by Primula Bond
In the chapel on the other side of the panelled wall someone struck a note on the organ. We both jumped like scalded cats, but towards each other. Our mouths met, paused, his lips felt warm and wet, unyielding at first, frozen with fear probably, but then our mouths were drawn magnetically until they were pressed hard against each other, pushing, pressing, opening now, his tongue first, flicking out – oh, he was the snake! – and licking across my mouth, my teeth, pushing inside, curling round my tongue, pulling it for him to suck, licking, then nibbling, now biting. How can it be that the speaking part of your face, when silent, can send such fiery currents shooting through the rest of your body, sparking in your nipples so that they harden into nuts, searing down your belly until your fanny starts clenching like a furious fist?
And how can it be that a man vowed to chastity was the best kisser I’ve ever had?
I kicked the stool away. It fell with a clatter. We froze, wondering if anyone in the chapel had heard, but the organ was playing softly now, just the bass notes throbbing through the wall, and now Father Luca came properly to life, yanked me roughly on to his lap, spreading my legs to grip around his as he pulled feverishly at my dress, pulling it up my thighs, pulling impatiently at the bloomers but they were so loose they almost floated off me and there, beneath, I was naked other than the few golden hairs on my pussy. The rough serge fabric of his cassock scraped my crack with a delicious friction. His strong white hands were cool, kneading my bottom as he bumped me fiercely against him. Soon he would feel the dampness, dribbling out of me, right through the dark fabric still covering him.
‘Kiss me, Father!’
I held his face and kissed him again. Already the taste of his mouth was familiar, and this time there was no hesitation. His long, strong tongue probed forcefully, and it was my turn to groan because now his fingers were pushing inside my bottom, opening me, barging inside. My groaning echoed off the vaulted ceiling of the sacristy.
‘How could something so good be so wrong?’ he groaned. ‘You are such a witch.’
In answer I gyrated hard against him, and there it was at last, that ridge of stiffness under his cassock, my prize. I started to rub myself back and forth along it, half laughing, undoing some more buttons, delight bubbling up inside me to see his broad chest and his stomach with its line of dark hairs marching south. I smiled, then started to unbutton my grey dress. Time to let the woman out. Time to show him the breasts nestling there, already swollen with desire.
‘It’s all good, Father.’
I hadn’t had time to bandage them up securely after my encounter with Zippo the gardener this morning, so I cradled my breasts so that they nudged out through the top of my dress. I stretched my spine so that the dark-red nipples poked out and were inches from his hungry, wet mouth.
I knelt up on the purple cushion, bent over him, juicy fruit dangling right over his face while I undid the other buttons. He reached up tentatively, ran his fingers over my breasts then took them and squeezed them together, big soft mounds of pure pleasure right there in his face. He closed his eyes, buried his nose between them, sniffed my skin, my sweat, maybe even the smell of earlier sex with the gardener, then suddenly he nipped one raspberry nipple with his teeth and I squealed with shock. It was pure electricity. Zippo hadn’t had time to give them the attention they deserved this morning. We were in too much of a rush. I ripped at Father Luca’s remaining buttons while he sucked one nipple, his cheeks drawing in with the pull of the suck, and pinched the other until I was nearly going mad with the overwhelming sensations, and then at last my hands were inside his cassock.
I don’t know what I expected a priest to wear underneath, but here were silky black trunks and they barely covered his erection. I allowed myself a lingering look at it, so near, so near now. I pulled the shorts down a little way and his cock flung itself upright, quivering as if a wind was buffeting it. My body shivered to see it. But a crazed part of me still wanted to tease, torment, us both. I wriggled backwards, popping my tits out of his mouth, so that I could bend down, ready to lick the beading tip.
‘This is how Zippo likes it,’ I crooned.
I sucked hard, drawing the rounded head past my teeth, and Father Luca fell back in his chair, totally powerless. In the chapel they were singing now. His cock was hot and heavy in my hand, bulging big and swollen in my mouth. I wanted this to be the first, possibly last, decent blow job he would ever experience. As I sucked, his fingers came back to life, wandering over every dip and curve, exploring every crack and crevice he could reach. The pressure was becoming explosive.
