Feature Writer: Yankee Dan
Feature Title: THE ABBEY OF DISILLUSION 2
Published: 28.01.2023
Story Codes: Erotic Horror
Synopsis: Lesbians, Nuns, and Lovecraft
Author’s Note: Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed it. Feedback is always good be it positive or negative I appreciate it greatly. If folks don’t like tentacle sex this is your chance to talk me out of part 2 being a tentacle rape fest. Lesbian BDSM will be the central focus though I’m open to suggestions of other kinks. I envision this as the beginning of what will be my longest story series.
The Abbey Of Disillusion 2
Much pleasure we have lost, while we abstain’d from this delightful fruit, nor known till now true relish, tasting. If such pleasure be in things to us forbidd’n, it might be wish’d for this one tree had been forbidden ten. — John Milton, Paradise Lost
May 12, 1933
Last night I dreamt that the stairwell door was ajar. I was laying awake in my bed, staring out the window at the waxing moon, trying to ignore the scratching at my door.
I know I wrote things yesterday that would make a stuffed bird laugh but every bit is true, and when I woke up this morning I was perplexed as to what I ought to do about it. If I didn’t have a place at Providence Abbey I’d be back in the alleys off Church Street.
I speculate that the abbess is keeping Mr. Dumonte captive without the knowledge of the other sisters, but without knowing for sure I’ll soon find myself thrown out if I open up to the wrong Sister. I had been following Margaret that night, had she gone in the door? I decided this afternoon, as I dug near the Miskatonic for a future irrigation ditch, that I’d make another trip into the dungeon. I could ask Mr. Dumonte for an explanation and release him to go to the police in my stead if such was necessary.
As to the peculiarities of the evening … I haven’t the slightest inkling of how to deal with them.
While I pondered this oddity I was startled by a voice, Sister Margaret. She had come out after finishing her duties and offered to help me work. It was a sight to see the woman, larger than me though she was, struggle to wring life from the ground. Rosaries are clearly more suited to her disposition than shovels, but I appreciated the help, and I did not ask her whereabouts the previous evening.
When we came in before supper, we were a sight, sweaty as could be, I followed Margaret to the bath. As I undressed, I heard her lock the door behind me. I turned back, suddenly realizing I was about to be alone, and naked, with the woman.
She stood by the door, biting her lower lip and staring at me.
“Keep going,” she said.
“It’s to risky …” I whispered.
She raised her voice and spoke as though she were my mother.
“TAKE. OFF. YOUR. CLOTHES.”
I slowly began to strip, aware of her gaze as I did so.
“Get on your knees.,” she said as I finished.
“Margaret maybe we should do this later …” I weakly protested.
“Are you getting familiar with me?” she asked.
“I’m sorry?” I asked and apologized.
“It’s SISTER, do you understand?”
“Yes, Sister Margaret,” I replied meekly.
“Now crawl over here,” she ordered me.
I complied, knowing that I shouldn’t, that it was wrong, that it was dangerous, that discovery meant expulsion. I crawled to her feet, my head hung low, my heart rate rising with anticipation.
“Look at me,” she said.
As I raised my face to her she pulled her habit up, underneath was nothing, her bare, sweaty body was exposed to me.
“I’ve been thinking about this ALL DAY,” she explained, “My odor must be strong, don’t you think.”
I pressed my face forward, and breathed her in. She was right, it was strong, and salty, her skin dripping sweat from the spring sun. To my surprise she turned around, presenting her ass to me.
“Start here.”
I shook my head, surely there are limits to my depravity.
“Don’t make me have to make you,” she warned me.
My stomach was tied in knots, I squeezed my eyes tight and planted a kiss on her left ass cheek. “More.” She commanded.
I kissed around the velvety skin of her ass, which was so white it may well have never felt the sun’s light.
“More,” she demanded again.
I sucked on the flesh, and ran my tongue along it, cleaning the sweat drop by drop. I felt her hand on the back of my head, pushing towards her dark valley. I shook my head, no!
She giggled, as though my discomfort were the whining of a puppy, and pushed, insistently. I gave fainthearted resistance, but part of me wondered, what her delicate rosebud would feel like on my tongue, and then I did feel it. The surface, fascinating in its tightness, it’s wrinkled smoothness, was enthralling to me once I began kissing her there. I kissed her sweaty asshole passionately, and Frenched it, forcing my tongue against the ring.
I reached up and squeezed her firm ass cheeks, then pulled them apart, helping her bury my face deeper. Her full ass covered my face, pressing against my cheeks like pillows smothering me, her fingers intertwined with my hair, forbidding any retreat. She held me there and forced me back, crawling, against the wall. Leaning forward she pushed her ass back, trapping me. My tongue slipped through her anus and into her, wiggling among the soft insides.
“Uhhh … God you’re such a dirty mouse,” she gasped through clenched teeth.
I could only moan a reply, what am I to say? I have no defense. I am a filthy degenerate, not just a whore to get by but an enthusiastic ass licking lesbian. So I sucked and slurped, making the most perverse sounds fill the bath, my spit mingling with her pussy juices dripping down her thighs. She pulled back and I gasped for air. Margaret turned around, dropping her habit over my head. I was left in the dark, my face inches from her cunt.
