Prologue
Sister Emily
My knees achefrom being pressed against the cold, hard, slabs of the chapel floor. The prayers seem to be taking longer than usual to complete, and I find myself thinking longingly of spending the remainder of the day resting and indulging in the simple comfort of my room.
With my head still bowed, I smile slyly to myself. Mother Superior, or Mother Bitch as I like to call her, would take a cane to my ass if she knew the thoughts I’m having, and rightly so, but what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. I’m sure the Lord will punish me justly when I finally reach heaven’s gates.
If I’m ever lucky enough to rise to a position of power, I look forward to enforcing the same kind of rigidity and rules as the current Mother Bitch. The novitiates will learn to accept the pain and will work harder to avoid it. Although in my case, having initially suffered through my punishments, I learned to tolerate the harsh crack of the thin strip of wood across my bare skin, and now I accept each beating with thanks. Spare the rod, spoil the child; that mantra has never cured the willingness inside my heart to lay the weight of responsibility on others. You can’t beat the devil out of the girl, and believe me, they have tried.
I’m thankful for the long material of the habit; it grants me modesty in my moments of shame. I should report my sinful thoughts to Mother Bitch, but I enjoy the wickedness of them and the way they make me feel.
As the final prayer draws to a close, I rise to my feet, closing my eyes briefly and stifling the moan at the feel of the rough undergarments brushing against my clit. The contrast between the abrasiveness of my underwear and the satin of my stockings on my skin makes my body hum. The stockings themselves are prohibited, but I couldn’t resist them. It’s not the first time I’ve taken a nibble from the forbidden fruit, and I’m sure it won’t be the last. Only next time, I’m not going to be caught and punished for falling into the illicitness of sin.
Chapter One
I return to my room,keeping my head bowed and my eyes to the floor. I don’t hurry, because as much as the thought of spending the rest of the day relaxing is tempting me, I don’t want to seem too eager. Sometimes I wonder if Mother Bitch knows about my proclivity toward laziness. Maybe that’s why she’s so determined to force me to change my ways. Although why she feels I’d be any more inclined to work after a beating than I do now, I’ve no idea.
Arriving back at my room, I enter and quietly shut the door behind me; this is my haven. I walk across the room while removing my habit and lie down on the small single bed pushed up against the wall. The soft mattress doesn’t quite mask the hardness of the wooden frame beneath it, but I don’t mind the discomfort, except when my bottom is already smarting from a beating. I enjoy the punishments: the swish as it cuts through the air, followed by the bite and sting of the wood on my ass. It’s only afterward, when I’m lying on this bed, I regret my transgressions.
I know I should be more diligent in my duties and worship, and God knows I’ve been punished more times than I can count for my repeated failures. Sometimes, I wonder why I’ve not been stripped of my position in the same way as the skin on my backside has been, many times over. Maybe Mother Bitch has a sinner lurking within her too; she does seem to take great pleasure in doling out her punishments.
Shaking my head, I pull the heavy woolen bedspread up and over my body. The softness of my skin and the coarseness of the blanket create a mind-blowing myriad of sensations. The feel of the material over my skin, brushing against my nipples combines with the ache already burning between my thighs from the underwear and makes me squirm. Smiling slyly, I run my fingers down my body, shivering at my own light touch despite the warmth flowing through me. Goosebumps mark the path of my hand, spreading outward over my skin.
I slowly approach the forbidden fruit I’m not permitted to explore. Sin is rife within me, and I ignore the nagging voice of Mother Bitch in the back of my mind as I rub my fingers over my clit through the rough fabric of my underwear. I bite my lip to keep the moan from escaping, and press my fingers inside me as much as my clothing will allow.
The material is soaked with my juices, and the heat radiating out from my core feels as though Lucifer himself has ignited the flames of desire within me…well, I suppose he has. I succumb to the need, and shift the undergarment aside, gasping when the material scratches against my clit. I sink my fingers inside me, plunging deeply, and my body responds to the illicit pleasure rippling through me. Angling my thumb up, I press against my clit while sliding my fingers in and out, aided by the slickness coating them.
