Feature Writer: Charm Brights

Feature Title: THE FIRST BOOK OF THE MERCIFUL NUN 2

Published: 30.04.2010 / Copyright© 2010 by Charm Brights / The author has asserted moral rights under sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988.

Story Codes: Religious, Nuns, MF, FF, NC, Coercion, DomSub, MaleDom, Spanking, Humiliation, First, Anal, Pregnancy

Synopsis: A clever child from a very poor family in the latter part of the 19th century is accepted into the Convent but is then seduced by a worldly Novice. She is sent to the College of Correction and Redemption where she finds herself playing the whore for randy clerics who have all manner of sexual and Mdom ideas. After eighteen months of this she is returned to her convent, pregnant. Subsequently she uses the knowledge she gained during her time as a sexual and SM toy to gain preferment.

Author’s Notes: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance between any of the characters depicted herein and any real person, living or dead is wholly a matter of Nature imitating Art. There is not, and never was, a College of Correction and Redemption, or any similar establishment. The city of Dublin portrayed in this novel is not the one in Ireland in the early part of the twentieth century.

 

The First Book of the Merciful Nun 2

 

Chapter 11: College

Inside the college, the still silent Monsignor led Sister Lucia along a corridor, carpeted she noticed, and opened a door, indicating that she should enter.

The room was small and dark, lit only by a small window high in one wall, through which a shaft of moonlight came to strike the wall opposite. A candle was on a small side stand and Monsignor Flavin lit it before bidding her a gruff, “Good night,” and withdrawing.

As she looked round she saw that although the room was dark, it was luxurious compared with her cell in the Convent. There was a thin carpet on the floor, instead of bare stones; a bed with a thin mattress on it was there, rather than the pallet on the hard floor, and a small prie-dieu against the wall beside the window. She even had a pillow, and two blankets.

She was curious about the other door in the room, and opened it to find a small toilet with a hand basin. This was a far cry from crossing the quadrangle to the privy in all weathers at the Convent. She wondered why she had such splendid accommodations, since she was there as a punishment. Returning to the other room, she was just going to say her nightly prayers before lying down for the night when there was a tap on the door. Sister Lucia opened it and a very young girl stood there.

“The Master says I am to fetch the smock and the sandals, Sister,” she said, curtsying.

Sister Lucia was taken aback at this, but reasoned that amid such luxury she had no need of the smock or sandals until the morning, so draping a blanket round her for modesty, she contrived to remove the smock and handed it to the girl. It took only a moment and then she kicked the sandals off. The girl bent and took them, left and closed the door behind herself.

As Sister Lucia sank down on the bed, slightly perplexed as to why she had no clothes again. Then she thought it was probably to confine her; her nudity made her a prisoner in her cell as surely as if the door were locked. Trying to dismiss all her worries, she lay down on the bed and pulled the blankets over her. Sleep was elusive until she worked out what was wrong. Once she had discarded the unfamiliar pillow on to the floor, she slept like a log.

xxxxx

When she struggled to wakefulness, she wondered for a moment where she was. The memories of the previous two days flooded back, and she was horrified to realise that it was broad daylight outside and she had clearly missed Matins. She draped a blanket round her and tried the door. The door handle did not turn; evidently it could only be opened from the outside.

All day she sat, unclothed, uninvited, wondering what, exactly was in store for her here. The College of Correction and Redemption sounded very strict and fierce, but the alternative was being expelled from the Convent into an outside world of which she knew nothing, and feared everything. She had no trade with which she could earn a living; her main duties had been as a sort of general maid-of-all-work, when she wasn’t praying, and she thought there would be little call for an adult woman to do a child’s work, and even less call for someone to pray five times a day.

The day wore on and she became hungrier, but that was no great hardship; days of fasting were well known to her, though usually it had been as a religious duty rather than as a penance. There was some water in the small side-room in the wash jug, and she drank a little of that.

The light faded, and Sister Lucia, well aware that she had not made her devotions once, knelt beside her bed, pulling a blanket round her since it seemed sacrilegious to pray in the nude. She recited the whole of the litany of Compline, which took her nearly two hours.

Stiff and weary, she lay on the bed and slept again.

 

Chapter 12: Induction

Sister Lucia woke when one of the nondescript servant girls in a grey smock brought her some hot tea, and bread and cheese early the next morning. When the prisoner started to ask a question, the skivvy looked very frightened and almost ran from the room. However, she left a bundle behind which proved to contain a nun’s habit, complete with Swiss wimple, though no under-clothing. Sister Lucia donned such clothes as there were quickly, and with some relief; then she sat and ate the bread and cheese and drank the tea eagerly, as she had not eaten for some thirty-six hours.

Some time after that, the servant appeared again, and put an admonitory finger to her lips. Evidently there was a rule of silence in this establishment, at least between the servants and the inmates. Obeying the servant’s gestures, Sister Lucia followed her along a corridor and was directed through a door. When she entered with much trepidation, she was relieved to discover that it was merely another toilet, and she gratefully made use of its facilities.

Returning to the corridor, she again followed the servant to another door, through which she went, to find herself in a book-lined study with a cheerful fire blazing in the hearth. A large desk, its top completely clear, stood below the window, with a comfortably upholstered chair behind it. Other than that, there was nowhere to sit, so Sister Lucia stood quietly waiting for someone to come and tell her what to do next.

It was a worrying few minutes for her; clearly she was expected to wait, but most of the rules of the College were unknown. Should she speak to whoever came in, or not? Should she kneel and pray as she waited? Should she pass the time reading one of the books? How should she greet whoever came in? As she pondered these mysteries, Sister Lucia heard the door open behind her and Monsignor Flavin came past her and sat in the chair facing her.

He examined her for some moments in silence, before asking, “Why are you here?”

Sister Lucia didn’t know what to say as her thoughts ran wildly over possible answers. Should she say she was a sinner? Should she say it was the Bishop’s suggestion? Did the question only refer to her being in his study, in which case should she say that the servant brought her?

It appeared that the question was rhetorical, as the Monsignor continued, “You are here because Mother Church has not finally decided that you are incorrigible. I have been looking at your history, and one thing puzzles me. Tell me, why did you become a nun?”

Sister Lucia was at a loss as to how to answer that, but an answer was required, so she decided to tell the truth as she saw it, “Reverend Father, I…”

Monsignor Flavin interrupted her, “You address me simply as ‘Master’, not as Reverend anything. I am your teacher and Master while you are here, not your confessor.”

Somehow she heard the capital M on the word Master and shivered slightly.

“Sir, I became a nun because I had always been intended to be a nun. It was something I knew had to happen, even from childhood, before I understood anything about Our Lord.”

A smile broke over the Monsignor’s face, “I thought so. None of the V’s?”

Seeing her puzzled look he continued, ” No visions from God ordering you to take the veil? No visitations from Our Lady talking of the cloister? No voices insisting that you must profess the vows? Nothing like that?”

Sister Lucia was frightened even more by this line of thought; all the nuns who said they had visions in the Convent also had fits and were, in her opinion, at least partly mad. The one who heard voices was definitely mad; either that, or the angel which spoke to her was a devil, bent on upsetting the Convent.

“No, sir,” she replied, “Nothing like that. I just always knew that was to be my life.”

“So what did you feel, spiritually, when you first broke one of the vows?”

“Sir, I … I … don’t understand,” she stammered.

“Mother Superior had you removed from the Convent because you were found indulging in the sins of the flesh, specifically sexual sins. You had, she was certain, indulged before. When you had first enjoyed sexual stimulation by someone else, after you took your vows, and had not been caught, or been struck down by the wrath of Our Lord, what did you think?”

“I … I … it was so nice. I wondered how it could be wrong.”

“And did you confess your sin?”

“N-No, sir,” her voice was very quiet as she admitted that.

“Thank you for your honesty. We shall get on splendidly if you continue to be honest with me, and to obey your vow of obedience. You won’t have the chance to disobey the vow of poverty, since you will have nothing which is your own. Even the habit you are wearing belongs to the College and can be withdrawn at any time,” said her teacher, “And speaking of poverty, I see you are still wearing the ring you were given at the time you professed your vows. Please remove it and I will have it returned to the Convent, whose property it is.”

Sister Lucia removed the ring with much anguish, as it seemed the last link with her status as a nun.

“Don’t worry, I’ll see you get a College replacement, but of course it will not have been blessed in the same way,” the Monsignor reassured her, “Much as the habit you are now wearing, it will preserve the memory of being in the Convent, and the illusion of being decently dressed, while not actually signifying the substance.”

The dazed Sister really did not understand this at all. The difference between one habit and another was completely lost on her, but she did hope that she would be allowed another ring; her finger felt very odd without it.

Monsignor Flavin rose from his chair and came round the desk to stand beside Sister Lucia, his hand brushing her cheek in a very familiar way. This was the first time a man had touched her at all since she was a small child.

