Feature Writer: Arsenique

Feature Title: Heeding Dame Taborova’s Call

Published: 19.08.2021

Story Codes: Religious Themes

Synopsis: Jack and Sister Katka visit the parish’s Patron Saint

Author’s Notes: This story is a continuation of the Mrs. Tupa series. For better context and understanding, you might consider reading the previous stories. Please note that this story is not for everyone. It includes bodily functions, religious rituals, body hair, anal initiation among other things. If you find any of these off-putting or offensive, please do not read it or down-vote it. I generally reply to personal messages, but please include your username and email if you wish a reply. Thank you for reading.

 

Heeding Dame Taborova’s Call

As word of my loving services as a lay server for the congregation of the Bohemian Church spread, especially among the numerous Czech widows in the parish, Father Viktor allowed the church office to increase my scheduled home visits from one to two a day, Monday through Friday. The good Father kept a close eye on my personal stamina and vigor, as he was well aware of the toll that satisfying the needs and desires of earthy Bohemian women can take, especially at a clip of nearly a dozen a week.

Father Viktor counseled that whenever possible, I should retain my semen and avoid ejaculating more than once a day, if that, as the body’s need to be constantly generating new semen could be a drag on my vitality and ardor. He was well read and practiced in certain Oriental “Tantric” techniques that enabled one to maintain a state of constant potency and sweet succor without feeling the need to spurt one’s seed at the conclusion of every love ritual.

He confessed that until he discovered and became adept in these practices, the needs of Mother Magdalene and her good Sisters alone had caused his hair to go prematurely gray and for him to feel constantly exhausted. I took his advice to heart and began to train certain Cremaster muscles in my groin to reserve the semen in my scrotum and to not release it into my urethra, except when I wished to. He admitted that there were special cases, Dame Taborova and Mrs. Tupa being two of them, where their craving for cum was so extreme, that it was better to not deny them.

And speaking of Dame Taborova, the wealthy widow who was the parish’s most generous donor and also a saintly woman much given to Mortification of the Flesh and “advanced needs,” the good Father informed me that upon hearing of Sister Katka’s remarkable transformation with my assistance, the good Dame requested that I bring Katka along on my next visit to her lakeside mansion, as she very much wished to meet her.

And when was my next visit to be? As soon as possible, of course. Since my weekdays were already booked, that left the weekend. Father Viktor indicated that Dame Taborova would be driven to Mass the coming Sunday by her housekeeper, Mrs. Lada Capekova, and she had suggested that Katka and I could ride back with them to her mansion after Mass. I liked the sound of that, so that’s what we agreed to do.

---

Father Viktor had dismissed Katka and me from the requirement to attend Mass that Sunday morning, and allowed us to meet and talk together in the Rectory’s parlor prior to the good Dame and her housekeeper picking us up from there in their Bentley. The good Father recognized that sweet innocent Katka deserved more orientation for her first visit to Dame Taborova than he had provided to me for mine. While I had no idea what the good Dame might spring upon us or usher us into, I had a sense of how intense it might be and wanted to prepare Katka for what might be a shock to her shy sensibilities.

As per Dame Taborova’s request, neither Katka nor I were dressed in particularly “churchy” garb, no doubt I surmised, because once we were ensconced in the good Dame’s sitting room, we would soon all be free of any clothing and relating to each other in our natural states anyway.

I clued Katka into Dame Taborova’s extreme practices of Self-Mortification, particularly her self-imposed painful regimen of corsetry and breast-stretching. Katka, who was the perfect personification of innocent youthful beauty, shuddered at this estrangement from one’s own flesh.

I also tried to impress upon her that some of the good Dame’s “advanced needs” were fulfilled by sharing extreme rituals dating back to the earliest of the “Old Ways”, such as the spreading of our human waste directly on each other’s body as a prelude to carnal sex.

“Brother Jack, are you pulling my leg? That sounds really gross!”

“I kid you not, Katka, But, when you think about it, isn’t it the next logical step towards a greater intimacy in sharing our pee and poop? Our “Old Ways”, in some cases, date back to ritual practices that were already in use before the conversion of Bohemia to Christianity. They preserve a direct link with the primal experiences of life for the earliest Bohemians. Dame Taborova is like a one-woman “living history museum”, continuing to share the ancient customs, no matter how shocking or gross they may seem.

