Chapter 2
The iron clamps at the ends of the chains suspended from the ceiling bit sharply into Sister Grace's wrists, as her toes stretched to touch the cold stones of the floor. The pain had intensified in the two hours that she had hung there in the dimness of the large old room. Small bleachers lined the rock wall in front of her, the benches dancing in the torchlight. Eight of the burning brands-two per wall-provided all the light.
The door to her right opened and the sound of shuffling feet called her attention to a long line of nuns, dressed severely in black habit, who were slowly beginning to fill up the creaking board seats of the stand. There were at least twenty and each of them had a face surrounded by a white wimple downturned to avoid Grace's pleading eyes. Not one of them would look upon the chained sister who hung there in the center of the room. They were her peers in cloth and obviously thought that she had been discovered drinking from the fountain of a cunt. And it just wasn't true. She wanted to scream at them that it just wasn't true!
Sister Beth, the mother superior, followed the last of the younger nuns into the room but didn't join them on the bleachers. Instead, she walked over to where Grace hung by her aching hands.
I "Beloved Mother," Sister Grace groaned, and the mother superior slapped her roughly
I across the cheek.
"Don't you heap on the sins of more lies," Sister Beth warned. "Your sisters all have their own sin in their past and are serving their own penance. They will give you understanding and help in what must be done, but you must not continue to flaunt your lies in their faces.
Debase yourself before them, and their presence will help you on your way. Show your pride and your defiance and you will receive nothing from them but thorns."
"Why are you doing this?" she asked, her sight flowing down the front of her habit rather than confront the steel-gray eyes.
"For your own good," Sister Beth laughed softly. "The good of both your soul and your body."
A door opposite the one the sisters had entered slowly opened and a cassocked priest stepped from the sacristy. His face was stern and the cloth long, the hem almost brushing against the stone of the floor. But what surprised Sister Grace was the bare toes of his feet each time he took a step toward where she was bound.
"Who have you brought before me?" his voice thundered as he arrived in front of her with a silver chalice filled with some kind of thick, clear oil. He carried himself with rigid authority, and perhaps if she could show him deference, he would temper his hand and thoughts with mercy.
"It is Sister Grace," the mother superior almost chanted as she moved sideways to remove herself from between the two. "She is still bound by her sin of having tasted the flesh of one of her sisters, and she seeks to perform penance. She awaits your guiding touch, Father."
"Is she repentant?" he asked Sister Beth, his icy blue eyes never leaving the delicate features of the chained young nun before him.
"She is repentant, and seeks punishment and guidance to lead her from the paths of sin," the mother superior said by rote, performing some ritual that Sister Grace didn't understand.
"No!" the young nun cried as she picked the word punishment from the tones of the chant. Even the previous night had been innocent in the eyes of her mind. It had been the mother superior who had been licking her pussy instead of Grace eating cunt, and she wouldn't have permitted that if she hadn't been compelled.
"Does she know sin?" Father Furst asked cryptically.
Sister Grace glanced desperately at the crowd of her fellow sisters. She thrashed in the chains, clanking them loudly to try to demand their attention. But it was like she didn't even exist. Mantles and veils were almost like cowls hiding their faces from her.
"Remove all of her habit except mantle and veil," the priest ordered, cupping the cup of oil in his hands.
His eyes were changing. Instead of the ice that had been in them when he had first approached her, Sister Grace could now see fire. If she hadn't known that he was a man of the church, she would have thought that it was manly lust that was now filling his face.
Two of the black-frocked younger nuns in the bleachers slowly detached themselves from the mass, then made their way silently across the room to their bound sister. Small hands pawed at the cloth of Grace's habit, unclasping then rippling it until it fell free. The black cloth slithered down her naked flesh and collapsed uselessly at her feet. When they had brought her garments to wear that morning, there had been no shifts, bra or panties. Beneath the robe, there was nothing but naked girl. Nothing adorned her except the mantle and veil.
The priest feasted his eyes on the young nun's exposed tits and cunt. The tits jutted out proudly from her chest, jiggling slightly with her movements in the chilled air. The silky muff of her cunt hair cupped around the slit of her cunt.
Her tits were much bigger than overturned teacups, and their flesh appeared to have been molded on her chest.
Sister Grace's face went red with embarrassment, contrasting sharply with the white of the wimple. The priest's eyes seemed to be pawing her almost like hands.
"The oil must begin the cleaning of her flesh," Father Furst said solemnly and raised the cup to her shoulders.
He poured the warm fluid onto the top of her chest, allowing it to run thickly down across her tits. Then he stepped behind her and lifted the veil. Grace felt the warmth of the oil run down her back and into the crack of her ass.
He completed the circle around her and stood before her again. Once again Grace lifted her eyes to the other sisters still reposing on the seats in a group. All eyes were on her, most of them stern and staring at her naked body. Many of them were glaring at the nipples of her tits or directly at her cunt. One of them even licked her lips as she peered at the black-pelted cunt-slit. Strip them of their habit and they would have looked no different from an audience at a sex show.
Father Furst's hands rose to Sister Grace's tender tits. Fingers spread and her tit mounds were lost beneath the massive palms. Oil greased his skin as he touched her, then he began massaging the greasiness into her tits.
Nipples were rubbed roughly, spared abrasions by the oil. The fingers cupped, lifting the palms until the fingertips bit sharply into the flesh of her tits. It was like a vise clamping down onto her tender flesh.
The hands moved, spreading onto her shoulders, then down across her tits to her stomach. Everywhere they rubbed her, working the greasiness clear into her skin. One fingertip probed into her small navel, shoving apart the folds of the hole. When it struck bottom, Sister Grace flinched as if her whole insides had been hit.
