by Petra J Knox
Jack just stood there, and in the dim light he looked dead. An angel, perhaps. Or a ghost.
Hannah stood. “What are you talking about, Sister?”
Before she could take a step, I held out a hand in a “stop” gesture. “Hannah, sit on the desk and raise your habit.”
Like a marionette with invisible strings, and albeit with a slight physical reluctance, Hannah sat on the desk and raised the hem of the starched fabric, revealing a creamy thigh. She had on knee-highs in either dark gray or navy, the color I couldn’t make out in this light.
Jack, standing close by and watching avidly, groaned, either from want or from irritation at the situation I had placed him in. “What… Hannah…”
I could feel the struggle within him warring over whether to tear out of here or give in to his desire for her. And of course, my own special hand tugging at his will.
We’d take care of that.
“Touch her, Jack.” I knew I wouldn’t have to use much encouragement for him to obey. He wanted her, after all. As she did him.
When he stood between her slightly parted legs, I walked over to them for a closer look. His hand shook when it reached out to slide sensually against the smooth skin of her thigh. She released a breath that quickly took on the beginnings of a pant or two.
“Good. Now tell me how that feels, Sister,” I whispered, myself entranced by that manly hand gliding back and forth.
“Warm. So warm,” she said on a sigh.
“And Jack? Does she feel exactly as you imagined?” I looked up into his face, then to his throat as he swallowed.
“Yes,” he grunted, then cleared his throat. “No, better.”
“I can imagine.” I nodded slowly, pleased with myself. “Now, I want you to give in. Do what thy wilt. Give in to those feelings,” I whispered, my voice taking on a zealous quality that made goosebumps break out, from my scalp to my legs.
As if in their own world, it began, both completely oblivious to my presence. Naked thighs opened, papers and folders fell to the floor. There were no more words, only breaths and soft moans.
I went back to my place at the door and watched. Jack had peeled off Hannah’s underwear now, and his hand was underneath her rucked-up habit. Her head fell back with an “Oh” from her lips, and I could hear her wetness as his fingers played inside her.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Solomon whispered near my ear.
I sighed, content. “It is.”
Jack removed his hand from Hannah’s pussy and unbuttoned his pants, releasing his thick, hard length. When he lifted her legs and placed them gently on his shoulders, I held my breath. The raw yet tender hunger that enraptured the Sister’s face did something to me. I had never felt closer to God as I did in that moment.
“Yes, Jack,” I whispered. “Take her. Claim her sweetness for your own.”
With another groan, he positioned his cock at her entrance and buried himself deep and hard. Hannah cried out, a lone, sharp cry of pain and surprise, but it was quickly swallowed up in Jack’s mouth as he took from her lips.
The curious thing about watching them go at it was that, even though I had seen many fuckings before over my nineteen years, this was the first one to ever touch me in a way I wasn’t familiar with. It was like watching a sunrise, or the first snowfall of winter. It was glorious and silent. True.
Solomon broke into my thoughts. “It is passion, child. In all its glory.”
Passion. Suffering.
“The soul craving for release,” he answered, even though I hadn’t asked a question.
I nodded, thoughtful. “Makes sense, that.”
Of course, the two participants in front of me, now in the full throws of grunting and pulling, only to be brought back together once more, ignored my ramblings. Probably wasn’t even aware I spoke.
Passion, he’d called it.
Whatever it was, it flowed through them like undulating ribbons full of color and texture, color and weight. It was beautiful to behold.
“Indeed it is,” Solomon whispered. “You gave them a gift, Constance. You heard their souls and granted them permission.” Now it was Solomon’s turn to sound all zealous.
I waved his words away—at wherever direction he happened to be—and looked at the clock on the wall. It was getting a bit too late for my comfort. I couldn’t have Sister Hannah be caught with Jack, nor have him anywhere in this room.
Thankfully, Jack came at just that moment, releasing a guttural halleluiah into the Sister’s neck. She shuddered in return and touched his cheek. Her lips were swollen, and even from this light I could see their redness.