‘You truly are a she-devil,’ he groaned, but I just laughed, and sucked harder, running my tongue up and down his length, and just as I could feel his body tighten, I pushed the cock out of my mouth and straddled him once again, hushed his mouth with my finger, keeping his length firm and hard in the other hand.
‘But you’re the one with the horn.’ I laughed softly in his ear as I brushed the bulging tip against my ready wetness.
Father Luca’s eyes closed again. For a terrible moment I thought he was going to push me off him, but not even he was superhuman enough to resist me now we’d come so far. I had him trapped. I rocked very slightly in a little dance while he sprawled helplessly beneath me on his throne, long limbs, white stomach, thumping great cock, fingers inching towards my cunt and creeping inside my butt crack. I teased him a little more, preparing, tipping myself to guide him up, up, sliding him in between the sensitive surfaces. That thick shaft was already wet from where I’d licked it. Now I wanted to slick it with my honey.
Not so helpless after all. Suddenly he grabbed my hips and plunged me downwards. I squealed as the full length of him rocketed up inside me, stolen inches of pure pulsating pleasure. I paused, hard nipples nudging at his face again. He opened his eyes, and they sparked with life as he took one nipple into his mouth again and bit hard on it, and just as he did so he jammed one finger up my arsehole, the dirty man, and made me jerk right off his knee with the delighted shock of it.
He was a real man at last. A man who wanted to fuck me.
I started to stroke, up, down, his finger up my arse following me, sending totally new, firecracker sensations through me. I had no choice but to move with his cock, with his finger, with his mouth and teeth on my tits, engulf him, every filling inch of him grazing every screaming inch of me so that I could only go so far before slamming back down, and each time we met I was wetter and he was harder than ever.
We crashed against each other, over and over, in our sweet rhythm. Fire streaked through me, my breasts pushed at him frantically, his cold eyes watched me and then it started, the ecstasy rolling over me, I was arching to hold the sensation, trying as well to curb the inevitable, but it was shattering on its peak and flooding through me. Father Luca’s eyes were still on me as my body bucked and writhed and he smiled slowly then pumped everything he had into me, throwing me upwards with the force of it.
I bit my lips to stop me screaming out loud, while next door the singing grew to a crescendo. I wondered what on earth they were doing in chapel at this time, with Father Luca in here instead of out there on the altar, what particular service was going on in there, but still we rocked together, thrusting and panting like we were fighting, his robe open to reveal that sacred, magnificent body, buttons scattered like sins, my virginal dress unbuttoned, and then the keys of the organ banged down for the final chord and we shuddered and exploded together.
Father Luca smoothed back a strand of hair that had escaped from the veil I still wore, buttoned my dress briskly and extremely expertly, and stood up. He had turned back into a priest. Just like that. He started to do up what buttons were left on his cassock.
‘This can never happen again.’
‘You don’t mean that.’ I stood up, too, and pushed his hands away so I could do his buttons for him. He swayed slightly. I throbbed and ached, but the man who had fucked me had already evaporated. I got down on my knees. ‘You need to giv
e me my penance.’
Father Michael wiped his face with a pure white cloth hanging on a rail. I wondered if it would leave his image there. Then he opened the door to the chapel, which meant that our conversation was finished. He looked at me and smiled for the first time. He really was like Dracula.
‘Oh, Sister Perpetua, I think you should be rewarded for that performance. It is I who should be seeking punishment.’
I should have been praying, down on my knees in front of the plain cross nailed to my wall. But I had crashed out on the bed. Well, I’d had five long days of hard graft in the garden, barely eating, barely sleeping, and shagging two men from both ends of the spectrum more times than I’d had hot meals in the last few years, not to mention starting to get attention from my eager, curious Sisters – what did you expect? I was absolutely knackered.
The only thing that had been getting and keeping me awake the last two mornings was the little whip Sister Antonia had given me after my ‘confession’ with Father Luca.
