by Primula Bond
Natalia turned her head slightly as her little rump jerked up again involuntarily. Again the plump flesh quivered under the blow, and again there was a tantalising glimpse of her bush as she bounced off the floor.
A kind of low sighing gasp echoed round the stone chapel. The watching nuns and priest were very still in their places, but bright-eyed, almost crazed as they gloated over the awful spectacle before them. Some nodded, and I realised that of course they recognised what was going on because it had happened to them. Who knew how often?
As a third stroke came down and the thwack resounded round the chapel, I could swear that this time Natalia’s bottom stayed up even longer, as if inviting the stroke instead of recoiling from it. She moved it slightly from side to side, almost kneeling up to lift her bottom higher into the air. As I glimpsed the plump lips of her pussy tucked between her legs, the quick slash of pink cunt as she wiggled her bottom, a spike of desire shocked me, flashing through my own cunt and crouching there, so that it started to throb with wanting.
Mother Superior smacked her hard again but she had obviously seen what I had seen because this time she shoved one foot between Sister Benedicta’s already open legs before doing so, exposing that bare pussy to us all, showing us how Natalia seemed to be wriggling with pleasure.
‘Now before you go into an extended forced silence, Sister, you must make your confession. Repeat your sins, in detail, and ask for penance.’
‘I have broken the rules of the convent and disobeyed you, Mother.’ Natalia’s voice was strong and sweet in the polished silence. I was feeling dizzy from the incense, which had filled the chapel with a kind of heady fog.
‘How exactly?’
Mother Superior kicked at the back of Natalia’s knees, so that she went up higher on them, thrusting her bottom, decorated now with three pink stripes, into the air.
‘I have followed my carnal desires, Mother, and ran away in secret to meet a man and to fornicate with him.’
Mother Superior placed the whip at the base of Natalia’s bum crack, and for a moment I thought she was going to fuck her with it. She hesitated. We all waited, staring at the pink bottom, the pussy lips parting as Natalia kept it in the air, the tight little arsehole just visible in the shadowy fold. Oh God, not up the arse, I thought, my stomach twisting painfully at the realisation that I was equally appalled and excited by the thought, the incense, the humming, the swishing whip and that girl’s bottom, the inviting pussy, I could almost feel the sly insertion of the whip into my own cunt. Christ, anything was possible.
Distracted, I looked at Mother Superior now, and saw that as she stroked the whip up Natalia’s bum crack, almost tenderly, her chiselled face had very slightly softened, too. The high cheekbones and hooked nose made her look less like a scary stalker and now more like some stern governess or professor. I was reminded of a ballet teacher I had at school, who carried herself in just the same way: elegant, cold but utterly composed.
The whip ran down again. Up, and down the crack. I looked back at Natalia, and saw that flush in her throat, crawling up her cheeks, and the way she swallowed. She was swaying her bottom like an animal scratching in its stall, pushing it towards the whip as if she wanted it inside her.
‘Go on,’ barked Mother Superior.
Natalia swallowed. Her lips were wet as she started to speak again. ‘I have gone to my lover’s house and gone into his bedroom, and let him undress me, Mother, and I’ve touched his male part, his penis, Mother, to arouse him, and he’s laid me down on his bed, sometimes on the floor, in the summer on the roof, and I’ve seen him totally naked, his beautiful manly body in all its glory –’
‘Not glory, Sister. The sinful nakedness of Adam!’
The whip was in the air, swiping down on to the round butt cheek in less than a second. Four pink stripes on her bottom and now an audible groan escaped from Natalia, unashamedly orgasmic as she tipped her head, arching her back, lifting her bottom for more. And there were several answering groans from the nuns in the audience – sorry, congregation.
‘Yes, Mother, and I am Eve, and I was sinful too and I gave in to temptation because it was too strong, too strong, I wanted it, I wanted to keep going back to him, I wanted the sex, Mother –’ Natalia’s voice rose to a scream as she almost danced on her knees there in front of us all. ‘I wanted him to fuck me!’
