DISCLAIMER: The following is fiction. The characters in this story have been made up. The content of the story is not representative of the writer’s beliefs, opinions or attitudes. This is story is intended for adult entertainment only. All Rights Reserved © 2020 LITTLESALLY666.
STORY CODES: Historical (1950s), Corruption, Satanic, Sodomy, Abuse, Devil Worship, NC, Sex Demons, Young Ones, Ritual Murder, Shemale.
CREATED: 11.11.2020 (V35)
AUTHORS NOTES: Loosely based upon the popular horror 2018 flick, The Nun, which rides on the critical acclaim of The Conjuring. It stars the hot little Taissa Farmiga as a novitiate — who inspired this version of The Nun story, which, I hope you’ll enjoy.
The Nun 2 (chapters 4 to 6)
SYNOPSIS OF THE NUN:
Once upon a time in post-war Romania, a young nun, at a cloistered abbey takes her own life. The Vatican send a troubled exorcist, Father Burke and a young nun, to investigate. The Vatican officials hope that they will shed light on Sister Victoria’s unaccountable suicide. Father Burke and the idealistic novitiate, Sister Irene, who is on the threshold of her final vows, visit Saint Cartha’s monastery. Before long, intense sexual encounters with the supernatural, will bring the pair of unsuspecting investigators face-to-face with true evil — embodied in the shape of a malevolent nun. Undoubtedly, there’s are many dark secrets behind the abbey’s thick stone walls surrounding a seductive dark force that craves sexual perversity and corruption. Will Father Burke and Sister Irene fall prey to demonic evil? Will this be a happy Disney-like ending or will the Devil get his dues?
FILMOGRAPHY OF THE NUN:
Based upon the latest spin-off from the one time high quality The Conjuring franchise. Sticking strictly to a formula that will either infuriate or satiate horror genre fans, The Nun delivers enough creepy boo-jump tropes to keep it above average. There’s plenty of roaming about dark corridors and churchyards, with lanterns our only prominent saviors from the terrors of the dark. If, and it’s a big if, you don’t mind that Corin Hardy’s film isn’t trying to raise the bar for horror, and is in fact staying safe, then there’s a decent enough good time to be had here. If you be one of those who constantly moans about bringing nothing new to the table, don’t bother with this one, in fact, think of something new to bring to the table yourselves then.
CHARACTERS OF THE NUN:
- Father Anthony Burke – troubled exorcist sent to investigate the suicide, 40
- Sister Irene – our protagonist, a young pretty novitiate nun called to aid Father Burke by the Vatican (for unexplained reasons), 16
- Maurice aka Frenchie – a French-Canadian used as guide by Father Burke, 20
- The Nun – the demon nun, the hermaphroditic demon of corruption
- Sister Oana (20), Sister Samantha (28), Sister Lucy (23), Sister Cynthia (29), Sister Ruth (32) – wicked nuns sent to Cartha Monastery as a punishment
- Sister Victoria (22) – a nun that commits suicide
- Sister Abigail (26), Sister Clara (54), Sister Jessica (34) – the good wholesome nuns from the Cartha Monastery
- The Abbess – Mother Superior from the Cartha Monastery, 39
- Bishop Pasquale – official at the Vatican, 58
- Bishop Forne – official of the Vatican, helped Irene when she was younger, 60
- Cardinal Conroy – official at the Vatican, 62
THE NUN – CHAPTER FOUR (2,724 WORDS)
After the suicide (the day before All Hallows’ Eve) at the Abbey of Saint Cartha, Romania
Father Burke stood in the lower hall where they had first met the Abbess. He had been studying the Duke’s evil manuscripts for quite some time. These strange pornographic texts, with their vile images of satanic rites, stirred him more than he wanted to admit. There had been horrific drawings of human sacrificial offerings and demonic possession. Was he to face the Devil once again?
He had found among the documents, a map of the interior workings of the evil Abbey. There was a secret pathway marked with crosses — many of them — and a central chamber where, he believed, was the source of this preternatural disturbance. This was the chamber that the Christian crusaders had sealed with the help of the relic, filled with the Blood of Christ. No doubt, the seal had been disturbed. And the Devil had found another way to escape.
He laid the mottled old map of the Abbey out across the tombstone. He had been tracing the pathway to this hidden place, when he felt a unwanted presence. He looked up. Shadows moved, like blurred shapes in the flickering candlelight. He walked towards the stone throne on which, he and Sister Irene had confronted the shrouded nun. It was the middle of the night and he wasn’t expecting anyone else to be there — but there he saw the shadow of the veiled nun again.
“You won’t find another way in Father,” croaking the voice of the old Abbess, “What is it that concerns you?”
He looked carefully at the dark figure that sat upon the stone throne trying to penetrate her shroud in search of her identity.
“I’m afraid there’s something very wrong with this place.”
“Like many places in this world — the Abbey has a long history, not all good — but we repent,” replied the Abbess.
“That nun …” stuttered the Father, “I found her clutching a key in her hands — what does it open?”