“Do it,” she insisted.
I opened my lips and started cleaning her ripe cunt. Each delicate fold was given great care. I started at the bottom and lapped up the dried sweat mixed with her sweet nectar, feeling Margaret shudder above me.
“Stop teasing me Chuckaboo,” she muttered.
I pressed my face into her folds, sucking her clit into my mouth. I wiggled my tongue against it, feeling her moan in appreciation. My hands ran up her thighs, grabbing her ass and pulling, I shoved my face against her cunt, sparks forming in front of my eyes as I trembled from lack of air, the heat rising from my pussy the only thing keeping me going.
“Yesss … you should be muff-diving for all the nuns in the abbey don’t you think?”
God why does she say such things? More importantly, why do they stoke the burning in my lions?
“Would you like that, hmmm, would you like me to line up the girls outside so they can come in one after another and ride your face?”
I found her clit with my lips and kissed it for all I was worth. Determined to shut her up by leaving her breathless.
“Caroline you’re making me cum you filthy dyke … ugghhh God yes …”
Margaret shuddered above me as her juices flooded my mouth. I began to rub my own weeping pussy with one hand, needing to get off as I debased myself, dirty and sweating on my knees before this woman whom I derived such sick pleasure from servicing. The folds of her sex wrapping around my nose and mouth drove me to insanity, and I came while shaking from asphyxiation.
I found myself on the floor, and realized I had blacked out again, but from the look of things only for a moment. My pussy was still hot and Margaret stood above me, removing her clothes.
“Let’s get cleaned up,” she said, “Not long til supper.”
She helped me up and into the bath where we cleaned each other, I wanted to lick her to another orgasm but there wasn’t time. As she washed my breast we locked eyes and it happened.
She kissed me. Her kiss was soft and gentle … and all to brief. My breath left my body from that kiss as surely as it had when she’d pinned me to the bed, and my head spun. I forgot all about the previous night’s events for a while, as we ate dinner together, although not all was bliss. I walked past the other nuns and although I’d bathed and changed clothes, I couldn’t imagine that I looked normal. How could there not be some visible change, I wondered, as the world around me carried on, oblivious.
It was while we ate dinner that I pondered the practical needs of fulfilling my impractical desires. That this train could be stopped no longer entered my mind, I was committed to a conspiracy of sin with Sister Margaret, and I knew the path forward was learning how we might indulge these desires behind the backs of fellow Sisters. It was even more important to me now that I not disrupt this new life, and I wondered, could I simply ignore what I had seen the previous evening?
When I arrived at the dining hall after dressing Margaret was already there. She sat with two other Sisters and I slowed my step. In that moment I realized that I had largely sat alone in my time here until I began to know Margaret. I’ve had little interaction with the Sisters besides Mother Superior and Sister West, yet they beckoned me over and, breathing deeply, I approached.
One of the women, an older nun by her looks, greeted me.
“Nice to have your company, Ms. Lapham.”
“It’s nice to have someone else be the new girl!” the other Sister interrupted.
I saw that she was very young, the most junior Sister I had seen in my time here.
Margaret introduced me to Sisters Lillibridge and Dewart.
“We call her Lily for short,” Margaret told me.
“But we shouldn’t,” Sister Dewart informed me, “Lily joined us at sixteen, like Margaret did. We had to wait until her eighteenth birthday to make her a full sister although she was past ready.”
“I didn’t mind,” Lillibridge told me, “I wanted to be a woman religious from the time I was a young girl, and there’s so much to learn after all.”
You’re still a young girl. I thought to myself.
My parents would have never let me leave the farm at sixteen, to much work to be done. I remembered the funeral then, and the dark days afterward on the streets of Arkham, though I tried to hide the thoughts that suddenly intruded.
“It’s about time you started making friends here,” Dewart said.
I tried not to look surprised as she went on, telling me how Mother Superior said I was doing so well. Of course, I’ve been foolish, my shame isn’t written in lights on Broadway. To the nuns I’m just another postulant, soon to be one of them, an oddball yes as a farmer’s daughter, but I realize now that knowledge of my prior life is not making the rounds through the ranks. The sin of gossip isn’t prevalent in this abbey, the Mother Superior has kept my confidence.
May 13, 1933
Last night I fell asleep! I lay in bed waiting for the optimal time to sneak into what I have begun to think of as the dungeon and next thing I knew the sun was rising! I thought of poor Mr. Dumonte locked in the cellar and felt awful. I resolved that I wouldn’t fail again. Towards this end I spent my day conserving energy. I did only simple task in the gardens and when Margaret came to visit, I ceased my labors. We sat together by the Miskatonic and daringly I stole a kiss, believing none were around and the trees would guard our secret.
Though we physically shared this affection our throats could not seem to voice it, for the cold light of day neither she nor I could verbalize our affair, despite the vulgar things we shared when our loins were hot.
I claimed fatigue after supper to escape back to my room in solitude, where I steeled myself for what was to come. I prepared a bag with a flashlight, a hammer, and a sickle. The hammer I would need to break Mr. Dumonte’s chain.