“But here’s the really amazing thing: because of the good Dame’s constant Mortification of her Flesh and her generosity in sharing her state of grace with those who help her meet her “advanced needs”, not only are our gravest sins instantly forgiven, but the experiences themselves are filled with a sacred sense of joy and love. Just think of the effect of the Embrace of Eden or the Kiss of Peace doubled or tripled. You may have to experience it to believe it, but if you are brave enough to just do what she asks, I think you’ll see what I mean. It truly is a blessing.”

Sister Katka flashed her shy little smile, but with a bit of sass to it and determination.

“Alright, then, my Brother, I’ll do it! I trust you, because you’ve visited her before and you must know what you are talking about. It might even be fun!”

“Some of it might be fun”, I agreed, “and some of it might be kind of intimidating, but it’s bound to be very intimate and intense, and from what I could tell from your visit to my room a few nights back, you kind of like intimate and intense, no?”

Katka giggled and slapped my thigh, and even allowed herself a smooch on my cheek.

“Oh, Jack! You can be so cute. I loved being intimate and intense with you, it was so beautiful.”

“Well, then, let’s think positive. I have a hunch that we’ll have another chance today.”

---

Soon the doorbell chimed at the Rectory and Katka and I opened the door to find Mrs. Capekova, dressed in her Sunday best, pointing down to the good Dame’s waiting car at the curb. We hustled down and got into the back seat. We said our greetings, to which Dame Taborova nodded and indicated we’d talk more once we arrived at her Mansion. I gathered that the good Dame’s sense of etiquette frowned on casual introductions in automobiles.

Once we were inside in the sitting room, Dame Taborova settled herself on the settee, and smiled at Katka and me, as we stood before her. She was the very image of gracious dignity: a beautiful woman despite her advanced years who was used to being treated with deference and respect. I took the initiative.

“My Dame, may I introduce Sister Katka Dvorakova, a recent addition to our Nunnery’s family?”

The good Dame gave an elegant but warm smile to Katka and held out her hand to be kissed. I’d coached Katka on this likely happening, so she was prepared to bow and kiss her knuckle. I quickly followed suit. She invited us to take a seat on either side of her on the settee, where she grasped our nearest hands and continued to hold them while she addressed us. I could feel my nerves tingle in the hand she held, as if she was giving off an electrical current.

“My dears, it gives me great joy to have such lovely young people pay me a visit. Sister Katka, I hear that you’ve been making great strides in learning our community’s rituals, which I believe Jack here has assisted in?”

“Yes, My Dame. Brother Jack helped me see things in the best light possible. I was a bit disoriented, having come from the Dominican Orphanage to our parish.”

“Oh dear! The Dominicans. A very nasty crew. We had great suffering at the hands of the Blackfriars during the Thirty Years’ War in Bohemia. At least you are now out of their clutches and into our loving arms.”

She squeezed our hands and gave us each a look that I interpreted as a promise of good things to come. Just then, Mrs. Capekova entered the sitting room with a silver platter of hors d’oeuvre. As we enjoyed the tasty mini-sandwiches, flushed down with Mattoni sparkling mineral water, Dame Taborova continued to ask Katka questions about herself.

“So, Sister, you look so fresh-faced and innocent, I assume you are still a virgin?”

This threw Katka for a bit of a loop. Me as well.

“Er, yes, My Dame. I was an orphan at a Dominican Orphanage after all.”

“Well, one can never be too careful, my dear. Dominicans? Feh!

“And have you had your back love orifice penetrated yet?”

“No, My Dame. Though I was hoping to experience that soon.”

Katka gave me a quick little smile.

“Very well then, my dear. You are perfect.”

I thought this a curious exchange, and perhaps my face betrayed my puzzlement, for the good Dame seemed to feel the need to clarify what she had been thinking in asking about Katka’s virginity.

“You may not be aware of it, but we are entering a time of ‘quickening’, when all that we consider ‘normal’ is being wrenched away from us and we must seek refuge in the Eternal. Certain of the Old Ways — our earliest rituals — provide that refuge, but sometimes only on a moment’s notice.

“Today is the Full Moon, and the Feast Day of St. Jan Huss, as well. Dear Sister Katka, if you take part in the ancient Rite of the Immaculate Conception this afternoon, you will receive an immense blessing. The tradition stipulates that a woman who undergoes the ritual must have her hymen intact. I will explain more after we disrobe and share out initial greetings.”