“It’s too late! Sister Irene is lost —”
With that chilling message, the shadow of the Abbess seemed to collapse into nothingness — as if there was no form within the shroud, only empty fabric. The shroud fell to the floor. Silence.
The priest touched the loose fabric. The Abbess was gone or had she been there at all? What had the message meant? What did she mean? Sister Irene is lost?
Sister Irene lay upon the bed. She blinked into the darkness. The wind never ceased its howling outside the lead-light glass of her sleeping quarters. Though she had no intention of sleeping, her eyes felt very tired. She blinked. Her eyes closed for a moment — a strange sleep took her. Sister Irene awoke but she felt as if she was still asleep.
She was in the cloistered bedroom. She sat up, thinking she heard the voice. Laughter? It had been a faint sound, but distinctive.
The disembodied voice beckoned her, “Come —”
She got up to find she was dressed only in her white shift. The room was overly warm and her body tingled all over. The air seemed to be erotically charged and her vagina suddenly felt moist and itchy.
“Take it off,” said the ghostly whisper.
Sister Irene removed her shift and stood naked in the darkness. She heard the pattering sound of feet. Bare feet against warm stone. She squinted into the welcoming darkness.
“Come —” said the whisper.
She turned toward the voice. There was someone there in her bed. A naked form turned to face her. She went to cover herself in embarrassment for her unexplained nudity.
It was a voice that lit a candle, a single candle, that then became a dozen, and then a hundred — the darkness receded, revealing the naked lithe form of an attractive young twenty-year-old girl, laying sideways across her cot. With her right leg bent, she opened her left leg wider, giving Sister Irene an unobstructed view of her hairless vagina. Her labia were parted and cunt was wet. The girl’s fingers played with the erect nipples of her flattish chest.
“Come —” she beckoned.
Sister Irene felt an overpowering urge to suckle upon the young girl’s nipples. A queer feeling that she’d never entertained before. The girl had begun to finger-fuck herself — stopping frequently to taste her own cunt-flavored fingers as she pleasured herself without shame. Sister Irene watched. Her own cunt watered at the sight of it. She felt the urge to lick the attractive girl between the legs — to taste her sourish saltiness. The aroma of sex, lewd sweaty sex, filled her nostrils. The sweetness of watery urine. Delicate fingers touched her breasts, aroused cunt and brushed against her slimy anus.
She saw the girl’s finger tips teasing her pea-sized clitoris — rubbing it between her fingertips like a tiny penis. Sister Irene looked down at her own vagina and discovered her clitoris to be hard and enlarged, much like the girl’s. She began to match her movements, pleasuring herself — something she’d never done before. The girl looked on encouragingly — her expression showed her obvious delight as she watched Sister Irene experience the pleasure of sin.
The nubile young girl began to pee over her fingers as she masturbated. She cupped a handful of the sour liquid and began to rub her urine over her stomach and breasts. She peed more into her hand and brought it to her lips — tasting its salty deliciousness. Sister Irene reciprocated. She peed down her legs and began to rub her pissy hands over her tiny bumps of breasts. She then tasted her urine-flavored fingers. The girl beckoned Sister Irene to join her on the piss-soaked bedding.
They touched. Skin against skin. Sister Irene sat on the bed as the girl’s hands roamed across her body. The girl encouraged the novitiate to couple with her as their legs scissored together, so that their hard little clits pressed, as they began to frot frantically against each other. Sinful as it was, Sister Irene groaned in their mutual pleasuring. A feeling she’d thought she would never feel. Sister Irene felt ready to explode.
Her breathing had become labored as she panted out loud. As the sinful pleasure coursed through Sister Irene’s veins – she felt the presence of a voyeur watching her indulge in this uncharacteristic behavior — a voyeur who seemed to encourage her participation. Being watched only seemed to trigger an increase in the pleasure. Her sins observed. Moisture poured from Sister Irene from the physical exertion of orgasmic fucking. The girl groaned in ecstasy. Sister Irene looked up and saw the grimaced face of the an elderly nun – her face in almost complete shadow – she looked manic, evil and wicked.
Sister awoke with a sudden start. She sat up. Alone in the cloister. She let out a single gasp. Her body was fully clothed but drenched in her own sourish sweat. A devilish dream, she mused. So real. So undeniable real. Her muscle memory seems to recall everything she experienced. And the face — that evil face watching her. Who was it? The Mother Superior? The Abbess?
After the appearance of the strange and disturbing apparition, Father Burke thought it wise to regroup. He didn’t like the last words of the preternatural message from the Abbess — “It’s too late! Sister Irene is lost —”
Just then, Father Burke heard the grinding of metal as the portcullis descended. He turned, thinking of Sister Irene all alone in the depths of monastery beyond. But it was too late. The portcullis was closed. He was locked out. She was locked in. They were separated and there was nothing he could do about it.
”Sister Irene! Sister Irene!” he shouted through the metal bars. There was no reply.
Sister Irene had dressed in her full white robe and wimple. She entered the candle-lit chapel. She heard the sound of Latin prayers, long before she noticed a nun kneeling before the sacred altar. She stepped closer, hoping that her footsteps would be noticed as she approached. Just as she reached the front of the chapel, a hand rested upon her shoulder, pulling her away from the praying nun. As Sister Irene turned, she was greeted with a finger to the lips — silence — as the two of them withdrew from the chapel.