All was quiet in the abbey as I snuck to the doorway, a chill silence settling on the abbey as if a graveyard closed for the evening. I’m pleased to report I can now open the door with only a few attempts, but I paused at the entrance, staring at the upward steps, could they go to the roof? From outside the abbey it doesn’t appear so but I couldn’t explore that mystery while a man sat imprisoned in the dungeon. I proceeded downward as silently as I could for I cared not to draw the attention of the abbess or whatever animal might wander this darkness.
I held my flashlight in reserve, working with the bit of light that I now knew came from a torch lighting Mr. Dumonte’s cell. At length I came to his cell and was pleased that I startled him.
“Ms. Prinn?” he asked, squinting at me in the dim light.
“No,” I replied.
“Oh it’s you, the ninja.”
“Ninja?” I asked, smiling despite the circumstance, “No, I’m just a humble applicant at this abbey, who found my way down her through curiosity. My name is Caroline Lapham.”
“Well I’m grateful for that. John Dumonte, at your service.”
Dumonte was lying in bed, and now stood, letting the sheet fall off him. I was shocked by his lack of modesty but given his situation I forgave him forgetting himself.
He was a middle-aged man, just younger than my father, and in excellent health from the look of him. I inspected him rather immodestly myself.
“Nice to meet you …” I said as he walked as far as he could up to the edge of the cell, his toned body coming more clearly into view.
I see why the Mother Superior makes such use of him.
“Where are your clothes?” I asked him.
“Taken for misbehavior by your abbess,” he told me.
“How long have you been down here?”
“Perhaps three weeks.”
“And why are you here?”
The most important question. I regarded him carefully, reminding myself not to trust too quickly.
He sighed.
“It’s difficult to explain …”
Dumonte began to tell me a tale. I could sense him holding back, considering what to tell me. He claimed that he was an investigator into cult activity. He had been searching for a cult operating in Arkham when he pieced together reports and interviews indicating that people where disappearing from the city. These people were vagabonds and drifters, folk whose disappearance would be excused as having moved on, their lives as substantial as the vapors rising from the cold sewers of Arkham’s streets, but their friends reported that they’d made no plans to do so, and some of them had started to set down roots.
The pivotal break in his case came when patrons of the poorhouse told him that the Sisters of Providence Abbey had been offering quarters to needy homeless, and that not one person who had accepted had been seen again. Dumonte interviewed some of the Sisters openly, a mistake he mused that was brought on by his perception that, as women, they posed no threat. He shook his head at this, laughing at himself.
“There’s no vagrants housed here,” I flatly told him.
“Well, there’s one,” he said, chuckling.
“What are you hiding?” I inquired.
He stood silent for a moment.
“There are facts about this case that would cause you to doubt my story, things difficult to believe. They are of crucial import yet they do not change the substance of what I’ve told you. Be assured I have done no wrong to deserve this imprisonment if that is what concerns you.”
In truth it did not really. Even if Dumonte was a foul man the abbess could not enact her own justice upon him, though from the behavior I’d witnessed justice was not what she held him for.
I looked about his cell. The door was ajar, for it was not what contained him. Mr. Dumonte had a shackle on his right leg, attached to the bed which was itself attached to the wall opposite the door. I reached into my bag and withdrew the hammer, dropping it at his feet.
“Wait until I’m gone,” I instructed him.
“What is this about?” he asked, clearly somewhat confused by my plan.
“You will escape of your own accord. Bring the hammer with you please. I can’t be involved.”
Especially if it brings down the abbey. I thought of how angry Margaret would be if she should discover I’d compromised her home.
“I see,” he said, picking up the hammer and hiding it under his meager mattress, “My method of escape shall be a mystery to Ms. Prinn,” he then looked at my bag on the floor, the sickle sticking out, “Keep that close on the way out, and don’t come back here.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“You seem safe enough down here,” I said, pushing the open cell door.
“The things down here don’t want me.”
His statement hang in the air, sending a shiver down my back.
And so I left him there to his own devices, my conscious clear.
May 15, 1933
I am greatly curious what other secrets the dungeon holds. What lays further down that sloping tunnel, delving as it does into the earth and thus, if geologist are to be believed, into the past? What depths does the downward stairwell reach, and what heights? My mind comes to these questions again and again, as buzzards to the feast of Prometheus’s entrails.
I have distracted myself with farming, and with Margaret. I asked her openly today to come to my room tonight, when others are asleep, so that I can drink from that forbidden fountain, for which my throat is more parched than the driest county suffering under prohibition. She turned me down though, saying she was sore, from what she would not say. She then asked me to talk to the abbess on her behalf, to assure the abbess that she was overcoming the lesbian tendencies with my help, and that the abbess’s intervention would no longer be needed.
I agreed wholeheartedly, eager to be of service, and went to see the abbess after dinner, she says we will discuss it tomorrow evening, at which time she will determine if Margaret is on the right path.
May 16, 1933
It is difficult to write this, as I am exhausted from the day’s events, and I am ashamed of what I have to record. Still, I must put these events down, that I might not forget them.
Please forgive me Jesus Christ for I have erred.
