Chapter 6
Sister Anne entered the confessional, trembling with fright. She had confessed many horrible things in the past, lies and lustful thoughts, but never had she had sins like these to report. Just to think of them made her skin crawl, not when she thought about how enjoyable all of her sins had been, for she had loved every minute of them, and by this time Sister Anne had accepted that fact, and was able to look at it without flinching. But what frightened her the most was when she regarded the sin as her Father Confessor would look at it. She had committed venial sins frequently, like getting angry when Sister Mariette burned the dinner and refused to give her the oregano, and also when she stubbed her toes and said, taking the Lord's name in vain, "Jesus, my toe!", and when she saw Sister Charlotte coming out of the shower, she thought, her boobs are so much smaller than mine, but that was a moral sin, one of the worst. But still, it didn't seem to her nearly as bad as those she had just committed, like engaging in the Aztec orgy, for instance. It seemed to her that they would almost have to invent a whole new category of sins to cover that one, for it was a honey.
"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned," Sister Anne said humbly, as she knelt in the darkened booth.
"It is four days since I've last sinned. That is ninety-seven hours to be exact since I last went to Confession," said the young nun.
The Father was bored. Sister Anne never had any good sins. Still, he might as well listen: that was what he was there for.
"I have committed fifteen sins against the Holy Ghost's Truth." she enunciated without much hesitation. These ones didn't bother her much.
The Father Confessor yawned. Big deal, he thought, big fucking deal.
"I have commited the sin with another person against the virtue of chastity. Sins actually committed with my body and with my mind, too. And these sins have actually involved that part of my body known as my tits."
Now the Father Confessor was interested; he was interested indeed. This sounded like hot stuff, and about time, too. Sister Anne had long been a disappointment to him.
"And of my Father, I must confess that I even committed sins with my ... my ... my pussy."
"Tell me some details. Was this with a man?"
"Yes, Father, in fact with a boy, too. And several men. And some Aztecs."
"Did they do it to you in your cunt? Or elsewhere as well?" The Father was very interested now, so much so that his cock began to rise underneath his cassock and sweat formed in hot beads upon his forehead.
"In my ass, Father, and in my mouth. And I even, even, I even sucked their cocks."
"How many men were involved?"
"Four, father. I think." Sister Anne was getting confused. "And one was a boy."
"Details. I must know details," the Father insisted, as he began to rub his cock up and down.
"Well...." Sister Anne hesitated, wondering what details he wanted, and how many, and just what he meant.
"Tell me. Hold nothing back. Nothing." He insisted vehemently, growing impatient. His hard cock demanded to know even more than his horny, ever horny brain. Sex was really all that the Father Confessor cared about, and like every man in the oprhanage, he had long had his eyes upon the sexy Sister Anne, and had longed to get his hands upon her too. This now seemed to be his chance!
"It was a boy, one of the boys here, after a baseball game and he was hurt, so I helped him, and he was so attractive that I ... he started to touch me, my breasts, my cunt, and then I was ... I couldn't help myself, his cock looked so good. It looked tasty and my mouth opened and I began to suck his cock!" As she said all of this Sister Anne felt her tits first and then her cunt grow warm and excited, and' she was reliving the experiences as she described them. She went on to tell her Father Confessor about that night, when young Ed showed up in her room, and they had fucked so passionately and with such wild abandon. And then she told her Father Confessor about her meeting with the Aztecs and all that happened there.
She heard sounds coming from the partition in the confessional, hoarse, harsh, deep breathing, as if the Father Confessor were ill.
"Father, are you all right?" she asked, worried.
"Yes, yes! Go on! Tell me, what happened with the second Aztec, the one fucking you?" His breaths came out quickly.
So Sister Anne told more of her exciting story, and as she told it she grew more excited.
"More! More details!"
She saw his head bobbing up and down from the screen in the partition, as her eyes had by this time grown quite accustomed to the darkness.
"Yes!" he exclaimed, and his breathing grew so fast that she feared he was going to keel right over. Then she no longer saw him, and suddenly she was bathed by harsh white light which flooded the confessional in which she sat, light so bright that she could no longer see. Rough hands grabbed her and pulled her out, strong fingers tightening on her soft female arms.