“Sister, we mustn’t stop praying,” explained the nun, “Not for a second! This convent has kept perpetual admiration for centuries. It is important to keep the constant vigil —” said the nun.
“I’m so sorry, if I disturbed her —” replied Sister Irene in complete understanding.
“I am Sister Oana, we were told that you were here — Come, please follow me.”
Looking at the nun, she couldn’t believe the close resemblance to the girl in her erotic dream. Was it Sister Oana that she’d dreamed about. The sensations from the torrid dream overcame her as they crashed through her mind and down to her sex. The image of the Abbess’ grimaced face seemingly willing her to do those sinful acts. The concoction of wickedness and arousal was just too much for Sister Irene to comprehend.
”Are you alright, Sister Irene?” asked Sister Oana.
Sister Irene nodded. But she wasn’t alright. Far from it. The corruptive dream danced before her. Tantalizing her.
”You don’t appear to be alright?” inquired Sister Oana, “I know this place can be unsettling at the best of times. We all feel it here too.”
Sister Irene could not say exactly, but she felt as if the nun could read all her most disturbingly depraved thoughts — this made her suddenly blush.
”Maybe some water?” suggested Sister Irene, faking thirst.
”Certainly Sister,” she replied, approving of the attractive young nun’s small request.
Sister Oana led Sister Irene through the dark passageways until they came to a room that served as a small meeting room with a wide wooden table and chairs. Sister Oana gave Sister Irene some refreshments. They sat and Sister Irene asked her about the history of the abbey. The story unfolded about how the perverted old Duke of Cartha had used black magic to summon sexual demons. Sister Oana told how he had underestimated the powers that he had unwittingly released. She informed Sister Irene of how the Church had prevented the evil from escaping and the need for perpetual adoration had begun.
Sister Irene told her about the nun she’d seen during the night, but omitted to tell of her own sinful behavior. Sister Oana confirmed Sister Irene’s sightings — saying that this demon walked among them praying on their vulnerabilities.
Their discussion was interrupted by Sister Jessica.
“You haven’t taken your vows yet?” asked Sister Jessica.
“No —” answered Sister Irene.
“Then this is no a place for you — you need to leave, now,” replied Sister Jessica, her concern was obvious.
“She can’t — the gates have closed — you must stay until they open again …” interjected Sister Oana.
“When do they open?” asked Sister Irene.
“Sunrise,” said Sister Oana, “You must stay the night.”
The Abbess watched briefly as the younger nuns prayed. She felt lusty. Hearing the useless prayers reminded her of her earlier days. But even then, her prayers were empty. Like Sister Oana, the monastery life had not been her choice or her calling. But she’d risen through the ranks of the Sisterhood and was adept at lies and deception — the statesmanship of church politics. She had even set-up another senior nun, who sought her post, under a false allegation of sexual misconduct — just to make sure she was no longer a contender. The poor nun never saw it coming. No one would ever believe that, one of their own, could be in league with the Devil. She laughed to herself. But it was only a short lived victory. She had eventually stumbled and was exposed —and this desolate place was her yoke to bear — her prison of sorts.
But the Abbess was resourceful and knew how to dance as the Vatican puppeteers pulled her strings. And this place was the Devil’s playground. The young Sister Oana was only one of several other young sisters that she had pressed into her service and taken under her evil wing as well as taken them to bed. She had the tapestries installed in her bed chamber, and they become a regular source of masturbatory delight, how delightful to see these misshapen demons with breasts and penises, as they abused, tortured, raped and sodomized humanity in hell.
To the rear of her room, behind the heavy velvet curtains, she hind her most profane of demonic treats. Upon the rear wall hung a looming painting of the Succubus Lilith — the Mother of Demons. Its darkly painted oils glimmered in the candlelight. The manic strokes of the painter captured her long flowing hair and wild expression. Her snow-white flesh, full bosoms and slender waist were all woman, but rising up from between her parted thighs were her hermaphroditic genitalia — Lilith was depicted as first bisexual creation — as the first wife of Adam and the destroyer of children. To the foot of the obscene painting, was an altar with all the dark trappings of sexual worship.
Just like the Demon Lilith, the Abbess longed for younger flesh. And knowing a convent orphanage, some distance away, she had secretly arranged the acquisition of six acolytes.
Her plan had been simple — sending her most perverted Sisters to oversee the selection and transfer of these sweet young things – under the guise of servant acolytes. The orphanage had no records. Nobody cared what happened — the evil Abbess longed to abuse them — she knew the others would enjoy these forbidden delights too. Half starved and scared to death — they would serve their demonic purpose and the Well of Wickedness would be, once again, open and ritual the devilment would truly begin.
Sister Oana showed Sister Irene to the place she could sleep for the night.
“Sister Irene,” said Sister Oana, as she went to make her departure.
Sister Irene entered the room.
“Good night Sister,” said Sister Oana, as she was about to close the door.
