She sighed in wanderlust, and stood away from the window. A life-time ago, she had been playing in the shadow of mountains. Now, she toiled in the shadow of an abbey. Ink from copying manuscripts was stuck on her fingers, interchangeable with dirt from the gardens. Her habit was heavy and uncomfortably warm in this weather, especially when the sun beat down on its thick black fabric. There was prayer almost every moment of the day. At lunch, at dinner, in-between them, before bed, after bed… that wasn’t even counting the numerous special prayers of the holy days!

As Sister Eliza walked away from the room, it occurred to her just how quiet and cool this room was. There was no Mother Superior to scold about the corruptions in the world. Nor, with the roof, was there a sun beating down on her back to roast her alive. It was a very nice, if small, room.

It was a few paces wide, and more than that long. The stairs to the second floor opened up in the middle of the floor. Eliza didn’t know what it was for. Sister Bethlem had flown into a fright about hearing something from the upper parts of the cathedral, and the Mother Superior had seen it fit to send Eliza up. It was, thankfully, a reprieve from the prayers and the books.

But there wasn’t anything up here to scare Bethlem! The room had an errant, and old, broom lying on the floor, as well as an unused stool and lonesome bucket. The only thing that could frighten Bethlem had already given Eliza a start when she found it, and it wasn’t something that could make a noise. Behind the staircase stood a well-carved, yet bizarre, statue.

Eliza hadn’t even figured out it was there until her eyes wandered over to it. It was a statue of a woman, or perhaps a demon, almost as big as she was, and it stood behind the stairs leading down to the back of the cathedral. She thought that it could be a demon because it wasn’t human. It didn’t have hooves or wings, only tiny nubs of horns. The statue crouched upon what looked like an unused stone block from the time of the abbey’s construction, its long claws and taloned feet gripping the sides. Its hands were incredibly big, twice the size of Eliza’s, yet it had three fingers with dull conical claws, and its forearms were equally large to support such beastly hands. Its thighs were powerfully built, and its toes were articulated talons that could pierce rock.

The statue was beautiful, though. It had been carved perfectly smoothly. Despite it being as gray as the stone around it, was as smooth as polished marble. Its face was that of a young woman, turned to the side. That, along with its short, tussled hair and half-lidded almond eyes, gave off the indication that it was looking far off into the distance. It had a cute nose, short pointed ears, and the only interruption to its full lips were two small fangs that protruded from its upper lip. Sister Eliza had to resist the temptation to look at its hourglass figure, though. She didn’t need more thoughts in her head against this abbey. What little she did sneak a glance to herself of was very …pleasing. No, no she shouldn’t think about that!

Still, who had carved it? Who had pulled it up here? She was almost certain the Mother Superior wouldn’t have it be shown about – Eliza did take it for a demon at first. But even then, why keep it? It was a statue of unique skill and beauty, that much was for certain. If anyone else knew about it, then it may be destroyed!

Sister Eliza had to leave. She had spent too much time up here, and any more would earn her a rap on the knuckles and a prayer against sin. Eliza gathered up the broom, stool, and bucket, and began down the stairs, each one creaking with her footsteps. She missed the click of stone on stone as the statue blinked.

xxxxx

The sound of knuckles cracking filled the air along with a groan. The light of candles danced across drying ink letters on crisp pages. Sister Astia set down her feather pen and pushed back her chair. “Here’s a prayer I’d like to use more often: Dead Lord, Please Don’t Make Me Copy Any More Manuscripts,” she said.

“Don’t bother. The abbey gets paid to make the books of scripture for nobles, and that money’s good,” Sister Nimmea groused.

Sister Astia snorted, then she straightened up. “Hey, Eliza? Why did Mother Superior have you check up in the Cathedral?”

Eliza dragged her attention away from the window. She had half as many lines on her manuscript as the other two did. “Oh, um…Sister Bethlem heard a sound while she was sweeping, and Mother Superior had me check it.”

“Pfft, Bethlem will jump at anything,” Nimmea said, setting her pen down. She slid her own chair back, and stood up.

“That’s true. I accidentally made her jump once when I tried to get her attention,” Astia said, standing up.

Both Nimmea and Astia came to Savior Virgo’s after Eliza had arrived, but they were all roughly the same age, hovering in the early years of their twenties. They wouldn’t get any younger in this place.

Eliza would not get this page done tonight. It was after dinner, and the time of retiring was fast approaching them. Cracking her own knuckles, Eliza stood up. Compared to her fellow sisters, she was tall and gangly. Thin arms, thin legs, thin body. Her nose was long and thin, and her black hair was long, though again the habit covered it. Her eyes were as green as alpine grass.

From outside the stone room, the sound of bronze bells rang clearly. It was time for the final evening prayer. Nimmea held the door open for Astia and Eliza and they began walking towards the cathedral. Eliza found her attention drifting to the stones of the abbey’s buildings.

The abbey wasn’t that old, being less than a century in age. Somehow, though, many of the stone blocks used in its construction had cracks on them. Nothing dangerous, Eliza believed, but small holes had found themselves on the rock and the cracks emanated from there. It was a rather odd occurrence, and one that Eliza wasn’t sure on who else knew about them. In fact, the more she looked at the holes, the more it seemed like there was some kind of a pattern to it. Like a hand spread, but bigger…

“Eliza? Are you okay?” Nimmea asked.