When I arrived at the appointed hour the Mother Superior awaited me. She greeted me warmly, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. The Mother Superior is an intimidating woman, her dark eyes seeming to cut through my defenses into the sin beneath. Margaret, she told me, was already awaiting her judgement in her office, but first she had some questions for me.
“How have you two been getting on?” she asked.
“Quite well,” I told her, “Margaret is a wonderful, devout woman who fears the Lord and whom I emulate.”
“And what has she confided in you regarding her troubles?” the abbess pried.
“She says the devil tempts her with unnatural thoughts about other women,” I said simply.
“What kind of thoughts? Specifically.”
I frantically thought about how to talk Mother Superior into believing Margaret had repented.
“She had thoughts of lying with another woman as with a man, but the sickness has been receding quickly.”
“And how are you treating it?” she sounded almost too curious on this note.
“We prayed together and worked the fields.”
“Nothing beats honest work, eh?” she asked.
I sensed mockery in her tone.
“The farmer knows just what to do, for God has given him understanding.”
The corners of her mouth seemed to twitch at this.
“Isaiah … very well let’s see what progress you have made.”
She stood, motioning for me to follow.
The state of the Mother Superior’s, “Office,” was, to put it mildly, shocking. She had clearly done some redecorating over the last week. The walls are now adorned with all manner of bizarre images and foreign objects. I couldn’t even guess at the function of some of them, but these esoteric artifacts were not the only peculiar presence in the room.
Sister Margaret lay on a square bench in the center of the room. Her head hang just off one side, knee high while her arms were bound to the ornate Victorian furniture, upholstered with soft red silk. I saw that her legs were open and pointed upward, the ropes on each ankle attached to the ceiling. She was stark naked, quivering (with cold, fear or anticipation?), her pale skin illuminated by the flickering of several oil lanterns scattered about the room, and by a set of candles on a coffee table next to her bench. I saw that she’d been blindfolded with a red cloth. The thought that it should be me in her place rose unbidden in my mind.
The abbess turned back to me, putting a finger to her lips.
“How are you doing Sister Margaret?” she asked.
“I’m cold, Mother Superior.”
“I’ll soon remedy that, dear,” the abbess assured her.
The abbess stepped up behind me and put her hands on my shoulders.
“Your new friend Caroline thinks you’re almost out of the woods.”
She was speaking to Margaret, but she looked at me as she said it, and her hands began to work my shoulders.
“Yes, Mother Superior, I think our sessions might not be needed much longer,” Margaret told her.
My heart ached for Margaret, abused so. I wanted to hold and comfort her, or perhaps lay between her legs to pleasure her.
The abbess began to remove my clothing, piece by piece while she talked.
“You’re sure about that? We wouldn’t want a chink in your armor, for you to be ensnare … by the devil.”
My clothes fell away, and I stood naked before her. To be naked before the Mother Superior made me feel very small, I crossed my arms over my chest in a ridiculous attempt to preserve my modesty.
“I understand, Mother Superior,” Margaret said.
“Just Mother will do for now.”
“Yes Mother,” Margaret meekly replied.
The abbess pushed my hands aside and squeezed my breast roughly. I started to open my mouth in protest but she quickly grabbed me by the jaw. I’m ashamed to say I let out a frightened squeak, like a mouse, cowed by this powerful woman. Her other hand slid up my back and gripped the back of my head, pulling me forward. Her lips covered mine. Her tongue entered my mouth and I nursed on it like a baby, afraid to do otherwise. The jig was up I was sure. She knew about me and Margaret. Was this some perverse torment to deter our relations or just a way to join in our perverse pleasures?
Her tongue explored my mouth as her hands explored my body. I began to grow wet, pressing myself against her. I pictured myself on my knees, her legs wrapped around my head. God it’s horrible but I wanted to eat her pussy, wanted her to make me. I would be her slave, groveling in the mud before Ramses.
But she broke our kiss and pushed me back, leading me forward and positioning me so that I stood next to Margaret’s head.
“Wha … who, who is that with you?”
Margaret struggled a bit against her bonds, and Mother Superior knelt next her, running her hand across Margaret’s belly, up to her breast. She pinched one nipple between her fingers.
“Don’t worry dear, it’s just an assistant.”
The abbess stood and walked to the other side of the bench. She looked at me over Margaret’s trembling form, running her hands up and down the bound woman’s legs.
“Now Margaret, if you had a ripe, young, delicious, woman standing over you, would you want to lick her pussy?”
“No Mother!” Margaret protested.
“Hmm, are you sure?” the abbess was removing her clothes.
She beckoned me forward … I shook my head, confused.
She pointed to her naked crotch as her undergarments fell away, then to Margaret’s head. I realized what she wanted me to do. I searched Margaret’s face for any sign that she knew it was me … If I did this would it be a monstrous betrayal or would Margaret understand? I rationalized that we both were doing what the Mother Superior asked of us. Gulping I stepped forward.
“What are you doing?” Margaret asked.
I spread my legs and knelt onto her face, hearing her gasp of surprise as my moistening pussy settled over her lips. Oh God! Margaret I’m sorry.
“Breathe it in, Margaret,” Mother Superior said, “And tell me … does the scent excite you?”