“Sister, wait …” said Sister Irene.
From a pocket in her habit, she retrieved the skeleton key that hung on the rosary; and Father Burke had found on the corpse of hung sister.
“Sister Victoria had this in her possession when she died. Do you happen to know what it’s for?”
Just then, they heard a gnawing-like groan coming out from down the darkened passageway. They both turned to look, but nothing gave away the nature of the strange noise. Sister Oana looked concerned, but said nothing about the origin or significance of the sounds.
“No,” answered Sister Oana, “Now I must go pray.”
Sister Oana closed the heavy wooden door leaving Sister Irene inside. Sister Irene heard the sound of a key turn in the door lock. She tried the door handle, only to find that it was locked from the other side. She cast her eyes suspiciously around the rest of the room.
There was slight acrid smell that met her nostrils. Like the smell of the latrine. There was something ominous about this room. It had a simple cot and a crucifix above the bedhead. The fireplace looked cold and dark — like a gaping mouth. The candles were unlit.
It was almost a full moon and Sister Irene could clearly see its furtiveness through the large lead-light windows. The eerie light cast silvery shadows across the pitted floor. Sister Irene noticed the remainder of what appeared to be a rope tied to the base of one of the round wooden cylindrical bedposts that supported the cot on its four corners. Was this the place in which the hanging had taken place? A cold shiver rippled through Sister Irene.
On the other side of the bedroom, there was another door. Underfoot things crunched as she stepped. Dead insects? They looked like moths or flies — their small carcasses lay scattered over the floor. Sister Irene tried the door handle. It too was locked too. She tried the window and found it could be opened, but the drop looked bottomless — maybe a hundred feet down to the graveyard of crosses below.
THE NUN – CHAPTER FIVE (2,617 WORDS)
After the suicide (the night before All Hallows’ Eve) at the Abbey of Saint Cartha, Romania
Another night in this evil place.
It was not something that Sister Irene relished. Her flesh crawled from the thought that she’d found her way into exactly the place where Sister Victoria had made the choice of taking her own life — rather than what?
Taking one’s life was a sin beyond sins. Unimaginable. But in this awful place, filled with demonic dreams and hallucinations — she began to see a possible connection. Sister Irene reluctantly lay on the bed, and sat upright against the wall behind.
Maybe it was all part of God’s plan for her — to face these evil demons? Was she to share the same fate as Sister Victoria? Was this the only way to reveal the dark secret that lead her to take her own life? She wanted to reach out to Father Burke, but the door was securely locked — To keep something out? Or to keep her locked in with something?
Sister Oana had been very forthcoming. She’d mention the omnipresent evil that they all attempted to keep at Bay. They’d shared their stories about the demonic nun. Sister Irene was sure the Sisterhood were all in the chapel right now — keeping up their vigil — maintaining the perpetual adoration.
But her dream about the young nun, Sister Oana? The sensual dream had had a profound effect on her. Without realizing it — she found her thoughts wandering away from God — the words to the Abbess echoed in her mind. “You haven’t taken your vows yet.” Was she in mortal danger? Surely the Vatican would not have sent her on this mission without being sure of her safety? And of all her visions, there was always a resounding thought — “Mary points the way” — Sister Irene hoped the Holy Mother would do so and very soon.
Just as the night before, Sister Irene awoke in darkness.
She found herself in the locked bedroom that Sister Oana had brought her to. The very room that Sister Victoria had taken her own life.
Sister Irene wondered if she was awake or asleep. She sat upright and found herself completely naked. A dream then? Her body tingled all over. There was the feeling of Deja-vu. Sister Irene sensed that this was a vision in the making — could this be the omen she had waited for?
The warm air in the room began to vibrate. It was a sensation much like the fluttering of tiny wings — insect wings — against her skin. Her attention was draw to the sound of a heavy door creaking as it opened. It bought an audible gasp from the young nun.
Her heart began pounding in her ears. The main entry to the room remained closed, but the second door, that lead to God-knows-where — it creaked open to reveal a yawning chasm of darkness behind it. Sister Irene watched in fright as a blurred shadow of the woman (a panicked nun) fled at God’s speed from the open doorway. She pulled a rope around her neck (that was attached to the bedpost) and quickly mounted the narrow sill — only to jump from the open window into the abyss below. The bed jolted hard as the shadowy body of the nun fell out of sight.
Besides the sharp jolt of the bed — the preternatural scene, felt like a black and white movie show. Maybe the source of this bizarre after-image was caused by the severe trauma of the hanging — maybe it was formed from psychic energy — which stirred the anxious Sister Irene to dread.
Without warning, Sister Irene found her mind flying forward leaving her sleeping form as she found herself inside the narrow passage covered in crosses. Her mind seemed to move quickly down the dark passage accompanied by the stench of ammonia — there was a pungent odor — the smell of sexual pheromones. She saw the wooden sign that hung across the door — Finit hic, Deo — and then her mind began to travel towards a strange illumination from realm of demons.