“I can see we will get on very well,” he said, “As long as you remember that I am your Master now, and it is to me that you owe the obedience you formerly showed to the Mother Superior.”

“I’ll try to obey, sir,” the nun offered.

“Good, good,” he replied, “Stand still.”

With that he lifted the winged Swiss wimple from her hair, leaving her head bare. The dark hair, cut very short, contrasted with her fair complexion. When she had been in the College for a while and the hair had grown, she would be very popular indeed, he surmised.

“You must let your hair grow for a while, and then we’ll have it shaped a little,” he said, to her utter amazement.

He moved behind her and growled in her ear, “Stand still now. Remember you must obey.”

His hands snaked round her waist as he stood behind her, and cupped her breasts. Immediately she broke away from his grasp and turned to face him, tears coming into her eyes.

“Reverend Father, you must not…”

“I shall do as I please, and you will obey,” he interrupted, “You will not tell me what I must or must not do. You will address me as Master.””

He walked back behind the desk and sat down.

“You disobeyed my order to stand still. Is that another vow you wish to abjure? I believe the Reverend Mother explained what would happen if you failed to grasp the chance this College offers you. You would be put out on the streets of Dublin, almost naked, barefoot, penniless, homeless and excommunicate. Is that what you want?”

“No, Master,” she whispered.

“I imagine you believe that allowing me to touch your breasts would break your vow of chastity?”

Sister Lucia did not reply, merely hanging her head. She knew it was a trap, if she said no, she was condemned for disobedience, and if she said yes, she was condemned for valuing her already broken vow of chastity above her vow of obedience to his orders.

“Answer me!”

“Master … no man has ever touched me like that,” she prevaricated, “I was … startled.”

“Come here, beside me,” he ordered.

Sister Lucia moved round the desk, acutely aware that some trial was to come next. Monsignor Flavin held out his hand, palm up, just above her waist level.

“Lean forwards until your breast rests on my hand,” he said quietly.

Sister Lucia knew that the only other choice was impossible. Thrown out on the streets of Dublin in January with no home, money, or clothing, she would be lucky to live through the freezing night; if she did live it would only be as the servant or toy of some ruffian. She leant forward carefully, until her left breast was resting on his hand.

“Better,” he said, “Go back to where you were, in front of the desk.”

Sister Lucia breathed a sigh of relief and did as she was told.

 

Chapter 13: Self-Correction

Her relief was short-lived as the Monsignor took a knout from a drawer in his desk and offered it to her.

“This is what you will use to purge yourself of any sins you may feel you have committed, Sister. Here it replaces confession; when you believe you have purged yourself sufficiently, you are absolved of the sins you have remembered, just as if you had confessed them and performed the penance set by the priest,” he said.

She took the whip and looked at. She had never seen its like before, It consisted of a tapering bundle of leather thongs about three feet long; clearly the user could flagellate her own back with ease. Sister Lucia was not aware that this was a gentle version of the device; more earnest penitents would use the same whip, but with each thong twisted with wire and hardened, so that its use would mangle the flesh.

“Do you have any sins unconfessed, Sister?” came the quiet question.

“Oh yes, Master,” she replied, “You know I have.”

“Very well then. You may commence to purge them now.”

“Here? In front of you, Master?” she asked, uncertain.

“Of course, child. I need to know that you are using this scourge properly. You have never seen one before,” it wasn’t a question.

Sister Lucia took the knout in her right hand and lashed it over her left shoulder on to her back. She did feel it land, but it didn’t really hurt.

“Sister Lucia,” Monsignor Flavin’s voice was full of tender solicitude, “You will have to strike much harder than that. Moreover it is a time-honoured tradition that scourging is applied to bare flesh.”

“You mean I am to…” her voice trailed off.

“My child, I do not say this for my own satisfaction,” he lied, “but for the sake of your immortal soul. Here at the College of Correction and Redemption we have seen many souls at risk. Many have been saved from eternal damnation, but only by obedience and humility. Do cease your questioning of every order you are given, my child, I beg of you, for your soul’s sake.”

Sister Lucia hesitated for only a moment before slowly removing her habit. She had never in her life stripped herself naked before another person, not even as a very small child. Even her lover, Marie, had had to remove Sister Lucia’s clothes herself.

When she was naked, the Monsignor had to fight hard to control himself. This young nun had a body that would have tempted a saint, had there been such a one remotely near the College. Unpromising though her birth and upbringing had been, the end result was definitely worth looking at, and more. Much as he wanted to do so, he dared not fondle that body just yet. There was much groundwork to be done first.

Not looking at the priest, but keeping her eyes firmly on the floor in front of her, Sister Lucia lifted the knout high again. Monsignor Flavin could not tear his eyes from the way her right breast lofted and bounced slightly, the pink nipple rigid from cold and embarrassment. She let fly with the knout, putting all her strength into it, and screamed in pain as the thongs bit into the flesh of her back, the tips of several of them snapping viciously into the soft skin of her upper buttocks. She crumpled to her knees and dropped the knout. Never in her life had she known such pain.

Entranced though he was by the bouncing flesh on show, the old priest was not slow to rush round the desk and help her to her feet, taking every opportunity to grip the young firm flesh ‘accidentally’ as he did so. When she was on her feet, he examined her back solicitously, stroking the angry red and black marks left on her skin by the knout as though to smooth them away. He even went so far as to cup one buttock before remembering himself and moving away from her. Fortunately she did not notice, her mind being occupied by the agony of her outraged flesh.

When she had calmed a little, he said, “I think that’s enough for today, Sister. You may replace your habit.”

Gratefully, she did so, only to discover that her skin protested violently wherever the cloth touched a weal.

“Go to your room, my child. I will come and see how you are later on,” as she reached to recover the whip, he added, “Do not take the knout. I will bring you a shorter, softer instrument, more suitable to one who is not accustomed to flagellation.”

When he went into her room later that evening, the Monsignor put a light knout on the shelf of the prie-dieu before turning to the figure lying face down on the bed.

“Come here, and we will see what we can do with those weals,” he said, and helped her to her feet, “then we will talk about your life in the College of Correction and Redemption.”

Slowly Monsignor Flavin helped her remove her habit, as he explained, “So that I can put some ointment on your poor skin.”

When he examined the damaged skin, he was relieved to see that she had not harmed it in any way which he thought would leave permanent scars. That was the last thing he wanted, and he cursed himself for not realizing that she might prove an overly enthusiastic self-flagellant.

Taking the cream he had specially made up at the pharmacists to soothe bruises and clean cuts, he gently applied it to her back. It was also rather greasy and served well to lubricate skin to skin contact. He smoothed it into her back and sides, occasionally touching the side of her breasts, and as she made no movement he became bolder, stroking and cupping her breasts more firmly, and feeling the nipples harden under his touch.

Reluctantly moving his hands away from her breasts, he spread more cream on her lower back and worked on down towards, and on to the tops of her buttocks where they rose to form the sides of a shadowed valley. Then he lengthened his strokes so that each moved further on to the undamaged pale flesh of her twin cheeks. Eventually he was massaging her bottom without moving to her back at all, and his thumbs were moving deeper and deeper into the furrow between them.

Without her realising what she was doing, her legs parted and her bottom rose in the air, giving his soothing fingers access to her clitoris. He stroked it gently until she was twitching with pleasure. Very gently he parted her labia. As he sank his thumb deep into her vagina she moaned in pleasure and he redoubled the caresses to her sensitive nubbin. In moments she was in the throes of an orgasm.

When she had finished he withdrew his hand and said, “Is that how it was with the Novice, at the convent?”

Sister Lucia blushed deeply and nodded.

“You must never do that again in this room,” he said, “This is Sister Lucia’s cell and here you must behave as a nun. Here you pray and meditate. Outside this room, when I allow you out of it, you can be Molly and she is allowed to climax.”

“Master?” she queried.

“What word did you use for what just happened, you and your Novice.”

“We never spoke of it, Master, but I thought of it as shuddering.”

“A good nun, such as Sister Lucia wants to be, should never shudder,” he instructed her, “But if your body needs it, Molly will be allowed to do so only when I permit it, and never again in this room. Later, when your back has healed, I will punish Sister Lucia for today’s excesses.”

As he was leaving he added, “Your food and drink will be brought to you by the servant girls. They will not speak to you, nor may you speak to them.”

Making his way back to his study, the Monsignor reflected on how easy it usually was to persuade these foolish young women that they were two people, and that one was virtuous and the other sinful, but that they shared a body. Of course, he had never heard of hormones, he only knew that young women of Sister Lucia’s type needed sexual release, and that this bodily need was in conflict with their spiritual devotion to their convent Vows. He had heard the tales of places like Loudun and he thought that using their bodies sexually from time to time allowed such women to be all the more pure when they were being nuns. It helped to use two different names and to use different locations.

‘Yes, ‘ he thought, ‘before she knows it she will be opening her legs to anyone who tells her to do so. I hope she lasts longer than most of our visiting sinful nuns before she falls pregnant.’