“Huh, wha? Oh, just thinking,” Eliza mumbled.

“That ‘thinking’ is going to land you with another dozen prayers against slothfulness,” Astia called out from in front of them, “Now hurry up! I don’t want to be late!”

xxxxx

The evening prayers pass by mercifully enough, and it was off to the dorms for the nuns. In the morning, it would be prayer again, then breakfast, and then Eliza would have to copy more of the manuscript, like she had been doing for the past month. She could barely see out of her room’s window into the night, and she still wanted to be out amongst it.

The nuns’ dorms were pitiful, yet another attempt to keep them ‘humble’. It barely had enough room for a thin, lumpy bed and a desk, and the door was dominated by the crossed holy symbol of the order. Eliza’s day-dreaming stretched into the night, and she was literally burning through her fair share of candles. She shouldn’t stay up so late, but her wishes kept her up like the sun streaming through the window of a prison cell.

Out there, somewhere beyond the meadows and mountains, there were other people living real lives. Eliza couldn’t reach them, but she could imagine them. People, hustling and running about in a city, bargaining over the price of food. She’d heard that some cathedrals closer to the city were covered in magnificent works of art. She’d love to be part of that.

Her imagination was getting the better of her, and her candle was burning lower and lower. Eliza was just about to blow out her candle and try to sleep when she heard something. She stopped. It sounded like…

*click – click – click*

Stone tapping against stone? And it was coming from outside the window! Eliza’s heart suddenly jumped. Wasn’t it too late for anybody to be up? She peered out her meager window, but there wasn’t enough light outside.

*click – click – Click*

It was getting closer! Eliza backed away, almost stumbling. Monsters could still exist in this world, right? Things like fabled goblins and ghasts, nightmare beasts to come and do terrible things in the night!

Her heart pounding, Eliza quickly blew out her candle and jumped into the bed, covering herself up like a scared little girl. Her breath heavy, she waited for the clicking to pass her or stop at her window.

*Click – Click – Click – click – click*

The clicking passed by her window, continuing down the row. Eliza breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed. She hadn’t even realized how tightly she had been holding the bed’s cover! But what was that noise? It sounded kind of like someone was throwing rocks at the covenant’s walls, but it seemed too gentle for that. She supposed that they’d all find out in the morning, but the clicking haunted Eliza until she finally fell asleep.

xxxxx

“Eliza, are you okay? It looks like you haven’t slept a wink!” Nimmea said.

It was just after the mind-numbing morning prayers, and they were on their way to the morning chores. After Bethlem’s fright, Eliza had been given sweeping the cathedral, in order to impress any visitors. What Nimmea had said was partly true, however. Eliza had barely gotten any sleep last night, and there were several times when she woke with a start for no good reason. “I’m okay,” she mumbled.

“If you say so. But be careful! I don’t want you getting accosted for laziness just because you had one bad night,” Nimmea said, before hurrying off to her own tasks in the kitchen.

“I’ll be all right,” Eliza said as she wearily waved Nimmea off. She trudged off, taking the broom from out of the closet and walking to the epic main hall of the cathedral.

It truly was spectacular, an opulent contrast to the tiny dorms the nuns had. Rainbow beams of light fell though the gigantic stained-glass windows of the cross-shaped structure, painting the wooden pews with rich colors. The titanic translucent images of the apse seemed to radiate light as the day illuminated them. The finely-carved columns of the aisles were fashioned so that it looked like verdant flowers grew up them, and the aisles themselves were cast into such darkness that it was a perfect contrast to the illumination of the windows.

Eliza began to sweep the aisles, almost vainly cleaning the floor in an attempt to make it look better than it already was. As she mindlessly shuffled nonexistent dirt about, the dappled colors pouring down onto her got hotter and hotter. A bead of sweat fell down her forehead. It felt like she was cooking alive in her habit. She had just started sweeping, and already she was sweating! There was something just plain wrong with that. She needed to get into the shade.

As Eliza passed into the dark aisle, she remembered how nice the third-story room she had checked yesterday had been. Surely, no-one would mind if she popped up there for a quick rest?

She quickly ascended the two flights of steps to the third-story room, carrying the broom with her. She could always use it as an excuse if she was caught. Eliza wasn’t expecting any company aside from that stone statue, however.

The room was as if Eliza had never left it. At the window, the hills rolled on and on, leading up to the snow-capped mountains in the distance. She could see tiny specks of people next to the river far away, probably women from the closest village doing laundry. The bright blue sky was interrupted by free-flying birds. Caught in the image, Eliza rested the broom against the wall and leaned her elbows on the windowsill.

If only she could be out among those hills! Eliza missed her mountain village sorely. Yes, it was full of sheep and shepherds, but it was her home. Her former home. Her father, a wealthy wool merchant, had decided to put her in the covenant so he could focus on preparing her older sister for marriage.

A sudden clatter nearly made Eliza jump out of her skin. The broom had fallen over, and Eliza bent to pick it back up. She caught a glimpse of the stone statue from the corner of her eye and she nearly jumped again before remembering that it was just an object.

