Sweet Submissions II

by Kim Knight

  Halting before the altar and the Abbot, in a faltering voice the Prioress turned to Sister Cecelia.

  “The sin must be thrashed from your body, your soul cleansed and your virginity sacrificed to God before you may be accepted fully into our order. That has been the way for centuries and all of us here, including myself have undergone this ritual to prepare ourselves for admittance to The Lord’s Holy Paradise. The Abbot is The Lord’s representative here in our community and so the duty of preparing you for Divine acceptance falls upon him.”

  I have been on this Earth for countless long years, sometimes maintaining an association with ‘The Church’ and sometimes not, but I knew full well that the Prioress’ words were false. They were just a means to convince a naïve young girl to surrender her holes, her mouth and her all to the carnal desires of a lust-filled Abbot and his equally sexually avaricious cohort of iniquitous, sin-filled monks. Nevertheless, under the Abbot’s direction, I thrashed and whacked, feeling her taut flesh ripple under the impact as every full-blooded stroke drove the breath from her lungs and the screams from her mouth. And the joy was more than I am able to relate. For me as well as for her. This was the reason for my very existence and I drank in her every moan, screech and cry of ecstasy until I felt intoxicated by my power. Full of exhilaration I revelled in the delight of just being what I am: the instrument of correction and obedience. Once more I could not go wrong. Despite the devilish cold I was bringing the understanding of Man’s power and dominion over women to yet another welcoming mind.

  And a true joybringer I proved to be yet again as her passions rose with every slice into her meaty haunches, every cut across the Venusian mounds of her breasts and every drive between her spread thighs. Droplets of her musky juices splattered onto her belly, drove themselves down the insides of her legs and even flew wildly into the cold air, some falling upon the Abbot’s hard and straining cock. Reaching down, he wiped them from his manhood with circled fingers and raising them to his mouth, savoured the pungent, heady taste of her cunt. The jolt that imparted to his cock was impossible to miss and I knew the time was near when he would be unable to restrain himself any further and would leap upon her with the sexual fervour of a demented devil.

  I knew him of old and ‘man of the church’ or otherwise, when it came to fucking, he was as insatiable and demonic as the Devil himself. And so I had to make the very utmost of my final moments of pleasure, doubling my energies and inventiveness to ensure that Sister Cecelia would never forget the magic moment when I delivered her enlightenment and she was presented to ‘God’s chosen cock’.

  That moment arrived far sooner than I would have wished. The Abbot suddenly thrust me aside and with his cock clasped into his fist like a battering ram, lunged at Sister Cecelia and speared her with one giant thrust into her soaking cunt. As she lay backwards over the altar, her legs spread wide, his throbbing, pulsing weapon drove half its length into her at his first assault. Her shocked but exultant scream bounced from bare stone wall to bare stone wall, echoing the length and breadth of the crowded chapel.

  At his second thrust, his ramrod completely disappeared into her clasping vagina and he fell on top of her, ramming and reaming with the abandoned wildness of a lust-crazed bull servicing a hapless cow. And what a cow Sister Cecelia proved herself to be. A human cow, begging and screaming to be fucked insensible.

  “Fuck me harder master. Hurt me please! The Prioress is right, only a merciless ravaging by a Holy prick and the blessed pain of the sacred cane can purify my soul. Oh, please fuck me ‘til you have fucked away each and every one of my sins.”

  Her udders heaved beneath his fat, sweating body as only too eager to grant her desperate plea, he clasped his hands under her buttocks and pulled her even further onto his over-used, wart-covered cock. Oblivious to his wrinkled ugliness and rampant with sexual hunger, she dug her fingernails into the flabby flesh of his back and clamped her legs around his waist in an effort to ensure that the solid rod of throbbing gristle stuck deep inside her could not be pulled from its joyous host until it had fucked her into the heaven she had been promised.