 

Chapter 14: Co-operation

For two days, Sister Lucia was left alone to contemplate her fate. She wondered what she would be required to do for this strange establishment where she was punished and yet encouraged to sexual sin. When she tried to leave her cell and go into the corridor she confirmed that although there was a doorknob on the inside of the door, it did not turn and she could not open the door. The servants brought her food, but never spoke, and they were always careful to shut the door after they left.

After the long two day wait and many hours of contemplation, Sister Lucia was escorted again to Monsignor Flavin’s study.

“It is time for you to be punished for your disobedience and obstinacy. Are you ready to obey me and to be an obedient pupil of the College of Correction and Redemption?” he asked.

“Yes, … Master,” she said, “please do not punish me too hard. I am now resolved to obey.”

“Disrobe,” he ordered, “You should always disrobe for punishment,” and she moved to do as she was told as quickly as she could.

Soon she stood before him naked again; he stood up and moved round the desk to stand beside her with a knout in one hand. Using it as a handle, he lifted one breast and then released it, watching it drop back into its accustomed place with a delightful little bounce.

“You may have surmised that your time here will be different from the life of a nun in a convent. Here you must remember that anything demanded of you is required by the Church,” he told her, “Now lie face down on the desk here.”

As she complied her moved her so that her upper body was supported on the desk, but her feet were still on the floor.

“Place your feet as wide apart as you can.”

Again she obeyed, very conscious that her most private parts were displayed in a very rude manner.

The first blow to the rounded pale bottom offered for punishment landed squarely across the fleshiest parts, leaving a series of angry red marks.

As the girl’s howl of agony subsided the Monsignor reached out and smoothed the abused skin gently, much to the young girl’s distress.

The knout fell again, across her back this time, expertly applied so that the tips several of the tails curled round to catch the side of her breast in a vicious bite. More howls followed, and the Monsignor was again moved to console the girl physically, and yet felt a deep desire to hurt her even more.

The knout fell again, and this time her body rose involuntarily up from the desk the backs of her thighs took the blow.

“Down. Stay down,” snapped her Master unfeelingly through the girl’s piteous cries for mercy.

He ran his hand over all the marks on her back and down to those on her thighs. Moving up again, his fingers went between her thighs to find her opening and little nubbin, which they tweaked expertly so that she found herself shuddering again in seconds. This was a wonderful feeling, enhanced by the contrast with the pain she was still feeling from the kisses of the knout.

When she had calmed a little, he said, “It is time now for you to return the pleasure, for me. To help me shudder as well.”

“Of course, Monsignor,” she said, eager to show him how obedient she was.

“Call me Master,” he reminded her, “Now, do you know how to do what I want?”

“N-not really, Master,” she said.

Monsignor Flavin opened his trousers and showed her his erection. She recoiled at first, but soon reached to touch him.

“Have you seen one before?” he asked.

“No, Master. But I have heard about them. The girls, when I was at school, they said they had seen their brothers’ and that it works for people like for dogs or horses. The man goes in to the woman and she has a baby.”

“That’s right,” he encouraged, “Now Molly, do you know what happens if you stroke this enough to make me … shudder?”

“Yes. Master; seed will come out and it is supposed to go into the body of a wife to bring a child to her.”

“Now I have no wife, being a priest, so what can I do with the seed the Lord sends me?”

“I don’t know, Master,” said Molly, wondering where this was all leading.

“Well, I must not let it fall on the floor, must I? You know your bible and what happened when Onan did when he went to his brother’s wife, do you not?”

Molly was now very worried, but she dutifully recited, “It is from Genesis 38, Master. It says, when he went in to his brother’s wife, he spilled his seed upon the ground, lest children should be born in his brother’s name.”

“And what happened to him?”

“In the next verse it says the Lord slew him, because he did a detestable thing.”

Monsignor Flavin seemed pleased with her. Molly felt she had passed some sort of test.

“You don’t want that to happen to me, do you? The Lord slaying me?”

“No, Master, but I am not your wife. That would be mortal sin to lie with you,” she replied, “I don’t know what I can do?”

“You can swallow it, my child. That way it will not make a baby in you, but nor will it fall on the ground.”

Molly looked very doubtful at this suggestion, so the Monsignor decided that a measure of authority might help.

“Kneel, now,” he ordered firmly, and she obeyed, “Take it in your mouth and suck out the seed. Do not let one drop fall on the floor.”

As he had expected, the nun did as she was told. Once again he marvelled at the degree of obedience that could be instilled by years of training. She sucked inexpertly for a few minutes, then he started to move his penis in her mouth and before long she was swallowing as if his life really depended on it.

He soon recovered his composure and rang for a servant.

“Take Molly back to her room please,” he said, and she hastened to put her habit back on under the incurious stare of the servant girl.

Back in her room, Sister Lucia considered what she had just done. When she thought about it, she knew that his casuistry about not spilling his seed was a fraud. She had sinned, and she had to confess it. It occurred to her that she had not attended a single mass or office since she arrived at the College.

When the servant brought in her next meal, the nun put herself between the servant and the door, and asked, “Please can you help me?”

The servant looked at her in utter horror and said, “Forbidden.”

“Please tell Monsignor Flavin that I need to see him,” said Sister Lucia.

The servant disappeared through the door without responding, and there was no sign that her message had been passed on.

 

Chapter 15: Plaything

About mid-morning, well after Sister Lucia had said in solitude the morning offices of Matins, Lauds, Prime and Terce, a servant came to her room and indicated that she was to go with her. Again they passed along the corridors and she was led into Monsignor Flavin’s study.

Standing before his desk, she felt quite ill at ease, not thinking it was her place to initiate the conversation, but unsure of what he might say to her. After what felt like an age, he finally stood up, walked round the desk and stood beside her.

“Do you remember your visit here yesterday?” he asked in a quiet, controlled voice which filled her with foreboding.

“Do you remember what you said then?” he prompted.

“Yes, Mons … Master,” she said, her voice quavering, “I said I was resolved to obey.”

“And do you remember what passed between us?”

“Yes, Master.”

“And you spoke to the servant?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Then why are you still clothed? Do you think you are not to be punished for your disobedience?”

Resigning herself to more punishment, and sinfully hoping for his hands to soothe her again afterwards, she discarded her habit and underwear.

“It would be more convenient if you did not wear underthings when coming to my study, and if you disrobed immediately you enter the room. I will tell you if you have no punishment due, but that seems unlikely.”

As she moved towards the desk, he held out his hand to stop her. It cupped her breast briefly and then moved down her belly to cup her furry mound. This she allowed without moving a muscle.

“Better,” he said, “But stand with your feet apart when I touch you.”

To his surprise, she did so without demur. Teasing her nubbin until he felt her lubricating, he took his hand away just as she was beginning to pant.

“On the desk again,” he ordered.

She lay across the desk again, and opened her legs without needing to be told to do so. Monsignor Flavin spent a few seconds admiring the beautiful bottom offered to him for punishment, and the private parts clearly visible between the parted thighs. Then his desire to hurt her came to the fore, and he swung the knout from three feet away, so that its tails landed on one cheek and on one thigh, with the tips curling into the gap between her legs and inflicting tremendous pain on her tenderest portions. As she cried out in agony and slowly subsided in to heart-rending sobbing, he moved to the other side and let fly again, on the other cheek and thigh, but on the same tenderest portion with the tips of the flail’s many strings.

After some moments she had calmed again and lay there with her buttocks clenching and relaxing alternately in anticipation of the next blow. As the true refinement of his torture became apparent she looked round to see that he had put the knout down and was watching her closely. Still he said nothing and she did not move. His hand stroked the battered skin of one buttock as he savored the vulnerability of the woman now lying naked on his desk, entirely at his mercy. For some time he remained with one hand still, lightly resting on the inflamed skin.

Moving away, he opened his trousers and his erection stuck out like a flagpole before him.

“Come here,” he ordered.

Standing up she moved to him and without any need for further orders, she knelt before him and ministered to his needs again, swallowing his outpourings as before. When he had closed his trousers, he ordered her back to the desk, but did not use the knout again. Instead he fingered her nubbin and then slid a finger into her wet and welcoming womanhood. Moving it gently in and out so as not to damage her intact maidenhead, he brought her to a shattering climax. While she still lay there twitching in the aftershocks of her pleasure, he resumed his seat behind the desk.

Ringing for a servant, he said, “You may go now.”

“Master?” she asked, “When may I make confession?”

“You will be fetched when I deem that necessary.”

Emboldened by this reply, she persisted, “And when may I attend mass and receive communion, Master?”

“Obedience will bring such privileges. Questioning my orders as you have just done will cause you more punishment tomorrow,” he said and took up a book, ignoring her and the servant as they left.