A moment passed, and I felt Margaret’s hot breaths on my sex as her breathing deepened. I watched Mother Superior move like a snake up and down Margaret’s legs, then crawl over her form, taking a breast in each hand as her teased her belly with her tongue. It was like a dance, she flowed weightlessly around Margaret’s body. She slithered up her body and pressed their tits together, kissing Margaret’s neck.
“Do you like it?” Mother Superior asked.
“No Mothererrrr!” Margaret screamed into my cunt as her body jerked.
I saw Mother Superior’s hand moving on Margaret’s crotch. Her body twitched and her hips shook.
“Don’t be rude Margaret. Give our guest some attention.”
I inhaled sharply as I felt Margaret’s kiss on my flower. I gritted my teeth to stay silent. Margaret had not kissed me there before, it felt so wrong for her to do so unknowingly, but I didn’t want it to stop.
The next several minutes were quiet other than the sound of grunts and wet slurping coming from between my legs. The abbess stepped back and watched me, playing idly with her nipples with one hand while the other ran through her dark pubic hair. She turned and walked to a cabinet in the corner, I licked my lips when I caught sight of her beautiful round ass. She pulled something from a drawer and tied some kind of leather strap around her waist. When she turned back, I beheld a smooth phallic object protruding from her crotch, as though she had sprouted a large cock.
I open my mouth to protest but her stare silenced me. She strode back like a conqueror and firmly grasped each of Margaret’s, legs at the knee, lowering herself so that the false cock, which I saw was made of a black marble, slapped wetly onto Margaret’s moist pussy. Margaret whimpered, but continued sliding her tongue through my vulva. I shuddered as her tongue found my sweet spot and I fought the urge to whisper — “There!” — Instead, I rocked my hips gently, pushing against her roving tongue.
Mother Superior started grinding the cock up and down Margaret’s wet cunt, and it shined with her juices.
“Margaret’s still a virgin, a sweet innocent thing, aren’t you Margaret?”
Margaret made a noise that sounded like agreement, Mother Superior continued.
“And Margaret wouldn’t want me to fuck her little asshole with this, would she?”
A sad, pathetic groaning came out of Margaret’s mouth, it tickled me, and I pressed my weight onto her a bit, grinding into her tongue. Mother Superior was thrusting between, but not into, Margaret’s labia while reaching up and kneading the bound woman’s breast.
The abbess spoke slowly, pushing forward and back with each word.
“You … wouldn’t … ever … want … this … inside … you …”
“OOhhhhhh Gahhhhhh Mommmy …” Margaret moaned into me.
“What is it, doll?” the abbess asked.
“Pllleeease,” Margaret begged.
“WHAT … IS … IT?” the abbess ground into Margaret.
“Fuuucckk meee!”
Mother Superior leaned back, taking the cock in her hand she positioned it carefully, and I could see how low the angle was … I doubted what I saw and heard but Margaret proclaimed it loudly.
“Shove it in my ass! Yes, yes, yes!”
“Does it hurt Margaret?
“Ugggh, yes Mother!”
“Do you like it?”
“Yes Mother I’m sorry!”
I watched the abbess’ hips slowly inch forward into the trembling woman’s embrace. The abbess breathed deeply when her thighs met Margaret’s, and she leaned forward, reaching for me. I leaned forward to meet her and she took my head in her right hand, pulling me in for a kiss.
I sucked her bottom lip as I came on my lover’s face. Her body beginning to rock under me as the Mother Superior started to fuck her slowly, Margaret’s pussy weeping lubricant onto the tool as it fucked her for what felt like ages but must have only been minutes.
Finally I was let go, and I stepped back, legs wobbling as I fell to the ground. The abbess smiled at me.
“Please, take one of these candles,” She said.
Unsteadily I rose to my feet, moving to the coffee table. I swear I didn’t know what she was going to ask of me! Once the candle was in my hand, myself standing next to Margaret as she writhed on Mother Superior’s stone cock, the abbess said,
“Tilt it over her breast and let a few drop kiss her skin.”
I hesitated, staring at her.
“Do it assistant, it is necessary for her soul.”
I looked into the hot flame dancing on the candle, wax slowly dripping down it’s length like cum flowing from a pulsing member, fresh and warm. I knew the promise of pain that it held. Hands trembling, I tilted the candle, dripping hot wax onto Margaret’s bare tits as I silently mouthed a prayer for forgiveness.
I did it from such a height as to hopefully cool it as it fell, but it must have been quite hot. I expected her to scream in pain. Her reaction, however, was not as I’d expected. Oh she gasped in pain, but there was something in her voice, her lips curled upward, her breathing heavy … she liked it.
“Hurt me Mommy!” Margaret hissed, “I need it … ugghh, harder …”
The abbess complied, increasing her pace to that of a heartbeat, shaking the bench as she fucked poor Margaret’s ass in a steady rhythm. Each thrust was measured, the in-strokes forceful and quick, the withdraws comparatively slow.
The slap… slap… slap of their hips filled the room, and I was glued to the scene in front of me. Another sin was in my heart at that moment; jealously.
“Thank you for your assistance,” she said, pointing to the door.