But something was off about the stone statue. It looked slightly different compared to yesterday. Eliza walked up to the demonic-looking figure. The head was tilted the same way as before, and it was perched identically to last time Eliza had seen it. But now that she was looking closer at the statue, the block it was crouched on was covered in scrape marks, and she wasn’t so sure that the statue’s tussled curls had been bent that particular way yesterday.

Eliza held her breath and gingerly poked the statue with the broom handle. It hit solid stone. She let out a sigh of relief, then giggled. What was she expecting? For the statue to come to life? That would be ridiculous. It was just her imagination, she thought.

“You know, you’re a weird one,” Eliza said absentmindedly to the statue, tracing its face with her fingers. “You’ve got to weigh a goodly few hundred pounds, you’re on the third floor of the main building in this covenant, and people haven’t said a word about you. What is your secret?”

Eliza’s eyes drifted with her thoughts. The statue was nude, its femininity unchecked by carved cloth. Its breasts were firm, full pear-shaped mounds, with their button-like nipples oddly inviting. Its stomach faintly outlined the square panels of the abdominal muscles, barely visible in good light, but there nonetheless. Between its crouched legs, Eliza could see a thick thatch of hair surround the statue’s carved sex, similar in detail to the figure’s hair. Maybe she should sidle around to its back and see what that looked like… No! She shouldn’t be so lecherous! That was against a nun’s nature, her nature.

Still it was so odd that the cold statue should give her such a needful heat in her core. Except the statue wasn’t cold, Eliza realized with a jump back. Her fingers had been caressing the statue’s cheeks, and the statue’s cheeks were warm as a human body’s.

Eliza backed away slowly, watching the statue like a hawk. Her fingers brushed against the cool stone of the cathedral’s walls as she searched for something that would betray the statue’s nature. She waited, and waited, and waited, all the while looking at it.

Slowly, it blinked. The wistful eyes of the statue closed then opened, the stone-formed face of the being having turned into disappointed sadness, like it was caught stealing cooling pies off a windowsill yet couldn’t be guilty.

Eliza mouthed a prayer as the statue’s curly hair turned to a rich black and its body seem to fill with vitality. Its eyes – her eyes – turned from stony marbles into dull orange eyes, sliced like a reptile’s. She waggled her fingers on the stone block she crouched upon, and each joint cracked like pebbles colliding together. Then, the former statue rolled her neck, causing it to crack like her fingers. Then, she said, “Drat.”

Eliza stood stunned. Drat? Drat?! That’s what a living statue says?

“Please don’t look at me like that,” the statue said. “I was hoping you’d get bored and wander off like you lot usually do.”

“What are you?” Eliza asked. “Some kind of -”

“Don’t say demon. I know we’re in a church-ery thingy, but please don’t assume I’m a demon,” the woman interrupted.

“Well, that was my only guess,” Eliza confided. The woman didn’t seem too terribly interested in being particularly evil. In fact, she couldn’t even define the building she was in, so perhaps she wasn’t that smart?

But Eliza had standards to maintain. “Pardon me, what’s your name?”

The statue-woman stretched her back out like a cat, and Eliza could see the smooth curve of her buttocks as well as a very short, thick tail. Then, the woman scratched at her ear with a hind foot, lifting her leg up in a most oddly flexible fashion. “Slate,” she replied.

“Um, well, Slate, it’s nice to meet you. How long have you been at our covenant?” Eliza asked. Hey, she may as well get some answers while she could.

“A few years. I dunno, I don’t particularly count. Thought I’d stay as long as I could, check to see if there’s any cute nuns,” Slate idly commented.

“Wait, what?”

“I get lonely.”

Eliza was still processing the statue-woman’s comment, but she realized that she had forgotten a very important part of proper conversation. “I’m sorry, I must be terribly rude. I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Eliza.”

“I could’ve told you that. I hang around here all day, waiting for night to fall so I can nab some grub. I hear you girls talking all the time,” Slate said, stepping off the stone to her full height. She was shorter than Eliza was by a head, but seemed to be far denser in mass.

Slate passed by Eliza and rested her talon-like fingers on the windowsill. “So, you like the great outdoors, do ya? I mean, you just stop and stare outside.”

Eliza wasn’t quite sure to make of this woman. She seemed quite nice, if a little bit creepy at times. “Um, yes. I didn’t want to go to the covenant,” she answered.

“Must be pretty miserable,” Slate said, turning to look at Eliza with half-closed eyes. “Working all day in garden or dusting the hall or drawing those books, and the only rest you get is sleep and praying. Is there any respite for you?”

“It’s not that bad!” Eliza shot back.

“The only reason you know about me is that you want to escape. You need to escape, actually, don’t you?”

Eliza stiffened. She was a nun. Nuns have standards and rules that they must follow. “No? No, I don’t,” she said, wavering more than she thought.

“I may be able to turn into a statue,” Slate said, pointing at herself, “But I saw your eyes. I’m not your prince. I can’t carry you away from here, I just don’t have the resources. But I can be your secret.”