Then fingers were in her cunt bush, scratching through it while working in the oil. By the time they were through, every hair in her pussy patch was completely soaked. A fingertip moved into her cunt-slit. When the oil had leaked down her body, her pussy gash was mostly closed. His hand spread the oil across that pink sensitive flesh clear down to the opening of her cunt hole.
Sister Grace gasped when she felt her pussy pit slowly being opened. Then suddenly a thick masculine finger was buried partially inside. It touched at her virgin maindenhead, then slipped out of her cunt. The hands quickly descended to rub oil all over the fronts and the backs of her legs. Her ass cheeks were skipped over and the hands went to the backs of her shoulders then began to work down. Soon every inch of her skin, her ass and her face was sparkling with oil in the torchlight.
A fingertip ran down the crack of her ass. The ass cheeks tried to clench to trap it before it could find her shithole. But the oil made it impossible to resist. Slowly the finger slipped down and covered the brown bud of her ass-hole with its tip. It felt like a worm trying to wiggle into her ass. She tried to bear down to keep it outside but the oil made the path too easy. The wrinkled mouth of her shitter was forced open and the finger slipped deeply inside.
"Nooo!" Sister Grace whined, sure that the violation was a mortal sin.
She had never dreamed that anything would ever be poked up her ass-hole.
And that was where the finger was headed. It slipped from her shithole with a greased pop and glided into her oily cunt-slit. Inner cunt lips were forced apart and the fingertip centered on her cunt hole. It pressed, riding in again clear to her cherry.
At the same time that her pussy was being probed by the finger, the priest's thumb tapped against her recently freed shithole. Sister Grace hadn't thought anything about that trespass, so caught was her attention upon the violation of her cunt. But slowly the pressure there began to return as the priest leaned a shoulder into her back. This time her ass-hole did protest in pain as the thumb was buried so deeply. Father Furst had impaled both of her fuck holes, and held her obscenely like a bowling ball.
"Now she must taste the flame of the whip. Its fire will sear away some of the sin and defiance that the oil had raised from her skin."
The finger and thumb popped from her pussy and ass-hole so fast that she didn't realize it until they were gone. Grace's eyes flew open and dashed about the room, and she was terrorized by what she saw. The mother superior was returning from the side of the massive hall with an evil-looking bullwhip in her hand. Its tightly wrapped leather was at least six feet long as it coiled down onto the stone floor behind her. Sister Grace leaped against the chains, ripping the iron cuffs painfully into her wrists. She remembered well what the riding crop had done to her the previous evening, and it was a toy compared to the whip.
Sister Beth moved around to Grace's side, staring down at the hips of the young girl. "Your naked ass is a bed of wickedness that cries out to be punished. It asks for my whip like a slut's cunt would beg for a cock!"
"No!" Grace shrieked as the air was cut by the lash.
The young nun's naked ass cheeks exploded with an intense line of fire. She screamed senselessly as if a lighted torch had been dragged across her ass. Both cheeks were seared in a narrow line from side to side. The hideous hiss of the whip came again and a second trail of angry red was tattooed into Sister Grace's ass. But this one was at a slant, from the top of the left cheek to the bottom of the right. The third blow was bottom left to top right, completing a scarlet X with a third line through its center.
"Don't beat me!" Sister Grace screamed, throwing her ass and cunt forward to escape the blows.
But gravity hauled her back into place to meet the next slicing lash of the whip. Again it was on her ass, which was already red with darker crimson lines marking the flesh.
The pain took Grace to new heights of agony each time the lash beat against her oil-covered skin. The moisture seemed to make it hurt even worse and her whole ass felt like it was on fire. Then the whip traveled upward with its crashing blows, snapping around her waist and popping its tip into her navel. It felt like a sword had been used to cut her apart. Angry red circled her like a belt. Then the back of her shoulder caught the punishment, muscles beneath the skin knotting into tight cramps from the blows.
The louder Sister Grace screamed, the more power the mother superior applied, driven by her own sadistic desires and the frantic shrieks of the young girl. This part of the ritual was hers, and hers only, and it was better in the old bitch's mind than even getting fucked with a cock. Her pussy ran with its juices as she battered Sister Grace, innocent flesh sacrificed to the mother superior's blood lust.
Then, just as Grace was sure that it couldn't be worse, Sister Beth appeared again at her side. She popped the whip out onto the floor in front of the frightened, battered girl, then slashed it up from the floor. The whip rocketed through the air, uncoiling, until it slammed across her oil-covered tits.
"Aaeeeii!" Sister Grace shrieked in agony.
Her nipples felt as if they had been torn from her flesh. Both of the nubs hardened. Her tits leaped about on her chest. An earthquake of agony shook her young tits to their roots just as the lash coiled and snapped out again. This time the blow came across the top of her tit-mounds and seared across with a crimson line. Then again the whip found her tits, this time slamming into the underside of the mounds.
Each time a blow landed, fire burned throughout her tortured tits as if they had been dipped in fire. Grace's mouth fell open with almost continual groans.
When her tits had been crisscrossed by numerous red streaks, the whip traveled onto her stomach to box in the navel with angry scarlet marks. By now the whip never seemed to stop hitting. Loud grunts erupted from Sister Beth as she threw her weight into each strike. The excitement was driving the mother superior even harder, quickening and strengthening her hand.
"Stop!" a gruff male voice bellowed and the whip seemed to freeze in the air. Father Furst moved in close to Sister Grace. "It's time, child," he hissed at her. "No," Sister Grace moaned, captured by his eyes.
Father Furst's smile was crooked and appeared demented by carnal desire. "It's time for your learning to begin!"