---

I must confess that this sounded a bit odd. But I was only a humble catechumen in our Bohemian congregation. Dame Taborova was a visionary saint, with special access to higher realities. I thought it best if we simply followed her guidance while we were with her.

As she had my previous visit, Dame Taborova pulled the ribbon of the servant bell, summoning Mrs. Capekova, who had changed out of her Sunday best while out of the room, and was now dressed in a simple dress and flats, which were no doubt going to be removed shortly, anyway. The good Dame asked her housekeeper to bring in the cushioned and waterproofed mats, floor-covers, and pillows that protected the room against fluids and waste gone astray during primal rituals.

When those were all in place, Dame Taborova invited Katka and me to shed our clothes for the rituals ahead. She looked on approvingly as we tried not to be too self-conscious in stripping ourselves in her regal presence. When fully nude, Katka was such a lovely vision of petite natural beauty, that she evoked a gasp of awe from our hostess, which made Katka blush. Then the good Dame stood up and had Mrs. Capekova disrobe her layer by layer. Perhaps the good Dame had relinquished her corset and breast stretching today for the sake of not letting her Mortification distract her from the living presence of the Mass.

Whatever the case, her tubular breasts were “rolled up” into a massive brassiere that did not torture them, so much as hoist them into a “fishing net” that minimized their inherent wobble. When that net was unhooked and pulled loose by Mrs. Capekova, her whoppers were set free, allowing them to tumble down to her hips.

Sister Katka watched this whole procedure with a fascination that bordered on the morbid. As one who had now escaped the self-hatred that had been the norm under the harsh rule of the Dominicans, her reaction to the good Dame’s unveiling was split between strong empathy for her suffering and puzzlement over why that self-imposed suffering was even necessary in the first place. As she confessed to me later, her first impulse was to rush up to the good Dame, grip her arms, and give her a good shaking, while asking her what she thought she was doing. It made no sense to Katka.

But it is just as well that she didn’t, because as things proceeded ritually, many mysteries became clear, or at least less opaque. Dame Taborova had her own reasons, some quite reasonable, and some not.

---

Perhaps in honor of Katka’s first visit, Dame Taborova had us share the three traditional greeting rituals together, in the customary order. The Embrace of Eden, the simplest, was just a full-body hug between the three of us in our natural states, doing our best to open our hearts to each other as if we were all residents of the Garden of Eden before the Fall. I had introduced Sister Katka to this a few nights before, but as I had predicted to her, sharing the ritual with the good Dame was a whole ‘nother thing. By the time our embrace was over — and how long it lasted, I have no idea — we’d lost any sense of time or place or identity. We were just manifestations of the Divine, basking in the warmth of each other’s love.

Next was our ritual sharing of pee and poop, coordinated by Mrs. Capekova, who by now had also disrobed. Perhaps mercifully, this did not go quite as far as my first visit to the good Dame, but it was still very intense by traditional Bohemian standards. Dame Taborova insisted on the direct transmission of our sacramental urine into her open mouth, placing herself with Mrs. Capekova’s assistance upon the pads and pillows so that she was positioned to receive both Katka’s and my streams of pee in succession as we squatted over her.

Sister Katka, bless her soul, was so amazed by this intimate procedure that she squealed as she peed, barely able to stop her flow when Mrs. Capekova insisted that she needed to save some to share with me as well. Soon, Katka found herself stretched out in the good Dame’s former position, as first I pissed into her lovely little mouth, and then Dame Taborova favored her with a urethral blast expertly aimed into her oral cavity.

Finally, it was my turn to lay myself back and receive the streams of holy water that the good Dame and sweet Katka spurted into my mouth. By the time that we concluded that part of the ritual, the three of us felt so bonded that we might as well have been triplets, all born of the same mother.

And then we were on the threshold of sharing our poop. Unlike my previous visit, the good Dame did not insist upon the “spreading” of our poop on each other’s bodies. I think she sensed that doing so might overload Sister Katka’s delicate sensibilities. But, she still insisted on the intense intimacy of directly shitting on each other. No chamberpots for the good Dame, just the direct defecation of the holy products of our bowels on each other’s chests.

Sharing one’s excrement with two other partners requires a certain control of one’s bowel movements, a skill that was widespread in the Bohemian community. Sister Katka was only beginning to grasp that such things were required to find her place of service in the parish. Mrs. Capekova helped Katka by whispering in her ear when to let go and when to shut it off, as she squatted over the good Dame and then myself. We, in turn, squatted over each other and then Katka, with Mrs. Capekova allowing our dung to sit a spell on each other before she deftly wiped it off with damp washcloths and soap.