“What do you mean?” Eliza asked, her cheeks turning red. Oh, she was thinking some things a nun shouldn’t think about!

“Your guilty little secret,” Slate taunted, sauntering up to Eliza and tapping her chest with a dull claw. She was smiling a wicked little smile. “If nobody knows about me, then you can be free with me in here. We can do whatever we want, and no-one needs to know.”

Eliza’s cheeks felt hot with embarrassment. “I-I’ll need to think about it,” she stammered, grabbing the broom and running down the stairs.

Behind her, Slate smiled coyly. The strange monster-woman got back up on her block and resumed her pose. Once again, her body silenced into stone.

xxxxx

Even after a day of prayer, of eating light, and of transcribing books by candlelight, Eliza still couldn’t get Slate out of her head. She wasn’t sure if it was morbid curiosity or her own, terrible nature. Just what was Slate? Where did she come from? How come nobody else had found out about her?

Eliza couldn’t concentrate on the manuscripts. She kept on seeing flashes of Slate. Not the whole body, just parts of it. The curves of Slate’s buttocks. The weight of her breasts. Her tussled, curly hair. Her stomach, chiseled with a strength that Eliza should never find herself attracted to. At its worst, Eliza could see Slate’s orange eyes, the shape of her lips, the curve of her mound.

Both Nimmea and Astia noticed. They had both asked her. When their words sunk through the reflective fog in Eliza’s head, she mumbled their questions away. It was her, and only her, that this needs concerning.

Her prayers that day were exceptionally reverent, every word weighted and remembered perfectly. Eliza knew she was using it as a shield, but perhaps what it was trying to protect her against had already struck.

She lay awake in her dorm, surrounded by its stone walls. Night had fallen hours ago, and she had changed into her nightgown. She had snuffed the candles and prayers against sin tumbled through her mind. The hours stretched unbearably as the full moon tried to get through her window. It was as if Eliza was waiting for something.

*click – click – click*

Eliza’s breathing grew very still as her heart began to race. Blood pumped to her ears and her heartbeat became deafening as the clicking noise grew closer.

*click – click – Click – Click*

*Click*

The clicking noise had stopped right outside her window.

She didn’t want to look. She felt her eyes drag towards the window, but she didn’t want to look. She wanted it to go away, for it to just scamper off so that she didn’t need to confirm her fears about it.

Eliza looked anyways.

A shape blocked her window, covering up the fat, glowing moon and the clouds. She could just make out the curve of a body.

Her breath was caught in her throat. One word, and what would happen? A nagging thought tugged at the back of her mind. It wasn’t a fear, it was what fears tried to keep out. What if she liked it?

The shape resumed moving. A slight click of stone-on-stone, and it moved downwards. The side of the body shifted to become two powerful legs over her window, the gap between them pointed to the sky. A short tail interjected between them, pointed and firm.

Eliza couldn’t think of anything else that was like that. Her fear, or perhaps her anticipation, was confirmed. Slate was crawling around on the wall outside.

The legs passed over her window and crawled away, followed by the pattering of clicks as Slate’s talons found holds in the stone to use.

Eliza watched the window for two slow breaths, then got out. She went to her window and opened it. She poked her head out and saw, ten feet away and clinging to the wall like some kind of lizard, Slate. Or rather, Slate’s bottom.

Slate tensed and twisted around, somehow glued to the wall. Her eyes gleamed like torches in the night. They were the only part of her face that was noticeable in the dark of the night. She cocked her head, and turned around. Her broad hands clutched the stones as she resumed her travels, click-clicking over to Eliza’s window. Eliza was caught spell-bound watching Slate effortlessly crawl across the side of a wall.

“Funny seeing you here,” Slate said quietly as she drew near to Eliza.

“What are you doing?” Eliza hissed.

“Climbing. It prevents me leaving footprints on the dirt. All of you would never shut up about it if I left a footprint in the flowerbed,” Slate answered.

“Yes, but – but you’re out and about! Why?” Eliza whispered. It was strange talking to someone who was rotated differently from Eliza. It was starting to give her a sympathetic crick in the neck.

“Because I don’t want to be stuck in the same room for all of my life, plus all the food’s in the kitchen,” Slate answered. “But at least there’s another night owl like me awake at this hour.”

Eliza sighed and hung her head. Her heart was still trembling just from talking with Slate. Slate’s eyes were orange, for goodness sake! It was like she was talking with a demon!

Slate’s head tilted quizzically. “Still think I’m a demon?”

Eliza nodded in defeat.

“Don’t worry, I’m not. I’m not interested in your soul,” Slate said. She crawled closer, and Eliza jerked away. “Can I come in?”

Eliza backed away slowly from the window. “Uh, sure, I guess,” she stammered.

Slate squeezed her way in most delicately. It reminded Eliza of how she had seen Slate turn from rock to flesh – slow, yet fascinating. Slate popped in one shoulder, then the other, and slid her waist through. Her tail nearly caught on the edge of the window, but she bent down and slid in the rest of the way naturally.

Slate straightened up and stretched. The curves of her body caught Eliza’s eye immediately. Eliza found herself ogling Slate’s round bosom, the curve of her buttocks, and the tussled thatch at Slate’s loins. Heat burned in Eliza’s cheeks.