  Oh how I wished that it was me anchored tight in her foaming cunt, her love juices pouring over me as I wallowed in that mystical tunnel of desire, soaking up every drop of her flooding come. But alas that was not to be. The Abbot was fucking it and he was going to keep on fucking it until he had fucked it senseless. So all I could do was watch. Watch every plunge of his shagstick in and out of her honeypot as I fell deeper and deeper into a well of misery as I saw her being stoked up into a brazier of fiery dementia.

  How a repulsive ale-soaked barrel of lard such as the Abbot could reduce a maiden as fair as Cecelia to a writhing wreck of carnal hunger still remains a mystery to me. And hungry she was. Even after he finally reached a grunting, breathless climax and I saw his fat arse jerking uncontrollably between her wide-spread thighs as he shot spurt after spurt of hot spunk deep into her hole, she still wanted more.

  “Oh Lord Abbot, do not stop now. Please! Keep on fucking me. Sodomise me. Stick your cock in my mouth. Do anything you want, but please do not stop.”

  The words were gasped out as she fought for breath, seemingly hardly able to speak as the tremors engulfed her body. And there was more.

  “Shoot your spunk on my belly. Shoot it into my mouth and up my arse. Wipe it over my face and dry your holy shaft in my hair. Oh happy me, never in my most secret of dreams could I have hoped that service to the Church would bring such blissful delight.”

  It was then that a long recognised realism swept over me. Women are nothing but strumpets. Whores! Any stiff cock that is able to propel them into orgasm is welcome to burrow into their most private of holes. They care nothing for devotion. Genuine feelings harboured by their most fervent admirers are cast aside when they feel a boiling cock reaming them into orgasm. And the Abbot was doing just that. She thought of me not. And as one of her most ardent devotees, I reeled in misery as I was forced to accept that I meant nothing to her. If I had possessed a heart then it would have been broken asunder.

  Such is my miserable existence.

  Broken hearts are not for such as me. I have specific duties to perform and perform them I do to the absolute best of my abilities. Mayhap that is the reason that I prove to be so viciously extreme in my chastisement of innocent flesh. If I cannot enjoy the sexual pleasure that I induce, that being left to whatever master I am serving, then I may as well enjoy to the full the sight of writhing, tortured flesh as I lash into it.

  And enjoy it I did.

  The Abbot would have carried on fucking and buggering her no matter what, but the wild abandon of her pleas for more seemed to spur him on to even greater excess. And for that he once again was in need of my assistance.

  Pulling his malodorous knob from her dripping sex purse, he pushed his podgy paws under her hip bones and heaved her over onto her belly, before dropping her face down over the altar. Gasping, he turned to the Prioress.

  “She loves the cock. And she loves the cane. This wench is greatly to my liking and I am going to make sure that she gets her fill of both.”

  Then with his straining shaft swinging hither and thither in front of the paunch of his belly, he set me to work once more.

  With her arse thrust high and the juices of love, the Abbot’s as well as hers, running down the insides her thighs, Sister Cecelia was as near perfect for a thrashing as perfect can be. Under the Abbot’s direction, firstly I lashed her buttocks. Hard! Weal after weal layered itself over the fiery striations I had inflicted earlier. Squeal after ecstatic squeal burst from her mouth, together with the foulest of words. Words that I would never have believed such a previously delicate and innocent virgin would have any knowledge of.

  And the Abbot was not wrong. She did love the cane. It seemed as if she just could not get enough and so he directed me to her vagina. He widened her legs t
o give me easier access, his eyes glistening in appreciation as I whipped up between them to land a numbing strike to her vulva. Still hanging open, wet and sticky from the Abbot’s frantic shagging, her sex lips sucked and squelched as if she were trying to permanently imprison the miraculous thrill of my strike within her lusting hole.

  I pulled free and struck again, once more sinking between her dripping labia. Her squeals turned to howls as I continued to punish her. Strike after strike, howl after howl until she suddenly stiffened and pushing her arse backwards to meet my next strike, she shook and jerked as if possessed by a demon. Wailing and praising the Lord she lost all control as the most raging orgasm I have ever been privy to witness overwhelmed her.

