DISCLAIMER: The following is fiction. The story’s content does not represent the writer’s beliefs, opinions, or attitudes. This story is intended for adult entertainment only. The characters and events depicted in this work are fictional. The author does not condone or promote any unlawful activity as depicted in the story. By continuing to read this work you acknowledge that you are an adult who wishes to read works of fantasy and fiction for the purpose only of fantasy. All the characters in this story are adults. They may play different ages for the fictional character that they are depicting but they remain at all times adults. All Rights Reserved © 2025 LITTLESALLY666.
STORY CODES: Supernatural, Demonic, Satanic, Ritual Abuse, Rape, Corruption, Evil, Devil Worship, NC, Sexual Sin, Sex Demons, Young, Cross-dressing, Transgender, Transformation.
CREATED: 01.02.2025 (V11)
Seminary For Sissies – The Prequel
SYNOPSIS OF SEMINARY SCHOOL FOR SISSIES
We go back in time to when the St Andrew’s Seminary School was still controlled harshly and cruelly by religious zealots who believed that homosexuality was a scourge and a decease within the Holy See. Its founder, Father Thomas, together with Sister Sarah, both saw it like a “gay plague” — to be dealt with much like leprosy — contain and destroy.
In this isolated place, those who were sent there faced the reality of intolerance, torment, and abuse by those who saw them as nothing more than sexual demons. The slightest sign of effeminacy would be checked. Any hint of sin would be condemned. Any evidence of homosexual behavior would be harshly punished. Misery and torment were the only way, and death the only exit — until the arrival of, the enigmatic and gifted, Father Samuel.
CHARACTERS (IN ORDER OF APPEARANCE)
- Father Thomas – The founder, religious fanatic, and homophobic priest of St Andrew’s Seminary School (69)
- Daniel – A young effeminate boy sent for corrective training (11)
- Sister Maria – Nun at the orphanage (24)
- Sister Morgan Le Fey – The co-founder to Father Thomas (63)
- Brother Tyrone – A young lay pastor accused of homosexuality (17)
- Brother Bartholomew – A jealous member of the clergy (22)
- Sister Melissa – A nun accused of molesting young girls (32)
- Father Samuel – Enigmatic priest, sent to replace Father Thomas’s place (36)
- Cardinal Angelo Becciu – A homosexual Cardinal in the Vatican (60)
- Sister Angelina – An effeminate cross-dressing priest who dresses as a “nun” (25)
- Sister Emmanuel – An effeminate cross-dressing priest who dresses as a “nun” (29)
- Sister Stacy – An effeminate cross-dressing priest who dresses as a “nun” (22)
- Peter – A young effeminate boy at the seminary (12)
SEMINARY FOR SISSIES – CHAPTER ONE (2,422 WORDS)
“That is why God abandoned these faggots to their shameful desires. Even the women turned against the natural way to have sex and instead indulged in sex with each other. And the men, instead of having normal sexual relations with women, burned with lust for each other. Men did shameful things with other men, the practises of Satan, like oral sex, drinking semen, and sodomy, and as a result of these horrific sins, they suffered within themselves the penalty of eternal damnation.” — Romans chapter 1, verses 26 – 27.
The fabled St Andrew’s Evangelical Seminary School was on the far west coast. Located in an old repurposed monastery it was far from any form of civilisation. On all accounts, it was horrid, unforgiving, and torturous place. This is where the church sent all those accused or suspected of being faggots (young and old). Just as the monastery had been repurposed, it was felt that those who had unnatural proclivities should also be repurposed to — or at least, should disappear, in the process.
Most of the followers of the Abrahamic God had a deep fear of queers, poofters and faggots. It was thought, at the time, that there was a “faggot plague” infesting the Holy church. The elders suggested that it could be dealt with by culling the herd — just like leprosy — that the best solution was to cut out the cancer or at least confine it into a single place where it could not harm the church’s good standing and reputation.
Father Thomas had been instructed that anyone, returning from this hellhole, had to have been deemed to have returned to the “natural order” and that he or she was safe to rejoin the church community. To date, nobody had ever returned … and many had just disappeared as if they’d never existed in the first place. And so the ominous reputation of St Andrew’s echoed through the church’s institution (and even beyond) — like a death sentence or worse.
xxxxx
Daniel was only eleven at the time. Danny wasn’t like the other boys in the local church orphanage. He was on the softer side. Small, pretty, and effeminate, he was quiet and kept to himself. He had been the target of several bullies at one of the church’s many orphanages. He was weak and wasn’t the sort to fight back.
Danny would cry himself to sleep at night. He often found his only escape was through touching his little penis, making it hard between his fingers, drawing his foreskin back and forth, as he prayed to the Lord for salvation — it seemed to comfort him — he often wondered what it would be like to touch the other boys’ penises. Such a forbidden thought. He’d never dared.
