THE ORDER OF SAINT PIRAN 4

7th letter

Hail.

I am lost.

Send aid, my sisters, and retrieve whatever of me still remains, though you find it encrusted in the pleasured emissions of the sisters of the Order of Saint Piran.

What can I tell you? I begin to fear that these letters have not even been reaching you. My poor Nibbles — would that he could speak! — does something befall him when I send him, winging and squeaking, on his errand of delivery?

A day or two might have drifted by before I was able to stir again. I confess myself uncertain. But eventually I managed to drag myself through a laborious day of hymns, the pushing and shoving of foul-mouthed novices, and unending chores.

Yet, at last, I found myself alone when all the other sisters made their afternoon gathering. Now was the chance for my escape!

But it was not to be. I tip-toed as far as the entrance hall only to find Sister Pascuala there waiting for me. The smile plastered across her face was eager and cruel. Six young sisters accompanied her.

Sister Pascuala pointed at me and gave them their orders. They closed in and stripped me, and when they shed their own habits I could hardly dredge up any surprise at the sight of their cocks. Though varied in their specific dimensions, each was as large as I had come to expect by this point.

Brooking no resistance, they shoved me down onto a rug on the floor. Three of them descended upon me, each of them laying claim to a hole, while the other three stood over the writhing and undulating scene, hands stroking their own cocks in readiness. As soon as the first three were done with me, the three that had been waiting moved down to take their places, uncaring at the messy, reddened state of the orifices they penetrated. I could do nothing except, when rarely my mouth was free, cry out in amazement at their intensity and an excitement I could not control.

Through it all, I could hear Sister Pascuala tapping out a rhythm that the young women moved to, exhorting them and directing them.

How long they continued, I am unsure. All I know is that I have awoken in my room and have been hurriedly committing this to paper. Sweet Nibbles, may you fly true and fetch my salvation. May…

The door is opening! I–

***

Report of the Reverend Mother to the Archbishopric.

Eminence,

I send you salutations from the isolated haven that is our order house. There is little news of the world I can give you from such a place, but it continues to prove an oasis of peace for the women and girls of our order.

I must thank you again for the support you gave to my proposal for the establishment of this order. So often down the years, girls blessed as are my charges have been chastised and worse for a matter of the body that lay quite outside their control. Thanks to the endowment which you did so much to arrange, that enabled the funding of this convent, here they are at last able to flourish under devout instruction, coming to understand that they too are loved by our Lord, while finding ways to manage the cumbersome desires of their unusual bodies.

On this occasion, I may also add that we have met with an unexpected success that you will wish to communicate to the heads of other convents. We have succeeded in capturing a most devious witch who has, by all reports, lured young women away from their vows at other institutions. Needless to say, she met with no such luck here, and I can assure you that we have rendered the deceitful woman placid and quite firmly under control. We believe she may have collaborators and I hope to send you word of such soon.

With that and with all regards, I bid you health and grace in the name of our Lord.

Signed, The Reverend Mother Montserrat.

P.S. As usual, you should find that this letter arrives along with a shipment of the fine clotted cream for which our order is becoming known. While it is a worldly matter, it is meet nonetheless that a convent such as ours should develop a prosperous industry that may do much to fund our order, thus sparing the pockets of your good self and our other benefactors. All of my girls here have contributed to the work of its manufacture, so I hope that you will think of them while you sample it.

***

The Reverend Mother lays down her quill and lets the ink dry on her letter to the archbishop.

Leaning back from her desk, she pushes her chair back and its legs grind on the floor as it slides backwards. She looks down to check on the girl tied up under the desk, her jaw fully extended and her lips stretched obscenely to admit the Reverend Mother’s beastly cock.

What was the witch’s name? She tries to recall. Simona? No, something more biblical. Jezebel? That would be appropriate, but it doesn’t seem quite right. Not that it matters.

She pokes the girl in the face until her eyes open and look, glazed, up at her.

‘How do you fare there, girl?’ she asks her.

The bound girl makes a meaningless hum around the enormous, invasive cock.

‘Very good then. At my age, it takes a while for the blood to start flowing but, once it does, you’ll be in for a memorable night, I can promise you! Just keep at it there like a good girl and you’ll get your share of cream in good time.’

She runs her hand through the girl’s rich black hair and the witch seems to her to nod acceptantly enough.

‘Then, in the morning, you’ll tell me all about these sisters of yours in the forest, won’t you, my dear?’

There is no reply, only that glazed stare, the look of one consumed by insatiable hunger, by abject mindless longing.

Satisfied, the Reverend Mother moves her chair back up close to her desk, closes and seals the letter to the archbishop, sets it aside and continues with the rest of her correspondence.

THE END OF CHAPTER FOUR