"Help!" she called out, sure that it was bandits or drug addicts who had broken into the orphanage. But when her vision cleared she saw it was her Father Confessor who was holding her. She couldn't believe it. Had her sins been that bad? Then she noticed that his cock was hard and was sticking out past his cassock, staring her brutally in the face. It was so huge and fat that it frightened her. Her Father Confessor himself was rather huge, a good six feet tall and quite heavy, a large man in every sense of the term, and he quite frightened her. She quivered and tried to struggle her way from him, but he held her much too tightly. She could not escape him, and the more she struggled the more his fingers twisted her arm painfully.
"What ... what are you doing?" she cried.
"You pervert!" he shrieked at her, with a voice that could have broken glass. "You devil!"
"No! Please! Don't!" She was so scared, because his huge hand was raised and all his fingers were about to come down and slap her in the face.
"You must be punished! What you have done is absolutely inexcusable. I'm going to whip you!"
His hand slapped her hard in the face, stinging her fair skin and causing her to wince. His second blow knocked her to the floor, where she lay whimpering and cowering, covering her face with her hands, hot tears streaming down her face, the Father Confessor's immense dick bobbing around with every step that he took.
"Please! No more! No more! Please!" But her tears and moans of terror elicited no sympathy from her Father Confessor. Years of hearing sexy stories without getting any action himself, due to his rather gross appearance but more due to his odious personality, which had no redeeming qualities whatsoever, had made him a mean and vindictive man who got his sexual thrills entirely from causing pain to those beneath him. Particularly he loved to torment beautiful girls with big breasts, and such a girl Sister Anne certainly was. But up until now she was too good; he had no excuse to bring his specialized skills into play. Yes! This was a moment he had longed for with all his heart for a long time, and now that it was here he intended to make the best and the most of it. He would make it last!
"Tell me, which boy? Which boy was it that did those foul, vile things to your lovely, lovely body!" As he pronounced this last word, his rough mitts stroked her body, trying to rip her habit right off her sexy limbs.
"Tell me who he is, so I can get him, too, and beat him until he bleeds!"
Was this the man to whom Sister Anne had poured out her heart to these many years? Was this her kindly and understanding Father Confessor? How little she had really known him! This revelation, more than anything that had yet come before it, now fully convinced Sister Anne that religion, in its organized form at least, was bunk, and especially around this madness, this so-called orphanage, which was really more of a brothel, and a pretty sick one at that.
Sister Anne was simply disgusted. This was no Holy Man. This was a pervert, a sadist, a menace to the boys and girls who were his charges at the orphanage.
"I will never tell you who he is, nor will I divulge the name of ... "
"Of who? Of who?" He almost jumped upon her with fury, as the realization hit him that she must be referring to another member of the orphanage. This she let slip without intending it, one of those Fruedian slips by which she divulged information to make him feel bad without even knowing her own motives, a kind of unconscious cruelty, egging him on to do his worst, thus unconscious masochism as well.
"I will never say," she replied stoically, proud of her superior will, which she thought could not be broken.
But the Father thought differently. "We'll see," then he laughed, and the evil sound rang out throughout the back of the Church. "Follow me," he said, grabbing her arm and twisting it so much that if Sister Anne had not immediately, painfully struggled to her feet, he undoubtedly would have broken it. "To the baptismal fount," he intoned.
A shudder passed through her body. This was one section of the Church that was seldom used, except at Baptisms, and as none of those were scheduled for today, she knew that no one would find them there. Also, it was far enough from the main Church, and through such heavy stone walls, that no one would be able to hear her screams or her calls for help.
He pushed and shoved her down the rear of the church and through a squat, heavy stone door. Then came a stone passageway that twisted, once, heavy stone all the way, and they entered the Baptismal Fount. It was a hexagonal room filled with statues of Saint Francis and Saint Peter and Saint Veronica and in the middle was the fount, crusted with gold. Many baptisms had Sister Anne witnessed here, her heart throbbing with joy. Now, as he hurled her to the cold stone floor, it throbbed with deadly fear.
"Ha!" he laughed, a short bark which showed him to be the animal that she suspected.
Going to a closet, which she had never seen before it was hidden behind a tapestry, he returned in a few seconds with heavy chains.