He often fantasized about young boys touching, kissing, licking, and even sucking each other. And when nobody else was around, he would secretly masturbate himself, bringing himself to a cum-drenched orgasm, just thinking about sex with other young orphans, both male and female.
That’s when everything went wrong for little Danny.
One of the more vigilant nuns, Sister Maria, caught him in the act of masturbation. His cum covered chest and belly gave him no opportunity to lie about it. The nun seized him by the hair. She was utterly disgusted with him and immediately pulled him before her Mother Superior. The Mother Surpior was even more stern and unforgiving.
“You’re an evil child,” she scorned, “Touching yourself is a dreadful sin. Spilling your precious seed. You revolt me, boy!” she cursed dispassionately, “I have come across your kind before. Touching yourselves, when you think, we’re not looking. Evil is in your loins, boy! You’re possessed by sexual demons! Remember God sees all! He knows all! This, Sister Maria, is the making of a sinning sodomite … there is only one place for evil children like you.”
“St Andrew’s?” asked Sister Maria.
“Yes. Exactly. That’s where all you evil little faggots, homos, and sexual deviants belong. God hates faggots! It is the only salvation! Take the little pervert away!”
The next day, Danny found himself on the way, to the dreaded St Andrew’s.
xxxxx
Upon arrival at the gates of St Andrew’s, Danny was met by Sister Morgan Le Fey. Sister Maria had explained the situation, and Sister Morgan nodded in complete understanding. It was a story she’d heard before — too many times.
The older nun was in her sixties but hard work had kept her body in good shape. She’d stripped the boy of his possessions and his clothing — leaving him naked and cold — as they both awaited the arrival of Father Thomas, the founder of St Andrew’s, who had guided the institution from the very beginning.
Danny looked around at the austere surroundings. It was more like a prison than a school of holiness. His feet were already freezing on the cold stone floor. Not only had they stripped him of his clothes, but Sister Morgan had taken a powerful water hose and soaked him down in icy water.
If he thought the orphanage was bad … he began to imagine the seminary could be much worse. He wanted to die. A large ominous St Andrew’s cross, shaped as an “X”, hung against the bare stone wall. At Danny’s age … everything looked bigger and more oppressive.
“Yes! Look upon it, boy!” spat Father Thomas, “Look upon it … it is our sign of deliverance … for God only forgives those who deserve his forgiveness!”
“I’m cold, sir … Please, please, be merciful …” cried little Danny in his sweet, effeminate voice.
The old priest laughed at the absurdity of the boy’s naivety.
“Mercy? What Mercy? Mercy is not something that this institution is famous for, boy. At St Andrew’s Evangelical Seminary School, we have zero tolerance towards, any form of faggotry. And as far as I see it, once a forgot … always a faggot!”
The old priest cracked his knuckles.
“And as the founder of this establishment, I find your kind aberrant. You’re all sexual demons in my eyes — sent to corrupt the truly innocent. As such, mercy is something we cannot afford — learn that here, we practice the uncompromising ways of Our Lord Jesus Christ — and those that have turned their back on the way of the Lord must be punished for their evil and immoral ways,” continued Father Thomas menacing, “This is why you’re here. This is why you have been brought to me. You’re a vile sinner. Learn this — I know you will never change your ways — therefore you’ll remain here, and suffer most intensely for the rest of your short and meaningless life. Few survive here. Our graveyard is filled with nameless faggots. It is the will of the Almighty One!”
Little Danny hung his head low. His eyes were streaming with tears. His small arms were wrapped around him. With wet hair, his shivers had become trembling, almost hyperthermic, shaking like a little leaf in the wind.
“What shall we do with him?” asked Sister Morgan.
The old nun was used to giving the new boys a good flogging. This always puts them in their place. Their delicate skin would blister and tear under the pain of her severe leather whip. Splashing vinegar over their wounds only irritated them further. And their suffering was her ultimate sadistic pleasure. She would put her back into it, making sure they knew that she was, equally as mean, and unsympathetic as the great Father Thomas. As far as she was concerned, they all deserved it. Her hatred was obvious towards their sinful and unnatural ways. God hated faggots — and so did she.
“Take him to a cell without food or water for three days. Bind him to his bed and let him lay in his filth. He’ll learn soon enough that masturbation is the gateway to the devil — and that, this is the way of St Andrew’s, and the way of Our Lord!”
“God bless you, Father Thomas, for your leniency,” she lied. Turning to the young naked boy, “You should thank God Almighty … you’re lucky it isn’t up to me!”
With this, she grabbed little Danny by his wet hair and dragged him into a nearby dark cell. There, she did as Father Thomas had instructed, binding his thin arms and legs to the cold steel bed frame covered with only a thin, soiled mattress. The desire to thrash him within an inch of death was overwhelming … but she did as Father Thomas instructed.