She noticed a number broken statues of the patron saints. Their smooth alabaster marble hacked and covered in feces as they littered the edges of the blasphemous chamber — among them was the desecrated statue of Mother Mary — her arm lifted from the soiled floor.
Sister Irene, did not have time to ponder — now she saw a gathering of dark figures — five nuns — her consciousness moved around them as they all stood with their habits open from the front, revealing their nakedness below. A five pointed star. A pagan pentagon. The sign of the Antichrist. They each stood facing one another, one at each point clutching the shoulders of a naked child.
The circle of nuns chanted strangely, in an evil crackle of reverse Latin. Sister Irene did not understand the meaning of these strange sentences but the ritual’s intent seemed to be revealing itself to her. Each of the nuns seemed to frot themselves again their child sacrifice — a sexual offering — dark and perverted. They groaned in sexual delight, as they pressed themselves, wantonly, against the young acolytes.
Above them all hung the sixth child — inverted — another naked sacrifice. An evil rite that had taken the life of this unbaptized girl. Blood ran from the child’s sliced throat, head bent backward to make sure the blood pooled into the center of the pentagram. Despite the severity of the wound upon the child it looked pleased to have been sacrificed. The corners of the small open mouth curved upward in a content smile.
Sister Irene’s mind reeled in abject horror.
From the bloody pool, rose a demented demon from the blood of an innocent\— for the pentagram sat immediately upon the Well of Wickedness. As the demonic form drew upwards from the bloody pool, it began to took form — it appeared to be dressed as a nun. But there was nothing Holy about her. The demon’s robes lay open displaying it’s sexually excited hermaphroditic genitalia. The demon’s cock pointed outwards at forty-five degrees. The demon’s fingers closed around its long veined shaft. And as it stroked itself, the demon began to whisper …
“Mary points the way!”
As fast as Sister Irene’s mind had been brought to this evil vision – she seemed to fly backward — receding way from it — down the dark passage and back into her sleeping form to awaken in a horrified gasp!
“Ggwwarrrrraghhh…” Sister Irene groaned.
Had the vision ended? Was it over? Its meaning had been quite explicit.
Sister Irene found herself back in bed. Still naked. Her bladder painfully blotted. The urge to relieve herself seemed overwhelming. She got up noticing the chamber pot. She crouched naked over it and pissed noisily as she began to empty her painful bladder. She sighed with relief — partly the relief of her painful bladder and partly the relief to have escaped the nightmare ritual.
As she peed, this sense of overwhelming relief seemed to heighten — it was as if she had expelled the unwanted evil from within herself. Cleansed, she stood up and climbed back onto the cot. Her clothing was nowhere to be seen.
All of a sudden the unlit candles began to ignite until their light filled the room. The fire burst into brightness as if mimicking the fires of hell and the fiery of the fire’s illumination made the eerie room flicker with crimson and orange hues.
Sister Irene watched as the cylindrical bedposts seemed to elongate on their own accord; until they appeared like carved erect cocks — their shafts veined and crowned with bulbous head of penis.
There was a momentary cackle of obscene laughter.
Sister Oana and Sister Lucy stood naked on either side of the narrow cot — they both leered at Sister Irene with lustful eyes — as they shamelessly touched themselves in front of her – rubbing their swollen cunt-lips. By the way their fingers slipped so easily in and out, both were obviously very wet and aroused.
Sister Oana lifted the half-filled chamber pot to her mouth and began to drink Sister Irene’s urine — consuming the evil — that Sister Irene had tried to expel from within herself. Wordlessly, Sister Oana passed the chamber pot to Sister Lucy, who did the same, drinking it noisily and wiping her wet lips against the back of her hand.
Finally, when both of the naked nuns had satisfied their perverted thirsts, they once again turned their attention back to Sister Irene as they furiously masturbated themselves.
From door to the passageway, Sister Irene saw the creature, that had emerged from the child’s blood, dressed in a dark habit and wimple. It looked like a nun — but there was nothing holy about it — Sister Irene knew it to demonic and as it approached the base of the cot, she could see that its habit lay open from the front — the demon looked upon her as she were a meal to be devoured.
Sister Oana and Sister Lucy each mounted the phallic bedposts — their open, wet cunts engulfed the penis-like protrusions. They slid easily up and down as they began to both fuck the dildo-like bedposts. Up and down they road — crying out blasphemously to Sister Irene.
“Yes. Mary is here. Let Mary will show you the way!”
The demon mounted the edge cot between them — Sister Irene found herself on all fours. She now faced the crucifix that hung on the wall immediately behind the bed. She watched as the crucifix above her, as it began to turn slowly, until it was completely inverted.
Her legs were splayed in anticipation of the demon’s hermaphroditic penis. Her mind reeled — she cried to stop this madness — a mad vision? A nightmare? She wanted the evil omen to end.
The demon grabbed her upper thighs — she felt her own fingers pumping her cunt as she looked over her shoulder — willing the demon to “show her the way”.
Sister Oana and Sister Lucy groaned in fervent lust as they eagerly fucked the phallic bedposts faster and harder, driving the long wooden cocks upwards into their overheated cunts, punching their cervix’s as they cried out blasphemously —
“Hail Mary — show us the way! Show us your cock!”