"Convenient," was all that he said, with an evil smile, that ever-present smile that sent cold chills up her back to the base of her spine.
These chains he attached to two metal hooks that were embedded in the stone wall. These hooks she had never noticed before, never haying had occasion to do so, but now she knew that she would never forget them.
"On your feet, slut," his harsh voice commanded, reminding her of a Nazi she had seen in a movie once. When she did not respond quickly enough, because of her fear, he reached down, grabbed her, and hauled her to her feet. Then, throwing her against the wall so that the back of her head butted it painfully, he chained her wrists.
"That hurts," she moaned stupidly, for he knew it, and that was why he was doing it. Just a reflex on her part, excusable because of the terror which she was feeling, and because she was in a state of shock.
"You are in my power," he announced. "Cooperate and you will not be hurt ... too much. Refuse, and you will regret it for a long time. Maybe forever."
Again he stuck his arms into the closet, and this time they carried out heavy whips and some other instruments which Sister Anne barely saw, for as soon as they crossed her visual field tears of fear and excitement welled up in her eyes and threw everything out of focus.
"Ha!" he barked, quite pleased with her reaction. It was what he had expected and it gave him much pleasure. His prick jumped in the air, happy as a fox terrier with a new toy to chew to pieces and destroy, just as he hoped to destroy the will of this captive nun, Sister Anne, who had always been so haughty and proud. Well, he would break her now!
She heard a peculiar whistling sound and then felt fire on her flesh. It hit her just below her left tit with an incredible pain. The blood began to flow from the cut immediately, but Sister Anne did not feel it: she was more aware of the tears that flowed copiously down her face.
His prick jumped and the whip slashed out again. This time she felt it, for it sliced across her right nipple. Her shrieks filled up the small room and rang in it like a bell in a tall clock tower. They were music to the ears of the Father Confessor.
"So, you will tell me none of the names?" Even his phraseology, she noticed, was taking on, not a German tinge, but the accent of a Hollywood actor impersonating a Nazi. This made her despise him even more.
The whip sung again, many diverse notes, and slashed across her belly.
"Aiiiieee!"
But her cries brought no pity from the Father Confessor. "Talk and I will stop. Not before."
She said nothing. The whip flew through the air in a mathematically precise arc. It left a trail of blood across both of the poor girl's upper thighs.
"No! No!"
This time the whip cut her cunt. That was real pain, pain that made all that had come before disappear from her mind as if it had never happened. She was dissolved into a ball of tears, shaking in mortal terror.
The Father could no longer restrain himself. Slicing her cunt with his practiced whip really turned him on, and as he saw the red blood drip from her pink cunt, his prick throbbed so violently that someone watching might have thought it was going to fall off. With a grand smile on his face he approached her and, pressing her up tight against the wall, he directed his huge prick at her trembling, ravaged cunt.
"Yahhh!" she screamed, as his prick grazed her cunt wound, making the blood flow even more than before. But the Father Confessor liked it that way. She kicked out violently with her legs, trying to push him away from her. To her, he was a monster, and while fucking him might have been better than more of the whip, in terms of pain, that was not the way it seemed to her then, for she hated him more than she had ever hated anything in her life.
He could have chained her legs, too, there were plenty of chains. But he preferred not to. He liked the struggle, that way he could fight her, restrain her, overpower her. Such was not hard to do for a man as large and ferocious as he, even with a tiger of a broad like Sister Anne, whose tits alone were bigger than many other girls whom he had defiled in this very same manner and in this same room.
He liked the girls to fight back, because they could not win. With their hands tied, they could kick, but as he laid his heavy body against Sister Anne's kicking legs, she found herself unable to move. His weight was simply too much for her, and he used all of his strength to force her back against the wall, her ass scraping painfully against the cold, rough stone, as his prick began to sink into her open, trembling cunt.
"No! Ahhh!" she shrieked with pain, as her cunt was still sore from being whipped.
Her cries were music to the Father Confessor's ears, they made his cock tingle and jump. He shoved it continually in, deeper and deeper, parting her cunt lips, feeling the soft squishiness inside of her. What turned him on the most was that she was so wet there, which meant that, despite her protestations, she was getting off on his torturous treatment. It fit his theory that all females loved to be beaten.