“Three days. If you live that long …” she laughed out loud.
xxxxx
Brother Tyrone had been assigned to assist with the local Sunday school classes, in one of the more exclusive enclaves of the community. It was a pretty place filled with young, eager to learn, Christian children, all dressed in their Sunday best. What he lacked in personal experience, he made up with sheer enthusiasm. He had not been in the position long before he became immediately popular with his younger students, as well as their families.
However, not everyone was happy about his instant success. Brother Bartholomew had been his predecessor. He’d been reprimanded for his impatience with the children. To him, Brother Tyrone was a slap in the face to his reputation, and to his opportunity for advancement. Jealousy ran through the veins of Brother Bartholomew.
Brother Bartholomew saw an opportunity to get rid of this troublesome young man. He knew it was wrong but he hated him with a vengeance. He’d notice how close Brother Tyrone was to several young and impressional boys in the group — it wouldn’t be too difficult to imagine, the effeminate young man, as a pervert and a sodomite. He just needed to cast the suspicion.
xxxxx
“But it’s not true,” claimed Brother Tyrone, “It’s all lies and fabrication!”
His voice sounded desperate. He’d heard all about St Andrew’s. A nightmare of a place. He wouldn’t last a month there. And he knew it. He’d always wanted to dedicate his life to the glory of Christ. His sexual preferences had been a cross to bear. Though Brother Bartholomew’s description of his crimes of secretly attempting to abuse several young children in his classes had been completely fictitious (and not corroborated by any of the so-called, victims), he knew in his heart that he’d had certain urges … unnatural urges that he’d never acted upon … but never-the-less, he felt trapped by his deep-set guilt and subconscious desires.
As quickly as his accuser had pointed the finger, he’d been brought immediately to the dreaded St Andrew’s. The older nun in charge was scorning. Sister Morgan had ordered him to be stripped of his sandals, gown and underclothing, and had unceremoniously soaked in icy cold water.
His nudity was humiliating enough. His body was shivering from the coldness, as the dispassionate nun and her aids had brought Brother Tyrone to kneel on the hard stone floor before the infamous, Father Thomas. In their eyes, he’d already been convicted — without any real defence. Kneeling naked and wet before St Andrew’s clergy, he felt lost and alone … how could this have happened? But, it had.
“Look at me,” ordered the stern Father Thomas, lifting the weak chin of the young man, “Your guilt and shame is just the beginning of your eternal punishment. Confess your crimes to me, and I will take it into consideration. Do you understand?”
Brother Tyrone nodded.
”I said, do you understand?” he snapped.
“Yes, Father Thomas,” replied the young priest.
“Confess …” prompted Sister Morgan, prodding him hard with the handle of her leather whip, “You’re a faggot! A filthy pervert! A child molester. Confess your sins — faggot!”
“No! It’s lies. It’s not true!” Brother Tyrone cried.
“Denial! You faggot pig!” cursed Father Thomas.
“Here, we do God’s most Holy work — and we know your sort very well!” grunted the sadistic nun, “You lie to us, as you lie to yourself. God hates lying queers! Now … confess all. Confess everything to the Father, or suffer the pain and indignation of my Holy whip.”
Hopelessness filled the heart of the young Brother Tyrone.
xxxxx
It had been a week since his first arrival at St Andrew’s. A long, painful, and torturous week. He was already very weak from the lack of food and water. His body was already battered from the severe beatings and whippings he’d sustained. Awaking from his unconscious state, Brother Tyrone, found himself in a cold, dark cell. Why had God forsaken him in his hour of need? He’d prayed hard for Holy salvation. He’d asked God for forgiveness. But his prayers were never answered. God’s voice was silent.
”Please God … help me …” he wept.
“It’s no use praying!”
It was the voice of a young woman in the cell next to his. Like Brother Tyrone, Sister Melissa too, had been starved and whipped to the point of blood and bruises. Brother Tyrone looked up and saw her bruised and battered body, as she sat naked on her filthy bunk. Like Brother Tyrone, Sister Melissa had been a devotee to the Lord and had rejoiced in doing His Holy work but had been accused of abusive behavior with the young girls under her care. True or not true, she’d been denied any defense and brought to this “God-forsaken” place.
”I’m innocent. They brought me here under false pretence. I’ve been wrongly accused!”
“Nobody is innocent, here,” she muttered.
The frail young woman slowly stood up. She looked almost skeletal — starved to the brink. She came slowly to the edge of the barred wall that separated their cells. Even in the poor light, Brother Tyrone could see her every rib, every bone, beneath her sallow skin. She appeared delicate and very frail.