I was dismissed. I slowly nodded, gathering my clothes, taking as much time as I could to keep watching. Mother Superior reached down and gripped Margaret’s hips just as I left, then she started to really pound into her, Margaret’s legs shaking with excitement.
I left wishing I’d been allowed to stay, to clean their soaked cunts with my tongue, but also deathly worried. I believe Mother Superior did this to drive a wedge between us, I should have blurted out that it was me the moment I saw Margaret but damn my weak flesh I played along, and I had remained silent as I enjoyed her inexperienced ministrations on my sex.
I should destroy this diary, for if Margaret should find it she may never speak to me again, but I confess I have inscribed each perverse act here with such detail because in doing so I relieve them and sate my twisted yearnings.
I’m sorry Margaret!
xxxxx
May 19, 1933
The last few days have been remarkable for their banality. I had expected one of several events to unfold. Firstly, that the police should arrive, asking questions about why a man was kept prisoner in this abbey. Second, that Margaret should confront me for my participation in the bizarre act of fornication which played out in Mother Superior’s office. Lastly, that Mother Superior herself should do or say something to acknowledge or explain what occurred.
None of these things have happened.
I grow worried about Mr. Dumonte. Perhaps my aid was insufficient, and he has been unable to extricate himself from his confinement. If so a second attempt must be made.
There was a bright spot today. Margaret came by my room after dinner, and we lay upon my bed passionately entwined. We were able to take some time, and after necking like newlyweds on our honeymoon she mounted my face. By the time she let me breathe my face was flushed red and wet, the room spinning.
She doesn’t know.
xxxxx
May 20, 1933
I began the sequel to my rescue attempt much the same as I had the first, securing the same sickle and flashlight, but with a crowbar instead of a hammer. I awaited the cover of darkness and crept from my room.
But the door was already open. It sat cracked as it had on some prior evenings, as by a careless burglar. This mere fact filled me with terror, for I knew I would not be descending into the pit alone, but with the cultist, Mother Superior Prinn, roaming somewhere in the depths. There must exist, somewhere in my corrupted soul, some spark of bravely passed down through the ages from the knights of yore, for I continued my mission. I quieted my shaking fingers as best I could, descending into the depths by the familiar light of the lone touch I knew burned below, feeling as much as seeing the outline of the steps.
A rustling noise arose from below, and I froze.
There came a tap, tap, tap, of something hard on stone, it was ascending towards me! I turned and hurried up the steps as silently as I could. The light though, got dimmer as I ascended, the origin of it being the fire burning underground like the flames of hell itself. I reached out and started feeling along the wall when I smashed my head against stone.
Cursing under my breath I reached out, discovering that the path ended before me. This was the top of the stairs; in my rush I had gone past the door! Running my hands along the wall I located a knob and turned it quickly. I would now discover where the steps led up to.
I stepped through the barrier and dim light crept into the stairwell. Before me I saw a chamber of grey stone and quickly looked for somewhere to hide. The walls had no windows, but there was a door across from me. Moonlight seeped in through a line of what looked like weep holes along the top of the walls, and there were stone coffins scattered about me. The place was a tomb. I heard the tap, tap, tap of whatever arose from beneath growing louder.
First, I tried the door opposite me, to no avail. I was then forced by necessity into the morbid act of sheltering in a coffin whose lid was already half open. I had not the strength or time to close the lid, only to silently pray, eyes closed.
Something entered the room. I felt its presence as a leviathan passing under the waves. I shut my eyes, pondering the angles at which its eyes might see over the side of the coffin at the vulnerable creature inside. I heard its breath and knew it to be inhuman. I imagined a monstrous horse, huffing with exertion after climbing the steps. I don’t know how long it lingered, but after a few moments I heard it breathe no longer. I never heard a door open, and I don’t know now if it descended the steps again or silently passed out of the tomb through the other door or means stranger yet. Eventually however, I peeked from my coffin and confirmed that I was indeed, alone.
Hastily I made my way back down the steps and to the tunnel noting, as I crawled out of my coffin like a vampire rising to feed, that the walls were covered with eldritch runes, not unlike those on the door to the stairwell. As I approached Dumonte’s cell I saw the lone torch burning, and I moved as quietly as I was able. I heard a wet noise and a sigh from within the cell. Crouching I hugged the wall and peeking around the corner I saw Mother Superior on her knees at the foot of Dumonte’s bed. His cock was deep in her mouth, and she sucked on it greedily.
I stared transfixed for some time. To say that Mother Superior is more skilled in the art of fellatio than I have ever been is an understatement; she was an artist and his cock was her instrument. She worked him with her hands, tongue, lips, tits … his precum smeared all over her chest and face. She slapped herself with it lewdly, laughing. There was no rush in her service to him, just delight for them both, though I wondered if hers was the greater.