Slate caught Eliza’s blush. “See something you like?” Slate asked.

“No, no,” Eliza mumbled as she looked away. She shouldn’t want, not for something like Slate!

“Come here,” Slate said, touching Eliza’s chin with a thick finger and pulling her view on to Slate’s face. “It’s all right. You can look at me as much as you like. If I wasn’t fine with it, I wouldn’t turn into a statue nude.”

Slate’s cheeks had a slight ruddiness to them, a faint brushing of an organic nature on a stone-colored woman. Her lips were tinted darkly, smooth, perfect. Her eyelashes were thick and defined, her eyebrow thin. The way her hair fell, it was cute but Eliza couldn’t let herself admit it. Eliza was staring into the face of temptation.

Eliza shook her head and tore herself away, kneeling down to the ground. Words from prayer formed on her lips. She felt a broad, powerful hand on one shoulder and turned to see Slate kneeling down next to her.

No words were exchanged between them. Eliza wanted Slate, but she shouldn’t. Her identity wouldn’t allow for it. It’d be sinful. But in those orange reptillian eyes of Slate’s she saw unrestrained freedom.

Eliza didn’t stop Slate’s kiss. It was unbidden, but welcome. Her lips mingled with Slate’s warm lips, nose rubbing against nose, Slate’s eyes half-closed. Eliza’s heart sped up, beating heavily and feeling like a warm coal inside her chest. It was the first step, but to what, she didn’t know.

Slate withdrew, her breath hot. “How thick are these walls?” Slate asked quietly.

“Decently thick? A hand-span, I believe. Why do you ask?” Eliza responded.

Slate touched Eliza’s waist. Such a touch sent Eliza’s mind spinning. “I want to give you something incredible. You’ll need to be as quiet as possible, though,” she said.

Quiet? Why? Eliza was about to ask when Slate kissed Eliza again. It was as caring as the last time, Slate’s lips gentle against hers. Slate carried it for longer, adjusting her head just slightly to alter how their lips met each others’.

A warm, needy sensation flowed through Eliza. It built up in her chests, her breasts rubbing against the fabric of her nightgown, but also ran to her loins. She felt wanting down there. She needed something down there.

With a jolt, Eliza realized what was happening to her. Lust had built up in her, and Slate was the one responsible for it. Eliza crawled back and stood up.

Slate actually looked hurt. “What, is something wrong? Do you not want me?” she protested.

“I do, but I should not,” Eliza said as she fumbled for her small table. Her fingers chanced upon a series of beads, weighed down by the wooden symbol of her covenant. She held it aloft, the symbol spinning in front of her.

“If you think that would help, please, wear it,” Slate teased, standing up to her full height. Her nipples were growing stiff on her breasts. Eliza’s cheeks burned when she realized that, and looped the prayer necklace over her head.

Eliza was a nun, one devoted to prayer and holy worship. Through her faith, any malign and evil presence on her would be banished. But it didn’t do anything for the heat inside her and her admiration of Slate’s form.

So, this was who Eliza truly was. It all seemed to fall apart. Her upright behavior, her devotion, her faith – it didn’t do anything against her feelings. This was who she was, and she paled at the thought.

“If you want to, I can leave. All you need to do is ask,” Slate said.

“No! No, no. Don’t go,” Eliza commanded. This was who she was. It wasn’t external corruption, it was simply who she was meant to be. For some reason, that made it all better.

“Please stay. I, I liked the kissing,” she admitted. The heat returned to her cheeks.

“I can do more, if you’d like,” Slate teased. She sauntered over to Eliza and her tongue slid between her perfect lips. It was granite-red, shiny like rain-washed stone, and it slid down and down. It went past her chin, a good hand’s-length of flexing, muscular organ. Towards the front, it was ridged.

Eliza felt a little bit more of wet heat seep into her loins. How should she continue? No, she saw herself truthfully now. She wanted to, no, needed to, no. She accepted.

Slate’s tongue slid back between her lips and she leaned in to kiss Eliza. Tender once more, but more controlling. Open lips gasped against each other, the heat in Eliza’s body trickling in further and further. It was in so deep, it could never be rooted out.

Slowly, Slate’s tongue wormed into Eliza’s mouth. It slid against her tongue, caressing it. Eliza trailed it with her tongue, feeling the weight and muscle behind it. A thrill crept through her body, one based on knowing that Slate could easily overpower her and take what she wanted.

Slate’s lips broke away from Eliza’s and her tongue slid out. It remained caressing Eliza’s skin, slithering across her chin. Eliza shivered as she felt Slate’s tongue traverse across her gentle neck. She gasped as she felt a hand slide up her body.

Slate’s large hand ran up Eliza’s waist, up her stomach, up her bosom. It rubbed against thin cloth to feel the supple flesh beneath it, the strength of Slate’s talons and the scratching of the fabric tickling Eliza’s skin. The sensation was richly tempting. There was more beyond it, if Eliza would only reach out and accept it.

Eliza desperately tugged at the drawstring of her nightgown. The heat inside her flared up as Slate’s tongue slide under the beads of her necklace. Those odd rasps at the end traced her collarbone, Slate’s head leaning into Eliza’s neck. Slate slowly pushed her up against the wall, making her ripe and vulnerable.

