the monks began a hymn to praise the good fortune of a beautiful day, surviving the rough winter, and the blessings of the lord. Bernard merrily joined the happy singing. The supervising monk merrily smiled at the good progress they were making to maintain the medicinal herb garden.

Dean Philippe stepped towering next to Bernard: “Come with me.” Another gardening monk silently moved to take Bernard’s cup with flowers and the weeds. Philippe’s robe was fluttering in the draft of his rapid steps. Bernard followed slightly ducking. As the passed the walkways of the abbey, the monks averted their gaze and stopping any momentarily pause to take an inhale. Philippe pushed open a heavy lumber door with sturdy iron hinges. The storage shed had a circle of monks surrounding two monks. One of the monks was red in the face with rapid twitchy movements. The other looked sullen and slouched.

“As the Dean, I shall speak justice. Brother Marcus you accuse Brother Dmitri of masturbation. That is a grave accusation for masturbation by clergy is worse than murder. We all know that the virgins are the wives of the one in heaven. Thus, to think of touching them in ones mind is like adultery against god. There can only be a harsh penalty. For the mercy of a harsh penalty may wipe clean the sin and allow passage to heaven. Brother Dmitir, do you admit your guilt?”

“Sir, Dean Philippe, I understand Brother Marcus’ suspicion. Though, I merely applied an herbal cream for my urinary infection. It may…”

“Well, enough, Brother Dmitri. We have an impasse. One of you is a liar. You all remember the story of Moses praying with his arms held up. He prayed all day. By nightfall his arms started sinking. An angel descended to lift up his arms, so he may continue until the grace of the one smiled on him.”

“(Continued) You two stand next to each other. Raise your arms parallel to the ground. Keep them there. Whoever benefits of the help of an angel to keep the arms up longer will be proven true.”

“Sir, Dean Philippe, Brother Marcus is much stronger than I am. He does a lot of physical labor.”

“Quiet, Brother Dmitri. Do you believe a man can be stronger than an angel? Of course not, if you are truly innocent, what do you worry? The angel will keep your arms up with no effort on your part.”

The two monks stood with their arms reached out at their side. Marcus was broad shoulder from working timber. He had a confident smile on his face. Dmitri was a timid library worker. His back was bent forward from copying books many hours of the day. His arms were shaking the moment that he had lifted them. A tear rolled down his face. The circle of monks assumed him guilty, because he clearly did not expect an angel to rescue him.

The last minute, Dmitri fought hard against his sagging arms. When his arms were inches away from touching the side of his hips, he gave up dejectedly. His clothes were stripped from him. He stood naked in the half light of the dark storage shed. His body was lean, so that his muscles were clearly defined. He may not be strong, yet his body clearly showed the six bulges of his abdominal muscles. His legs were sturdy and firm. His arms were slender and pleasant. His sex hang exposed from his crotch.

“Dmitri, tell us, whom did you fantasize about when you masturbated?”

“Nobody!”

Dean Philippe took a coiled single tail whip from a wall hanger. His strong hand gripped the single tail. The other hand uncoiled and smoothed the tip. He reached over his head and behind. Then, he flicked the single tail whip through the air. The loud bang of the whip snapping rattled the thin metal pots in the shed and the ears of the monk. The tip precisely landed on Dmitri’s right upper back. The skin split on impact leaving a red fluid mark. Dmitri cowered and turned away, while protecting his head with his hands.

“Who was in your fantasy?”

“Helen, Helen from the village!”

A smile swished over Dean Philippe’s face. He handed the whip to another monk and instructed five lashes as punishment. Dmitri would run into the corner away from the strikes. Yet, the monk followed him without mercy. Dmitri was naked like an animal with his bare bottoms, the manly bulges, showing to the monks. Eventually, he rolled up in the corner of the shed to receive the last lash that cracked his skin. Six straight flush-red lines were on his back and butt with a few drops of blood running out.