The following day she was conducted to the study in the early morning, just after dawn and interrupting her private celebration of Lauds. This time she stripped without any word being spoken and sucked on her Master’s organ. Then she was whipped and fingered to climax. A servant was called and as the two women left the study, Monsignor Flavin uttered the single word, “Better.”

Late that afternoon she was conducted by a servant, not to the study, but to a small chapel where she was ushered into a confessional. This made her nervous because she had assumed that she was going to the study again, and she felt very odd, kneeling in a confessional naked under her habit.

“Yes, my daughter,” said a familiar voice, and Sister Lucia realized that Monsignor Flavin was also to be her confessor.

The routine of confession was completed, with Sister Lucia detailing all that had passed between them, and being questioned closely as to her feelings and experiences.

At the end, the Monsignor said, “I find no sin here. You merely obeyed those whom God put in charge of you, as a good and devout woman should. Penance for the sins of disobedience has already been made by the whippings you have received. Go in peace.”

The curtain on the little grating between them was then closed with a degree of finality. She rose and left the confession box to find a different servant waiting to escort her to her cell. There she discovered that all her underthings had been removed.

For seven more days the routine of one visit a day to the study continued, though the time of day of these sessions varied a lot. The events in the study always included whipping, and shuddering, and kneeling to drink the Monsignor’s offering, though again the order of these three was unpredictable. Rarely was anything said by either of them.

Then a day came when she was not conducted to his study, and the same the following day. Sister Lucia was at a loss to know why she was no longer being used, and on the third night she was compelled by her desires to bring herself to a shudder in the darkness of her cell.

 

Chapter 16: Choice

It was some days after that before she saw Monsignor Flavin again. When she did, it was in his study, where she stood before his desk again, feeling like a schoolgirl ‘on the mat’ before the headmistress.

As she entered he had told her to keep her clothes on, and she felt quite bereft, that she was not to be punished was good, but did that mean they were not to pleasure each other? She knew it was sinful, despite his words in the confessional, but she had become accustomed to him making her shudder, and a modern psychiatrist would say she was conditioned to expect it.

“Molly, listen to me. The time has come to review your progress, and to discuss your future,” he said.

Waving to a chair she had not previously noticed in the corner, he added pleasantly, “Pull up a chair, my child.”

When she was sitting nervously opposite him, he looked long and hard at her.

“Well, you have improved a lot since the first time we met in this room and you flinched when I touched your breast,” he started.

Molly nodded.

“Now you seem very obedient. You have realized, I feel, that obedience is the true virtue, and the only one to which you are capable of adhering. I dare say that if I walked round there now and told you to be still, then fondled your breasts and lower body, you would not move a muscle.”

She blushed as she realized that this was indeed true. In her cell the Sister Lucia persona ruled her body and hated what happened to her, but in this room the she knew that she would willingly submit to anything he wanted to do to her, and that she would enjoy most of it.

“How sweet, you can still blush at a sexual thought.”

He paused and concentrated on filling and lighting his pipe. When it was well alight, he spoke again.

“I have again discussed you with the Mother Superior and the Bishop,” he lied, “They both agree that you do not yet have a true vocation to be a member of a religious order. While your obedience is not questioned and the vow of poverty does not present a difficulty, your obvious enjoyment of sexual activities means that some time, perhaps even years must pass before you could again be trusted inside a closed community dedicated to chastity, which really means celibacy. I am sure you understand that a Bride of Christ should not scream in ecstasy as she spends, shudders, impaled on a male finger, or excited by another woman’s mouth; nor should she swallow a man’s offering so eagerly.”

Molly nodded.

“That brings us back to the old option of the Order expelling you on to the streets of Dublin, barefoot and penniless. I do not doubt that you would soon be earning a living in a whorehouse and would not suffer immediately. However, whores tend to catch awful diseases, and to die young, in cruel circumstances, so it isn’t a very tempting option. Now, the Bishop and I have devised a way in which you can continue to serve the Church while not actually being in a Convent. On the Bishop’s advice, the Mother Superior has agreed that you can remain technically a member of the order, but that you will be on Sabbatical Leave indefinitely. That means you can resume the life of a nun when you are older, should you so wish. In the mean time we have a useful role for you within these four walls.”

Somewhat infuriatingly for her, he stopped to relight his pipe.

“It is an unfortunate fact of life that all priests are men, and that all men are sinners. The Bishop thinks that for those priests for whom celibacy is all but impossible, it is better for their sin to be controlled and channeled, rather than random and causing scandals. We propose, therefore, that accommodation be provided here for you to … indulge, yes indulge is the word, indulge these men who could then better control their urges and keep their … ahem … hands off their parishioners.”

She thought bitterly, ‘So I am to be the church’s harlot, instead of a public one. Some choice.’

“I think we could make your life here comfortable, and we anticipate no more than three or four visitors a week. In the stews of Mountgomery Street you would be visited many times every day, by all sorts of undesirables. Of course, I shall still have my needs, and the Bishop will call occasionally. If that course of action is agreeable, you would be provided with suitable clothes and, of course, while performing these services you would be known by your former name, Molly.”

“Yes, Master,” she replied, remembering with no great pleasure those far-off days when she was Molly all the time, before she professed her vows and became Sister Lucia.

“Come with me,” he ordered and swept out of the room.

Hurrying to keep up with him, she followed until they reached her cell, and both went into it.

“This is Sister Lucia’s cell. Here you are Sister Lucia, the Merciful Nun. Here you will eat, sleep and live, except for the special occasions, when you have a visitor.”

She stared at him, not fully understanding.

“Come,” and he was gone again.

They hurried along corridors into a part of the College of Correction and Redemption which she had never before visited. The corridors here were not merely carpeted, the carpets were thick. There were pictures on the walls, religious scenes to be sure, but decorations nevertheless. The Monsignor opened a door and led her into a room.

“Here, you are Molly and will entertain your visitors,” he explained, “It is in this room that the Merciful Nun shows her mercy and compassion for men torn apart between their vows to the Church and their earthly desires.”

Molly looked around her and saw the sort of bedroom she thought a rich lady might have, though in truth it was basic enough. It was warmed by a cheerful fire in a large fireplace. There was a bed, with a proper mattress which sank a little under her weight as she sat on it. A wardrobe stood with its door open and several dresses hanging in it. A dressing table had some unfamiliar items on it, among which she recognized only lipstick. A large leather upholstered easy chair was off in one corner. It was frayed but looked serviceable; she would learn soon enough what it was for. To one the side was a washstand with a jug and bowl, which were purely decorative, since he showed her that through another door was a bathroom. Out of the window she could see a garden with tall trees obscuring any longer views.

“Now, Molly,” said Monsignor Flavin, “You may serve me.”

Dutifully, she sank to her knees before him and opened his trousers, taking his manhood into her mouth. No doubt this was how she had to help the men who would visit the Merciful Nun. To her surprise he indulged himself for only a few moments before withdrawing and buttoning himself up. Taking her hand he helped her up and took her over to the armchair.

“This is not for sitting in,” he said, “At least, not by you. Bend over one arm.”

Helped a little by his guiding hands, she settled herself face down over one arm of the chair, her shoulders resting comfortably enough over the other arm.

“That is how you will use this chair, when a visitor wants you to do so. He may want you bent over the arm like this for various reasons, but the position is always the same.”

She felt him lift the skirts of her habit, and of her shift to expose her bottom, naked as it always was now. He stroked her globes tenderly. Molly resigned herself to another spanking, but he surprised her by parting her cheeks and running his finger down the crack and between her waiting labia. She was wet, as she always was after sucking him, even for a few moments. His finger entered her a little, as far as he ever pushed it, and turned and twisted, collecting her juices. Then it ran up to her darker entrance and pressed.

“No,” she breathed, before she could stop herself.

“Obedience,” he ordered, and she stilled herself.

The finger entered her rear passage and went deep. It was an odd feeling, not quite exciting, but a reminder that he was there and using her body for his own pleasure.

“Some of your visitors will want to finger you over this chair,” he explained, “I don’t want you being disobedient to any of them. Some may want to punish you over this chair, or even enter you. Some will want to use this hole also. Of course, most of them will want to play with you on the bed,” he explained, “But I thought you should be told of all the variations.”

As he left her new accommodation, Monsignor Flavin said, “By the way, the Bishop will call to see you in an hour or so. He has expressed a wish that you wear your habit for the meeting, but be naked beneath it. Apparently he has always fantasized about taking advantage of an innocent nun, so you could, perhaps, help him by appearing a little reluctant?”

After he had left, she looked in the drawers of the dressing table. As she expected there was a knout there, but she was surprised to see handcuffs, and various lengths of soft rope, and more puzzlingly, a statue of a large man’s penis. A whippy cane, such as she had not felt since her school days completed the inventory.

