THE ORDER OF SAINT PIRAN 2

3rd letter

All hail our Dark Lady, who sends us stranger pleasures than we know.

My dear sisters, I write to you again from the cloister of Saint Piran. My circumstances have been altered somewhat, and I have a most intriguing encounter to report to you.

On the evening after the dispatch of my last missive, once the lamps were dimmed, I lay in bed and filled my mind with thoughts of our Dark Lady. I pictured some of the images of Her sketched by some of our most enthusiastic visionaries. Naked again beneath my lighter sheets, I imagined the soft swell of her breasts, the shape of her dark nipples, the curve of her hips and thighs and the movements of her many arms. Becoming aroused, I slid one hand down between my legs and began to touch myself, imagining the taste of her sweet juices, the heat of her flesh, the pressure of her fingers uncounted. With my other hand, I stroked my own breast, squeezing and tugging at my nipple. Truly I tell you, at such moments visions of our Dark Lady came to me in flashes, sometimes clear, sometimes hazy, but always compelling.

As I began to enjoy these proceedings greatly, I started to let out soft low sounds signalling my pleasure. I did not want to draw the other novices over to me; rather, in my unholy trance, I believed I could seed a mood of indulgence throughout the dormitory. The presence of our Dark Lady was so vivid in my mind that I felt that surely She must be able to reach through me and touch the spirits of the other young women in the room who had not yet known her magnificence.

It was not long before I heard another novice stir and sigh with longing. Then, from another bed, I heard a soft groan. My eyes were closed tight by now, and I may say that my tunnel was constricting most pleasurably around my fingers. Next I made out a long, muted whimper. And then the rustling of sheets as a girl shifted, I was certain, to touch herself. There was a louder cry, cut off quickly, which prompted a quiet ripple of giggles.

Then I began to hear fleshier sounds. Amid quiet gasps, moans and sighs, I detected a slap of flesh on flesh. Then again, matched with a pleased grunt. Then more curious fleshy slaps. I could not help but wonder just what I was hearing, but I recalled that women not enlightened by the Dark Lady do often seek to pleasure themselves in the most peculiar of ways. As the frequency and volume of those smacking sounds increased, along with determined grunts and accelerated breathing, it seemed to me that there was many more than one inexpert novice in the dormitory!

Before long, I was sure that all of the dozen other novices in the room were twitching and sweating in their beds, pleasuring themselves. I had achieved my goal — or been the conduit for our Dark Lady’s aura to do so. And yet I found myself quite put off from my own pleasant self-indulgence. Just what was I hearing? It was quite distracting! The dormitory room all but heaved with the sounds of slapping flesh, impassioned groans, rustling and shifting sheets and even creaking beds.

As the other girls began to emit rather strained gasps of release, I must admit that I put my own head under a pillow to muffle the intense sounds I was hearing. Sometimes we are not quite prepared for what the Dark Lady sends us!

***

When the bells awoke us the next morning, however, I felt quite myself again. Throughout the day, I sought chances to chat with my fellow novices, trying to match their voices to the sounds I had heard during the night. Our chores, of repairing clothes, gave me plenty of opportunity to do so. Some of them, like Margrete, laughed at my suggestive remarks. Others, like Abella, blushed attractively and turned away. One, by the name of Livia, simply stared me down with a look in her eyes that I could only call ravenous. I confess, it was I who blushed and turned away from her.

Again I was left to my own devices while the other sisters had their afternoon gathering. I considered using the time to write another note, but I did not yet have enough to report to you. I struggled to fill the time, walking around and around the hall where I had been left. Eventually, I was driven to attempt to eavesdrop at the door, but just as I had cupped my ear to it, I heard bolts being drawn back and I jumped away as the whole congregation of them began to emerge and file out.

The senior sister, Pascuala, approached me with her usual grim look. To my surprise, she told me that I was to be moved to a private room at night. I felt sure that my night-time efforts at subversion had been given away by one of the other girls. However, Pascuala told me that the Reverend Mother, who had decided upon this, had said that this was not to be seen as a punishment. It was simply that, as a guest who had not taken the vows, it was not appropriate for me to be housed with those whose commitment was deeper. A private room, she told me, had only just opened up. Nor would I be left lonely, she said, as novices would be encouraged to visit me so that we could pray together.

***

Later, I found myself in the room which I have been assigned. It is very bare and plain, enough that one might call it a cell, except for the rather wonderful bed which is very large, comfortable with a thick soft mattress, and remarkably sturdy. If it was not for the way in which this isolation would disrupt my intentions, I might have counted myself fortunate for the bed alone.