Vulnerable. There was a thrill to that thought that sent a bolt of moistness to her loins. Vulnerable to Slate, who wanted for her. Vulnerable to all the wonderful things Slate could do to her.

Slate’s tongue slid out of Eliza’s necklace and her head sunk lower. Her tongue pierced the neckline of Eliza’s nightgown, slipping in with so much welcome. The rasp at the end of Slate’s tongue scraped against Eliza’s tender skin, dragging a wet trail of saliva after it.

The neckline on Eliza’s nightgown was getting dragged open by Slate’s wandering tongue. The thin cloth fell against the probing invader, hugging it as it moved and writhed underneath, aiming for Eliza’s breast. One hand of Slate’s crept up Eliza’s back, the other holding her hip. Slate was accepting her passivity graciously and making full use of it.

For her part, Eliza kept one hand on Slate’s back. Her skin was as if polished stone was malleable and warm – it was incredibly smooth, but with an innate toughness. Eliza’s other hand was held helplessly against the stone brick wall. It was cool to Slate’s warmth, and Eliza knew which one of those two she preferred.

The rasping end of Slate’s tongue touched Eliza’s tender breast. She found herself giving a gasp of shock as a burst of fire shook her mind. It was her first taste of pleasure – real pleasure. With all those prayers, Eliza had torn herself away from touching herself to alleviate whenever the lusting got too bad. Now that she allowed her lustfulness to bear fruit, Eliza could see just how much she had been missing out on.

As Slate’s tongue writhed and touched the soft flesh of her bosom, Eliza found herself subject to pleasure played like music notes. Each one was as good as the last, but they all added up harmoniously. Slate’s tongue writhed and slide against Eliza’s sensuous breast, digging in deeper and deeper. Her lips touched Eliza’s sternum, her strong hands holding the willing victim in place.

With just a flick, Eliza felt Slate’s tongue scratch across her tender nipple. Her rosy button stood on end as pleasure swept in with Slate’s muscular organ. An ache came to Eliza’s breasts, one in tune with the throbbing heat in her core and the burning need between her legs. Eliza mewled quietly as Slate lashed her tongue against Eliza’s nipple once more.

Eliza couldn’t bear to have her nightgown on her. She needed Slate’s strong fingers roving her body. She wanted to feel that tongue as it traveled down her stomach and to her waiting womanhood. “S-slate,” she stammered out, trying to keep quiet.

Slate withdrew her tongue abruptly, leaving her breast alone and cold. Slate rose to meet Eliza’s lips and asked, “What is it, my sweet nun? Is it too much for you? All you have to do is tell me; I can always come for you later.”

“No, it’s just,” Eliza began, before undoing the knot at her neckline and sliding out of her nightgown. It tickled her erect nipples on its way down, and the cool night air ran its tempting fingers down her body. “I just want to be out of this. I want it. I want it all.”

Her fingers hooked around her prayer necklace. Slate put a hand atop hers. “Mind if you keep that on?” she asked. “I’d love to see the sight of you wearing just this holy symbol of yours as I make you moan and writhe.”

The thought was both wickedly horrid and incredibly tempting to Eliza. To feel the wooden symbol against her naked body as she was wracked with pleasure? It spat in the face of everything that had been transcribed into her. Her fingers slid away from the necklace, leaving the cool symbol to rest against her hot skin.

Slate’s lips graced Eliza’s once again, and then Slate’s hot breath puffed across Eliza’s nubile body. She stopped at Eliza’s breast. Her tongue slipped out for one delicious lick, and then snuck back in. With a carnal urge, Slate’s lips affixed around Eliza’s erect, rosy nipple. Pleasure coursed through Eliza’s chest as her nipple was sucked in.

Eliza arced her back into Slate as she felt powerful gasps pull on her aching tit. It was unlike anything she had ever experienced. Her mouth was agape, and she struggled to keep silent. She could feel teeth gently scrape her tender skin, a tongue lash and press against her nipple. It was like light pouring itself through her body.

With a dramatic pop, Slate’s lips left Eliza’s nipple. Its rosy hue burned with a sensual need, its budding tip engorged and hard. Slate nuzzled it with her nose, her tongue left hanging out. “You’re so sweet and needy, my little nun, so sweet and needy and mine whenever you want it,” Slate whispered.

Slate’s strong hand groped Eliza’s ass, the statue-woman’s fingers sinking into her curves. Her other hand swept across Eliza’s back and on to her shoulder, resting there with a firm grip. Slate had complete control over Eliza, but there was something caring about her touch. Eliza knew that with just a word, Slate would leave her be. Eliza wasn’t intent on using that word.

The granite-red flesh of Slate’s wicked tongue slid out again and this time graced Eliza’s other breast. The lusting fire within the nun was immolated with the enrapturing light caressing her sweet flesh. Her mouth open, her cries were silent as she felt the rasping edge of her creature-lover’s tongue scrape against her taut nipple.

The tip of Slate’s tongue scraped up and down, flicking Eliza’s rosy nipple and then retreated. The statue-woman’s lips came into play again, greeting Eliza’s bosom with a series of kisses. Then, she sucked Eliza’s nipple into her mouth again.