In the wardrobe were three outfits. One was a dress such as her mother might have worn, the second was a longer dress which would reach the floor if she wore it, but which seemed to be missing its upper section. There was nothing to go over her arms and shoulders, and at the back it would scarcely come higher than her waist. The third one puzzled her the most. It was black, but very thin. The skirt was only a few inches deep; the blouse was even thinner than the skirt and she could clearly see her hand, even through two layers of it. There was a tiny white lace edged apron to go with it.

In the wardrobe drawer she found some thin silk drawers, and some stockings. These also were silk and had garters apparently sewn on to them. They too were very thin, and she thought they would be no good to keep her warm. Then the penny dropped and she blushed. Wearing the blouse, the short skirt, the little apron and the stockings, she would be completely dressed, while at the same time every detail of her body would be visible to anyone else in the room. These were a harlot’s clothes.

 

Chapter 17: The Bishop

An hour later she still waited in her new room for the Bishop to arrive. She was full of trepidation, but convinced that she knew what was expected of her. The Bishop would want to touch her, and to have her suck his male organ, as Monsignor Flavin did. What she wondered was whether she could do it with a different man, and one as important as the Bishop. At least if her nerves were bad, he would see the reluctance he had asked for.

Afterwards, Molly expected, he would want to punish her, and she felt her nipples rise at the thought. She sat quite still, dressed in her Swiss wimple and her habit, but without anything beneath it.

The door opened and the Bishop walked in, closing it behind him. Molly was surprised to see him in a suit such as Monsignor Flavin usually wore, then realized that the only times she had seen him previously had been church ceremonial, when he would naturally have been wearing robes and a miter. Suddenly she felt much happier about the next few hours; this wasn’t a distant exalted figure, this was just an old man who was a friend of the Monsignor, and was no more frightening than he.

The Bishop took off his jacket and hung it on the back of the door, looked round him, and sat on the bed at the foot end. Molly smiled at him, remained standing and waited quietly; she knew it was not her place to speak first.

“Good afternoon, my child,” he said, “That was a lovely smile. I hope you will cooperate without causing a fuss. Now please remove your wimple.”

“Is that proper, Sir?” she asked, beginning to get into the ‘reluctance’ game.

“It is an order, my child; do not question my orders or I shall have to punish you.”

Slowly and carefully, she removed her wimple and shook out her hair.

‘Monsignor Flavin was quite right, ‘ the Bishop thought, ‘Her hair looks much nicer kept rather longer than the Convent would allow. The dark chestnut coloring shows off her fair skin nicely. I wonder if the rest of her is milk white, or if she has freckles?’

“Come and sit beside me, my child,” he said, patting the bed.

Slowly and apparently hesitantly she sat as far away from him as she could.

“Nearer to me,” he coaxed.

She moved next to him and he put an avuncular arm round her shoulders.

“Monsignor Flavin tells me that you are to take part in our arrangements to help priests in difficulties?” he asked.

She dropped her eyes and blushed as she whispered, “Yes, Sir.”

Pulling her gently towards him, he cupped her breast gently with his other hand. She dabbed ineffectually at it, as though trying to push it away.

“Reluctant, my child? Or did the good Monsignor indicate that I would like that?”

She nodded, ambiguously, reasoning that he could take it as he wished; both were true.

“Very well,” he said, releasing her, “Stand up and take that habit off. I wish to make sure that you can help a priest properly and adequately.”

Realizing that the time for both sham and real reluctance was over, she did as she was told, folding the garment carefully and putting it aside. The Bishop could scarcely believe his eyes as he watched her moving. The slight bounce of her breasts and the wonderfully curved bottom were, in his professional opinion, enough to tempt a saint. Certainly his manhood sprang to attention as the habit was lifted over her head, revealing that she was nude beneath it.

When she had folded the habit, Molly walked and stood as she had been taught, immediately in front of the Bishop, and well within arm’s length. He reached out almost reverentially and stroked her hip. When she didn’t move, his hand trailed across to her mons, with its sparse covering of dark brown hair. Again she made no move, since Monsignor Flavin always told her what he wanted.

“Do you not open for me?” asked the Bishop.

“Of course, Sir,” she said, widening her knees to allow his hand to slip between her thighs, “but the Master always tells me what to do, and doesn’t like me to do things unless he tells me. He says it is disobedient for me to do what I want.”

“He is quite right, my child. Please sit on my knee.”

As she did so, one hand went round her back and grasped her breast, pulling her to him. The other hand turned her head gently and he kissed her lips, pushing his tongue at her. Puzzled, she allowed it to enter her mouth, but did not respond. His free hand dropped into her lap and she readily opened her thighs to allow his exploring fingers into her crack.

Breaking off the kiss, he asked, “Has nobody taught you to kiss? I thought you and one of the Novices…”

“I’ve never kissed anyone like that before, Sir. I am an obedient child. I will do whatever you tell me.”

He was about to follow this up when he realized that his questing fingers had come up against an intact hymen.

“What, exactly, do you and Monsignor Flavin do? Tell me everything, my child,” he ordered.

Molly blushed very prettily, he thought as she whispered, “We touch each other until I shudder, and then I help him to empty himself, Sir.”

Clearly the Monsignor had not included Anglo-Saxon terminology in his teachings.

“And how do you help him to do that, my child? With your hand?”

“Yes, Sir, at first. Then with my mouth.”

The Bishop seriously thought he would have a spontaneous emission for the first time in forty years as she said that, and he had a mental picture of this virgin nun, in her habit, kneeling before the Monsignor, sucking his prick as an act of devotion. Not for the first time, he was glad he had chosen the Church as a career, and even more glad that he was not burdened with the weight of any particular beliefs, morals, or scruples.

“Neither he, nor any other man has emptied himself where my hand is now?” he pressed her.

She looked astonished as she said, “Oh, no, Sir. That would be mortal sin, to do that.”

This presented the Bishop with a problem. Would the young nun satisfy the randier clergy, and help avoid scandals with parishioners, if all she would give was a blow job? There was a more pressing problem. How was he to fuck this virgin if she was convinced that she should not let anyone have her?

Still exciting her vagina with his finger, and stroking her clitoris absentmindedly, he pondered this problem. He scarcely noticed her moans getting louder until he realized she was about to fall off his knee. Taking his hand away from her eager body, he lifted her off his knee and deposited her on the bed, where she lay on her back with her knees wide apart. He applied himself to exciting her further, and his success was measured, in his own mind at least, by her legs lifting off the bed and her toes stretching up to point high in the air. He paused long enough for her to start to come down from the brink of an orgasm and she chuckled throatily as she realized what he was doing. Each time, he started again until she was on the brink, and then paused again. The fourth time he paused he was too late, and she threshed about on the bed and screamed in the frenzy of her orgasm.

When she had calmed she sat up and said what was obviously a well-coached line, “I was naughty, wasn’t I, when I shuddered?”

‘I’ve never heard it called that by anyone else, ‘ he thought, smiling inwardly, ‘but she certainly does tremble and shudder as she comes.’

“Yes, my child, you were,” he replied, not wanting to upset the routine.

Then he tried the stratagem he had thought up to get past her vows.

“What is the ring you wear?” he asked.

“It signifies my vows, and that I am a Bride of Christ and cannot ever marry a man,” she replied, wondering why the Bishop, who had presided at the profession of vows of several of the nuns, did not know this.

“Yes, my child, and I am Christ’s representative in this diocese, so I have the privilege of representing him at the consummation of his relationship with his brides. Did the Mother Superior not explain this?”

“No, Sir.”

She looked very, very doubtful. That cheered him up; she hadn’t dismissed his argument for the clap-trap it was. The advantages of a diocese full of ignorant young women never ceased to please him, even though preferment to Archbishop had passed him by the previous year when a much younger man had been appointed. He removed his trousers quickly and stood before her clad in shirt and socks.

“Well it is so. Now I order you to lie down again, and open and lift your legs as you were before.”

This was the moment of truth. If she obeyed, he was in, and so were all the priests who wanted her. There was an urgent need as the previous Merciful Nun was now seven months pregnant and if nothing was done soon there would be scandals of the first order in some parishes. He was much relieved to see her sink on the bed and dutifully open herself. The inner labia were glistening from her orgasm, so he need not waste time on foreplay or lubrication. He lowered himself between her legs, brought the head of his penis to the mouth of her vagina and pushed, hard.

In he went, to the hilt in a single stroke, and he wondered if he had been mistaken about her maidenhead. Her screams he took as his due, either for the pain or for the pleasure he was bringing her. Gathering himself he pumped vigorously in and out of her hot tight entrance for almost a minute before his penis exploded in an orgasm of mind-shattering intensity.

As his manhood shrivelled, he rolled off her and heard her whimpering, “No, please, no, no.”

He noted with satisfaction the blood on her thighs, and he wiped his penis on the nearest thing to hand, which was the hem of her habit.

When she had recovered her composure, she saw him standing over her, with his trousers on again. Suddenly she burst into tears, and he had a grave foreboding of trouble ahead. He resolved to bully and bluster his way out of it.

“Stop crying and tell me; what is the matter?” he snapped.

