All characters are 18 years of age or older.
Cloistered women are not immune to the urges that drive lay society, nor are they devoid of the attractiveness that makes them prey.
Sins of the Flesh
Sister Margaret Mary was a Geography teacher at the Holy Trinity Catholic High School in Oak Meadows. Father MacLean was the parish priest assigned to the school and the spiritual mentor for the 1200 students and the Order, Nuns of Saint Basil, who lived in the convent next door. Sister had been teaching there for the three years since she had taken her final vows and dedicated her life to her religion. She was one of the youngest nuns and even the severe black habit could do little to hide the fact that there was a pretty young woman behind the cowl, the veil and the voluminous black robes.
It was 4:15 and Thomas Cowan sat defiantly in the detention room under the watchful eye of the young nun. She wasn’t sure what to do with him. She wanted to make the point of his unacceptability without having him expelled. She felt Cowan would be lost if the school suspended him and she wanted to find a way to save his soul. Earlier in the day she’d intercepted a pornographic magazine he was passing around and now she sat, cheeks blazing, pondering how to handle the matter. Father MacLean was still in the building complex and she thought to seek his counsel.
At 4:30 she dismissed young Cowan warning him that this matter wasn’t over and she would deal with him in the morning. She placed the offensive magazine in a large brown envelope and set off for Father Maclean’s office in the rectory attached to the church.
Father was warm and gracious in welcoming the young nun, inviting her into the parlor. He sensed her embarrassment and could see the blush that tinged her cheeks against the stark white cowl she wore. The large stiff yolk obscured the size and shape of her breasts, but the priest could see by the way it moved that her breathing was agitated. He took the brown envelope she gave him and he noticed she turned her face away when he withdrew the magazine.
For several minutes he turned the pages, examining each picture carefully, cognizant of the young nun’s growing discomfort with the situation. At last he broke the awkward silence and asked:
“Have you looked through this magazine yourself sister?”
Her first impulse was denial, but she knew she shouldn’t lie and especially not to a priest. Her mouth went dry and she swallowed noisily before responding. The pause was enough to answer for her and she shrugged instead of forming the words. Her face was flaming now as the priest looked at the deepening pink of her skin.
“You have, haven’t you?,” he prompted easily.
“I had to … to see … what he was reading,” she finished.
“What do you suppose he was doing with this magazine,” he asked.
She was unable to articulate an answer, and just sat uncomfortably in the straight-backed chair.
“When you were looking at the pictures…what were they about?”
Images from the magazine flipped through her memory as she tried to think of the most innocuous to cite in her answer. But there wasn’t one. Every image she thought of was graphic and explicit. Father McLean waited patiently, giving her time to consider an answer.
“Tell me about them,” he prompted, unwilling to let the inexperienced nun avoid the question.
“Men and women … together,” she muttered.
“Together?” his voice boomed making her jump. “That’s all? Together?”
“Having sex…” she blurted hoping to curtail his annoyance by giving an answer. “Men and women having sex.”
“What kind of sex?” Ordinary procreative intercourse?”
“I don’t know,” she stalled, wishing she had never brought the magazine to him.
“Oh,” he chuckled. “Didn’t you glance at the captions or read the text?”
“I did, but…”
“But what? What do they say?”
“The writing is obscene. As obscene as the pictures,” the sister hissed.
“And you knew it was obscene because you knew the words? The obscene words? You are familiar with them? the priest countered.
The young nun sat there, eyes averted, not wanting to admit that she knew the words well, but not wanting to look so sheltered that her ability to handle such issues might be questioned. For some reason she felt compelled to lie.
“No!” she said. “I … I …” but the denial immediately seemed false.
“How did you know they were obscene?”
The question was so logical that Sister Margaret Mary felt trapped.
“I knew they were obscene because I have heard some of them before.”
“Which ones had you heard?” Father McLean closed in.
The young nun’s face was scarlet now and she couldn’t look at the priest. She knew she would have to answer and she felt the impure thoughts that she fought so hard to quell begin to take control of her flesh. She tried to clear her mind of the carnal images but Father’s questions made it impossible. She could feel him patiently watching, waiting for an answer. The question was not going away.
She shrugged and began, “the parts of the body…”
“The words sister. What are the words?”