Before I could ponder too long on just what I should do now, or consider the question of whether Sister Pascuala and the Reverend Mother might expect my true goals and identity, I had my first visitor.

Answering the knock at my door, I saw Abella.

The diffident novice had brought me a tray of food and managed to stutter out that she would be pleased to pray with me this evening. While I ate the simple fare of bread, cheese and an apple, she sat beside me on the bed, there being no other furniture. Between bites, I tried to draw Abella out, encouraging her to tell me of her life before the cloister. Her voice was thin and reedy, her manner nervous and hesitant. She spoke haltingly about her father, a money-lender, but explained nothing of why she has ended up in the House of Saint Piran.

When I set the tray aside, Abella asked what I would pray for, but I gave her my most dazzling smile and told her that there were other ways of giving praise than words alone. She wondered what I meant, and I suggested that our entire dormitory had been engaged in a certain kind of praise the night before.

This sent Abella into a fit of stammering, which redoubled when I asked her to show me what she’d done the night before. (I rather thought I could help her refine whatever poor technique had led to such awful noises!)

Abella looked to be in a panic, but she wasn’t leaving. I got down from the bed and sat in front of her on the floor, and Abella did not protest as I began to remove the coverings from her lower body. As I took off layer upon layer, however, I was perplexed at the odd lump that I began to observe between her thighs. I removed dress and skirt and stockings and more, and still my confusion was not resolved. I could only think that she had decided to smuggle a large piece of cured meat down there. When I at last took off her panties, the riddle was answered and I sat back on my haunches and looked on in surprise.

‘Oh.’

Abella has a cock.

Some of you, my sisters, will be aware that, before the Dark Lady revealed the true wondrousness of feminine embrace to me, I led a life in which I was by no means a stranger to the bodies of men. With that in mind, you will realise that I do not speak from inexperience when I add that Abella does not merely have a cock, but a very large one, much the largest I have ever seen.

Not wanting to look down at me directly, Abella turned her head this way and that, trembling and appearing to wish desperately that she was anywhere else. But I wanted an explanation of this mystery. Seeking it, I leaned forward and lifted her weighty member in one hand. With the other, I sought beyond it, and my fingertips dipped into the familiar folds of a woman.

Whatever Abella is, she is not simply a man in disguise. Yet in all the luscious tales of our Dark Lady, never have I heard of such a thing as this.

Now words began to come out of Abella like a flood. She told me that she had been born with what she called her special gift. When she was young, it had been very small and hardly noticeable, she said. Yet, as she grew into womanhood, it had steadily grown and grown. And grown. With that, she told me, had come intense desires that had compelled her, night after night, to seek solace in self-pleasure. The noise she made and the leavings she left had quite scandalised her household, and in time she had been vigorously encouraged into taking holy vows. Surely, she said, in this place of God she would be liberated, in time, from the needs of the flesh.

At this, I smiled. Much as there was something most unexpected about her body, there was little I had not heard before in her story. I knew that it fell to me to teach her that secret of the Dark Lady which we, my sisters, all know: that there is no sin to be felt in the enjoyment of one’s body — or that of another woman.

I began to tell her as much but, as I withdrew my hands, hers suddenly grabbed my wrists and stopped me. Hesitantly, but firmly, Abella told me that now that I’d touched her and excited her, I was obliged to bring her to climax.

Nodding readily enough, I agreed. Indeed, the cock in my hands had begun to harden. Recalling my mis-spent younger days, I began to squeeze and stroke it. Soon I needed both hands to manage the beast.

While my hands worked her cock, I looked up at Abella’s face. Though she was flushed, shaking and biting her lip, she managed to look back into my eyes. As I caressed her special gift, I started to tell her that pleasure too could be a form of prayer, but one directed to a different divinity indeed.

Yet, before I could speak the name of our Dark Lady, Abella made a strangled gasp and screwed her eyes tightly shut. Very suddenly, her large cock throbbed and pulsed out a great wave of cream that splashed on my face. While I blinked the mess away from my eyes, my hands dropped in startlement, but Abella replaced them with one of her own, pumping herself purposefully. I felt her other hand on the back of my head, keeping me where I was while wave upon wave of her salty tide broke over me. I could only sit their in astonishment as my face was entirely coated, her load dripping from my chin and down my body.

When it was over, Abella got up, stammered an apology, redressed very quickly and was gone.

As the door slammed, I found myself still on the floor, quite stunned at what had just happened. The sheer volume of her release was one thing, but I found there was something intoxicating unusual, something intoxicating, about its taste and smell.

Once I had cleaned myself up — no small matter — I summoned Nibbles and began to pen this letter to you, my sisters. (It is certainly an advantage of this private room that I can write at length more easily.)