”I was exactly like you, dear brother,” she coughed and whispered, “They accused me of many things. They said I had the mark of the devil … that my sexual organs were possessed by demons … they said I had unnatural proclivities … they said that God hated me … that in no time, I would die in this place,” her breathing was labored, “And praying for forgiveness was my only sanctuary!”
Brother Tyrone stood up and his hand touched hers as she held the bars of the cell for support. The frail nun smiled at his soft touch as she pressed her face against the cold, rusty bars.
“But it’s just another lie … God doesn’t care about us … there are no innocent people here … all of us … men, women, and children … are demons in their eyes. They want us to die.”
xxxxx
SEMINARY FOR SISSIES – CHAPTER TWO (2,514 WORDS)
“The woman shall not wear that which pertaineth unto a man, neither shall a man put on a woman’s garment, act like a faggot, and offering themselves to sexual demons: for all that do so are an abomination unto the Lord thy God.” — Deuteronomy chapter 22, verse 5.
“Or do you not know that the unrighteous will not inherit the kingdom of God? Do not be deceived: neither the sexually immoral, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor men who practice homosexuality.” — Corinthians Chapter 6, verse 9.
Father Thomas had gathered a number of his cruellest associates. However, his closest associate, Sister Morgan Le Fay was otherwise engaged.
He’d not expected word from the Vatican — and it had come in the form of the arrival of a new priest, Father Samuel — and a Holy Decree from the newly appointed, Cardinal Angelo Becciu himself. It seemed the Vatican had sought to make some changes at St Andrew’s. These were significant changes that Father Thomas disagreed with. He marched angrily up and down, throwing his hands in the air, like a child about to throw a tantrum.
”Bullshit!” they weren’t exactly the words associated with a man of his rank and stature.
“I assure you that the Vatican’s seal is authentic,” said the much younger priest, Father Samuel, “I have been sent here to replace you … and you are requested to return to Vatican City, immediately.”
”Requested!” blasted the senior priest.
Father Thomas brought his fist heavily down on his deck as his followers looked on in a state of confusion.
“Over my dead body!” he shouted, throwing the paperwork back at the younger pretty-faced priest.
“I’m just following orders,” said the effeminate priest in response to Father Samuel’s violent outburst.
“Who are you, to tell me what to do, in my institution,” replied Father Thomas.
Thick, blue veins bulged on his sweating forehead. Father Thomas wasn’t sure why, but he felt a strong pressure on his chest. A heavy pressure. He sat down as his head began to spin. His breathing suddenly became labored, as if he’d been running a few miles.
“It’s not me … that you should be complaining to … it is our Cardinal.”
He couldn’t understand why but felt he needed to leave the room.
“This is … (cough) … not the end … (cough) … of this matter,” he said as he turned and stumbled from his chamber.
Two of his aids chased after their leader. The others remained, all looking sheepishly at the new priest.
”You are all dismissed. All of you,” said Father Samuel, addressing the half a dozen nuns and priests that stood around him, “You will leave the premises immediately with Father Thomas. My colleagues … Sisters Angelina, Emmanuel, and Stacy will assist you … get out of my sight …”
They all looked at each other, still dumbfounded by what had happened.
“Get out … NOW!”
xxxxx
Father Samuel watched from the tower window, as Father Thomas’ entourage left unceremoniously from the gates of St Andrew’s. It had taken less than an hour with the majority of his staff departing with him. Only a few scattered individuals remained, and they wouldn’t be there for much longer either … once Father Samuel’s people had rooted them out.
Father Samuel smiled to himself. His semi-erect cock stirred beneath his long black robe. He stroked himself through the fabric of his gown. He needed to sink his cock deep in the bowels of a pretty, young sissyboi — it would be exactly as the perverted Cardinal had planned.
Father Samuel would be their Shepard of Transformation.
He’d been sent by the Cardinal Angelo Becciu, to make sweeping changes at the ill-famed institution. These were to be secretive changes. It had been suggested to the Cardinal that St Andrew’s would make the perfect place for their deepest of sinful plans. It would become their Devil’s playground. They would remove the staff that closely followed the doctrine of his predecessor; there would be a radical new modus operandi; with a new path to be followed … and a much darker and more pervertedly lustful way of thinking … the way of their Dark Lord, Satan.
”What is your perverted bidding, O Servant of Satan?” asked Sister Angeline, as she knelt before Father Samuel and kissed the obvious bulge in the front of his thin habit.
Sisters Emmanuel and Stacy closed the door behind them as they entered the Father’s bedchamber. They’d brought a young naked child with them. They both knelt, as they held the emancipated arms of the boy between them.
”What is your name, pretty one?” asked Father Samuel.