The demon pressed its she-cock hard against her rectum. As the tip dipped into her anus — stretching it as it pressed further and further inside. The moment had arrived — the point of no return — Sister Irene knew intuitively that sodomy was the gateway to hell. To penetrate her third eye. The Serpent of Kundalini. Invading her sphincter and beyond up her pipe of fresh — enslaving her to the will of her sodomizer.
She felt powerless to prevent it — in fact her body demanded it — to feel the demon’s she-cock slide deeper inside of her. Its phallus stretching her anal opening painfully as the demon pushed harder until its hip bone pressed against hers and it completely filled her filthy bowels. The demon grunted as it thrust against her.
“I will show you the way!”
The pain was excruciating, but there was nothing she could do. The demon’s cock throbbed as it thrust back and forth, in and out. Sister Irene screamed as the bestial nun began to convulse uncontrollably, gripping her tightly as it began to pump her rectum full of evil seed.
She had not yet taken her vows — and this was, in a way, was the vows — but not to the benevolent God Almighty or to become a Bride of Christ — but to pledge her allegiance to another more sinister God.
Sister Irene awake.
Her head throbbed. The radiant light from the lead-light windows looked cathedral-like – almost heavenly. She felt a momentary sense of dread as the vision of the latent dream rushed back into her mind. But this was quickly followed with a sigh of relief as the realization that it had been just a possibility and not a reality. She was not yet damned to eternal hell by the baptism of sodomy. A nightmare within a nightmare — was this just another trick of this evil place?
She found herself fully dressed but her body ached all over — as if bruised and battered. It had been an awful night. Probably the worst she could recall. But the excoriating details had not faded back into her subconscious. Instead they remained like the recall of an actuality. At some level, Sister Irene felt a shiver of guilt. Had she secretly enjoyed it? The episode left her equivocating. Her usual sense of purpose and direction seemed indecisive. What was wrong with her?
Just then, there was a polite knock as Sister Irene heard the door being unlocked. Sister Oana’s pixie face appeared. She looked momentarily troubled, but at the same time very pleased to see Sister Irene awake and lucid — she put a finger to her pursed lips.
“Shhhhhhh — Quiet —” she whispered, “The evil grows strong — get your things and meet me in the chapel.”
It was All Hallows’ Eve. Father Burke had studied the old map that detailed the interior of the fortified abbey. It was a maze of tunnels and interconnecting walkways that defied logic and proclaimed the madness of its infernal architect — the designs of the devil. But despite its secrets, Father Burke had deciphered how to reach the Well of Wickedness. It was deep in the evil bosom of the abbey — like a cancer growing with every indiscretion. He would need to find the Relic quickly if he was to stand a chance of defeating this evil. He needed Sister Irene’s supernatural guidance. But where was she? Was he already too late?
He also remembered the words of the demented Abbess, “Its too late — Sister Irene is lost —” Father Burke thought about how the demon had been overcome before. Yes, he understood that the Holy Relic was the key. And it was to be found, hidden somewhere secretly by the crusaders in the evil chamber itself. The Blood of Christ was the only weapon powerful enough to overcome the demonic forces that presided over the evil Abbey.
And what of the Sisters? We’re they all lost too? Had the evil consumed everything and everybody? Even now, he felt its sexual temptation stirring his loins. This would be a fight to the end. There would be no prisoners.
Sister Oana was alone in the chapel when Sister Irene arrived. Sister Irene wasn’t exactly sure what she expected, but maybe a gathering of all the nuns, lead by their Mother Superior, the Abbess, to defeat the forces of darkness that seemed so omnipresent.
”Sister Oana,” said Sister Irene, “You said that the evil grows strong. How can we fight it Sister?”
Sister Oana didn’t answer right away. Instead she turned and signaled Sister Irene to follow her as she moved quickly to the rear of the chapel. It was then that the young idealistic novitiate noticed the concealed staircase that seemed to spiral downwards into darkness.
”Come Sister,” beckoned Sister Oana. “Who said we need to fight it? Come Sister, Mary points the way —”
Sister Irene hesitated for a moment — as Sister Oana quickly disappeared down the darkened staircase.
She wished Father Burke was here. He needed to know what she knew. He needed to be ready to fight whatever it was that haunted their dreams with its deviant poison. If she faced this evil on her own, could she defeat it? The Vatican Fathers had paired them together for a reason. She was the spirit guide, but he had the means of destruction. She had to get a message to him — somehow.
THE NUN – CHAPTER SIX (2,818 WORDS)
All Hallows’ Eve at the Abbey of Saint Cartha, Romania
Father Burke stumbled through the darkness. The oil-lamp-ed illumination gave no more than a couple of steps in front. He had committed the map passages in and out to memory. He didn’t want to be running into trouble whilst having his hands full. As an exorcist he knew how powerful evil could be. It would be no match for conventional weaponry. Though he carried Holy water and his crucifix, he had procured a machete-style blade from the Abbey’s kitchen — for any close encounters. He had made sure it was sharp, taking it to the oil stone himself until the blade glimmered with a razor-sharpness.