There was a stunned silence. Even the humming behind the grille stopped. I glanced over to where the priest had stood. After all, he was the only representative of Adam in this room, wasn’t he? The only one with a penis. But either he was invisible through the increasing, billowing clouds of incense or he had departed.
‘And what will you do to make amends?’
Natalia bowed her head slightly, but the movement pushed her puffy little pussy out from between her legs even more. ‘I will worship you once more, Mother. I will show you how much I love you, and my Sisters, and my house of holiness here. I’ll be silent for as long as you tell me, and I’ll demean myself on my knees.’
She waited. No one spoke.
‘I’ll lick the chapel clean with my tongue, Mother. I’ll even lick you, Mother. I’ll suck you, stroke you – just the way you like it –’
There was a rush of gasping round the chapel. I wasn’t sure I’d heard right. The poor girl must be crazed with all that punishment, all the emotion, all the shame. Also I was really dizzy now. The air was heavily fragrant as if I was inhaling pure marijuana. I swayed backwards against whoever it was who had me pinned back against them, felt the surprising squash of breasts against my shoulder blades.
‘You! Your name.’
Mother Superior had swivelled round to face me. I hadn’t realised how close she was. Her face had resumed some of its earlier stoniness, but still there was a spot of bright red in each cheek and she was visibly breathless.
‘Er, Coombs. Jennifer.’
‘For the foul words Sister Benedicta has just uttered you will deliver the final punishment.’
‘No way. Whip her? I can’t. I won’t.’
Natalia twisted round. Her eyes blazed at me. I could read her face like the proverbial book. Not only that, but I could read her mind. She wasn’t scared, or cowed, or humiliated. She was euphoric! She was loving those red, sore stripes across her bottom. The jerking of her little pussy up and down on the hard wooden floor showed how excited she was by the whipping, the pain, the release.
And I fell for her even more. My own euphoria was released then, rushed through me, heating my body, making me drunk with the perverted pleasure I’d got from seeing my little nun being punished. The whip was put into my hands.
There was a ripple of tension through the chapel. All faces were turned to me through the misty incense, but instead of gravity or disgust, every face was etched, alight, with excitement. Cheeks were flushed, hands restlessly roving over habits or gripping pews. Some of the nuns had edged very close together. They weren’t even bothering to hide their hands moving over each other’s bodies. I could see the hems of their skirts rising as they fumbled underneath, trying to get into each other’s bloomers and reach the naked, heated, forbidden skin beneath.
‘Punish her, Jennifer Coombs!’
I lifted the whip and with an agonised wail I brought it down on to the red raw butt cheeks offered up to me. As the hard leather made contact with the soft, jiggling flesh, an electric shock sizzled right up my arm. The harsh stinging sound on her skin caused a violent reverberation through my body, and this time Natalia made no effort to hide her loud and obvious moans of pleasure as another red weal puckered up to join the other neat lines on her bottom. I was alight with excitement, because I felt those moans were just for me.
‘Again!’ cried Mother Marta, her voice cracking with excitement. ‘Punish her again, Jennifer Coombs!’
So again I smacked the whip down on the wobbling butt cheeks, and again Natalia moaned, even louder, and swayed from side to side, spreading her legs wider, pushing her puffy pussy lips out
towards her audience as her whole bottom glowed fiery red. Each time I whacked the whip down the buzzing up my arm burned stronger than before and seared right through my ribs to my cunt, where the spiking jabs of desire had turned to a deep throbbing and, as Mother Marta held up one finger to indicate a final blow, my insides started to melt. Yet I was hopping up and down on my aching feet, desperate to do it again and again.
‘One more! This is supposed to be punishment, remember!’
There was a faint titter from somewhere in the room. Even Mother Marta was smiling as she spoke, a grim remote smile that lifted her stony face into the realms of a kind of mysterious beauty. I was totally high now on the druggy incense and the aroused audience, and my little Natalia moaning and writhing in front of me on the floor. One hand had come up brazenly between her legs and she was touching herself frantically as she waited for me to strike her, her fingers sweeping up and down her pink crack, her face tilted heavenwards as she swayed, then one finger went right up inside her. As she pushed it in and out I felt my own cunt coiling and tightening in readiness to come.