An anti-masturbation device was taken out of a drawer. It was a phallic leather pouch with spikes on it, which made it impossible to grasp the penis. Dean Philippe moved the torso of the hunched over Dmitri away. Dmitri lethargically yielded. Dean Philippe rustled through Dmitri’s pubic hair to pull out the fleshy, pale penis. He pulled the leather pouch over it. A leather string was run around the penis twice and tied to keep it in place. An opening at the tip of the pouch would allow urine to come out.

Dmitri was to fast for ten years to atone. Dean Philippe lead the congregation of monks out of the storage shed to join the Sext, the mess recited at the sixth hour of daylight, noon. Dmitri hurried to pull over his robe and follow the pious monks. The chapel was warm from the daylight. The cold harsh winter climate waned finally. The trees outside the chapel threw shadow patterns on the stained windows, making their colorful play with light even more engaging. Occasionally, a patch of sunlight moved onto Bernard’s hand. The bright light was tingling his skin in a wonderful way. The sun patches would leave and Bernard would wait for them to return, while the lector continued his Latin recitation.

The following lunch filled the refectory with monks, who were eager to eat their simple meal. To follow their vow of poverty, the food was grain based with a little meat, unless one was fasting. Today a porridge of oatmeal served as their sole nutrition. Thick serving spoonful loads were shaken on the plates of the monks. With enough chewing, the starches break down into sweet sugars.

Bernard did not have a plate today. He patiently waited for a monk to finish his meal. He would humbly ask, if he could clear his plate. Then, he’d rapidly scratch his fork back and force on the plate to recover any oatmeal slurry that had stuck to the plate. When another monk generously left over a spoonful of oatmeal, he would insist that the monk finish his meal, because accepting their generosity would invalidate his penance. Dmitri was standing in the corner, as he was unable to sit with the fresh skin cuts.

When the kitchen monks collected the dishes to wash them, Dean Philippe collected the monks from the earlier punishment. He prepared them to leave for the village. Bernard walked ahead of Dean Philippe holding up the banner of the abbey. The banner was hanging down from a large and heavy wooden stick. The coat of arms for the Abbey of Saint Gall was a walking black bear with a red tongue on a yellow background. The other monks followed.

There was a little wooden bridge over the creek to cross from the abbey land to the land of the village. Technically, the village was property of the abbey, yet the local villagers’ resistance often left them extra leeway. The word quickly spread that Dean Philippe was walking into the village. He was feared by the villagers. They knew his history.

Dean Philippe was the second son to a noble man. As the second son, he would inherit nothing. Only the first born son would become the next lord. Even before the transfer of power, when his father was still alive, he had to be removed from the court. His tyrannical escapades caused a great deal of commotion. His father bought Philippe the position of dean at the distant abbey to ensure his well being and distance. At the time, many leadership positions in the church were filled by extra children of noble people. In the wildest and most feverish dreams, a regular peasant could not expect to work his way from a lowly monk to become the pope.

The village had two story tall buildings that were finished and painted with much pride. The low angle roofs accumulated much snow in winter. The layer of snow would serve as further isolation from the cold. Brown-green wood shingles covered the roofs. White painted facades with wood porches lined the street, until the path became narrower towards the center of the village. Near the village center, the houses stood side by side with no more space for little gardens and porches.

Dean Philippe stopped in front of the house of the black smith. The wall was missing in front of the metal working place, so that the intense heat of the fire could more freely escape outside. A band of villagers lead by the mayor faced the monastery congregation. The mayor had a red ribbon sideways over his shoulder to signify his high office. The young lads and older gray hairs behind the mayor were holding sticks in their hands. Their faces were grim.

“Dean Philippe, what brings you into the village?”

“It is a matter of the Church. Do not dare interfering. Helen has been poisoned by an evil spirit. Make her come out and surrender to the Church’s exorcism.”

“She looked fine to me earlier today. What is your evidence?”

“Fine, we shall hold a court of justice. Let my monks bring her out.”