“Tits. There was a lot of mention of tits and … I had heard that before.”
“Cock,” she blurted. “I know the word cock for a boy’s penis.”
“Is that the only word or are there other words for cock?”
“Prick,” she offered. “. … hard on, I guess. …and meat sometimes They refer to it as their meat.”
Father McLean smiled. “And you sister? What do you call it yourself?”
“I don’t call it anything,” she protested, but the look of disbelief on the priest’s face gave her pause. “I haven’t even thought…” but again she wallowed in his obvious disbelief and she went silent.
“Kneel down here beside my chair my child,” Father McLean ordered. “As your spiritual advisor…I think you need to make a good confession.”
Sister Margaret Mary knelt and made the sign of the cross. The Act of Contrition poured out of her by rote though her mind was full of chaotic thoughts. She recited how long since her last confession and began with her sins. Her face burned as she admitted to touching herself.
“Where?” he demanded and she answered “My privates.”
“Surely, you know other words for it? There is no need to be vague or circumspect here. This is your confession! If you know what a man’s parts are called surely you know the words for a woman’s?”
“Pussy,” she whispered. “I was touching my pussy.”
“Is that the only word you know for it?”
Her voice cracked with emotion. Her mouth was dry and her tongue felt thick as she croaked “cunt. I know it is called a cunt.”
“And do you imagine others playing with your cunt when you touch yourself”
He sat for a long moment without speaking, looking at her with a faint smile. His eyes glittered behind his glasses and the young nun felt uncomfortable, as if he could see through to her soul.
“Before I give you absolution, I want you to remove your habit as the symbol of the purity you pledged to the Church. Until I forgive your sins I forbid you to wear it.”
Sister Margaret Mary was trembling as she removed the veil, the coif, the wimple and the headpiece cowl, carefully laying them next to where she knelt. Her hair was pinned tight to her head and Father took out the pins and let it fall loose around her shoulders. On her own she reached behind and unfastened the stiff guimpe putting it neatly on the pile. In spite of her anxiety she had no thoughts of disobeying the priest, the Father confessor, in his role as God’s emissary on earth. It was inarguable that her nun’s habit was the symbol of purity for sisters in her order and he had the authority to ask her to remove it.
Her shaking hands pulled the cassock and soutane over her head and she stepped out of the cotton underskirt. Her underwear was plain, white and unrevealing. The shape of her breasts was barely discernible in the loose camisole though it was apparent that she was full chested.
She looked to Father and swallowed noisily when he clearly expected her to continue. She wore no bra under the layers, so when her camisole landed on the pile of her clothes her ample breasts were bare and swaying as she moved. Her nipples grew before his eyes as her unaccustomed exposure and the cool temperature of the room turned them into suckable treats.
She hesitated again before she reached for the waistband of the unfashionably long cotton underwear the nuns were issued. Her eyes begged the priest for a reprieve but he only nodded for her to continue. She closed her eyes and bit her bottom lip as she slowly pushed the garment down over her hips baring her privates to a member of the opposite sex for the first time since high school. The thick auburn pelt between her legs was unruly and untrimmed, unprepared for anyone else to see.
Now naked, she once again knelt before the priest. He had stretched his feet out so her knees fell on the outside of them forcing her to keep her legs further apart than was comfortable. Her engorged nipples had stiffened into pretty pink acorns standing out from perfect aureoles. She shuddered as the cool room air reached the moisture that dampened and darkened the hair between her legs, a constant reminder of her nakedness and vulnerability.
“Show me,” he whispered hoarsely. “Show me what you’ve been doing.”
Sister Margaret Mary’s hand slid over her belly and found the slippery opening as Father McLean’s feet urged her knees further apart. She closed her eyes as the carnal nature of what she was doing swept over her.
“Open your eyes. Look at me was you do it,” the priest insisted.
She looked at him then as her fingers moved rhythmically in her wet furrow. The scent of her sex surrounded them and embarrassed her deeply but the shame seemingly added to her arousal and confusion. She reveled in the humiliation and wallowed in what she knew was forbidden.
Father stood up, so close to her that her face was inches from the front of his black trousers. “Tell me my child. Have you ever been with a man?”