I bent over and started to stroke Natalia’s bottom as Mother Superior had done, feeling where the blows had raised the hot beaten flesh into rigid weals, trying to soothe and calm it before one last blow, but as I did so Natalia grabbed my hand and rubbed it in between her legs, deep into her warm wet pussy, kept it there, spreading my fingers to feel every part of her, so wet and waiting, just like mine, all those people watching, several nuns openly kissing each other now, their tongues glistening in the dim smoky light before pushing into each other’s mouths, their hands roving over the hidden curves under the unforgiving fabric of their habits, groping under their skirts, stroking and reaching between each other’s thighs to get at each other.
My finger was sucked inside Natalia. I felt her cunt tighten round it, drawing it in higher and deeper, and I pushed it in further, my other fingers cupping her pussy, feeling the furls of skin, the nub of her clit, and that’s when she jerked and screamed out loud, bucking back and forth on my finger as I fucked her with it, and now what was I to do with my own frustration? I had stopped caring or noticing what or who was around me. I scrabbled round on the floor, pulled her round to face me and as our lips moved like magnets to lock on to each other I took her hand and pushed it into my coat, up my skirt, hooked one finger into my soaking knickers and, oh God, she pushed her finger into me at the same time as I finger-fucked her, our mouths sucking and kissing, her little moans sweet in my ears, the cries and moans of the watching nuns intoxicating us both, and God knows what kind of sounds I was making.
My knees hurt like hell kneeling like that on the wooden floor. My feet ached after hours of traipsing the streets in my ill-advised boots, my head was swimming with that hallucinogenic incense and I was in full view of a chapel full of strange holy people, but none of it was as mind-blowing as the fact that for the first time in my world-weary life I was kissing a gorgeous girl, and she was a nun, and we were finger-fucking each other brutally, hard, I was feeling her warm tight cunt sucking at me, my cunt doing the same to her little wiggling fingers, she had done this before, surely, the way she was circling my clit with one finger, tickling other parts of me, all the while pushing, withdrawing, pushing her finger inside me and then she was shaking and so was I, keeping up with her, kissing her more forcefully, loving the taste of her tongue and lips, and then I found myself bucking against her as I came, my knees like jelly, shaking and crying as I came all over her fingers.
The moaning and sighing around us, which had reached its own crescendo, gradually faded away, leaving only the metallic chink-chink of the silver chain as the incense burner rocked across the chapel like a pendulum.
I subsided on my haunches and we looked at each other. Natalia’s face reflected my own shock at what had happened. She wasn’t smiling. She wasn’t speaking. It was like a mask had come down over her features. I wanted to be alone with her, talk to her about what had happened. I opened my mouth to speak but two things happened at once. The effect of the incense came down on me like a horse blanket. What did they have in that stuff? My head started pounding, and I couldn’t see straight. Natalia, who seemed unaffected by the hazy atmosphere, was standing up and moving away from me.
I flailed about, trying to grab on to her, stop her, but she seemed to float like a mirage, along the aisle, into the crowd of nuns who surrounded and absorbed her until I couldn’t make out one black and white habit from the next and now the chapel and everyone in it was swirling round me like a mad carousel.
So the second thing that happened was that someone yanked me to my feet.
‘Time for you to go, Miss Coombs.’
Mother Superior stood in front of me. Her bony white face seemed to hover like the Cheshire Cat’s, bobbing in the air like a balloon, disappearing, then reappearing slightly to one side. I was either going to faint or throw up.
‘But Natalia – I want her to come with me.’
‘I don’t think so, signora. She has made her choice, and it’s the right one. If anything, your disgusting display just then has only served to convince her. You are to leave here immediately and never return. You should never have been with Sister Benedicta, or even entered our hallowed house. So I trust you will never speak of this to anyone outside. Sister Antonia, please escort her out.’