And even Sister Anne could not have denied, for she was very honest, that she was feeling sensual delights in her cunt as it gradually filled up with the Father Confessor's huge rod. The pain was subtly yet surely transmogrified into pleasure, perhaps as a way designed by nature to preserve the sanity of a victim of such sexual torture and humiliation, or perhaps it was just chance. But in either case, once the prick was firmly embedded in her cunt, and the Father Confessor got to fucking away, raising his ass high in the air, rearing back like an animal, and then driving it into her as hard as he could, she was really getting off.
She still hated him, she still fought him, but the feelings in her cunt were working inexorably against these impulses. He was, after all, a man, and his prick felt as fine as any man's prick would have felt inside her cunt, which had gone much too long without.
"Ooooh! Ahhh!" These moans were of passion, as the cook rode in and out of her cunt, faster and faster, as the large man panted heavily, his eyes almost bulging out of his sockets with the strenuous effort to look at her.
"Tits! Tits!" he shouted, as his hands cupped them and squeezed hard, too hard for the delicate tissue of which they were composed. He squeezed them so hard that they began to ache with a pain that flamed through them and spread down into her heart, making Sister Anne think she was going to faint. But, fighting back, she mustered energy enough to spit in the large man's bulbous face.
The spittle dripped down his left cheek and covered that eye. He wiped it away with one hand, a heavy hand that had been squeezing her right tit, which was now free of its torture. In that way at least, her gesture had been efficacious.
"You swine!" he said, then the same hand slapped her face hard. And all the while his prick was moving in and out of her steaming moist cunt.
Her face turned red from the blow, and curiously enough, rather than hurting her, the blow got her more sexually excited, so that her hips began to respond to his thrusting pelvis, thrusting back in their turn, her gorgeous ass scraping against the wall but no longer bothering her; feeling good, in fact, very good, making her thrust her hips even faster and with more directed vigor, eager to get her cunt all the way around his hard cock, to get that cock all the way inside of her where it would do the most good.
"Ahhhh!" she cried, as her hands moved spasmodically through the air. They wanted to grab him, whether to hold him tightly with passion or to scratch his eyes out neither of them could tell; but in any case her hands remained bound and could do no more than claw aimlessly in the dank air of the Baptismal Chamber.
"You are helpless!" he shouted into her face, his words hitting her flesh like pebbles, like the rocks that were hurled at Jesus by the mocking crowd. "You cannot win! You are mine! All mine! Mine! Mine!"
With each exclamation his dick slugged into her, burrowing its way into her cunt viciously, without any care for her pleasure but only for his own.
He began to suck on her tits, and her nipples responded readily, as easy to stimulate orally as ever, loving to be sucked. First one nipple then the other. In this way the Father was really showing, although Sister Anne scarcely had time to realize it, his essentially infantile character, for the only real way he could get into anything approaching normal sexuality was through suckling, the earliest function of any human being. But even here, normality was not enough for the cruel man. Returning to her first nipple, his mouth closed upon it, but this time he did not suck.
He bit. His teeth closed upon it tightly and clasped it like in a vise, while his molars ground away. When the Father Confessor lifted his face away from the girl's once magnificent chest, his mouth and nose and part of his lower cheek were covered with bright-red blood, and an infernal expression of unholy glee on his face made him look like the worst kind of minion of the devil.
Sister Anne shrieked with incredible pain.
How could any man be such a fiend? And with his prick still fucking her cunt, too! Impossible, yet true! It was almost as though he had been trying to bite it off.
She moved her hands spasmodically, vainly endeavoring to free them from the handcuffs which held them, for she wanted to use her hands to bash in the sadist's skull. But she could do nothing.
He closed his mouth upon her other breast, and before he could even bite her, her shrieks of anticipated pain were ringing out like a foghorn on a stormy night.
"Yahhh!"
But he was coldly heartless; he bit her again. The blood flowed. He lifted his face from her breast like a vampire from the neck of his prey.
The pain was simply too much. As she felt the foul torturer's come shoot off the tip of his cock and flow into her cunt, Sister Anne passed out, leaving the world of pain for the world of her unconscious and its dreams, dreams which now had a big job, that of salving her mental anguish.