The monks except for Philippe, who firmly faced the mayor, and Bernard, who held the wavering church banner, stormed into the building. They pushed away the scared father. The noise of a table moving over the wood floor was heard in the building. A young woman screaming for help was heard. A minute later, the first monk appeared out of the blacksmith’s house with Helen. His hand grabbed her neck and pushed her in front of him. The young girl was in her early twenties. Curly blond hair fell over her shoulders. Her bosom was ripe as a pregnant hog’s. She was barefoot.

“The method of justice is this peace of bread and this peace of cheese. A monk will write the holy prayer on the piece of bread. Then, Helen has to swallow the bread and cheese whole. If an evil spirit possesses her, the spirit will make her choke. The spirit will try to fight against taking in the bread with the holy inscription.”

A monk drew the holy prayer on the piece of bread with an ink quill. The bread was wrapped around the lump of cheese. A cross was placed under her right foot. Her father was allowed to hold another cross over her head. Then, two monks held the helpless Helen. Another monk forced open her jaw and stuffed the food inside of her. He put the palm of his hand over her mouth to keep the food inside. Helen slowly chewed with her face hidden under the hand of the monk, except for her wide open eyes with fear.

The villagers were silent. Dean Philippe told the monk to pinch Helen’s nose, so that she was forced to swallow. Helen kept chewing a few times without her breath to liquefy the lump of food in her mouth. Yet, her face ran pale and she had to swallow. She attempted and the large lump made her choke. The fear had dried up her spit.

The villagers were tense. They were considering standing up for their own, yet afraid of the power of the church. Dean Philippe seized the moment, grabbed Helen and swiftly turned around. The monks followed him. The villagers followed the monk. One of the villagers threw a hunk of bread at Dean Philippe’s head. He turned around shortly, yet realized that making out the culprit in the crowd was impossible. The villagers stopped at the bridge, the boundary of the village. All they could see was the congregation disappearing with Helen into the dormitory of the abbey.

Dean Philippe took Helen into his room. The monks were ordered to stand guard outside. Bernard heard physical struggle inside of the room. Helen’s screams and begging alternated. Skin hitting skin was heard. Bernard assumed that the evil spirit was fighting against the dean. When silence settled in, Bernard assumed the exorcism to be over soon.

The door flew open. The naked Helen ran out of the room. Her boobs were heaving. Her butt cheeks were squeezing tight alternately as she ran down the hall. She spat out a wad of white that was too large and sticky for spit. Two monks ran after her. Before she could reach the stairway, the first monk wrapped his arms around her and fell on top of her naked body. The second monk flung himself on top of the pile. Only her bare foot was visible under the brown robes. The foot twisted and moved around to indicate her struggle against the two male monks.

The monks took their waist bands off to tie them around her wrists and ankles. Then, they heaved her onto their shoulders and carried her back into the Dean Philippe’s room. Dean Philippe only appeared shortly in the door frame to receive the bound Helen back. He left his room punctually for the Nones, the three o’clock mess. Barnard could quickly peak into the room and saw the naked Helen lying on the bed with the linen sheets. Philippe said to let her go, she had repented.

The chapel was filled with monks that were tired from beginning work early. A heavy mood hung in the group. The monotone Latin liturgy was pierced by flashing images of the naked Helen running down the hallway. Memories of the way her hips swayed penetrated Bernard’s thoughts. He struggled to repress the memories of the juicy calves. The worst was his fantasy about what it felt to be the two monks that had tackled her. He imagined her naked body, boobs, hips, back, hands, and arms rubbing against the monks. He imagined their hips, penises, and faces rubbing against her body. He imagined the deep animal like connection the souls had in their struggle. He felt turned on. He felt deeply sick about himself getting turned on at all, let alone a poor helpless woman that is abused. Deep guilt settled into Bernard’s heart. He wanted to have his body disappear. The more he tried pushing away those thoughts, the thicker they grew in his head.