“I was very naughty, wasn’t I? I said ‘no’ when you stopped. I just wanted to go on and on, and that was thinking of myself first,” she sobbed.

“That is true, my child,” he replied, trying not to let the relief sound in his voice.

“And so you will punish me a lot, won’t you? At least twelve strokes of the knout?” she asked.

The Bishop had not had two erections in one day for years, but he could have hung weights on it at this moment. The woman was asking him to flog her with a flail!

“At least,” he replied, remembering, and now understanding why Monsignor Flavin had asked him not to damage her.

 

Chapter 18: Punishment

Molly rose naked from the bed, watched closely by the Bishop as her movements made her breasts move in interesting and arousing ways. She then knelt beside the bed with her torso resting on the mattress and her back and buttocks perfectly presented for punishment.

For some moments the Bishop surveyed the bare flesh of his victim and tried to decide where and how to inflict the maximum of pain with the minimum of damage. He knew Monsignor Flavin needed to press this Merciful Nun into regular service very soon, so she must not be harmed by him. Nevertheless he intended to enjoy himself as fully as may be, and planning the pain was almost as pleasant as inflicting it.

She flinched as his hand rested on the shoulder-blade for a moment before tracing the line of her spine downwards until it rested on her buttock. The sensation of her warm skin and the palpable shiver of fear under his hand was very pleasant, the Bishop thought. Then he lifted the hand away from the oh-so-tempting flesh and determined that he must scourge this temptation from his mind. Naturally the physical scourging would be of her flesh, rather than his own, since it was her flesh which tempted him.

He looked again at the curve of her buttocks and marveled at the smooth skin of her lower back. Presented like this, with the breasts and face hidden in the mattress, it could be the back and bottom of a fifteen year old girl. The thought made him even harder and he determined that her punishment for tempting him thus would be made appropriate for the temptress; a young woman might be scourged with a knout for tempting him with her smile and breasts, and orgasms, but young girls who were naughty were spanked with the bare hand.

SLAP!

Barely had the decision been made than he found his hand moving swiftly through the air and into contact with that delicious curving bare arse. The imprint of his hand was red on the white flesh as he lifted it high in the air.

Molly cried out at the blow, more in surprise than pain. She had been preparing herself for the multiple strands of the knout landing the bare flesh of her buttocks. There would have been some warning from the sound of the instrument as it tore through the air on the downward stroke, but his hand had made no noise at all.

SLAP!

The second blow made a similar mark on the other cheek.

‘If he is just going to spank me, then that isn’t much of a punishment, ‘ she thought, remembering the spankings she had endured as a child.

SLAP!

SLAP!

SLAP!

SLAP!

Spanking this behind was not very satisfying after a few blows, the Bishop found. The woman was not crying as a child would cry, but rather enduring a punishment which, while not pleasant, was not too painful to suffer in silence. Since she insisted on being a woman, he would treat her as such. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him turn to the dressing table drawer and take up the knout. Deep down, Molly knew she was sinful and needed to be punished, and now she felt a rising excitement as the moment approached.

The multiple strands of the knout whistled through the air and landed exactly where he planned, close together on the fleshy upper edge of her buttocks. The skin turned deep red as the air was filled with the loudest scream of pain she had managed to emit that day.

Time and again the knout fell until Molly could scream no more and her throat felt as sore as her private parts. Finally the Bishop stopped and surveyed his handiwork. Her back, bum and upper thighs were red raw, but he noted to his satisfaction that the skin was not broken once. Then he saw that the mattress beneath the woman was wet, and he realized that this was a mixture of his semen and her excitement.

Unable to resist any longer, the Bishop fairly tore his trousers off and plunged deep into the sobbing woman’s body. His weight and the chafing of his clothing on her bruised and smarting flesh caused a fresh outburst of pitiful cries, which inflamed him the more. Her private parts were also very sore from his first defloration of her, and added to her general pain and discomfort. He pumped in and out of her vagina dementedly, quickly releasing his second emission of semen deep into her body.

After the Bishop left, Molly remained face down on the bed for some minutes. Eventually she dragged herself to her feet and had a long bath, which felt sinful, but, she reasoned, everything which happened in this room was Molly, whose very nature was sinful.

‘Sister Lucia, ‘ she remind herself, ‘has no reason to feel guilty about anything Molly does.’

After her bath, she dressed quickly in her habit, with underwear, and went out into the corridor and was, once again, Sister Lucia. She made her way to her own cell and there she spent more than two hours on her knees praying for Molly’s immortal soul. The split in her own mind between the two personalities was now almost complete.

 

Chapter 19: Visitor

For the next three days life followed its usual routine. Sister Lucia rose early, said her own Divine Offices at the appointed hours, washed, ate her meals, and spent the rest of her time in silent prayer and contemplation. Almost every day she visited Monsignor Flavin whose use of her had not changed. In many ways she was, she supposed, happier here, without any distractions, than she had been in the Convent.

On the fourth morning after the Bishop’s visit, with Molly firmly hidden in the back of her mind, Monsignor Flavin again came to Sister Lucia’s cell and informed her that a visitor would be with her in an hour. He escorted her to Molly’s room where he had her strip before him so that he could check that her back was completely recovered from the Bishop’s attentions. He also thrust two fingers into her private parts and seemed satisfied that she did not wince at the intrusion. His next order was for her to kneel and suck him, swallowing his offering. As she rose, still naked, from performing this duty, Molly was in total control, and noticed that she was wet and ready between her legs.

“What shall I wear, Master?” she asked, with more assurance and willingness than he had noticed previously.

“Oh, the clothes are there on the bed,” he said, and left her alone.

He would have preferred to stay and watch this lovely creature dress herself in the simple clothes he had laid out for her, brassiere and drawers in plain white cotton, a thin slip and a respectable woman’s dress. As he went back to his room he hoped that this visit would pass off well, as on the success of this depended the rest of her time here. He had no other ‘student’ in the College, or in view, who was anywhere near ready to entertain the randy priests who were his clientele, and Gertrude, her heavily pregnant predecessor, was about to return to the Convent whence she came.

Molly went into the bathroom and washed, being careful not to excite herself too much in the process. It would never do if she shuddered before the visitor came. She was feeling both trepidation and excitement. Trepidation that she might not please the visitor, and excitement that she was to help this man with his problems. She dressed quickly and sat quietly waiting, her thoughts untroubled by any worries about the morality of her actions. Molly knew that Sister Lucia would take care of that aspect for her, later.

When he arrived, the visitor proved to be a short stout man of late middle age. He seemed very much at home in this room, though a little surprised to see Molly there.

“Hullo,” he said, “What’s your name?”

“Molly, sir,” she said.

She knew better than to ask his.

“Where’s…” he started to ask, and then thought better of it, “I suppose I’d better tell you what I want?” he asked.

She nodded and stood up.

“Well, first I like to sit and kiss for a while. Then I’ll undress you myself while we kiss, and you can then … lie down. Does that sound reasonable?”

Molly nodded again, not trusting herself to ask any questions. She sat down again on the bed and the visitor sat beside her. They kissed, tentatively at first, then as he realized she was totally compliant, more passionately. His tongue scoured her mouth and when it withdrew she returned the compliment. The only slight hitch came when he had to ask her to stand up so that her dress could be removed. She made a mental note to do so in future whenever necessary; men seemed to like her to anticipate some of their wishes and not others. Then she was standing before him clad only in the sensible brassiere and drawers. He unfastened the string and let her drawers fall to her ankles. Then he tackled her brassiere with a skill which bespoke much experience.

She dropped to her knees and started to unfasten his trousers. For a few moments he allowed this, watching her movements with interest. When she lifted his manhood and opened her mouth to suck it, he hit her on the side of the head, hard, knocking her to the floor.

“That’s a filthy idea,” he snarled, “I’ll show you where that is to go, you abomination of a child.”

He lifted her bodily and dropped her on the bed. In a moment her legs were on his shoulders and he was buried firmly in her vagina. A few violent strokes in and out and she felt his whole body stiffen and throb. Then he was out of her, dropping her legs unceremoniously, so that she fell from the edge of the bed on to the floor. As she looked up a few moments later she saw his retreating back disappear through the door.

Slowly she picked herself up and moved towards the bathroom, acutely conscious of the fact that she had not been satisfied and that she had probably failed the visitor as well. Her leg itched and it was only when she absentmindedly scratched it that she realized that the irritation was caused by a sticky liquid running down her leg.

‘At least he did shudder, ‘ she thought, ‘even if I haven’t.’

After cleaning herself, she went back into the bedroom and lay on the bed. It was there, close to a self-induced orgasm, that Monsignor Flavin found her when he entered unannounced.

“What are you doing?” he asked, knowing full well what she was doing.

“Master,” she cried, leaping from the bed, “I was just…”

“I know what you were doing. Lie down and continue; I want to watch.”