Once again, sweet bliss fell across Eliza’s chest. Slate’s wet mouth suckled and stretched her nipple in new, delightful directions. Eliza stroked Slate’s hair, running her fingers through the ebony threads as she basked in Slate’s power.

Disappointingly, Slate’s lips left her chest. Eliza was about to protest when she felt Slate’s warm fingers trail across her leg and in between the gap of her thighs.

“Do you want more?”

“Yes.” No hesitation.

“How much more?”

“All of it.” In that dark and private room, she’d experience it all.

Eliza felt strong hands hoist her up suddenly. She suppressed a cry of surprise and let Slate carry her to the bed, where she was placed.

Lusting orange eyes roved over her body. “You know, you’re amazingly cute like this. We’ll have to do this more often.”

Slate climbed over Eliza, her weight making the bed creak. Her lips darted down and snatched another kiss from the cloth-less nun. Her tongue remained behind as she withdrew, tantalizing Eliza’s lips. As Slate climbed back, her tongue dragged across Eliza’s skin. With it walked a path of blissful light.

Eliza could never imagine doing this with another nun. Slate’s tongue, her strength, her mysterious nature! It drew Eliza in, and now, laying before Slate with how much her tumultuous mind had changed, it only made Eliza’s body flush more.

Slate’s wicked tongue slipped across Eliza’s breasts, blessing them with warm pleasure. Her tongue trailed downwards, tracing Eliza’s belly button. Eliza’s legs were flat against the bed and splayed open slightly. As Slate crept closer to Eliza’s aching womanhood, Eliza’s anticipation grew higher and higher, her desire growing to match.

Lower, lower, and lower yet. Slate’s tongue went agonizingly slowly down Eliza’s stomach. Eliza’s chest rose and fell, heavy with anticipation, her eyes watching Slate and Slate’s playful orange eyes. Slate’s tongue danced around Eliza’s black bush, continuing to tease her. And then, Slate’s tongue slipped beneath Eliza’s sex.

Eliza first felt Slate’s tongue against her thigh. The strong, slick muscle hugged her sensitive inner thigh, sending another burst of heat into Eliza’s womanhood. It was utter torment. “Please,” Eliza whimpered, “please give it to me!”

Slate’s eyes locked with Eliza’s, and she flashed a short wicked grin. Then, she gently licked Eliza’s sex.

It was like a bolt of lightning had struck Eliza. A blast of pleasure swept through her. Her entire body was enraptured by it. She wished prayer was like this!

Eliza could feel sweetly and wickedly the trail of Slate’s granite-strong tongue. Its pointed end tip-toed around her lips, grazing her pink petals and taunting them with salacious sensations. She could feel it circle her lips around and around, always avoiding a part of her that ached the hardest, so hard it was budding out. She had barely an idea of what was happening to her body, but she loved it.

Slate’s tongue pushed on Eliza’s sweet womanhood and dived between its folds. Each touch was like that of an angel’s, fulfilling Eliza’s body. As the sweet bliss pulsed through her body, Eliza kept up a silent moan, servant to the feeling.

Touching Eliza’s outer lips with her tongue, Slate’s orange eyes watched Eliza’s reaction. She basked in the nun’s twitches and quiet gasps of pleasure and closed her own eyes to savor the taste of Eliza’s womanhood. Slate’s tongue lapped at wet, pink lips. She dug around their folds, touching unexposed flesh. Eliza’s sex folded to her writhing tongue.

Slate turned her attentions to the wet, wanting center of Eliza’s sex. There, the lips opened just enough, like the inviting lips of a sultry woman. Her tongue graced it, and Eliza shivered before her, enraptured by the pleasure it had brought. Eliza’s fleshy rose thirsted for Slate and her tongue.

The tongue kissed the entrance of Eliza’s tunnel, a shock of touch and then a pause that made Eliza look down between her legs. Slate’s eyes were filled with drunken lust. Her strong hands were placed on Eliza’s thighs, strong talons gentle with Eliza’s youthful skin.

Eliza trembled with anticipation, waiting for that single blessed moment. Her holy symbol rose and fell with her chest, residing between her breasts. And then, Slate’s powerful tongue sunk into her.

It was a fireball of pleasure that embraced Eliza. She felt her sex’s lips spread for the wet, muscular intruder and bliss ring out from her aching petals as it did so. It was stronger than she could have anticipated, a low moan breaking from her lips. And now Slate was inside her, the statue-woman’s long red tongue penetrating her just enough to spread that which should never have been spread as a nun. It was electrifying.

Eliza’s tunnel pushed back against Slate’s tongue. Wet velvet walls hugged the granite penetrator, caressing it as much as struggling against it. Regardless, it sunk in further still. The tongue’s ridged tip caught on Eliza’s walls and dragged them along. With a tug on her petals, the last ridge popped into Eliza.

It felt so strange to be filled, Eliza thought, particularly by a woman. It seemed unreal, but the fiery pleasure that burned inside her body was very real. Down below, in between her legs, her flesh had been parted to let in a foreign object. But it felt so good! She couldn’t quite describe the mix of emotions and sensations within her, but she’d never share it with anyone outside of this room.