The closer I approach damnation with every rub, flick, and delve of my fingers, the greater my need to reach it. My pleasure slowly builds, created by the languid movements of my hands, and I know when I topple over the edge the intensity is going to be magnificent. I’m getting close; my breathing becomes harsh, and the pressure is mounting. My thighs and fingers are drenched, and my nipples are tight from the friction of the blanket. I arch my back, and as I finally reach the peak my muscles clench, and I’m overcome with pleasure.
“Thank you, God!” I cry out. I’m unable to stop the words bursting from my lips.
As I come down from the high, my body shakes and trembles with aftershocks, and I’m relieved I didn’t call out something else that could’ve landed me in trouble with Mother Bitch. My loud praise to God as the waves of sinful pleasure crested through my body could easily be misconstrued as religious fervor. I’ll let them believe that, even as the evidence of my devilish thoughts pools between my legs and dribbles down onto the mattress. Tiredness rears its head, and I quickly clean up and flip the mattress before returning to my bed to sleep.
A cold draft followed by a sharp spank on my behind jerks me out of my slumber, and I look up blearily to see Sister Constance smirking down at me.
“Get up, and put your habit back on before Mother Mary Margaret sees that bare ass and stockings and beats you bloody again,” she says with a grin and spanks me sharply again when I attempt to bury my face back into my pillow.
“It’s Sunday, the day of rest,” I gripe at her, forcing myself upright and reaching for the habit.
“Yes, but you know you’ll be in for it again if she catches you sleeping, especially if she sees those shiny satins of yours,” she smiles, sitting on the end of my bed, and I roll my eyes.
Sister Constance isn’t bothered by my indecency, and I’ve occasionally wondered if she would be interested in a bit of fun. The problem is she’s too honest, and if we were ever caught, she’d probably confess at the drop of a hat. We’re friends, and nothing more. I shrug, and pull on the habit, securing it in place and making sure my stockinged legs are completely covered. She’s right, Mother Bitch would have a conniption if she saw me in these.
Chapter Two
The daily choresseem to drag on forever. The work is repetitive and although there’s pleasure in the familiarity of its almost rhythmic quality, it becomes tedious when I’m being assigned the same tasks day in, day out.
At the end of the work day, having completed my chores, I approach Mother Bitch’s office. She wants to see me, but I’ve no idea why. My behind throbs at the memory of the last time I was here when she caught me sleeping through one of the Sunday services.
Faith, another of the younger nuns, is sitting on the hard bench outside the door. Her demeanor always seems sweet, and she radiates an air of innocence I’ve never possessed...or at least, I don’t think I have. When I was twelve, my parents sent me away for correction. They dumped me on the convent doorstep and never looked back. I found a peace here that I never had with them, even though I don’t always fit in. I chose to dedicate my life to the Lord and took my vows as soon as I could. I’ve tried my best to follow the rules and structure of our lives here, but old habits die hard and I’ve never been able to leave all my proclivities behind.
I’m from a good Catholic family, and the front I’ve worn for years fits like a glove. However, I’m anything but righteous, and when I’m alone, I’m free to peel away the facade. I’ve tried so hard to push aside and smother everything they’ve taught me is wrong, but I invariably fail. I shall never be the good girl my parents hoped I’d become when they abandoned me as a child.
Faith pays me no mind apart from smiling in greeting before diving back into the book she’s holding. I check that my habit is straight and everything is in place before knocking. Mother Bitch makes me wait a further ten minutes before answering.
Finally, she calls out, “Come in.”
I grind my teeth, understanding the lesson of patience she was trying to impart, but after the long day I’ve just had, she’s lucky I didn’t fall asleep on the hard, wooden bench outside her door. It wouldn’t be the first time if I had.