He was getting closer as he felt the intensity of sexual wickedness increasing with every forward step. He ignored his raging hardness which bulged uncomfortably in the front of his pants. And with every passing moment, he hoped to spy the young novitiate nun. He needed her preternatural vision. But alas, she was nowhere to be found.
Turning a blind corner, he found himself upon a ledge. The map did not show this as explicitly as the Father would have liked. He was some thirty feet above to floor that looked downward upon the chamber that hid the Well of Wickedness. He heard voices. The Father quickly hid himself before giving away his exposed position by hanging back in the darkened passage way that had brought him to this point. He snuffed out the oil lamp and crept forward to the edge of the ledge to look downwards into the darkened circular chamber below. Father Burke recognized the broken statues from the lower hall — desecrated, they lay against the floor in a loose semi-circle.
He saw a gathering of nuns in the uneven torched lighting that illuminated the demonic chamber below. It was bright enough to give him a clear view of the accomplices to this unholy congress that had gathered upon a large circular design that he knew was the inverted five-pointed star. The demonic symbol of the Antichrist that marked the location of the Well of Wickedness.
He immediately recognized the presence of the old Abbess and her cronies. He saw Sister Oana hurry forward to her side, as a last arrival. There must have been twenty or so nuns in all. Five of them stood around the Abbess. Their features were hidden in their deep cowls. He saw that each of the five held a small figure — children as young as nine or ten all unclothed. These young naked acolytes seemed inanimate, as they all stood attentively with their elders. This was the Miser Niger — The Black Mass — they were preparing a ritual to summon the Devil.
It was then, that he noticed another young female acolyte dangling upside down from her ankles, suspended above their heads, immediately above the center of the Well of Wickedness. A sacrifice of innocence. He wanted to jump down, but it was too far. He wanted to shout out to them, to end this madness, but thought twice about it — he was out-numbered — and the Abbess had the upper hand.
His eyes sought purchase. There must be a way to climb down? But he didn’t want to loose the advantage presented by their ignorance of his presence — well, not yet anyhow. Father Burke retrieved a small fragment of mirror that he used to look around corners — and hung his hand out over the edge for a better view. There were steps carved into the sheer wall of the chamber — this was his way down.
Voices from below caught the Father’s attention. Was that Sister Irene? She was certainly in the thick of it. He carefully used the mirror to reflect the light — his practiced hand caught the light as it shone momentarily onto her eyes — he hoped she would know it was him.
Sister Irene tried to keep up with Sister Oana, but she moved through the passages much too fast for the unfamiliar novitiate to keep up. But Sister Irene followed the sounds of the retreating nun’s footsteps as she held the cold walls for support in the eerie illumination of the crackling torches that lined their route.
Her breathing had become labored in sexual heat. Her vagina was open and sopping wet — it was hard to concentrate on anything but sexual relief. Here, beyond the realm of God, the demonic power had become magnified many fold — and it seemed to get stronger as Sister Irene followed the sound of Sister Oana’s footsteps.
Panting, she finally arrived at a central chamber. It was as she remembered from her vivid nightmare. A vision of pure evil. As she staggered forward she saw Sister Oana waiting for her. The attractive nun smiled deviously at Sister Irene. Her gown was open from the front and her right hand was between her legs.
As she reached the masturbating nun, Sister Oana held out her soiled fingers. They were soaked in cunt juice. Sister Irene took her offered hand and began to suck amorously at Sister Oana’s fingers, tasting the Sister’s sexual fluids. The urge to masturbate was intense. They both embraced each other. And their mouths pressed together in an uncontrollable Sapphic kiss.
Sister Irene’s mind seemed powerless to resist their unnatural sexual attraction — be it the accumulation of the nights of sinful dreams, turning her towards their wanton lusts — her mind saw herself back in the room of the hanging nun.
Sister Victoria’s convulsing body, dangled lifelessly above them. But, this time, Sister Irene seemed unmoved by the death. Uncaring, she turned away — her only thoughts were that of satisfying her lustiness. The Devil was between her legs. She saw the naked bodies of Oana and Lucy as they glowed in the orange hued flames of the furious fireplace. The chamber glowed with the lights of thousands of black and red candles. The three naked nuns embraced each other, kissing passionately. First she kissed Lucy and then Oana. Irene felt Oana’s tongue invading her willing mouth. They pressed their sweating forms together in a dance of illicitness. Her cunt was on fire as they began to copulate.
Then, she saw her initiation — they each took turns to urinate into the large white chamber pot. Their briny piss was pink with droplets of menstrual blood. Oana lifted to chamber pot and drank from it. She passed it to Lucy, who did the same. Then it was Irene’s turn. Irene lifted it to her lips — it was a ritual to consume her own evil filth together with her perverted Sisters. It tasted deliciously salty and tart. She felt a deep stirring inside — like a radiating warmth of sexual wild sexual cravings — now she witnessed herself eagerly mounting the oily phallic bedpost. Oana and Lusy, her bedeviled Sisters, cried out in encouragement.
