THE ORDER OF SAINT PIRAN 1

1st letter

All hail our Dark Lady, may we bury our faces in Her black bosoms!

I write to you, my sisters, from the confines of the House of the Order of Saint Piran. I anticipate great success here. The Sisters here are kept busy with spiritual and physical labours, ground down with barely time even for gossip or idle chatter. They are ripe for enlightenment to the ways of our lady.

As is my way, I allowed myself to be found by the road near the convent, clothes torn and tattered. I ensured that there was a group of novices, gathering apples, within earshot, and spent some time rolling on the grass, wailing and moaning in a manner of severe distress, before drawing their attention. At last, one left off picking fruit to come over and see what the commotion was, and soon she was joined by a small crowd of curious young women.

When I saw them, I became certain that I would meet with the same success in this place that I have in other convents where I have spread the ways of our lady and drawn so many to abandon their vows and their places of holy servitude and join our sisterhood in our forest fastness. I had ensured that my garments were especially shredded across my chest and, when I heaved my large bosoms — like in scale, I flatter myself, to those of our Dark Lady — in their direction, I saw plainly in many eyes the signs of the desires which, we know, my sisters, our lady has planted in every woman’s heart.

The senior sister who interrupted that moment could surely see the same signs, scolding the novices and turning their faces away from my exposed form languishing in the grass. These nuns wear extremely heavy concealing habits, especially for the mild season, surely for the reason of hiding the shapeliness of young womanly bodies from one another. In such ways do these deniers of the flesh give away that they know the truths of human nature just as we do.

In any event, the senior sister needed only to remove one layer of her costume to provide a cloak for what they would call my modesty. She chided me and I pretended a condition of deep disturbance, throwing myself upon her with weeping and wailing. It took several minutes before I permitted her to calm me down, yet still, in my act, I did not speak coherently.

At a loss, having to deal with myself and the gaggle of intrigued juniors, the senior sister brought me inside the convent house and the first step in my plan was achieved.

***

As so many such places, the House of Saint Piran is a miserable edifice of grey stone, without comfort or adornment, fit to stifle any spirit. Simple though our forest cottages are, how I longed for the familiar comfort of their tapestries, carved furniture and herb smoke. Yet, as I looked around at the figures of so many nuns, young and old, the layers of cloth that made them appear shapeless and identical only fuelled my imagination as to what must hide beneath: the curves and sweet spots; the soft, tender skin; plumpness or slimness; the little moles and hairs and marks that make a body unique. And above all the caverns of pleasure that reside within each woman, where our Dark Lady has taught us to do Her worship.

I was splashed with water and scrubbed mercilessly with sponges upon the end of sticks by senior sisters who cared not for the lewd sounds I made as they cleansed me. Then I too found myself covered by layer upon layer of the heavy black convent garb. How the rough fabric vexes me, but I must remain affixed upon my task.

I was taken to be interviewed by the Reverend Mother. Such a stern and humourless woman. Yet still vigorous as she enters her latter years. And commanding as she gave instructions to the senior sisters, always obeyed with strict and immediate respect. As she spoke to me, I had to control myself from quailing as I thought of how, were she only a member of our sisterhood, I and so many other witches would flower under the instruction of such a formidable woman. I felt that I could have no secrets under her steely, grey gaze, even though deception was precisely what I practised.

She questioned me closely and I allowed her to draw out my story. Feigning unwillingness, I spun my tale of how I had been kidnapped from my carriage by rough men, mistreated, and abandoned where I was found. I broke into tears when she inquired as to the nature of said mistreatment. Asked of my family, I demurred, saying that I did not wish shame to fall upon them, and I begged her to permit me a place among the order, be it ever so lowly.

So it is that, for a fourth time, I have been accepted as a novice in a house of women dedicated to the Lord. And so it is that I shall again lead such a house’s residents from passionless service to that dead god to a lusty embrace of the ways of our Dark Lady.

I have been placed in a dormitory with a dozen other novices, whose names and faces I am readily learning. They are fertile ground, I am sure. One has already remarked on how the weighty fabrics of our oppressive uniforms cannot hide the remarkable swell of my breasts. Delighted with her comment, I soon led the conversation into a blizzard of complaints about what we are obliged to wear. They moaned especially about how constricting they found their habits.

It is in that dormitory that I write this, in secret, by the red light that our Dark Lady’s gifts allow us to summon, with pen and ink brought to me by my loyal Nibbles, to whom I will shortly attach this letter so that my familiar may wing it to you, my sisters, in his bat-form. I shall write you again soon of my progress.

Yours in the shadow of our lady,

Salomé.

***

2nd letter

All hail our Dark Lady, may we please Her so that we drown in her juices!

My dear sisters, I am begun in my plans of temptation. From my past experiences, I can spy the nature of the novices here with a mere glance: fervent Lutherans sent here by their families to sweat out their fanaticism; poor village girls overflowing with piety; some daughters of noblemen, seeking to avoid the scandalous rumours that surround them.