‘You know what you’ve been doing,’ she said to me that night, as I blearily pulled my thick nightgown over my head. ‘We all know. There are grilles all over this convent, so we can always spy on each other. So we, and Mother, always know when our Sisters are being good, and when they are sinning.’
I laughed at her. Who needed grilles and spy holes, anyway? We still had no doors on our cells, so there was nothing to knock on. No privacy whatsoever. All the Sisters glided silently from room to room without so much as a by-your-leave. And far from making us all better behaved, it seemed to evaporate any inhibitions altogether. I didn’t know if this was a new thing or not, but I had walked past Sister Frances’ cell an hour or so earlier and seen her on her bed, thrusting her candle hard and fast in and out of her pussy, while kneeling over her was Sister Agnes, her nightgown hitched right up over her hips, holding on to the iron bedstead and lowering herself, very slowly, on to Sister Frances’ face.
‘Sister Perpetua, I am speaking to you!’ Sister Antonia stepped closer. I pulled my white cap more tightly over my hair and smiled at her to disarm her. She hesitated, and smiled back.
‘You have a dimple when you smile, Sister.’ I stroked my finger into the dent in her cheek. ‘It’s very cute. Makes you look softer.’
She tossed her head, colour flaring in her cheeks. ‘For as long as you are here with us, you are to use this daily, whenever you are alone in your cell reflecting on your sins.’ She handed me this tiny switch. ‘If you are not sure what to do with it, the Sisters will show you.’
‘Oh, I’ve already observed them, Sister.’
I had patrolled the corridor at the requisite time of dawn, and seen them. Flagellating. I remembered Natalia talking about flagellating to get her impure thoughts of me out of her head, but this looked much more like pleasure than punishment. The Sisters would pull down their nightgowns over their shoulders and flick the switch across their bare skin, but although there was a suitably sickening thwack against their tender flesh, the moans which followed each slap, the sensuous tilting back of their heads, the licking of their lips and the bellydance of delight they sketched in their bare feet after each one were positively sexual in their response.
‘But I’ve never done it myself. Will you show me, Sister?’
I turned my back and pulled my nightgown over my shoulder without waiting for her reply. There was a pause, and then I heard her take a step back, take a breath inwards, then there was a swish of sliced air before the thing struck me on my shoulder blade. I smacked my hand over my mouth to stop the gasp of pain. I could feel the vicious red line cutting across my skin, like a line of fire branded into me, but after a few moments I felt the sharp sting diffusing into intense, invigorating heat spreading through me.
‘Always strike yourself on your back, Sister. In any case it’s the only place you can reach. Anywhere else on your body is the jurisdiction of your superiors.’
‘What do you mean, elsewhere on my body?’
I waited, my shoulder bared, my head bowed. I was so into the role now. I knew how to stand, even how to speak, if we were allowed to speak. Most of all I knew how to act meek.
‘Your bottom, Sister.’ I felt her breath on my shoulder. ‘Because it’s too close to your vagina and all those areas of pleasure.’
I slowly lifted up my nightgown. ‘You mean here, Sister?’
There was a pause. I lifted the nightgown right up over my butt, and leaned on the bed to push it out at her. Still no response. I wriggled my bottom at her, running my fingers over my buttocks to open them, and suddenly I felt her take my shoulders and push me face down on the pillow.
‘I’m only teasing you!’ I squealed. ‘I didn’t mean you to be so rough!’
‘You think that was rough? Oh, I think that’s exactly what you need, Sister,’ she snarled. ‘And I’m going to show you exactly how it’s done.’
I glanced round. She was holding the red scarf I’d left behind when I first came here, and with one deft movement she tied both my wrists to the bed. She pushed my face down again into the pillow so I could hardly breathe.
‘You’ve sinned, haven’t you, Sister?’
I nodded frantically. The pillow pushed further into my mouth. Here was someone far more dominating than me. And now she was sitting on me. The scarf pulled tighter round my wrists. I really couldn’t get away. Panic coiled inside me, but so did a new, sick excitement as the scarf rasped against my bones.