My sisters, I wonder what you will make of my remarkable discovery. I encourage you to investigate old legends, the reports of insalubrious physicians and the tales of cracked old wives to determine whether Abella is a unique case. Her endowment seems rather demanding, in its size and emissions, but I am already thinking that women such as she could be an intriguing addition to the tapestry of pleasure that our bodies form in the honour of our Dark Lady.

Yours in the shadow of our lady,

Salomé.

***

4th letter

All hail our Dark Lady, may she bless us with plentiful bounties!

I write to you, my sisters, by day, abed. I am sick, to the knowledge of my seniors, and indeed I do feel that something has come over me.

The day after Abella’s visit quite drifted by for me, as my mind was occupied with thoughts of the previous evening. I admit that I have become obsessed with Abella’s condition. All day, many novices approached me and were most friendly, but I was so distracted that I barely responded.

If there existed someone like Abella, I thought to myself, what other marvellous secrets might the Dark Lady have hidden for us in the world?

When I returned to my room, I found myself sitting and waiting on my bed nervously, wondering if I would receive a visitor again. When the knock came, I leapt up to answer it. It was Abella, again bringing a tray of food. She seemed calmer and more content in herself than she ever had before.

While I ate, she watched me quietly and closely with a small half-smile. Before I had even had my fill, she wrested the tray away from me, clearly with other matters on her mind. I began to talk to her of the mysteries of the Dark Lady, hinting at the existence of the refuge that is our forest-girded home. She nodded along with my words and, when she asked me to take off my clothes and get on the floor in front of her again, I took it as a sign that the spirit of the Dark Lady was beginning to settle upon her and went along with her suggestions.

As I continued to talk, Abella hurriedly removed her own heavy garments this time, even voicing a curse at their inconvenience. Again, the sight of the size of her special gift startled me. I was still speaking of the joys that the Dark Lady had opened me to when she grabbed my head in both hands and, quite roughly, drew me towards her crotch.

I saw no reason not to humour her, and in any case Abella was quite uncompromising, shoving the head of her cock against my lips. It was good, I thought to myself, when a woman has a clear idea of her own wants, and I opened my mouth widely. I heard Abella grunt as she thrust forward, inches of her cock sliding right into my mouth.

It has a very strong taste of salt and cloves. I am not entirely sure whether I find it pleasant. I began to try to apply my mouth to her cock in the manner I had once been taught to do with men, but I found that the sheer size of her made this challenging. I was quite uncomfortable, in fact, but Abella is a very stout young woman and had me in quite a grip, so I decided to make the best of it rather than trying to pull away.

As I tried to figure out the best way to please her gift with my lips and tongue, it quickly proved that Abella had no patience for such as that at all. She began to move my head back and forth, grunting with each movement. As I struggled to accommodate her, Abella gripped my hair tightly and pulled more roughly.

I became a little frantic, but managed to calm myself and concentrated on making my mouth the most soft, wet and pleasant refuge for her urgent needs. I reminded myself that any woman, never mind one endowed as Abella is, can be quite unsubtle in her needs after she is first encouraged to express them. Abella grunted and thrusted, her hard, thick cock rubbed over my lips and repeatedly filled my mouth, and I assured myself that I was doing our lady’s work.

Then her cock began to throb and my eyes shot open as I recalled how voluminous her previous load had been. But her grasp was very firm and it was too late. Cum blasted out of her into my mouth.

The next thing I recall clearly, I was lying on the floor in a pool of Abella’s cum. She had left. Even though I was sure that at least a pint of her release had been swallowed down — or just fired right down my throat — even more had poured from my mouth to coat my body and make a mess of the floor beneath me.

Lying in the goopy splatter, I moaned, struggling to move my limbs. My body failing me, I made the best of it. It did feel so good to lie in that drying pool, savouring Abella’s taste, feeling my belly swell. I must have remained there for some hours before finally crawling into bed.

The next morning, still feeling quite incapable, I made excuses to Sister Pascuala and she diagnosed me with a fever.

Thus confined to bed, I am taking the chance to write to you, my sisters. I must say that it would not be wise for me to be about in the convent today in this state. Every now and then a little belch overtakes me, and then I find myself dribbling Abella’s cum.

With another evening soon ahead of me, I find myself rather torn: I am quite certain that I am doing our lady’s work in opening and enlightening poor Abella; and yet I am finding all this very demanding. Certainly she, and this convent, need to be brought under the shadow of our lady, but I wonder if I am woman enough for that task. Perhaps the time is coming when I should find an opportunity to take my leave.

Yours in the shadow of our lady,

Salomé.

THE END OF CHAPTER TWO