By the end of the mess, Bernard was tormenting with guilt and desire. He impatiently endured the slow shuffle of the monks leaving the chapel. Near the exit, he picked up a flogger from the desk that had implements of penance. He began walking towards his cell. The tails of the flogger were folded over the handle. He held them in his hand stiffly as he kept walking. Some of the monks took notice of the sign of sin. Other monks were used to the common self punishment in the abbey.

In his cell of bare rock walls, he took his robe off. He wrapped it around his waste, so that his back was exposed. He kneeled on the hard cold floor. He closed his eyes. His hands were resting with the flogger in his lap. In front of him was the bible. He recited the Latin scripture. A flash of Helen’s pink nipple flashed into his mind. It was the moment that she had opened the Philippe’s door and froze for a second to seize up the hallway in front of her. Bernard had clearly seen her rosy right nipple. Now, he flogged himself hard on the back. The back muscle spasmed tight from the sharp pain. A moment later, Bernard relaxed and resumed an upright position. He focused on reciting the scripture again.

His reading arrived at a dull listing of family lineage. A whole page of names described the off spring and grand children. Bernard’s mind wandered to Helen’s spit filled with a white wad. He had looked at it on the floor closer. It was cum. Had Dean Philippe put his penis into his mouth? Or, had the masturbatory cum of Dmitri actually manifested in Helen? He thought of his own cum in the morning. He wondered if Katherine had mystically received the wad of his cum in her mouth. He wondered if Katherine would have spat his cum wad out or recognized him and swallowed. Swoosh, swoosh, he flogged himself until the image of Katherine and Helen vanished.

The point of a flogger was to be relatively mild and avoid drawing blood, at least at first. As the sunlight started waning, the blood was tripping from the flogger as he retrieved it from the blows. He succumbed to the exhaustion and fell unconscious. When the daylight had completely disappeared, the noise and commotion outside roused him. He carefully cleaned the flogger to avoid infecting the next monk, who would use it. He returned the scripture book. Then, he walked out to the front of the chapel.

The monks were in disarray pacing amongst each other. A raucous mob from the village was screaming for them on the other side of the bridge. As far as Bernard could tell, a man and a woman were held captive at the front of the mob. Dean Philippe was at the edge of the monks. He faced a way to hide the fear tearing across his face. Dean Philippe gripped the bible firmer that he was holding and turned around to sternly face the monks. Without saying a word, he walked through the middle of them towards the mob of villagers. The monks tentatively followed him falling into organized rows of two.

From the monastery side of the bridge, he boomed at the crowd to tell him about the raucous. The disorganized screams of the villagers painted the picture that they had caught the man and the woman committing adultery. Neither of them was married. They had been sneaking into a shed together. Yet, the crowd was unsure, if he had managed to penetrate the girl. He was guilty for sure. Yet, if the girl was untouched by the rape, she would be innocent. However, if he had soiled her virginity, she was to be punished equally.

Dean Philippe’s judgment was quick. The man was to be tortured and killed by exposure. He was to be buried up to his neck in front of the monastery. Thus, he would be exposed to the elements, rain, sun, animals until he would eventually die of dehydration and starvation. However, the girl needed to be tried. She would be tied and thrown into a deep swimming hole in the creek. If she floated, she was guilty. If she sank like a normal person, her innocence would be proved.

The crowd calmed down with the plan established. The monks relaxed knowing that the village was not out to lynch them. The man and the woman were pushed across the bridge into the strong arms of the monks. A group of five monks took the man to dig a hole for him. Dean Philippe took the woman and led her in front of the monks up the creek. The villagers followed on the other side of the creek. Their lanterns lighted up the night. The monks walked unaided through the darkness.

The side of the creek entered the forest. The path beaten by common usage grew increasingly rockier. Large smooth boulders made the two groups walk like a snake towards their goal. A pale grey sheer rock wall showed the entrance of the gorge. The monks were climbing along narrow rock shelves about twenty feet above the water. The village mob climbed the top of the other side to about fifty feet. The groups moved slowly as each member had to individually find good footing and steady themselves with hands in cracks off the wall.