Molly did as she was told, but found it very disconcerting to be watched, especially as Monsignor Flavin would lean forward from time to time to examining a nipple, or her face, or her fingering of herself from only a few inches away.

After some minutes, he said, craftily, “You aren’t getting anywhere, are you?”

“No Master,” she admitted.

“Allow me,” he said and started to finger her clitoris.

Just as she was coming along nicely, he let it go and she moaned. He thrust a finger quickly into her vagina, which was lovely, then withdrew it and pushed it into the darker hole. She twisted on the bed in protest, partly at the pain and partly at the affront.

“A lot of your visitors will want to put their fingers in here, so you’d better get used to it,” he said, “Now lie still.”

His thumb returned to her clitoris and this stimulation distracted her mind from the invasion of her rectum. Eventually she had relaxed enough for him to have two fingers in her bottom, and she felt very full as she shuddered to her climax.

When she opened her eyes again, it was to see the Monsignor’s penis hovering above her face. She turned to lie on her side and took it into her mouth. As she sucked him, he moved her legs into a fetal position and she felt his fingers intruding into her bottom again. This sensation was again somewhat tempered by his thumb sliding into her vagina at the same time. As she licked and sucked valiantly, she managed to slide her own hand down to her clitoris and was close to shuddering again when Monsignor Flavin’s manhood suddenly erupted in her mouth.

He withdrew at once and some of the cream splashed on to her face and breasts. He stood up, releasing her body, and went into the bathroom. Molly lay there, exhausted, slowly scraping his juices from her face and breasts, and licking her fingers clean. Finally she wiped herself on the discarded drawers she had worn for her visitor.

When Monsignor Flavin returned from his ablutions, once again fully dressed, he asked her, “What did you do to upset him?”

“Master,” she said, “I offered to take him in my mouth.”

“Molly,” he sighed, “What am I going to do with you? You are here to obey, not to initiate. Unless asked, you do nothing, especially with a new visitor. If a gentleman visits you a second time, you may remember what he wants and assume it will be the same, but you never propose anything yourself.”

“Sorry, Master,” she said, draping her naked body face down over the armchair.

“So you should be,” he said as he raised his hand, bringing it down in a resounding slap on her rump.

Molly started to cry quietly, but as he continued the spanking her sobs became louder. When his palm was stinging, the Monsignor took the knout from the drawer of the sideboard and gave her a sharp crack across the buttocks with it. He had held his hand back a little and so the various strands only just reached her bottom, each one making an extremely painful spot where the very end of each strand cracked on the already reddened and sensitive flesh. Molly let out an unfeigned scream of pain.

“Dress and return to your cell, please, Sister Lucia,” said her tormentor.

As she rose and started to pull on her habit, Monsignor Flavin stopped her and said, “I hope you don’t intend to walk along the corridor without any drawers on?”

“No, Master,” she said, and continued to don the habit.

When it was securely in place she stepped into the thick drawers she found in the wardrobe and pulled them up under the skirts, wincing with pain as the harsh material came in contact with her abused skin.

‘I’ll be sleeping on my front again tonight, ‘ she thought wryly as she made her way back to being Sister Lucia again.

In later months, she realized that the short, stout man was really very kind, provided she did as he asked. His main pleasure seemed to be kissing, though they always ended up on the bed with him shuddering long before she got there. In fact she came to realise that he was quite the kindest of her visitors, even though she had had such an unfortunate first visit from him.

 

Chapter 20: School Uniform

Visitors of many kinds came and went as the weeks went by. Some wanted to seduce a nun, others to humiliate a young wife; some to dally with what they called a French maid; one asked her to sing to him first; still others merely wanted to spend their passion into her body and leave as quickly as possible. Some visited only once, others soon became regulars. Often Molly was punished at the end of the visits for some error, real or imagined, and she came to realize that this was for their pleasure, and not to correct her faults. Occasionally she was required to chastise a visitor, but she quickly learned to do so with a light hand. As it happened, none of her first few visitors resorted to sodomy, so for a while she remained blissfully ignorant of this particular form of indulgence.

Between visits, back in her cell, Sister Lucia spent much time on her knees praying for Molly’s soul.

Late one afternoon, Molly was surprised to be given the uniform long skirt, blouse and jumper of a schoolgirl, complete with the badge of one of the best known girls’ schools in the country.

“You have a special visitor who will stay all night tonight,” said Monsignor Flavin, who had brought the clothing himself, “You will wear these, with nothing beneath them, and he wishes to teach a naughty virgin schoolgirl about sex. Then he will punish her for her misbehavior. Then he will sleep in your bed, with you, for what remains of the night. His instructions were most specific.”

“As you wish, Master,” she shrugged, “What do I call him?”

“You are learning fast. You address His Em…” he broke off, “him as Papa. He is the father of the naughty schoolgirl.”

“Who is he?” she asked.

“That is unimportant, and not for you to know or find out,” said the Monsignor firmly, “Now prepare yourself. He will be here in two hours and you will start off by dining here with your Papa. After that you do whatever he wants.”

Dinner, much to her relief, was a very one-sided affair. Molly was served with her usual frugal meal, while her ‘Papa’ was served a comparatively sumptuous repast of onion soup, followed by smoked salmon, followed by mutton chops, followed by an apple pie, and rounded off with some extremely smelly cheese. Each course was accompanied by wine, of which none was offered to her. During the meal the conversation was very desultory, and totally innocuous while the serving girls were passing to and fro. Molly noticed that the partly consumed bottles of wine were left on the dressing table, which had been cleared temporarily to serve as a sideboard.

After the cheese board had been cleared away, ‘Papa’ went over to the door and locked it.

“Now, my dear,” he said, “We can talk in peace, without all those people interrupting.”

Molly answered shyly, “What about, Papa?”

She sat on the bed, which was doing duty as a sofa, next to her ‘Papa’ and felt very odd in school uniform, the more so because she had no underwear. That thought made her private parts dampen.

“Well, you could start by telling me if you have been a good girl at school?” he said.

This was better, she could recognize a cue when she heard one.

“I’ve tried to be, Papa,” she said, then dropped her eyes, “Honestly I have. It’s the teachers; they don’t like me.”

“The teachers tell me you were very naughty,” he chided, “They seem to think you should be punished. They tell me you don’t wear your school uniform properly.”

Better still, now she knew exactly what to do. She sprang to her feet, moving away and turning to face him.

“But Papa, look at me. What is wrong with the way I wear the school uniform?”

“The teachers say you don’t wear the regulation underthings,” his voice rose in excitement as he realized the woman was playing along.

‘It’s so nice to find one who isn’t too stupid to play the role properly, ‘ he thought, knowing that at the very least she had no brassiere on, ‘Breasts which are constrained don’t bounce like that. And if she does have drawers on, I shall enjoy removing them.’

“The teachers say you even come into class with no drawers on,” he insisted, “That would be very naughty, wouldn’t it?”

He loved the way she blushed as the accusation hit home.

‘This will be the best one Monsignor Flavin has found yet, ‘ he thought, ‘I hope I get another go at her before she falls pregnant. Well, it certainly won’t be my get that she carries.’

“Come here and show me you are wearing the correct drawers,” he ordered sternly.

“No, Papa, please. That would be rude. The teachers say I mustn’t show my drawers to anybody,” she begged.

“Come here this minute,” he thundered, “And tell me to whom you have been showing them.”

Reluctantly, she moved to stand before him, saying, “Papa, it was an accident.”

“What was an accident?”

“The boys seeing my drawers. I slipped over on the snow.”

‘Inventive, too. Better and better, ‘ he thought.

“Hmm. That isn’t what the teachers told me. Now lift that skirt and show me your drawers.”

She lifted the skirt almost to her knees.

“Higher, I can’t see them yet.”

Just above the knees.

“Higher.”

Mid-thigh.

“Higher.”

“Please, no, Papa,” she begged again.

He was implacable, as firm as the pole which was making a tent of his trousers, “Higher.”

As she obeyed, the very tip of the triangle of hair on her belly came into view below the hem of her skirt and her ‘Papa’ thought for a moment that he would disgrace himself in his trousers.

‘This one is a brilliant find, ‘ he thought, ‘Perhaps I could move her into my household. A nun would not look out of place there.’

He dismissed the thought; there would be too many temptations, on both sides, with all the young priests coming and going. A nun would not seem out of place, but a pregnant nun in the Aras…

“Lift your skirt right up,” he ordered, “I know you have no drawers on. That is extremely naughty.”

“Please don’t spank me, Papa,” Molly whimpered, enjoying her rôle and looking forward to the end of the little play when she just knew she would shudder very hard, probably when her ‘Papa’ shuddered himself, deep inside her, “Please don’t.”

She lifted her skirt to her chin, showing herself completely devoid of covering below the waist.

“Take off that jumper,” he ordered.

When she had dropped her skirt and done so he looked carefully at her chest, then reached out and cupped one breast through the thin blouse.