It was time to go. “Get dressed,” I ordered the love birds. “Finish your business and go back to work, Jack.” I stood and folded the chair back, leaning it against the wall where I’d found it. When I flicked on the lights, both Jack and Hannah pulled away from each other, their brows furrowed in confusion, both moving slowly in automatic movements as they fixed their clothing back in order. Hannah went back to her chair at her desk, and Jack rubbed his face, looking down at his tablet like it held all the answers.
This was the part I hated. The dumbfounded look when the music stopped, when the curtains closed on the play. They knew something had happened but couldn’t quite puzzle it out enough to take it to task. It was both unnerving and frustrating to me.
“You’re still young, child,” Solomon observed. “There is plenty of time for learning refinement.”
I would have asked him what the hell he was talking about, but I couldn’t in front of Sister Hannah. I needed to act normal—well, normal for me.
“How many packages did you say?” I reminded Jack. He had never said, so I knew it was safe to ask, get him back on the track and all that.
He was slow to wake up, though. “I’m sorry… I…” he sputtered in a dream-like way.
I opened the door, letting in some much-needed fresh air. The smell of sex was just too strong. “I’ll come with you, in case you need a hand,” I said to him, waving my arm in the direction of the storeroom.
Nodding his head slowly, he turned to Sister Hannah. “Right. Well, good day, Sister.” His mega-watt smile slowly returned and he left the room, me at his heels.
“Feeling alright today, Jack?” I asked. I really couldn’t help it. Life was boring, and every little deviation helped.
As I knew he would—he was such an easy-going person, Jack—he laughed. “You know, I don’t know? I think I just need to eat.” He looked at his watch. “Yep. Probably.”
I waited at the counter one more time while he unloaded the truck of our daily deliveries, then I said goodbye to Hannah’s Romeo.
“That was fun.” Sighing, I turned and saw Hannah in her little office, clicking away again.
“You did well, child,” Solomon praised.
I stood up straight. “I did?” Strangely, warmth puddled in my belly at hearing his praise. I wasn’t used to compliments.
“Indeed. And I have a feeling there’s more to come.” He said it so softly I didn’t know whether he’d said the words or not.
One thing was for sure, though. There was something very different about Mr. Voice.
Chapter 2
Later on, Mother Mary Margret stood in the open door of my closet, her hands folded at her ample waist. She looked down at me and shook her head. “Wake up, Sister. We have an appointment. Then dinner. It’s been a long day.”
I rubbed my sleepy eyes and stood up, following her out into the hall.
She locked the door to the janitor’s closet while I straightened my veil, tucking in an errant lock of blonde hair at my temple.
“Sister Hannah said she borrowed you this afternoon, that you did very well with assisting her?” she asked, even though it wasn’t a question.
Shrugging had long been tempered out of my repertoire of manners, so I nodded instead, knowing better than to respond as she continued.
“Perhaps when you return here, I’ll assign you as her officia
l helper.” She looked down her big nose at me and sniffed. “Not sure exactly what Sister Hannah does to make you behave, but whatever it is seems to work, at any rate.”
We walked downstairs to her chambers. Being Mother Superior, she had a sitting room, an office, and a living area. All three combined into what was essentially a small apartment. The elder Sisters had their own rooms, too, but they were only living quarters. The novitiates, like myself, boarded with each. Having my own space one day was pretty much the only incentive I needed to keep me on the up and right.
“Have a seat, Sister,” Mother Mary Margret said when we entered her sitting room, gesturing to the puke-green, thread-bare chair that always smelled faintly of farts when sat upon.
While she searched in her desk drawers, I observed her. Her eyebrows were thin with a light dusting of gray mixed in with ginger. She was either a strawberry blonde or a redhead. At sixty-two, she had been our Reverend Mother since 1984. Robust and surly, she was a good Mother. She had her moments, and we certainly butted heads more often than not, but I respected her in my own way. She was a very curious creature, though. She had no vices. Not a single one.