  Ululating, grunting, laughing and crying all at the same time, she collapsed against the altar. Her trembling legs seemed to lose all their strength and she slid down to cold floor and lay in a twitching heap of arms and legs.

  “Well done my friend. Without any doubt, you have surpassed yourself. You serve me well.”

  Much appreciated as they were, those words from the Abbot came as a great surprise. Ill-tempered as he was, words of praise from him were very few and far between. But I was not allowed to bask in my glory for long.

  “Now once again it is the turn of the cock!”

  Clamping both hands around his pulsing shaft, he turned around in a full circle, showing the monstrous beast to the entire congregation. Loosening one hand, he made a great show of pointing down and drawing the eyes of the assembly to its juice-and-spunk-covered length.

  “This Cock!”

  Those two words were almost shouted. Not only the sin of lust but also the sin of gluttony was sweeping over him; his dissolute senses feasting to the full on Sister Cecelia’s physical pain and sexual downfall. Once again he addressed the Prioress.

  “Get her back up on her feet. I cannot fuck her while she is lying on the floor like some swooning delicate lady of the Court.”

  Summoning the assistance of two of the sisters, the Prioress hauled Sister Cecelia up from the floor and planted her on unsteady feet before the Abbot.

  “Now girl, I am going to give you the most wondrous of fuckings. The fucking that you have been begging for. Prepare yourself and savour it well. But first tell me again how much you desire me to screw my holy prong into your undeserving cunt.”

  And so she did, using almost the same words as when she had first begged him to fuck her arse and her cunt. The Abbot urged her on to ever more extreme demands until finally he signalled her to stop.

  “Enough. I think we all know now how much you yourself delight in the sins of the flesh. So now I am going to grant your wishes. As my first gift, my cock will attend to your arse, and believe me that will be something you will never forget. Your shitter will welcome me as Mother Mary welcomed the Angel. And after I am done, you will believe forever that the hole in your backside was placed there by God purely to satisfy the carnal needs of men.

  “Cunts are one thing: spunk shot deep into them more often than not results in the production of one more unwelcome howling infant. On the other hand, spunk shot deep into an arse allows for no such outcome. And for a man the pleasure is just the same, in fact even more so because arse fucking is strictly forbidden by the scriptures.

  “And when I have spunked my all into you and can spunk no more, I am going to string you up from that rafter above you and call upon all of my flock to give you the beatings and fuckings of all lifetimes. No woman will ever have been fucked as much as you. One after another they will fuck you until the spunk runs in rivers from your holes and your mouth. Is that not cause for rejoicing?”

  It was not.

  That much I could tell by the shocked look on Sister Cecelia’s face. No answer passed her lips.

  “Come now girl! What is wrong? You pleaded for the cock, did you not? You begged to be fucked again and again and so be transported to paradise. We all heard you. So once more I ask you: what is wrong?”

  Sister Cecelia’s voice was weak and faltering as she finally confessed her fears.

  “My Lord Abbot, there are so many of them. I am afraid they will hurt me.”

  “That is possible. But you like pain. You have told me as much. And the pleasure that their cocks bring you will numb your body to the hurt. Now, rejoice in what is to come. My blessings be upon you.”

  Seemingly in some response to his words, the Abbot’s ramrod swelled to unbelievable dimensions as he pushed her forwards and ordering her to touch her toes, drove it deep into her backside. Rocking on her feet against his inhuman onslaught, she fought to keep from being toppled over as he thrust again and again into her arse. Grunting, sweating and cursing, he withdrew his throbbing lance from her clasping shithole, before ever and again plunging back in with a determination that beggared belief. The Abbot was a man on a mission. A mission to fuck Cecelia into a state of existence so wonderful that afterwards she would never think twice about obeying any sexual demand he or any of his disciples made upon her.

  I cannot describe my feelings as I watched him and his cohort fuck, beat and thrash Sister Cecelia incessantly for what seemed, and probably was, hours. Her cunt, her mouth and her arse were filled time and time again with rock hard cocks, candles and all manner of penetrative devices.