The young nun was jolted back to a painful memory of her skirt pulled up and her panties around her ankles; Billy Clark’s tongue alive in her mouth while his finger probed her sex. He was her high school crush, the sweetheart she yearned for, handsome and popular, and she was the wall flower sitting at home most nights with her books and her dreams.
“Answer me! Confess your sins before God! Father snapped. “Has a man ever taken the pleasure of your body?”
She wouldn’t answer. The wet sounds of her fingers squishing through the soft folds of her sex mixed with her intermittent gasps as the too-familiar pleasure built in her loins. Memories of her half-hearted protests as Billy had moved on top of her haunted the image, rekindled the guilt and spurred her fingers to bring back the illicit pleasure she had felt. Every word that the boy had spoken echoed in her mind; every dirty word as her legs had wrapped around his back. She recalled the stabbing pain of his entry and the warm liquids that seeped from her, wetting them both where they were joined, anointing their union, baptizing their bond…
Her face brushed the priest’s pasty white thighs and her cheek felt the wet smear of precum. His black trousers were open and the rough wool teased across her swollen nipple as the garment slid down his legs. Her free hand went to hold him, her conscience pleading to push him away, but her belly craving his touch. His hands cupped the back of her head moving her onto him, her mouth never hesitating. He was rough, pushing deep to the back of her throat, making her gag repeatedly, focused only on the pleasure of her loving tongue. He enjoyed her tears and the look of shame that besot her pretty face. The fingers between her legs were stilled as she fell to the task of pleasuring the priest who expected nothing less. Father McLean watched her bobbing head with satisfaction. He knew her mouth had been used before as it would be again and again in the course of her humiliation.
“Have you been the sullied cunt for a man’s pleasure before?” he demanded harshly. “Have you spread your wanton legs in the sin of fornication?”
Sister hid her face in the warmth of his groin, inhaling the man smell, pressing her lips against the wrinkled sack, and letting her tongue pay homage to the swell of his balls. Her voice was low and anguished when she answered embracing her contrition and accepting the spirit of her penance. He made her stop frequently and repeat, graphically confessing her sin with every detail until fresh tears ran freely down her cheeks.
“And did you marry to right this wrong? Did you bring this illicit love to the Church to sanctify your union?” he roared at her while she sobbed.
The laughing rejection of Billy Clarke had torn at her soul and Father’s questions reopened old wounds. She remembered the snickers of his friends and the off-color remarks that she’d endured. Her phone rang more frequently for dates that she disdainfully turned down, but Billy only called once when he was drunk. He wanted sex. She had listened to his voice and wept silently while he recalled in embarrassing detail what they had done. It was only when she heard the giggling of another girl that she realized he was playing with her, describing each of the slutty things she had done, for the amusement of his latest girlfriend. For many nights she had cried herself to sleep masturbating to the crudeness of his vile words and yearning for his return.
Father was pulling her to her feet, pushing her roughly back against the old oak desk. The wood, cool against her flushed skin, emphasized her nakedness. The priest had kicked out of his trousers and stood triumphantly between her carelessly parted legs. She shielded her eyes as he looked upon her reveling in the pale, smooth skin and the patch of unruly hair that sprang from her mons. She was very wet and the hair matted around her puffy lips exposing more of the fount of her lust to his sight. She moaned when he dipped his finger into her juices and tried to turn away when her wiped it on her mouth. He did it again and pressed his finger against her lips commanding her to suck. With a whimper, she took the wet finger in her mouth.
“Is yours the only cunt you’ve tasted Sister?” he asked while he watched her clean the juices from his fingers.
Long buried memories of hurt and shame overwhelmed her. The abject humiliation she had felt and then buried as if it had never happened spilled into her conscious thought. The priest’s relentless questions flushed long suppressed feelings that she’d kept deep inside. She felt she couldn’t answer him and yet no answer was an answer in itself.
“Tell me Sister Whore. Tell me about your Sapphic lust,” he roared out at her with a mocking laugh.