Sister Harriet, for instance—the fretter—was led by ego. Sister Imogen, drink. Almost all the Sisters here lusted for someone or something, but not Mother Mary Margret. It was like she was formed without desire. The only bear inside her I could poke was her love of order.
Only a few times could I poke, however. She always proved more patient, more clever. Eventually I’d give up and look elsewhere for my fun.
“The Sisters of Trevorstone Parish are in need of volunteers for the annual Blessings in Hope meet taking place next week,” she finally said. “They are new to the area and want to represent the town. Lot of work for a parish that’s only been around for a few months. Came from somewhere west, I heard.” She waved her hand in my direction. “I am volunteering you, Constance. You will leave on the first bus out at 6 AM tomorrow. You’ll arrive in Trevorstone in the evening.”
Caught in total surprise, my mouth gaped open. She was letting me leave the convent? On my own?
“Close your mouth, Sister!” she admonished. “Yes, I see it is a shock even to you.” She sighed and set her hands flat on her desk. “But I have faith in you, Constance. You have been here under my tutelage for a long time now, have graduated from your studies, and are about to take your second vows. It is time for you to prove to us that you are cut out for this life, and for this convent.”
I swallowed, straightening in my seat. “Yes, Mother.”
Her gaze circled my face, looking for what, I didn’t know. Seemingly satisfied, she clapped the desk. “Now, let’s get going, I’m hungry.” She slid over a manilla envelope with my name on it. “Here are your tickets, an envelope of money for food and such, and some information about the parish and Blessings of Hope, and what your tasks will be. Their Order is a bit more strict, I will tell you now, so you must be on your very best behavior. But I think you’ll do fine.”
“This is a test, isn’t it?” I asked, not hurt in the least of her perception of me being a “difficult child.”
She nodded. “Indeed, it is. You will be gone for over two weeks, and when you return, we will discuss your future here at Our Lady of Heavenly Hope.” She stood then, nodding for me to take the packet. I wondered how much money was in that envelope and whether it was enough to spend just a little on something frivolous.
The excitement washed over me for a minute, holding me in thrall, and before I could school my features, Mother Margret said, “Sister Gail will be my eyes and ears, giving me a report every night on you, Sister. I’m sure you will find her every bit as vigilant as myself.” She gave me that look, the one that could wither the wings of the loveliest butterfly.
“Of course, Mother.” I bowed my head in respect and hid my smile. I could wait until I was alone in my bed to think on it all tomorrow.
“May God be with you, child.” She sniffed and stood there staring down at me for a good while. “Well, let’s go then.”
As we walked together down to the dining hall, my thoughts skipped ahead like excited children playing in the first snow. An adventure awaited me. Finally, I had something to look forward to.
*****
It was a long time before I fell asleep.
Thoughts of riding the bus, observing the real world, having my own money, kept me awake until the wee hours. And now with Solomon’s return from wherever it was he’d gone to these past few months, he also kept me awake, yakking away. Curiously, he shared in my excitement.
“A trip, is it? This is wonderful news, child. Something you deserve. I admit it’s been a long time since I’ve left this place,” he had said when I had laid down that night.
I reminded him—in my head, of course, because the others were soundly sleeping—that he himself had left and returned only today.
“Oh, I never left.”
‘Then where were you?’ I asked mentally.
“Here. Only… quiet. Waiting”
If only he were quiet now. I didn’t have it in me to ask what he’d been waiting on. I had only two more hours left to sleep before I had to be up and ready for my trip.
“Sleep, child. We shall talk later.”
‘Solomon?’
“Yes?”
‘I’m glad you’re back.’
He didn’t respond, but that was okay. My eyes grew heavy, and I turned over onto my side as sleep finally took me.