They came to the bend of the gorge. Here the creek was loudly gurgling beneath them. The bend made the water go in a little circle. The circle had carved a deep hole into the granite rock. Young teenagers would climb the wall here and jump down into the depth. The monks were standing in a long line along the rocky ledge. The villagers were high above them carefully observing the procession. The steep walls of the gorge kept the light of the night sky out.

Dean Philippe tied the woman, who was too scared to move for she may slip and fall onto the rocks beneath and die instantly. He used two waist bands from monks behind him to tie her hands behind her back and her ankles. He’d wrap a few loops of waist band around the wrist. Then, he’d wrap waistband across the rope loops in between the hands to tighten the grip of the rope. The woman looked at the villagers above and the dark monk figures behind her. That moment, Bernard could see the face of the woman. It was Katherine!

After a short prayer, Dean Philippe single handedly tossed Katherine down into the gorge. He threw her spot in the middle of the gorge, where the water was deepest to avoid hitting the bottom. As the water closed over her body, splashes flew high into the air. Rings of waves rang against the waves of the current. There was nothing for a second or two. Katherine’s body reappeared at the surface as she was struggling for her live and gulp of air. The water was raging in tumult around her, as she could only wiggle her body violently. Shortly, her head disappeared under the pitch black surface.

The men started discussing, how long they had to wait for her body to be under. Some men worried that it may be a ruse and she was swimming under to full them. They suggested waiting until her strength waned, because she may float back up. Others were concerned about letting an innocent young woman die. Yet, others suggested that should she drown innocently, she would be richly rewarded in heaven. Thus, saving her would deprive her of the bounty.

In a lapse of reason, Bernard jumped after her. He had been one of those young lads spending the summer to find the best rocks to dive from. He had perfected making his body large to slow his speed even in shallow water. The cold water awakened him. He reached the stand still point of the dive. It was a moment of peace under water. Then, he pushed up to the surface. He paddled hard to Katherine’s last spot and submerged looking for her.

The crowd was divided among supporters cheering for Katherine’s rescue and justice vigilante’s demanding Bernard’s death. Another monk jumped after Bernard, yet he resurfaced violently screaming about a fracture leg. An enraged villager threw a rock down to the water. The rock hit wall before hitting the water. The clunk of the rock echoed through the gorge.

Bernard reached his hands around in the dark cold water. He could see nothing. It seemed almost futile. He kept reaching. His lungs emptied. He believed in another second and reached somewhere else. He fought for another second and dived a little lower. He didn’t want to live unless he would feel Katherine. He dived a little left and reached. His hand found a piece of wet fabric. He pulled on it until there was more fabric to pull on. The next time he reached for a grab of fabric, his hand collided with Katherine’s soft body. He wrapped his arms around her belly and pulled her up to the air.

She did not breathe. So, he pulled her body against his body and swam backward to the shallow. Some villagers had returned to the mouth of the gorge and were now scrambling up the bottom of the gorge to reach him. Once Bernard’s feet got hold of the sandy floor, she stood up. He pulled her face close to his. His shivering cold lips wrapped around her mouth. The water made her face wet and smooth, as if Katherine were ten years younger. He blew air into her. She awoke in his arms. He removed her bonds.

They ran further up the gorge. The villagers from the mouth of the gorge pursued them hard. Their foot steps and calls echoed up the gorge. Katherine’s long wet dress made climbing over the rocks hard. Big boulders filled the gorge with the creek gushing in and around them. Bernard knew that ahead was a birch tree with long roots that reached down to the floor of the gorge. The roots were perfect handholds to escape it. Only a few of the teenagers knew about it, because only the daring scrambled this far into the gorge during their summer frolicking.