“Do it! Fuck Christ! Hail the Father. Hail the Mother. Hail Satan and hail Lilith!”
Irene felt the firm carved cock as it slid into her greedy hot cunt-hole. It stretched her painfully as it sank deeper into her guts. As she allowed her weight to press downwards — the phallus slid upwards against her cervix. It was like watching someone else. Like a moving picture. She saw herself, excitedly begin to slide up-and-down upon it, in shameless bliss, as she moaned blasphemous,
“This is the way! Yes, oh fuck Christ, oh yes! I no longer need Mary to show me. This is the way! This is the way! Fuck Jesus! Aaaarghhhhhhhhh …”
A flash of bright light caught Sister Irene’s attention — drawing her out of her befuddled state. It seemed to come from a high vantage point. It must be a signal. It must mean Father Burke is still alive.
“Finally — Our guest of Honor has arrived,” croaked the older Abbess, “Please make her welcome.”
The nun looked around the chamber. She momentarily recoiled as she realized that she was now surrounded by the evil Sisterhood. Then she saw that her worst fears had been realized. This was not a dream. The Sisterhood had been corrupted and perverted by a wicked evil. They all appeared to all be highly sexually aroused. Her heightened awareness sensed the extreme danger of her predicament — a wrong move now, would prove fatal.
The evil nuns made no secret of the sexual urges — driven almost insane by the overwhelming strength of the sexual power that made this place its own domain. All the sisters in various states of undress and thought nothing of touching themselves — unashamed of their own sinful lusts.
A naked young acolyte that hung upside-down above the inverted pentagon that covered the Well of Wickedness. She wondered about the flash of. A sign or a signal? Would he rush in and save the day? He would be outnumbered. Or would she have to face this evil alone? She was conflicted. “Our guest of honor has arrived” … arrived here physically or did the Abbess mean sufficiently corrupted like the rest of them … arrived meant to reference her spiritual proclivity to join them in their sinister sexual worship.
She sensed their eagerness to bring on their Black Mass — the ritual to summon the Devil and their orgy of celebration. Sister Oana stood by Sister Irene’s side as the Abbess addressed her wayward flock. Sister Irene’s fingers no longer obeyed her mind — as she too masturbated as furiously as the others as they began to chant louder and louder, with an intensity to make their sexual urges.
It was almost as if Sister Irene’s mind was splitting in two — half of her danced mindlessly in tune to the pagan chants — the other half tried desperately to hold onto her own sanity. She remembered her vision of the ritual sacrifice — how the Abbess slit the young girls throat slit to allow her blood to spill forth over the inverted pentagon. She remembered the demon rising from the blood of the innocence. And once free from the Well of Wickedness, there would be no turning back.
Where was the Holy Relic? Remembering the fallen statue of Mary, she gazed over towards the feces-smeared idol — though the battered statue was badly damaged, Mary’s marble hand was lifted from the floor and pointed in the direction of an alcove to one side of the dark chamber. Mary points the way. If the Relic was anywhere — it had to be hidden there. Her hope was that Father Burke would remember her Holy vision and notice what she had done.
The beat of the pagan drums seemed to reach a crescendo and the Abbess lifted the razor sharp knife. The incandescence of the torches reflected momentarily in its ominous blade as she held it up about her head.
“Hail Satan,” she cried.
With a single movement of her wrist, the blade slashed through veins and muscle like an invisible steel ghost — slitting the young one’s throat wide open. Copious violet blood sprayed forth like a geezer from the opening — showering over the awaiting Abbess, who stood immediately below their hanging sacrifice.
“The blood of innocence has been shed!” announced the wicked Abbess.
“Hail Satan! Hail Satan!” chorused the evil nuns molesting the other young children in eagerness for their orgy to begin.
But suddenly Abbess began to shake violently. The nuns that had been surrounding her pulled away from her — as they were unclear why this was happening. The Abbess dropped the knife with a loud clutter and held her throat.
“Aaaarghhhhhhhhhh!” screamed the Abbess at the top of her aged voice.
Her body began to convulse, then fell to the temple floor. The other sisters could only look on in abject horror as the blood-covered Abbess seemed to reel in extreme agony. Her screams seemed to only get louder. And then, before their eyes, her crumpled, blood soaked habit began to reinvigorate. A darkly form began to transmuted from beneath the blood-soaked clothing — rising upward of its own accord.
“Hail Satan! Hail the coming of the Dark One!” cried the now jubilant onlookers as they all masturbated furiously. The Devil had arrived.
Father Burke recoiled at the sight of the human sacrifice. He was too late. The bloody ritual was unstoppable — as the evil began to take form. He saw the Abbess perish or at least he thought she had. But a darker and more sinister evil had used her to enter the temple. From the bottomless pit — from the Well of Wickedness it had rose.
He’d spied Sister Irene among the evil sisterhood. He’s seen her looking towards the fallen statue of Mother Mary and had remembered her words, “Mary points the way.” And so she did. The statue’s broken form lay across the temple floor, but her majestic hand gestured towards a dark alcove. Was this the sign that they had been looking for? Would he be able to stop this malicious evil?