Chapter 3
As far as buses went, the bus taking me to Trevorstone had to be one of the finest. Not that I had any other experience with them except the old, loud, non-air-conditioned ones that belonged to the convent. This bus was huge, for one. The seat I had been given was next to a large window, giving me an opportunity to see the towns we passed. I had my own space, too, which pleased me. Not that I would have minded, truly, but it was nice to be left alone. Once the people on the bus saw my white veil and habit, their initial curiosity faded.
Mother Mary Margret and Sister Hannah had seen me off before I left. The former, unnervingly enthusiastic about my trip. The latter, still in a daze from yesterday, I thought. When she touched my shoulder in goodbye, I wondered if Jack would have any deliveries today.
As soon as I had walked to the bench at the cross section, the bus came. I didn’t have to wait long to board, so when I found my assigned seat, I immediately opened the packet and the envelope with the money in it. I had never bought anything with money, only handled it if I helped out in the gift shop.
Inside, were two, crisp twenty-dollar bills. I assumed each bill was for each day of travel—for on the way there and for the return back to the convent. It would more than do.
Around noon, the bus pulled into a rest stop. The shops inside were mostly food related, of course, but there was one gift shop. I had an hour until we had to board the bus, so plenty of time to browse. I was deep in concentration, looking at earrings that held me enthralled and contemplating how to actually wear them—I had no holes in my ears for them—when I heard the whispers.
“They still have nuns around?” a girl’s voice asked.
“Guess so. She’s so young!” another girl whispered back.
“Never had a dick, never will.”
Laughter.
The cheap earrings that tickled my fancy were a rose gold with dangling crystals the color of sparkling amber. I touched the stone of one with the tip of my finger, then lifted the little plastic square they were attached to off the rotating rack.
“I’ve probably seen more cock than either one of you will have in your lifetimes,” I said as I passed the little shits by. In my peripheral, I could see their young mouths gaping open. Smiling to myself, I went to the register and made my first purchase.
Now to figure out the best way to pierce my ears.
*****
Two Sisters were waiting for me when I got off the bus, my trip having met its destination. Both were in black habits, their wh
ite scapulars waving in the evening breeze. I noticed right away how thin the women were, and I internally groaned. Either they had chosen to forego meals for some kind of vow, or their convent was more on the ascetic side. Hoping for the former, I walked to them, eyes down, suitcase in hand.
“Sister Constance, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” The tallest one offered her hand, which I accepted. Her grip on my forearm from her other hand was strong. Quickly, she released me. “I am Sister Hazel, and this is Sister Abigail.”
I looked over at her companion and nodded. She had beady eyes that reminded me of blackberry seeds. She didn’t offer a hand in greeting.
“Nice to meet you,” I told them in a quiet voice.
Sister Hazel folded her hands in front of her, nailing down her wayward scapular, and rolled on her feet. “The car is just over there.” She aimed her chin in the direction across the street, then eyed my small black suitcase. “Is that the only luggage you have, child?” No censor, just observation.
“Yes, Sister.”
“Very well then,” she said in a very pleasant but resolute tone. We both followed her to the stop light and crosswalk and waited for the crossing sign to blink. “I trust your Mother Superior explained everything to you about the Blessings of Hope and our small parish. Did you have any questions?”
On my way here, after growing bored of looking at nothing but highway, I had read all the information in the packet Mother Margret had given me. A few glorified bake sales and an auction were what I was volunteered for. There was a small note about spending an hour a day with any one of the homeless people who Trevorstone Parish fed on a nightly basis, the only time they opened their doors to the outside.
“No, not really,” I answered her.
“Very well. Sister Abigail will be the one you will report to every morning and night,” she gestured absently at the beady-eyed woman beside us.
Ah. The “Gail” Mother Margret mentioned. Wonderful.
Just then, a gust of wind blew, taking my veil and headpiece along with it. Long strands of blonde hair whipped across my face, stinging like a thousand bees. “Drat!” I turned around and watched as my veil danced on the sidewalk behind me, only to lift up into the air to hitch a ride on a truck that passed by.