Katherine and Bernard were panting hard. They were hot from the physical work and shivering from the cold wet clothes. Adrenaline was running through their blood. They inhaled strong and clear. The gnarled root of the birch tree was next to them. Bernard sent Katherine to climb first. That way, he could move her feet from one foot hold into the next. If one knew all the little hidden crooks, it was rather easy to climb up the sheer granite wall.

They were half-way up, when the villagers appeared with their lanterns. The crowd was mad from the hardship of scrambling over the rocks at night. They had all bumped their feet and scratched their hands. They wanted revenge for their little pains. They scrambled straight past the two. The two were holding onto the birch tree root. Bernard held Katherine’s calf. Water dripped down from their clothes. Their muscles were shaking from holding their weight on the same foot without moving. The fear and mild hypothermia stole away their thoughts as they waited for the villagers to appear further away.

Once they stood on even ground next to the birch tree, Bernard coyly suggested taking off the clothes. The cold night would surely drain all their warmth through the wet clothes. Being naked, they would have a better chance of surviving until they found shelter. He quickly and gladly threw the monk robe off. She coyly removed her dress. She held her arms across her plumb breast. He saw the triangle of her pubic hair. It was like in the stick figure drawing in the morning. She squeezed water out of her hair. He saw her nipples. He saw the moonlight reflected on her wet belly. She saw her eyes looking into the distance of the land of darkness, as if she were knowing.

Bernard silently took her hand and led her onward. A faint trail guided them higher into the mountains. After an hour of thick forest, they arrived at a steep rocky slope. The trail cut across with a steep drop off to the side. Now, they could see down at the village and monastery for the first time. The bulk of lights had withdrawn to the village center. Speckles of light combed the forest for the fugitives, yet all at much lower elevation.

Outside of the tree cover, the moon light shone onto Katherine and Bernard’s naked bodies. He had a thin yet stout and tall body. She was on the tall side. Her breasts were now freely hanging in the milky moon light. He saw her firm thighs. Her body was so much smaller than the fluffy dresses had always made him belief. She seemed like a bundle of joy to him that he would have wanted to pick up and carry away. He did not dare touching her. As he glanced over the nakedness of her body, he could feel his penis moving. He was afraid that she would catch him with an erection. He told her to move on ahead of him.

She walked on across the rocky slope. He looked at his feet to avoid the uneven rocks. He glanced up at her naked butt to avoid walking too fast and bumping into her. Her butt cheeks went flabby and taught alternating with each step. He got mesmerized for a dozen steps. Because he felt the blood in his penis, he averted his eyes down. He looked at her strong thighs. He had never seen naked female thighs with all the details of their strength and how fleshy they seem. His penis was fully erect. It pointed ahead of him. His sex was exposed as he was walking naked. The temptation of her naked body would not go away like his thoughts. And, he could not avert his eyes, because he would stumble.

His heart was pounding in his ears, as he was embarrassed about Katherine turning around and seeing his large erection. Katherine paused for a moment. He told her to move on, before she could turn around. The path returned into the cover of the forest again. Bernard hoped that it would be too dark for Katherine to recognize his erection. As the nervosity left him, the erection eased his penis back down.

By dawn, they reached the edge of the forest high on the mountain. Trees stopped growing at this altitude. Meadows with grazing cows took over the landscape here. The villagers would bring the cows up to the high meadows in spring and take them back down in fall. Across the meadow was the cabin with the steward, who milked the cow and cultured cheese. Milk perished quickly. Cheese lasted long and could be delivered down to the village on a weekly schedule. The cabin was quiet without lights. Apparently, none of the searching villagers had come up here. They walked across the meadow side by side.

The breaking morning light showed the wooden door into the cabin. It was large cabin with a hay floor on top. The windows were well maintained. A row of flowers was in mini seed beds next to the house. Everything was quiet. Perhaps, the steward had not left the village yet and was waiting for warmer days. He pushed the door open. Being respectful, Bernard looked for the stairs to the hay floor to sleep in the hay rather than the steward’s bed. The stairs were a few wood boards nailed into the wall. They squeaked under the weight of their hands and feet.