“Just as I thought,” he muttered, “No brassiere.”

He looked at her with a gleam of anticipation in his eyes. He strode over to the dressing table and drank a glass of wine from one of the bottles. Then he rummaged in the drawer.

“Do you know what this is?” he asked, brandishing the knout.

“Y-yes,” said Molly, the fearful stammer far from play acting.

“Over the chair arm, if you please. I’ll teach you not to disobey the Sisters at school.”

Her ‘Papa’ was still playing the role in which he had cast himself, the irate father of a recalcitrant schoolgirl. Both knew she was a mature woman however, and both knew that she was about to be thrashed. She moved over to the armchair, feeling slightly foolish in the school uniform blouse and long skirt. Slowly she bent over one arm of the chair, taking her weight on her shoulders on the other arm, allowing her breasts to hang down, tightening the blouse material. ‘Papa’ watched this with interest and contemplated having her remove the blouse, but decided against that because a real father would not do so. Chastisement on a bare bottom, however, was quite usual.

“Lift your skirt, you bad girl,” he said.

Slowly, to tease him, Molly raised the skirt to reveal a pair of pink and white bottom cheeks with just a wisp of hair peeping between the tight closed thighs.

“Feet apart, miss,” was the next order.

CRACK!

Molly was expecting the all-over pain of the knout’s many tails. Although she had been caned on the bare bottom at the Convent School, mostly by an elderly nun who seemed to enjoy such things, she had forgotten just how painful it could be when all the strength of the blow was concentrated in a single stroke. She screamed aloud.

“Good,” said ‘Papa’, “Five more like that and perhaps you’ll remember to wear drawers in future.”

‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph. He’s using the cane. He’s still playing the angry father chastising his school girl daughter, oh God; he’s still playing and I’ve five more of those to come, ‘ she thought wildly, ‘What would happen if I stood up now?’

She was sorely tempted, but she was more afraid of what might happen if she did than she was of the caning. Monsignor Flavin would undoubtedly punish her terribly, thrashing her very thoroughly before throwing her out on the streets. She resolved to bear the next five strokes without a murmur.

CRACK!

Molly remained silent, though she almost bit through her lip to do so. It seemed to incense the old man even more.

CRACK!!

The third stroke was even harder, and she could not help herself; she burst into uncontrollable sobbing and crying; tears fell like rain.

‘Papa’ moved on in his prey. He smoothed and caressed her burning skin with one hand, his fingers slipping below her buttocks and into the crack to finger her labia. Automatically she opened her legs wider to allow him access, and jumped slightly as he slid his hand into the hot wet hole. Then he ran his wet fingers up the crack between her cheeks and slid one digit into her other entrance. She twisted slightly in an attempt to dislodge the questing finger. It withdrew, much to her relief.

CRACK!!

Another mighty blow laid a line of fire across her bottom. She would not sit down for days, she thought. Again the hand rubbed the abused skin, actually adding to the pain. Again two fingers teased her little nubbin before entering her vagina. Again they trailed up the crack and this time both entered her bum.

When she twitched he said, “Behave. Be still!”

Still sobbing uncontrollably, she tried her best to obey him, and submitted to the two fingers probing her most private place. She remembered that Monsignor Flavin had pushed his fingers in there and had said that some visitors would want to do this. The fingers withdrew.

CRACK!

Molly almost passed out with the pain of the fifth blow, mostly because it was almost exactly on the line of a previous stroke.

CRACK!

The sixth came in quick succession and she screamed again.

‘Papa’ stopped her rising by pressing gently on the small of her back, so she stayed where she was as he groped her bottom, thrust several fingers into her now sopping vagina, and then three wet digits insinuated themselves into the narrow passage between her buttocks.

Suddenly the hand withdrew and she heard the rustle of cloth behind her.

‘He’s taking his trousers off. Now he’ll do it to me and I can shudder, ‘ thought a part of her mind which was not concerned with the screaming pain of her tender skin.

Much to her surprise he did not thrust immediately into her vagina, but moved the head of his member up and down between her labia, as though to lubricate it.

‘He doesn’t need to do that, ‘ she thought, ‘I’m wet through already.’

Then the hot hard rod moved upwards and without the slightest pause thrust several inches into her hitherto virgin rear entrance.

“No! No, no no no no!” she howled as a tearing burning pain in her rectum banished all thought of the caning she had just received.

She thrashed about in agony as ‘Papa’ gripped her hips tightly and thrust further into her bowels.

“This is what I want,” he grunted, “and this is what I will have. Take it.”

The pain was unbearable, and Molly soon succumbed to the swirling colours which welled up in her mind.

When she recovered her senses it was to find the pain was still horrendous as the man behind her thrust in and out of her narrower passage without any thought for her comfort. Her breasts hurt abominably also and it took her some moments to realise that this was because he had run his hands under her blouse and was gripping her body by these two tender handles to increase the thrust he could achieve into her vitals. She passed out again for a few moments.

When she came round the second time it was to an odd feeling of water spattering on her lower back. Then she remembered what was happening and knew that her ‘Papa’ was shuddering all over her bum, At least he had taken his thing out of her tight bottom, and the pain there was somewhat less.

‘Papa’ leant back as the last drops fell from his prick and contemplated the woman before him. Her bottom was criss-crossed with red lines from the caning; her dark rosebud was opening and closing like a winking eye. Semen was spattered on her skin and was seeping, tinged pink by a little blood, from her well used back passage.

‘There, ‘ he thought, ‘That was good. She played the game well, and her bum was hot and tight. Maybe Monsignor Flavin was right when he said it was virgin. Best of all, I leave no little bastards behind me to be an embarrassment in the future. God knows, it was difficult to resist the temptation of that beautiful little vagina.’

Ignoring her completely, he took off the rest of his clothes and got into bed.

When Molly slowly lifted herself to upright, he said, “Go and clean yourself up; then come into bed with me.”

She went painfully into the bathroom and took off the blouse, noting that it was torn and wondering if she would be held responsible and punished for that. A soak in the bath for as long as she dared eased some of the pain, and removed all the accumulated sweat and male and female emissions. She wondered whether to stimulate herself into shuddering, but dared not, much as she would have liked to do so.

Back in the bedroom, she got into bed beside her ‘Papa’ and found, much to her relief, that he was already asleep.

xxxxx

It was sometime in the middle of the night that she awoke from a wonderful dream to discover that he was playing with her little nubbin and she was on the point of shuddering.

Then he stopped and said, “Turn round.”

“What?” she asked, still half asleep.

“Turn so that your head is down the bed,” he ordered.

Not really understanding, she did what he directed and found herself confronted by a large, none too clean, male member. At the other end of the bed her ‘Papa’ had resumed his stimulation of her nubbin, and had slipped a finger deep inside her vagina. She felt her climax approaching again. Again he stopped short of allowing it.

“Get on with it,” he said, and she dutifully took his member in her mouth.

Satisfied, he resumed his ministrations to her nubbin and the delving of his finger, adding a second one as she opened wider and began thrusting up towards his hands. Soon she was carried away on the crest of a wave and shuddered and shuddered and shuddered. When she didn’t stop shuddering as she would have done with Monsignor Flavin, she reapplied herself with much enthusiasm to ‘Papa’ and her task of pleasing him.

All too soon, the warm tube in her mouth shuddered and filled her mouth with its salty offering, which she dutifully swallowed. Immediately he took his hands away from her nubbin, and the continuous shudder he had magically induced in her stopped.

The next thing she knew, it was daylight and ‘Papa’ was shaking her shoulder.

“Come on,” he said, “Over that chair. I want that arse again before I go.”

Inwardly she cringed at the crudity, though she had heard the word before from visitors.

“Please, not that, Papa,” she asked.

“Forget the Papa nonsense,” he ordered, “That was last night. This morning I just want to have you again and then go. Get yourself over the chair and be quick about it, or I’ll use the cane again.”

She moved with alacrity and steeled herself for the pain. It was excruciating as he had made no attempt to lubricate her this time, and all his semen had long since oozed out or dried where it was. Fortunately for her, he quickly opened up the small tear in her anal wall which he had made the night before and her own blood eased his thrusting. Then there was suddenly ample lubricant flooding into the hole from his pulsating member, and he pulled out after a few more strokes.

He grabbed the nearest available cloth, which happened to be a napkin from the night before, to wipe the mixed blood and semen from his prick, dressed and left.

Molly moved over to the dressing table, where all the part bottles of wine from the night before were still standing, and sampled three of them, deciding that they were all uniformly much too tart for her taste. Perhaps if she had chanced on the port she would have enjoyed it, but she didn’t.

Cleaning herself thoroughly, she dressed again in her habit and Swiss wimple. Leaving Molly firmly behind in the bedroom of sin, Sister Lucia sailed majestically along the corridors and back to her cell, where she said the first day of a special Novena for the soul of her ‘Papa’.

THE END OF CHAPTER TWENTY (PART 2)