The young effeminate priest looked over at the thin, malnourished naked boy, hungrily. The tiny boy looked terrified. The fear of torment from months of cruelty, confinement, and the lack of food and water had made him visibly shake with panic.
”D-D-Daniel … Sir …” stuttered the effeminate boy, expecting further cruelty.
“Let us all, take a moment, to say a word of praise. And thank our Dark Lord, and enjoy the fruits of his labor.”
“Ave domine inferni! Ave domine inferni!” replied the three horny, transgendered nuns.
xxxxx
Daniel found himself in a simple but comfortable room with a double bed. It was dark outside but the room itself was lit by the light of twenty or more black candles. He was not alone. Brother Tyrone sat naked awaiting his arrival.
Daniel smiled, seeing the priest’s erect cock in his hands, as he openly masturbated himself without fear of retribution. He knew that with the new Father, the faggots of St Andrew’s had nothing to fear. Faggorty was more than encouraged. It was celebrated. It was the way they worshipped the Lord — the Drak Lord, that is.
Daniel remembered the incredulous words of Father Samuel. It was a complete revelation to hear, “Hail Satan! Satan loves faggots. That’s why we will worship Satan, together!”
He’d been brought before the new Father by two Sister-nuns that he was unfamiliar with. He’d expected another beating or worse, as death seemed to be the only way to end the suffering in St Andrew’s. But to his complete surprise, the Father had been gentle, caring, and even loving towards him — the new Father held him close and began kissing his lips. He’d felt the Father’s tongue invade his mouth.
He remembered how he’d seen, for the first time, the new Father’s bedchamber and how it had been decorated with images of red-skinned demons having carnal pleasure with many young boys, just like him … the sissy boys, with long girlie hair and make-up, that didn’t look afraid — quite the contrary — as they were excited, erect and actively participating in oral sex and anal sex with the each other and with the sex demons.
In the large bedchamber, there was even a huge demonic idol. The idol looked part animal, part human, part male, and part female — with large leather-like wings, the head of a goat, the hooves of a beast, the breasts of a woman, and a huge cock rising between its hairy thighs.
Daniel knew it was the God of the Witches. The Baphomet. The new Father had encouraged him to touch the idol’s cock, kiss it, caress it, and pray before it.
And he hadn’t been alone with the new handsome Father. There had been other young pretty boys, that he’d seen being tortured and tormented by the bad nuns, just like him. But now, they all stood naked — their penises were proudly erect — Daniel became excited looking at them. Like a dream come true. A dream he’d feared to dream. For he’d known before, that any sexual arousal, led immediately to torment or death by the bad nuns.
There had been three new nuns with them. They were nuns he’d never seen before. They were much prettier nuns. They wore make-up and their habits weren’t shapeless pieces of black cloth. Instead, their clothing hugged their trim and shapely figures. They wore inverted crosses to show their allegiance to Satan.
He knew Father Thomas would never approve of their dress code — and as they undressed — young Daniel saw that they were not completely female, much like the demonic idol, they too had sexy erect penises that he was eager to suck — like a little girlie cock-slut.
The new Father had encouraged, and then watched, as the other young boys had kissed and caressed him … they’d even touched his penis … which had become incredibly hard and dripped with seminal fluids at its tip. Usually, this would be a signal for a whipping — but no whipping came — instead the new Father, and his cock-nuns, had all begun to masturbate themselves and chanted in a language that he didn’t understand … as the young boys paired off, rubbing their hard little cocks against each other … kissing each other, as the new Father had kissed him … they touched his dirty anus with their wet fingers … finger-fucking his dirty hile … as they swapped partners, over and over.
Daniel felt a warm mouth engulf his penis, and a tongue feverishly licking his brown flower, while another boy guided his hand to grip his penis, and rubbed it hard, until white stuff sprayed across Daniel’s face. The boy’s sticky emission had tasted delicious … Daniel wanted more! Much more!
“Don’t be afraid,” said Brother Tryone.
The words of his new lover broke his concentration. He climbed up on the hairy thighs of Brother Tyrone, so that he sat across his lap, facing him. They held each other, and kissed deeply, as their penises rubbed against each other. Daniel groaned in pleasure. He’d had learned from the new Father that there would, no longer be, any beatings … no starvation, no cruelty … that each of the ex-priests who be paired with a young one … for mutual their pleasure … nothing was forbidden … that sin was good … that faggotry was Satan’s gift to be celebrated at every moment possible.
Cries of suffering had turned into cries of ecstasy as he’d discovered the joys of sodomy. Giving himself to the young priest completely as he felt him ejaculate into his bowels. To serve Satan was his new purpose — his calling — and to pleasure Satan’s clergy!
xxxxx
Sister Melissa had originally found herself in the infirmary. She had been very weak at the time. She was a shadow of her former self. The new Sisters had been very kind and gentle. She had been suspicious of their motives but had quickly learned that Father Thomas and most of his cronies had gone. What did that mean? Would it get worse? Or dare she imagine that it could change for the better?