‘And Father Luca was too soft, or too smitten, to give you a penance. So this is just a taster.’
I twisted about, trying to get my nose sideways out of the pillow, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Sister Antonia raise her arm, palm flat, above her head. I couldn’t have made a sound even if I’d wanted to. I opened my mouth, but my breath was hot and damp against the pillow. Then Sister Antonia’s hand came down smack on my bottom, the sting instant and sharp. Even though I knew it was coming, I still jerked upwards with shock. I tried to wriggle away in protest.
‘OK, Sister, I get it. You can stop now!’
I suddenly remembered the lack of a door on my cell. Despite giggling over seeing the other nuns fucking themselves with their candles, whipping themselves, getting it on with each other when I was certain they hadn’t thought of it before, horror and shame were creeping through me now at the thought of them seeing me like this, smothered face down on the bed, my white bottom wobbling after her smack.
‘Too late for that, bitch. Look at you. You’ve marched in here, taken over, shown us things we’re supposed to be protected from. What do you say to that, Sister Perpetua?’
‘I am sorry, Sister.’
I was twisting violently now. I needed to breathe. The sting of the smack was fading. I was getting light-headed with the lack of air and now I was distracted by something else. My stomach was pressed against the bed where Sister Antonia leaned down on me. I started thinking about the wine I’d been drinking that afternoon, the water at supper, and instantly my bladder swelled like a balloon.
‘I hope it’s genuine, but what are you sorry for, Sister?’
Sister Antonia stroked the spot where she had slapped me as she spoke, lightly with her fingertips as if tracing her own handprint. Her voice was soft, comforting almost. I relaxed, allowing myself to sink down into the bed, but that made my urge to pee grow.
‘For fucking the gardener.’
‘Yes. When you were supposed to be working. Though I must say the wine is fabulous. A rare earthly pleasure in here.’ Sister Antonia continued stroking my bottom, so gently I could barely feel it. ‘Only the gardener?’
The sting of the slap had gone. Surely she would let me get up now?
‘OK. I had Father Luca, too. I corrupted him.’
‘You invaded the most sacred of places and you have corrupted our wonderful priest.’
She lifted her arm again, and this time she was holding the whip, and then there was a second slap, harder, on the same spot. The stinging went deep
er this time, radiated further, away from the soreness to touch other places. I twitched and groaned, unable to control my own reflexes now. I thought of Natalia being flogged in the chapel that first night, how she’d lifted her bottom begging for more, how remote and shocked I’d felt, yet how excited, sharing her responses without the actual pain, but this? This was like being another person, in another body which was being punished from some distance away, watching myself in a muffled dream, but beating like a drum over everything, my thoughts of Natalia, my desire for more punishment, now there was the nagging of my bladder made worse because Sister Antonia was pressing me heavily into the bed.
Sister Antonia stroked my poor buttock again, very lightly, and as she did so she started to rub herself up and down my leg, her crotch getting wet against my thigh. Suddenly she whipped my other buttock, and the shock and pain burst in a star shape and prodded sharply at my cunt. I could feel it opening, twitching, and my bladder pushing down too, opening me up there, the first drops waiting to rain.
Sister Antonia smacked me again with one hand, whipped me with the other, riding up and down my leg as she did so. I writhed against the bed, my bladder bursting for release, all of it filling me with a mad desire for more and here it came, the nun smacking me hard again, her fingers so strong and hard they were leaving a print, I was sure, and now the pain didn’t get a chance to fade or radiate because there were only a few seconds before she was striking the red, sore patch again with the whip, this time no stroking or soothing.
That quick, vicious whip lashing down again and again transported me into a kind of trance. I was floating somewhere up in the arched shadows of the ceiling observing what was happening below and feebly trying to get my head round it. I could see myself, Jennifer Coombs, businesswoman, Londoner, sex-mad singleton but never into punishment or anything particularly kinky, yet clear as day I was lying on this mean little bed, my body stretched out like a sacrifice. I was at the mercy of a wild-eyed nun who was riding me like a dervish, smacking me again and again because I’d been so bad.