“He said he was sorry,” she sobbed. “He said he wanted to get back with me. He loved me and I wanted him to be with me, not her. But, I knew the moment it touched my lips. The strong scent and then the musky salty taste was different than the first time. He held my head so I couldn’t pull back. ‘Suck it good,’ he whispered. ‘Clean my cock with your tongue. Get all of that nasty stuff off.’ The electronic click of his cell phone camera made me moan in anguish. He was talking while I sucked confirming what I was doing. I could hear her laughing through the phone as I cleaned her juices from his cock. I wanted to stop but he wound his fingers in my hair and took his pleasure, cutting off my breath several times as he forced himself deep. I choked and sputtered when he came, filling my mouth with his seed. He held his thumb against my throat so I wouldn’t swallow until he had taken the final picture and hit send. Cheryl’s squeals of delight when she got it still reverberate in my soul. The picture made its rounds, of course, as did Cheryl’s taunting of me in front of her clique, always in earshot of others. They’d all seen the picture and often repeated the awful things Cheryl said. ‘open you mouth Baby. Show me whose boyfriend you’re blowing now.’”
Sister Margaret Mary’s heels gripped the edge of the desk when Father cupped her shapely buttocks in his soft hands. The shaft of his cock rode between her saturated labia grazing the nun’s clitoris as he teased her before entering. Her hips moved with him mimicking the act she wanted so badly.
“Put me in,” he commanded. “Let this sin be yours.”
Her fingers gripped the damp flesh of his cudgel and she guided him to her opening. It slipped in easily and she raised her bottom off the desk straining to take all of him. It felt so good that she moaned with the sheer pleasure of it. The sexless years without a man gave urgency to her effort and her hips rose to meet each thrust ensuring that she captured his full cock each time. The wet slapping of skin on skin and her whimpering filled the room as he pounded into her.
“You’re no virgin,” he hissed excoriating her with guilt of the obvious. “Your cunt has been sullied by your sinfulness. You spread your legs so easily Margaret Mary and you crave cock. You’re God’s whore now for the pleasure of His faithful servants. A cunt of convenience …” he preached a kind of sexual homily that both humiliated and inflamed the young nun. She came with a gasp and the forbidden words rolled off her tongue imploring him “Fuck me…fuck me father for I have sinned.” Back arched and belly raised she surrendered herself fully to him.
Father marveled at the lust she showed. His fingers gripped and regripped the smooth sweaty globes of her ass and tugged at the shapely cheeks exposing the pink whorl between them. He could see that it embarrassed her. When he pressed his middle finger against her back door he felt her jump. Again he touched it and she moaned and tried to wriggle away. It was wet all around from her abundant juices. The next time he pushed inside to the first knuckle and she squealed and tried to tighten her cheeks to expel the probing digit. The sensation was forbidden and unexpected yet not unpleasant. The young nun moaned in mortification. Even Billy Clark had never touched her there.
She knew about anal sex and had seen pictures of it in that filthy magazine but had never even thought it could happen to her. Father’s finger in her bum felt foreign and lewd and she whined at the depravity. He chuckled at her misplaced modesty while he enjoyed the shame she was feeling.
The priest kept moving in her cunt and she rolled her own clit between her fingers while her breath hissed through her teeth at the wicked sensations in her behind.
“He didn’t bum fuck you?” Father McLean sneered. “A willing little tramp like you and he didn’t shove his cock up your ass?”
The embarrassed nun just shook her head in shame. She couldn’t tell whether he meant it as disbelief or as another way Billy Clark had rejected her.
Sister Margaret Mary didn’t try to stop the priest when he sodomized her. She squealed loudly at the pain but accepted it as penance for her depravity. Father held her hips and pushed in a little at a time until she could feel his coarse pubic hair against her upturned buttocks. Her own fingers still straddled her clitoris coaxing the pink bud from its hood and teasing it the way she liked. Father’s voice, strained with passion, urged her on using all of the dirty names she knew she had earned. His fingers mauled her breasts pinching the nipples mercilessly, inflicting the pain she knew she deserved. At his insistence she begged him to fuck her in all of her holes even as her sphincter burned with the roughness of his pleasure.
“You’re a whore now, the reincarnation of Mary Magdellan” he whispered, “sent to relieve the lusts of whoever I send you to see. Your vow of chastity is rescinded and your new vow will set you free to fuck as the Lord created you to do. Your mouth has tasted both man and woman, and it will again.”