She’d been fed well. It was the first proper meal she’d eaten since her arrival a few months earlier. The nuns dressed her wounds. She wasn’t the only one. There had been dozens like her. Men, women, and young children … all being treated for their many injuries and pain — but the greatest pain — was still in her mind.
The new Father had visited her and the others. She had a vague memory of the handsome priest being among them as she lay semi-conscious. He’d not said much but his smile and kindness seemed to reflect the care and attention of the other nuns. But now she’d recovered, the new Father had asked her about her “crimes” … she’d begun the conversation in a very guarded way, avoiding any specifics, and certainly never exposing her proclivity for sex with young ones. Pedophilia was a death sentence.
Dressed in a simple one-piece slip, she’d been escorted to the new Father’s chamber. Once inside the Sister asked her to remove her slip, so that the new Father could examine how her wounds had healed. Strange music filled her ears, like dark chanting, in an unfamiliar language. The chamber itself, was large and spacious, with a bedroom off to one side. Everywhere was lit by black candles. The entry had a library of books, filled with titles she’d never heard of before, crossing over forbidden topics like occult, black magick, witchcraft, and even devil worship.
”Welcome,” he said.
She wasn’t sure why but there was something about the new Father’s demeanor that disarmed her. His hands touched her gently … her breasts, her bottom, and her vagina … it didn’t feel like a medical examination at all — more lustful … more sexual. She felt a kind of kindred spirit around him — as if he was as perverted as she was. How could she trust this strange, darkly handsome priest?
”Tell me about your crimes,” he asked while touching her inappropriately.
It was as if he could read her thoughts — how she’d groomed several young boys and girls for sexual acts with her. It went against everything that she believed in but was exactly the reason she had gotten herself into a position of trust — to abuse them for her sexual pleasure — corrupt them, and take their innocence for her orgasmic delight. As she recalled, the new Father smiled and masturbated her.
”They are your toys,” said Father Samuel, “You are a Sister of Satan … your perverted pleasures will be safe here, from now on … you join us in our Satanic orgies dedicated to our selfish desires! Nothing will be denied you … all you have to do is say … Yes!”
He led her into the bedchamber where she first saw the floor-to-ceiling murals that covered every wall — images of a forbidden demonic orgy — between evil beasts and sinning children. Erotically charged, she couldn’t help but touch herself before the new Father.
He’d called for one of his Sisters. A young, pretty Sister, called Sister Stacy.
These nuns weren’t dressed in the usual drab attire. No, they wore tight-fitting outfits that showed off their feminine figures. The young Sister had brought a young boy, named Peter, with her. Peter was naked (as it had been before the arrival of the new Father), however, it had shocked Sister Melissa to see that the young Peter was fully erect.
”Tell me about your crimes,” he asked again as the child knelt before her and immediately began to perform cunnilingus.
She remembered how she’d been accused of having the “Mark of the Devil” as her accusers examined her genitals, finding that she had an unusually large five-inch clitoris. More like a cock, they’d said. A sexual demon among us, they’d cried. Yes, they had no proof of her abuse but sought to find her guilty of witchcraft because of her physical abnormalities. With that thought, she felt young Peter sucking her clitoris much like a young boy’s cock.
“It is truly a gift from Satan!” remarked the new Father, “Will you say … Yes?”
”Oh, Yes! A thousand times … Yes!” she answered.
The new Father and Sister Stacy were no longer clothed. Sister Stacy had been kneeling before the new Father, sucking his cock — and as Sister Stacy stood up and turned to face her — she could see the nun’s phallus standing upright from between her nylon-stocking, covered legs. She was beautiful — the perfect blend of maleness and femininity — like her, she also was a sexual creature of Satan.
xxxxx
SEMINARY FOR SISSIES – CHAPTER THREE (2,008 WORDS)
“Just as Sodom and Gomorrah indulged in sexual immorality, pursuing unnatural desire, committing unholy sins of devil worship, orgies, fornication, homosexuality, lesbianism, faggotry, oral sexual, and buggery — serve as an example by undergoing the punishment of eternal fire.” — Jude chapter 1 verse 7.
“And the men likewise gave up natural relations with women and were consumed with passion for one another — it was men committing shameless acts of unholy faggotry with other men, and receiving in themselves— they should suffer the due penalty of death.” — Romans chapter 1 verse 7.
Sister Morgan had been caught by surprise. She’d been a staunch supporter of Father Thomas as their beloved leader and the founder of St Andrew’s. She viewed this change with disdain and Father Thomas’s successor with utter disgust. How could the Vatican do this?