Of course, the pleasures of our Dark Lady are for all women, but such souls as these are all the easier to draw to her, offering them an outlet for their fervour, teaching them lessons from the wider world, or luring them into a new realm of indulgence. I shall not fail to tempt any of them, especially the most pious, as it is always they who crumble the most deliciously once they have been opened to our Dark Lady.

In the dormitory, my bed is the furthest into the room, nearest the window. Late on that first night, I began to toss and turn beneath the heavy blankets, groaning as if beset by ill dreams. My eyes were shut tight, but I could hear novices stirring and muttering.

Then came a touch at my shoulder. A gentle touch at first, but soon heavier, to stir me to wakefulness. I began to arise, shaking my lustrous hair, fluttering my eye-lids, pouting my full lips for the benefit of my wakener. Though I must confess my luscious display was interrupted as the touch became a rude shove that jolted me to sit up with a cry of annoyance.

I recognised the girl standing over me as Abella, a novice whose heavy-set physique could not be entirely hidden even by her weighty habit. Even now, it appeared that she’d done no more than remove the outer layer of it to sleep. She turned her face away shyly and mumbled an apology. Another novice, Margrete, whose red hair always peeks out from under her wimple, at her shoulder berated me for disturbing them.

I began to tell them of my awful dreams that, I said, reminded me of the traumatic experiences I had just been through. I started to hint at the things my fictional gang of bandits might have done to me. But I realised that my description of the gang of men standing over me, surrounding me, was making little impression: Abella continued to look away gloomily, while Margarete just stared at me angrily. So I tried another tack.

‘Besides,’ I said to them, ‘I’m just so very hot.’

With that, I threw off the heavy covers.

My sisters, I need hardly tell you that I was naked underneath.

The teachings of our Dark Lady tell us to be honest and forthright about all matters of the flesh and, as you know, my sisters, I have never hesitated to be so in my appreciation of my own. Abella and Margrete took in a full view of my glory: my milk-white skin; my breasts that pile generosity on generosity; my large dark brown nipples; my slender waist and expansive hips; and my shaven sex with its lips swollen.

I was not disappointed in the responses produced. Abella stared for a moment with wide eyes, mouth agape, before covering her own eyes with her hands and beginning to mutter the Lord’s prayer. Margrete studied my body up and down for some moments, and I could not mistake the familiar forms of desire that lurked in her eyes. Just as she was beginning to lick her lips and reach out a trembling hand, she snapped away.

‘Let us find you a lighter blanket, dear Salomé,’ she said.

***

My excitement at the success of my first probing at the holy chastity of the Order of Saint Piran was dampened, however, after the morning bells rang. As you are aware, my sisters, I have always found adapting to the monastic schedule of prayers and chores to be the most burdensome challenge during my infiltrations. Here, they are especially demanding and vigorous. The Reverend Mother surely believes that her young charges have a great deal of energy that they needs must work off.

In the chapel, there was only the briefest reading before hymns, which were sung very heartily indeed! Despite the subject, I found myself caught up as one of the throng and joined in as enthusiastically as any — though I felt my voice was swallowed up by the loud chorus of the other novices. And yet, each time I thought the service must be over, another hymn was announced and young voices boomed in praise again. My lungs soon grew weary and I sat back, glancing around me. It seemed that the whole of the convent was singing, their bodies swaying in unison to the music.

Such a clamour did much to cover a little quieter talk, and I whispered to Abella who was stood next to me, making jokes about the rotund senior sister who led the singing, marching up and down the aisle, her arms swinging as if to boost the voices around her. She giggled a little but then turned her face away and bit her lips until she could resume singing. I did not stop at that though, and my nudges and suggestive remarks appeared at least to lift her glum mood.

After a long morning’s mass of full-throated singing, we were assigned to chores. I, along with Margrete among others, was to draw water from the well. More hard work, whether it was turning the heavy winch or balancing and carrying two large filled buckets on a pole across one’s shoulders.

The insightful among you, my sisters, will already have guessed how I turned such a situation to advantage, first insisting that I must remove several layers, so hot and sweaty was the work, then contriving to dump a full bucket all over myself right in front of the splashed Margrete, so that the last layer clung to my bountiful body.

Margrete, of the flaming hair, chided me, but took the opportunity to lead me to a separate room where she stripped me and dried me off. I looked deeply into her eyes when it seemed her hands lingered, through the cloth, on my hips and my bosoms. I saw flickers of amusement and, I am sure, arousal, but I could draw no more from her than tuts of disapproval.

Later, after a bland but filling meal in the refectory, all the novices were gathered in one of the halls of the main building of the convent. All except me — the senior sister who found me the day before, by the name of Sister Pascuala, shut me out. She told me that, since I was as yet still a guest who had not taken the full vows, the gathering was no place for me. I asked what the purpose of this congregation was, but she would not explain, only saying that they were matters relating to the patron of the order.

Instead I was instructed to sit alone in silent contemplation during the novices’ gathering, and I have taken advantage of this time to write this note to you, my sisters, which I now entrust to my dear Nibbles to bear it to all of you.

When I next report to you, I hope to be able to write of my first forbidden samplings of the lovely flavours of the youth closeted here.

Yours in the shadow of our lady,

Salomé.

THE END OF CHAPTER ONE