Slate’s tongue dug in deeper. As it pressed into Eliza, it twisted and writhed. Her womanhood was stretched in new ways, pushed apart by Slate’s tongue. New, unused velvet-soft skin was embraced by the monstrous woman’s probing muscle and the fire of bliss swelled inside Eliza.

Deeper, deeper yet. Eliza didn’t know how deep Slate could go, but it seemed like an eternity of bliss. Slate’s writhing tentacle of a tongue kept on investigating the depths of Eliza’s sex, always finding new spots to caress, new skin to lick with her rigid tongue. There always seemed more to Eliza than she herself knew.

But there was an end. Slate’s lips met Eliza’s amid an internal field of pleasure. Her strong hands pushed Eliza’s thighs apart, giving Slate easier access to Eliza’s womanhood. A rush of thrill raced with the sensuality as Eliza found herself totally at the whims of the statue-woman.

Slate’s eyes flicked up once again to Eliza’s, capturing her silent groan and lust-heavy eyes. Her lips mingled with Eliza’s petals, strong to their gentle but just as tender. Sparks of passion were added to the fire of pleasure burning within Eliza.

Deep inside Eliza, Slate’s tongue lashed and writhed. Eliza could feel it move inside her, how it wavered and embraced new walls. Each scrape was a burst of rapture, making her gasp and quiver. She snatched her holy symbol from her chest and felt it in her hands as another wave of euphoria washed over her. The lust inside her drove Eliza to place it over a breast, let her tender flesh rub against its hardness and feel the bliss.

Eliza continued to rub the holy symbol against her erect nipple as Slate further lashed her tongue inside the young nun. Lips pressed against her sex, pulling on her petals and against that hard bud-like aching. She felt Slate’s lips slide over it and felt it be sucked in to Slate’s mouth.

Pleasure burst into her like never before. If Eliza had been standing, her knees would’ve given way. A moan escaped her lips into the room and out into the night. Surprised, but still steeped deep in pleasure, she slapped her hand over her lips.

What was it that had been touched? Eliza could almost recall – a seed of sin, they had said. Something used against women long ago to lead them astray. A clitoris. In the stiffness of the Abby, it was no wonder Eliza had forgotten it! It had been a beacon of sin before, and now she understood.

Eliza’s body was wrapped in pleasure. It burned from her core and mind and radiate to the tips of her fingers and toes. At her womanhood, Slate continued to work her tantric powers. The tongue inside Eliza, how it lashed about. How her clit, her forgotten womanhood, throbbed and rang with ecstasy inside Slate’s maw. How her very religion, taken close to her heart, rubbed and stroked her tender nipple.

The pleasure swelled and burned hotter over the long moments. Eliza’s gasps and moans were barely silenced. She couldn’t let the other hear. She wanted to keep it all to herself. Ecstasy wracked her body, and she could barely control it. It was like a plant that kept on growing and growing, and Eliza didn’t know if it could stop.

There was a moment of pure bliss before the erotic fire blossomed, a moment that Eliza caught and wondered about. Then it hit her full force. Her body was no longer her own as white pleasure swept through her body. It reached her toes, making them curl, her muscles twitching in a great moment of lust. Her mind was rendered numb, overloaded by the ecstasy. She wasn’t even sure if her moans broke out once again and flooded the room. But she was in heaven. She had attained it without ever dying.

Sadly, it left her. It crept away like water, leaving her trembling body behind. Her body burned hotly against the symbol of her religion. She felt like she glowed, that she had been touched by the divine.

Slate pulled her tongue out of Eliza. Every scrape was a jolt in the shadow of a true rapture. Welcomed, pleasing, but Eliza had already been taken.

Slate crawled up towards Eliza, her tongue hanging out wantonly. “Tho,” Slate said over her tongue.

Eliza giggled. It was just so silly! Her body was sore, if happy, but she’d hate to be Slate’s tongue right about now.

Slate looked down at her tongue and she weakly pulled it back into her mouth. “So,” she said again, “how does my cute little nun feel?”

“Heavenly,” Eliza said. She held up a hand and ran it through Slate’s dark curls. Unexpectedly soft. “I hope you stay.”

“I’ll stay as long as you want me to.”

xxxxx

It had been many, many years since that night. Abbess Eliza reflected on it from her office, looking down on new, young sisters who had freshly entered the abbey. They passed underneath the watchful eyes of new statues over the gates, each one like a human but strange in their own ways. Those statues had appeared of their own accord, one or two every few years, and sometimes leaving. It was something subtle, something that Eliza never called attention to and said was irrelevant.

As for her new role? Perhaps it had been fate that let Eliza become the Abbess, perhaps it was truth. Now, under her guidance, the abbey had grown. The arts were celebrated here, and sisters took up paint brushes for the sake of other monasteries and cathedrals across the land. It was certainly good to have a reason to be here.

Eliza looked at the familiar statue atop the highest point of the cathedral, directly across from her office. That one had aged as well, a few more wrinkles that broke the illusion of the permanence of stone, but only because Eliza knew. The statue winked, and Eliza smiled back.

THE END