I retreated in defeat, telling myself that the third time would be the charm.
xxxxx
May 21, 1933
Last night I dreamt that it was me in Dumonte’s cell, and I was on my knees sucking his cock. The torch was a roaring bonfire, throwing shadows of our act against the wall, a motion picture for the perverted ghost wandering the bleak underground domain. Things grew fuzzy as they do in dreams and in the next moment I was on his bed, head hanging off the side, like Margaret’s in the abbess’ office. I was helpless as he held my arms tightly, his strength great, but I was content with it. I parted my lips slowly and showed him my tongue, inviting him to have his manhood stroked by it. He put the crown of his manhood against my lips and my tongue slathered across it, tasting the precum beginning to drip into my mouth. In time he tired of this play and pushed into my mouth. I swallowed frantically, trying to take it deeply as I could. Soon his testicles rested over my nose, and I breathed in his manly scent.
There was a moment of stillness as I gulped for air around his tool. His hands explored my body, taking in my curves and prodding my sensitive spots. He muttered something, a compliment I think. Then he fucked my throat raw.
I awoke early, and wet. I went to see Margaret first thing and found her dressing in her room.
“Caroline?” she asked, surprised at my disruption of her normal rhythm.
I shut the door behind me and, rushing across the room, pulled her in to a deep kiss. She laughed and we fell onto the bed.
“Caroline … ha … be still now…”
I attacked her neck with my lips, entwining our legs as we rolled about.
“Huh, we can’t … I have to … be at the morning prayer in thirty minutes …”
“You’ve got time,” I whispered into her ear and wiggled my tongue inside.
“Ahhhh … stop it you freak! God I can smell you, what have you been about?” Margaret asked.
“Dreaming,” I informed her.
Margaret laughed at this, but her laughing slowed as I won the battle for her drawers, seizing my conquest I threw them aside and pressed myself against her, squeezing her thigh with my leg, humping it like a mad dog. She reciprocated, and our legs battled like two wild horses. She laughed occasionally, and kicked at me, we tumbled about like wrestlers.
Margaret huffed, I could see she was becoming excited, and I could feel the wetness on my legs. I slowed my thrashing and began to stroke her sides, tickling her with my nails.
She chuckled, “Stop it … Caroline …”
I kissed at her thighs, licking my way inward. I ran my nails down her back, firmly but gently. Margaret started to adjust herself to be comfortable for what she knew I was going to do, spreading her legs and leaning back, finally offering me her sex.
I kneaded her ass cheeks for a moment, admiring the soft pink meal my lover presented me, and as I engulfed it with my mouth I dug my fingernails into her sharply.
Margaret jerked under me.
“Ah! You bitch, ah!”
Her taste was tangy at first from the night’s sweat but soon I’d licked her clean and nibbled on her engorged labia.
Margaret rocked her hips against my face, as if meeting the thrust of a man.
“Uuugghhh keep going …. Right there, harder …”
I reached up and covered her mouth to silence her. She opened her lips and sucked on my fingers. I glanced up from between her legs to admire the scene. Her chest was rising and falling quickly, the morning sun making her breast sparkle with beads of sweat.
I need more mouths, I thought. Two more maybe, one for each of her breast, then I’d suck them both while I pleasured her pussy. Perhaps a dozen or more, to cover her with kisses. I blinked the thought away, what an odd fancy.
Margaret pulled at my arms, bringing me up, kissing me. Her hand trailed down my stomach, searching for my vulva.
“You scratched me,” she said.
“Do unto your neighbor,” I told her.
Her lips pressed firmly into mine and she squeezed my tits, making sure she used her nails, just a bit. She went easier on me than I had her but she made sure I yelped a bit as she pinched my nipples.
“Does the reality match your dirty comics?” I asked her.
“So much better,” she said, and she started fingering me, a bit too rough.
“Slower,” I told her, groaning as she complied, “Taste me …” I whispered in her ear.
She pushed me off the bed! I landed with a yelp and she looked down at me.
“You want me to put my mouth on your filthy lesbian cunt?”
“Please?” I asked in the most pining voice I could summon.
Margaret stepped off the bed and, raising her leg put her foot on my face, then pushed me to the floor.
“Lick,” She commanded.
I took her ankle gently in my hands and started licking the bottom of her feet in long, slow strokes.
“I’m a servant of the Lord,” she said, “While you are a lesbian deviant. Your proper place is to service me, why would I let your dirty cunt touch my lips?”
Arousal, apparently, awakens a fierce mean streak in Sister Margaret. She gets off on furthering my humiliation and reminding me how sick my desires are. I thought about telling her that she already had tasted my sex but quickly pushed that thought aside. She must never know that it was I in Mother Superior’s office that night.
More importantly, I loved it. Her words stoked my shame and hunger in equal measure. What strange stars did align that we were brought together, for I crave exactly the cruelty that Margaret heaps on me in moments of passion.
“I’ll do anything!” I begged her as I sucked her little toe into my mouth.
She pulled her foot away and sat on the edge of the bed, legs widespread.
“Get up here and finish what you started.”
I got to my knees and buried my face in her vulva, which was engorged and so very soft on my lips. Margaret locked her legs around my head and leaned back on the bed.
“MMMmmm, my pet yes … keep going, make your mistress cum …”
Margaret convulsed on the bed, and I drank her juices greedily, slowing down as her spasms ended.
When she’d caught her breath she pated the bed next to herself.
“Here, my pet,” she said.