  And of course, oceans of spunk!

  It ran down her thighs. It dripped from her nose. It emerged in frothy streams from between her lips, even when her mouth was full of cock; the spunk having been spurted into her by the previous violator. She shook, she shuddered and she screamed when she was able - sometimes in torment, but ever and again in the ecstasy of orgasm. And she never again begged for mercy - she loved every moment.

  All she wanted was more.

  More cock.

  More teeth sinking into her breasts and biting her nipples.

  More monks spurting their seed over her naked body.

  More pain!

  And all I wished for was to be able to join in. To be able to experience the same communion of ecstasy that they all were. But that was not possible. Why? Why must I always be alone? Excluded. It was me who had stoked her into a raging hunger for sexual fulfilment. Me who had driven her to beg to be fucked. Me who had paved the way for the Abbot to indulge in any and every perversion he desired.

  It was all so unfair.

  I was drowning in desolation as I finally realised that I would not be called upon again to aid in their unholy rampage. And rampage they did. All of them. As I had been, the nuns had been driven to desperation by the frenzied sight before their eyes. They wanted to be fucked as well. Robes fell in heaps all over the chapel as they wrenched off their coverings and ran to the rampant monks. Cocks stuffed themselves deep into drenching cunts. Mouths clamped around other spurting shafts and an unbelievable orgy of sexual excess erupted to fill the chapel with a screaming, wailing and thrashing throng of sinful and depraved holy children of God.

  They were so taken up with each other that Sister Cecelia found herself abandoned and without a cock stuck into any of her holes. But not for long! The Abbot saw to that. Once again he pounced and drove his warty weapon deep into her overflowing love casket.

  Then suddenly without warning, the heavy doors of the chapel burst asunder and a rearing steed of war, clad in full battle armour with a unicorn’s horn of steel strapped around his forehead thundered through them. On his back he carried a mighty knight, his own armour covered by a black cloak with an eight-pointed Maltese cross sewn on to it; the battle gown of the Knights of St John of Jerusalem. Even though his face was hidden by his lowered visor, just one glance was sufficient for me to recognise who he was: Sister Cecelia’s lord and father, Sir Mortimer D’Arcy DuPont!

  So now he had adopted the guise of a Hospitaller. At the time he delivered Cecelia and myself to the convent, his uniform had been a white tunic with a red l
atin cross on the back; the insignia of The Poor knights of Christ - the Knights Templar - who were anything other than poor. But in reality I knew that he was neither of those things, he was altogether more special; the head of ‘The Brotherhood of The Sons of Adam’, a mysterious secret organisation that was the hidden power behind Kings and Emperors the world over and in reality had ruled the Earth since its creation.

  With his broadsword held aloft in just one hand, Sir Mortimer urged the warhorse down the aisle towards the Abbot and Sister Cecelia and just for a moment I could have sworn that the huge, wild-eyed stallion snorted fire from his nostrils. Pulling his dripping cock from Sister Cecelia’s juicing, clasping cunt, the Abbot pushed her into the arms of the Prioress, trying to find a means of escape. But there was none.

  Reining his mount to a scrambling halt, the knight levelled his sword to the Abbot’s throat, forcing him back up against the altar. A terrible heart-stopping roar arose from behind his visor, filling all present with dread before he called upon God for help as with a voice of thunder he chanted a ritual invocation.

  “Demon spawn of the Devil, I order you back from whence you came; back to the fires of Hades, back to Lucifer your master. Back I say, be gone and take your satanic followers with you.”

  Even now, all these years later I still cannot believe what I saw next. Letting out a hideous shriek, the Abbot seemed to shrink inside his cassock, putrefied flesh peeling from his face and body until just a skull and bare bones remained. And these too did not remain for long, crumbling into dust before the horrified eyes of the Sisters; for apart from me they were now alone, every single one of the congregation of monks having suffered the same fate as the Abbot.