Finally, it was time for us to share the Kiss of Peace, the most beloved ritual of Bohemian intimacy. While it dated back to the “Old Ways”, it had never been successfully suppressed from the customs of the Bohemian Church. The whole parish was imbued with the holy honor of kissing and licking each others’ anal sphincters and penetrating their tongues into each others’ rectums. Doing so was both a ritual of the open heart and of anal intimacy. While it could be argued that there was a prurient aspect to the practice — with both giver and receiver invariably excited by the stimulation — the ritual was also powerfully humbling for all concerned, as we were about to experience.

We watched silently as Mrs. Capekova helped Dame Taborova position herself on pillows before and on the settee, with her large firm bottom poised up in the air, offering itself up for Katka’s and my loving probing of her powerful anal regions. Once again, I was struck by the effortless elegance the good Dame displayed in taking such a vulnerable position.

Mrs. Capekova, led Katka over to kneel behind her mistress’s naked cheeks, covered with fine light hairs which darkened and coarsened as they met her ass-crack and formed a pubic ring around her robust anus.

“You kiss now,” the housekeeper gently suggested to Katka, who looked a bit intimidated by the situation she found herself in. “She taste special, no be afraid. It be blessing for you.”

Tentatively at first, and then more firmly, Katka pulled the good Dame’s cheeks apart and stuck out her little pink pointed tongue. She lapped up and down the hairy crack, finally offering a full-on kiss to the dark-ridged sphincter before her. Dame Taborova gave out a deep sigh of satisfaction, which seemed to reassure and embolden shy Katka, who was beginning to lose herself in the joyous depths of the good Dame’s anus. With a little whisper of “Oh My God,” she began to groan and grunt, snorting like a pig rooting for truffles, causing the good Dame to squirm and wriggle in an ecstatic seizure.

Katka’s face was held tight to the good Dame’s rump, as if glued in place, though she did allow herself to come up for air now and then. Finally, as if a switch had been flipped, the ritual was complete and both participants fell silent and ceased all movements. Mrs. Capekova went over and helped Katka get up and steady herself. Then she brought her over to where I was now standing, and between the two of us we carefully lay Katka down on the soft padding to soak in the sense of peace that had enfolded her.

“Your turn now,” the housekeeper told me. “Not be too long, still much to do.”

I walked over and knelt down behind Dame Taborova, giving a loving smooch to each cheek and one at the base of her spine. She was beginning to stir and made a happy purring sound as I pried her lovely buns apart and blew warmly on her mighty sphincter. It looked already well-juiced from Katka’s ministrations, and gave off an uncanny odor of roses.

I felt inspired to take a different approach from Katka, fondling and caressing the good Dame’s big bum, tugging on her little hairs with my teeth, before I focused on her love aperture and began to make love to it. At this moment, there was no place I’d rather be than between Dame Taborova’s cheeks feeling her heart open with my tongue, while a field of love engulfed us. I was acutely aware of the great privilege I was receiving to be so intimate with this elegant Saint. She was making a cooing sound that seemed to make her sphincter vibrate as I dipped my stiffened tongue in and out.

While there was no requirement that the Kiss of Peace culminate in an orgasm for the recipient, neither was there a rule against it. In the case of the good Dame, her anus was so sensitive that she was fully capable of losing herself in a climax from my tongue alone. While my kiss with her had started slowly, it had quickly revved up to a pace where the good Dame was pushing rhythmically and forcefully back against my mouth and nose, while chanting prayers in Czech and writhing around. Suddenly, with a great fart, she screamed and came, spraying me and the padding with love juice. This certainly marked the end of this portion of the ritual as far as Mrs. Capekova was concerned, for she came hurrying over with a wet washcloth to clean up both her mistress and me.

---

This was, of course, only a third of the full Kiss of Peace, as there remained for the good Dame to share her tongue with Katka and me, and of course for Katka and me to share a kiss with each other. However, I do not wish to try the patience of some readers by describing in detail four more Kisses just now, though I am sure there are other readers who will be disappointed that I am not doing so. Suffice it to say that by the time that the greeting rituals were finally completed, we were all floating in a state of grace that felt like we were balloons filled with helium.