A scream rang. The scream was coming again from the floor below. Bernard called back that they were not thieves and simply needed a place to stay. Only a grunt responded. Bernard told the naked Katherine to wait on the hay floor. Bernard slowly climbed down to the ground floor. He warned the steward that he had no clothes and was naked. He opened the door to the bedroom.

The steward was sitting on the bed. Both feet were hovering over the ground. The steward was in tremendous pain. His feet were red and swollen. He complained that he was stuck on his bed like this for two days already, unable to walk. Bernard inspected the feet. Only getting his hand close to touching the feet, had the steward scream in agony. Bernard explained that the man had gout. Upon questioning, the steward confirmed that he was eating all the left over cheese scrapes. Bernard suggested, if he’d stop doing that the pain would go away. Drinking plenty water might break up the gout crystals sooner. The steward sent Bernard to fetch him a mug of water.

The steward allowed them to stay for a while. He also gave Bernard two pants and two shirts and apologized for not having spare shoes to share. The steward returned to lie in his bed. Bernard climbed up to the naked Katherine, who was hiding behind a hay ball squatting with her heels at her naked butt cheeks. He handed her pants and a shirt. She dressed herself like a man. They made a pile of hay and went to sleep.

Bernard was exhausted and slept for a long time. Katherine woke up first. She lifted his head on her lap. She stared caressing the hair around his face. Bernard gently woke up from the cradling. He felt loved and comforted by her gentle touch. He worryingly looked at her. She told him that everything would be okay. His face strained as he told her that he had had erotic feelings for her. She told him to hush. She reminded him that she had seen him naked as well. Everything would be okay. He felt safe. He cried. Tears were running down his face. The emotional discharge of his lifetime of standing up to harsh men and perfect purity standards exhausted him. He sobbingly fell back into a slumber and surrendered himself into Katherine’s care.

He awoke again in the late afternoon. Katherine had caressed his hair and face for an hour. She grew endeared with the features of his face. The steward called up to them to ask them to milk the cows. Katherine took Bernard’s hand as she led him to climb down to the ground floor. They walked over the meadow. The grass grew liberally. The surface was uneven and covered with many rocks. They came to a steeper slope with a smooth run of grass. Katherine asked, if Bernard had ever rolled down a grass hill. He said ‘no.’

She laughed out loud as she swung the empty milk can threw the air. She grabbed her pants. Her mouth was wide open with a free and youthful laugh. She let herself fall to the floor like a ragdoll with her arms raised up as if they were following her. Then, she let herself roll down the grass sideways. After five rotations, she stopped and giggled. She insisted that Bernard follow her.

Bernard tentatively laid himself down. Then, he let himself roll a bit. The feeling was dizzying. The ground touched him in so many places. The world twisted around him. After the third roll, he could not tell up and down anymore. He started laughing as a feeling of joy came over him. He sat up next to Katherine to digest the emotions that were running through him.

Katherine pulled Bernard up with her hand. She told him to fly like a bird. Off she went running with her arms stretched out. She went left and right like a bird of prey soaring around. The dazed Bernard followed her. He reached out his large manly wings. He ran. He followed the cheery inner child of Katherine. He played. Yes, he played. He loved following the hair of Katherine flying through the draft wind in front of him. He wanted to get another whiff of her hair like back, when they thought shelter in the school room.

They swiftly arrived at the milking shed. The cows with bulging udders had already waited for a day to receive relieve of the pressure by milking. The cows stood silently, as Katherine and Bernard shot streams of milk into the same milk can. The happy cows walked off to their favorite pasture. The next cow eager for relieve would push herself in between them. Grunting moos were all around them. Some of the cow butts were filthy with cow excrement. One generally had to be careful to avoid stepping into the flat liquid cow manure pancakes that the cows left behind.