I lay next to her and she lay over me, kissing me and forcing her tongue into my mouth.
“You want me to lick you?” she asked me.
“I want you to Margaret, oh God so bad.”
She hesitated, looking into my eyes and painfully slowly she began to lower herself. I put my hand on her shoulder, comforting her. Is she scared? I wondered.
I concluded that she was as I saw her tremble.
“No one’s gonna hurt you …” I reassured her.
That bitch, Mother Superior, was a bit successful in her “reinforcement” techniques I could see. Perhaps I am mistaken though, perhaps Margaret wanted me to make her eat my cunt. I don’t know, it’s all so confusing, this whirlwind of lust and sin.
“Lick me,” I said, begging.
The sin she committed then felt incredible. Fumbling, probing, learning what it felt to pleasure another woman with her mouth, I was honored that my mistress would willingly eat my pussy. I writhed on her bed, her every touch thrilling me.
“Finger me,” I encouraged her, “Stick two fingers in me … fuck me with them!”
Margaret compiled, working purposefully inward.
“I’m cumming, make me cum yes … Margaret … suck my clit.”
I orgasmed from her attention once but she didn’t stop, making me cum twice more before sliding up my body, God her breast on my stomach, and kissing me.
“You’ve missed morning prayers,” I said, feeling guilty as we helped each other dress.
“If asked I’ll say I was tending your illness, go to your room and lay in bed. If anyone ask you’re quite sick. Don’t bathe, you look like you survived the flood but weren’t on the ship, it’ll help sell it.”
And so I spent the remainder of the daylight hours, “bedridden.” This allowed me to ponder how I might adjust my strategy for rescuing Mr. Dumonte. I needed a way to ensure I wouldn’t be there at the same time as Mother Superior. The answer came from Margaret, unfortunately. She stopped by my room, her eyes downcast.
“I have to be with Mother Superior tonight after dinner for …”
“Therapy,” I supplied.
She nodded.
It made me angry, but that problem must wait, indeed it may be solved if Dumonte brings the police to remove that evil woman. It also affords me time; Mother Superior couldn’t interrupt my excursion into the pit if she was busy practicing “behaviorism” on Margaret.
As I prepared myself a knock came at my door, quickly composing myself and feigning a sickly voice I invited the visitor in; it was Sister Lillibridge, she sat next to the bed, there was something in her hands.
“You may call me Lily if you like,” she said.
I sat up.
“I shall then, Lily. What brings you?”
“Well Sister Margaret said you’ve been sick so, I baked you these cookies.”
I accepted a small bag, with six still warm cookies inside. I smiled at Lily,
“Are cookies a cure for the cold now?”
“I think so,” she said, “Or at least you’ll sleep better with them in your stomach.”
I wasn’t sure about that, but I was touched by her gesture. We talked a bit until the sun was setting, at which time she departed. It occurred to me that Sister Lillibridge is so new here, and seemingly so innocent, that I could surely assume her to not be part of any cult activity, so I asked her:
“Lily, have you ever seen anything strange occur around the abbey?”
She though for a moment.
“Hmmm, not that I can think of, but perhaps I don’t take you meaning?”
“Strange um, people or absences of people. Maybe doors that lead to places they shouldn’t.”
Lily laughed, and shook her finger at me.
“Sister West already pulled that prank! You’ll not convince me of any ghost stories Ms. Lapham.”
I smiled.
“Oh you’re wise to the game then.”
“That’s right! I’ve been in the abbess’s room and there’s nothing there! Green lights under the door really, Sister West is such a lay about.”
My heart skipped a beat as she said this.
After she was gone I entered the stairwell, descending as silently as I could, knowing other things call these halls home. At length I came before the cell, and found Dumonte still there.
“Oh think God you disobeyed me,” he said after nearly jumping out of his skin, having turned to see my face poking around the corner of his cell.
Mr. Dumonte was no longer chained to the bed, however his door was now shut. He explained to me that he had successfully broken the chain, but his escape attempt became a flight for survival. The tunnel, he warned me, did not lead to safety. He should have gone up and out through the abbey but he foolishly bet on finding a way to the surface. Instead, he encountered hostile creatures which dealt him dire wounds. His only choice was to crawl back to his cell and await aid from Mother Superior.
“You don’t look injured,” I told him.
He paused for a moment before saying, “She healed my body with magic.”
He looked at me as though apologizing that he must utter this absurdity … but I was ready to believe him.
“I understand,” I told him, trust reestablished.
I pulled out my crowbar and placed it next to the lock, beginning to pull.
“Stop!” Dumonte cried out!
I huffed in frustration.
“Do you want to be saved?”
“I admit, part of me may miss Mother Superior’s nightly visits, yet I will enjoy my freedom more. If you attempt to pry the door and fail, it will be clear to Mother Superior what has happened. I lied and told her I’d worked a few screws loose for my first attempt and she believed, but I can’t claim to have bent iron bars with my bare hands.”
I sighed. He was correct. Damaging the lock would give away that his confinement was discovered and jeopardize his rescue.
“You must steal the key from her,” he told me gravely.
We looked each other in the eyes, and I nodded, determined.
THE END OF CHAPTER TWO