The new replacement, Father Samuel, appeared as effeminate as some of those kept under lock and key. Sister Morgan had always secretly admired Father Thomas, not just for his righteousness and uncompromising methods of dealing with all the queers and faggots within their walls but also because she’d seen him as a man worthy of sexual congress — she’d punished herself for those unholy thoughts, whipping herself, until she fell unconscious.
Rehabilitation was not a word she felt was appropriate. Faggots, perverts, and lesbians were all demon-inspired. But it had been the new Cardinal at the Vatican, himself, that had appointed this thirty-something priest, Father Samuel, to a position of ultimate authority. She was powerless and had no say in the matter. From her observations, she found Father Samuel’s methods inappropriate for his position — with his libertine and sympathetic attitude — towards the very individuals she sought to torment, torture, and kill.
God Almighty would surely not approve.
He’d made some sweeping changes. Though complete nudity continued, the inmates shared accommodation. No longer in the cell blocks. No longer starved and forbidden to bathe. Most of her sisters and brothers had already been replaced with others appointed specifically, by Father Samuel.
Upon protest, she had been brought before Father Samuel to make her case against his instructions. She had been greeted by two new Sisters — Sister Angelina and Sister Emmanuel — and one of the young boys, Daniel. She’d taken an immediate distaste for this particular boy — frankly, she was surprised he hadn’t died yet from the mistreatment.
”I don’t understand?” said Sister Morgan.
”An understanding is not a prerequisite for following my orders,” replied Father Samuel.
He was not particularly tall, strong, or distinguished man. Almost average in every way. He seemed uninterested in the intent of the seminary — which had become a torturous prison for all those that were accused of faggotry — his softer way infuriated her. He’d taken away her whip but now she saw it lying across his desk. Corporal punishment was banned. What did he expect her to use on the faggots, harsh words?
”Sister Morgan, what exactly is your problem?”
Father Samuel talked too softly. His body movements were too effeminate. She hated that. It was the first time she’d been in his private office. The bookshelves behind his desk seemed filled with books she’d never seen before. The titles seemed off and out of place. Forbidden books. Occult books. There were other subtle signals of change — like the Pagan art — things that didn’t belong in the house of the Lord. The smell of incense or something else, like freshly spilt semen, permeated her senses. She didn’t want to comment but felt compelled to say something.
”I don’t see how treating these faggots and queers differently is going to help? They need to be severely punished. I need my whip. Father Thomas insisted on a daily flogging to keep them weak. We’re here to make their life hell. Let me choose one of them to whip to an inch of death … that always keeps the queers in line!”
”Sister, there will be no more flogging,” said Father Samuel, “Unlike Father Thomas, I see things … differently.”
”We cannot show any weakness or compassion,” she blurted, “They must understand that God hates faggots!”
She watched as Sister Emmanuel brought the young, naked boy forward so that he stood between Father Samuel and her. It wasn’t his nakedness but his sexual arousal that seemed to catch her eye.
”Yes,” continued Father Samuel, “Your whip … you’re saying that young queer boys, like Daniel, need to feel the power of your whip.”
Finally, some sense. Yes! Exactly, she thought. The sight of the boy’s erection triggered her hatred. Whip him, she thought. Whip his cock. Father Samuel took her whip in his hand. The boy bent forward and began to touch himself. She saw Father Samuel holding her whip incorrectly. He gripped the thick leather handle the wrong way around. He spat on the fingers of his other hand and began to rub it against the boy’s anus. Daniel seemed to purr at the sensation of the Father’s wet fingers rubbing against his anal hole. The boy turned and looked over his shoulder, grinning evilly at the priest.
Sister Morgan looked on in shock as Father Samuel brought the round-ended handle to the edge of the boy’s brown flower — pressing the handle of her whip into his bowels.
”Mmmmmmm …” moaned the boy.
”Yes, your whip will come in handy,” said the priest, “You’re right. God hates faggots — maybe that’s why we should rethink who we should pray to, don’t you think?”
”I don’t understand,” muttered Sister Morgan as she continued to watch Father Samuel fucking the boy’s anus with her whip handle, pressing it deeper as he thrust it back and forth like a dildo.
“Stop! Stop! This is absurdly wrong!”
Father Samuel did stop. He pulled the whip from the boy’s gaping anus and brought it to his lips, licking the soiled handle and tasting the boy’s shit.
”Delicious!” groaned the priest.
Sister Morgan watched in horror as she noticed for the first time how the new Father seemed to have a pair of small but obvious horns upon his forehead. It was like a lightning bolt hitting her — he was a demon — a sworn enemy of her church. Suddenly, it all made sense. She looked around. The other Sisters had horns too … they removed their gowns — revealing their true transsexual nature.
“You’re … you’re … you’re the Devil incarnate!” she spat.