The freckled nun pushed me through the dank parlour and slammed the door behind me. The cold air rushed at me and I took great lungfuls of it to try to clear my head, breathing in the sharp scent of lemon and the constant brackish smell of the nearby canals.
I was still struggling to find my way back to the hotel when I realised why I had goose bumps on my neck. I’d left behind my red scarf.
The next morning I was sitting in Florian, the over-priced, over-crowded cafe in Piazza San Marco, typing up some calculations from my early-morning meeting with Signora Martelli. From my calm exterior as I concentrated in the plush, lamp-lit corner, you would have had no idea what had happened to me yesterday. In fact, I wasn’t entirely sure it had happened. I hadn’t even mentioned any of it to Hazel in our brief chat just now. She would only have snorted and told me I was finally losing my marbles.
So I told her nothing about Mother Marta, the looming convent, the dark chapel, the humming nuns, the harsh penalties and the whispered confessions, the vicious little whip, Natalia’s plump bottom bouncing and pushing up begging for more, the vivid stripes of pain across her skin.
All I had to reassure me that I hadn’t gone stark staring mad was the strong lingering smell of incense clinging to my hair, my clothes, my skin.
That, and the rhythmic throbbing in my sore cunt where Natalia’s little fingers had so forcefully, Christ, expertly, found their way in to me, penetrated me, fucked me, right in front of Mother Superior and the entire gasping, moaning audience.
And it was that secret delicious throbbing that prompted me, during my meeting, casually to suss out if Signora Martelli was anything to do with Carlo. I didn’t tell her how I knew of him. I simply asked her, as I sensed a new stickiness between my thighs despite the endless rigorous showers and douches I’d taken this morning, smelt my own lingering excitement, and tried not to wriggle too obviously on her uncomfortable chair, if she was related to an artist I’d heard of called Carlo.
‘Si! Si!’ Signora Martelli crossed her surprisingly shapely legs and swung one high-heeled court shoe. Her large-featured, hard face visibly softened beneath the helmet of dyed magenta hair, and she fluttered her fat beringed fingers in the air. ‘Carlo Martelli is indeed my son!’
I thought of the strong, hairy hands leaning on the flower box outside his window as Carlo had sworn so brutishly at Natalia yesterday. The red scar running round one wrist. The loud abandoned cries they had made when fucking each other’s brains out in his house, how they grunted like animals, how he sounded like an athlete, how Natalia confessed to Mother Marta and all her Sisters that they’d done it on the floor, on the roof, how
rough he’d been with her, yesterday making her piss all over herself. What would mama say?
Wriggling uncontrollably now, I looked at the overweight body encased in turquoise silk sitting like a queen in her throne, and the over-made-up face of Signora Martelli. I really was desperate now, dwelling on other people’s sex lives. I could hear Hazel saying that I was a liability, what I needed was a damn good rogering, by anyone, anyhow, anywhere, and I needed it right now.
So I tried to distance myself from thoughts of Carlo and Natalia but made it even worse by focusing bizarrely on Signora Martelli and the sex she must have had to conceive her precious son. I could see a cavernous room, lit badly and unflatteringly with too-bright overhead bulbs in tatty fringed shades, lots of mahogany furniture and holy pictures and ancestral portraits all over the walls, heavy curtains, a veined marble floor, shutters banging open and closed against the Venetian night, and a huge four-poster bed draped in some kind of medieval tapestry where all the Martellis were born, copulated, and died.
I hid my smirk by swallowing the last cold drops of cappuccino she had made me. I reckoned the Signora would be the dominant one. She and Signor Martelli would be like a seaside postcard, her huge breasts bouncing heavily then squashing the deliriously happy face of Carlo’s father between them, forcing one big nipple into his mouth while she clambered on top of him and straddled him with a gutteral groan, her big buttocks wobbling and squeezing over his feebly kicking legs as her wet vagina gobbled up his stiff little dick, her hair its natural black colour back then, flying down her wide back as she arched and whooped like a cowboy and the ancient wooden bed squeaked and groaned across the marble floor as she yelled at him to get bigger, go harder, go faster, ordered him to spurt it all inside her.