They returned to the cabin. The steward was sitting happily on a bench in front of the cabin to welcome them back. He had gray hair. He wore a traditional leather pant with suspenders. He had a full beard with the beard hair above his lip twisted at the ends. He wore a felt hat. He graciously thanked them. With sorrow creases on his forehead, he added that he had found out about their plight. A young boy had come to check on him. The young boy would tell the village. The next morning, the village mob would be at the high meadows to lynch them.

He was deeply sorry that there was no way of escaping. Farther up was a glacier with eternal snow that was treacherous even with special equipment and warm clothes. To the sides were sheer granite walls that could not be climbed. The cabin was in a funnel. The choke point to the cabin was already guarded. He thanked Bernard again about educating him about gout.

Katherine and Bernard climbed up to the hay floor. They sat next to each other solemn. “I don’t care,” said Katherine. “For so long have I dreamed about you, shy boy. If I am going to be condemned, I may as well romp you like a rabbit. I want to feel your throbbing penis inside my belly.” Her blue eyes looked wild into his face. He gazed back at her with fear.

She flung her body onto his. She devoured his mouth with hers. Her tongue flicked in between his teeth like fire taunting the teeth, his lips, and his tongue. Feeling her tongue inside of him ignited his passion. His arms roused as he grabbed her body and pulled her tight. His loins pushed against hers. He felt the round shapes of her boobs pressing against his chest. He felt her body feverishly clinging onto his. Feeling her passion made him wild.

He pulled is pants over his stiff erection. She eagerly kicked of her pants. They left the shirts on, not caring in heat to get completely naked. He sank his member into her moist waiting sex. The smoothness of the entry and the tightness of her vagina awakened the animal in him that wrested control from his conscious guilty monk mind. She wanted him. She pushed her butt up and down against his sex.

After they came, their appetite was only half sated. “Do you want to try a forbidden position?” said the Bernard awakened to live daringly. All positions but missionary were strictly prohibited by the church. He flipped Katherine over on her hands and knees. He thrust into her from behind like a dog. Amazing, how the lips of her vagina reached back between her thighs, so that he could access them from behind. Unsatisfied with the depth of penetration, he grabbed her thighs like a wheel barrow and lifted her hind up. Now with her thighs in her hand, he penetrated her deeply touching her cervix.

After another lighting and thunder inside their hot sexes, Katherine collapsed forward and Bernard on top of her sweaty body. They dozed for a bit in the luscious afterglow of fornication. Then, Katherine pulled herself out from under Bernard. She jumped into the air. She said, let’s thump the church even more and dance. She threw of her shirt. She jumped from one leg to the next. Bernard threw of his shirt as well. He clutched her body. He spun both of them around as he had heard frivolous people dance Viennese Waltz. They intoxicated each other with dizziness. They tried to stand still on their own yet fell on top of each other.

As the dizziness waned, Bernard started kissing Katherine’s naked body. He carefully placed a kiss on each inch of skin. He worked his way from her neck down to her nipples. Katherine moaned as he reached her nipples. Then, he pushed his nose into her hair to smell her hair roots. She said that she had always loved him. She said how often she had wished that he would take her onto a secret tryst into the forest. She said how hard broken she was, when he joined the monastery. But now, they were both free again.

The morning came swiftly in the timeless world of the two lovers. An angry mob of villagers led by Dean Philippe arrived. They decided to torch the whole building as it had been cursed by the two. The flames flew high into the sky as the fire went into full roar. The steward silently cried about his home being burned down to the foundation. Dean Philippe felt justly accomplished. The steward was forced to feed the mob for free with fresh milk.

The tale of the two made its way to Geneva, the big city. The rumor was told that the two lovers silently snuck out of the hay floor by removing panels from the roof. Thus, the steward, who held guard, did not notice them slipping out. Then, they had hidden in a cave until the villagers had left. From their, they had stolen themselves across the country to Geneva, where they had started a secret Venus cult. The cult would hold wild orgies in private houses of the city. The church denied the existence of the cult. Yet, others said that they fiercely persecuted the Venus cult.

THE END