Father Samuel slowly removed his gown just as his two accomplices grabbed the old nun’s arms, wrestling her to her knees before him. She pulled against their hold, but they were too strong to fight. His demonic horns looked even more prominent as the nun cowled beneath him. Fear gripped her as the new Father smiled. His cock was fully erect and dripping with cock slime. He rubbed his cock-head against her wriggled, old face.
”Erghhhh!” Sister Morgan groaned as she tried to twist away, but found herself paralysed as he pressed it against her half-open lips.
”That’s it. Yes. You’ll make an excellent cock-sucker,” laughed Father Samuel.
His long, thick cock pushed past her lips, filling her mouth further, as it began to penetrate her throat. Her eyes streamed with tears and eyeballs bulged as he found herself unable to stop his cock from choking her. He began to face-fuck her harder, pushing his demonic cock-flesh in and out of her gagging throat.
”You think I won’t kill you? I could choke you right now, you fucking bitch … No. Maybe that would be too easy. Maybe there will be a sacrifice tonight. A sodomite ritual dedicated to the pleasure of our god of faggots! To thank the Dark Lord for his perverted blessings. What better reward, than to offer the soul of one so dedicated to her absentee God?”
xxxxx
Father Thomas turned on his heels.
He’d decided not to return immediately to the Vatican as ordered by the Cardinal. Instead, he had sent his followers onwards without him with the excuse of an illness that made him unfit to travel. Taking a lodging at a small motel, some distance from St Andrew, he waited and planned his next move.
He’d expected to have received word from Sister Morgan, his trusted associate, but there had been no such message. Something wasn’t right about all of it. He could feel it in his bones. He acted upon the word of God … this was his crusade against the vile infestation that weakened the church.
He would find out what was going on in his absence. He’d get to the bottom of this. He distrusted this new Father Samuel, and dare he say, the new Cardinal. They may unwittingly undo all the good that he’d engineered. Removing the faggots and queers from the church was only part of the story. Their sufferance was God’s work. He couldn’t simply accept being replaced — for any reason.
”As God is my witness … my work is far from done … and no one will get in my way!” he said to himself.
xxxxx
Things for Brother Bartholomew had gone much better, in his eyes, since the timely demise of Brother Tyrone. The dumb, weak bastard, he thought to himself. They were all fucking weaklings, he thought. It had been a great idea to pray on his obvious effeminate nature. Now he was gone, Brother Bartholomew was no longer under the threat of being compared. Though it wasn’t exactly very Christian of him, he had already planned his promotion, and how to move on from this boring community.
It was early evening. Brother Bartholomew had faked illness to take time off from his duties. On the way back to his accommodation, from the shadows, two figures emerged. One had suddenly and without any warning smothered his mouth with a cloth, soaked in something that made him instantly dizzy … then quickly unconscious. The attacker mubbled something about, “A gift from your faggot brother …” He’d struggled, but in no time, had passed out. It was the last thing he remembered.
Now, in the gloom of a cold and dark cell, no bigger than the span of his arms, and surrounded by cold, metal bars — he immediately realized his nakedness. Why was he undressed? Where was he? What had happened to him? His recollection of the words, “Faggot Brother,” conjured the desperate face of young Brother Tyrone as they dragged him away proclaiming his innocence. He remembered how he’d pretended to be concerned about him when he’d been the one to tell the church authorities about his fake suspicions of the young brother being a faggot. They’d acted upon it immediately. And he’d watched them taking him away … as he secretly smiled to himself.
At that moment, a deeply-seated panic began to twist in the pit of his stomach. Retribution? No, it couldn’t be. His thoughts suddenly coincided with his shivers. What was this place … it couldn’t be St Andrew’s … the dreaded prison for fucking faggots … it would make no sense for him to have been brought here … he’d not done anything to deserve that … after all, he hated faggots, queers, and effeminate weaklings.
”What does it feel like?” said a voice beyond the boundaries of the metal bars.
It was an effeminate voice that he recognized as Brother Tyrone’s.
”What’s going on? Where are my clothes? You have no business bringing me here,” he bemoaned.
”Is that right,” replied a different voice in the darkness, “You don’t belong here, right? This is a prison for faggots, queers, and sodomites … and you’re an upstanding brother of the church …”
”Exactly … now get me out of here … there’s a mistake!” replied Brother Bartholomew impatiently.
”What do you think?” asked the second voice, talking to the first, who sounded like Brother Tyrone.
“We were informed that you were touching young boys …”
”That’s a lie,” he shouted back, “I’m no faggot … I’ve been wrongly accused … I want to see the Cardinal … let me out of here, now!”
”You will get your chance to face your accusers … when the time is right,” the second voice said, as their footsteps in the darkness receded.
xxxxx
THE END?
xxxxx
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