Even the next day, Rachael could not get over the fact that she had been strapped and strapped, most vigorousy on her tender, bare buns. More surprising, she found she enjoyed the naughty experience both in the weilding and the receiving of that narrow, leather strap. She had never known such excitement and exuded so much moisture in her loins as when The Good Mother bent and accepted the leather across her broad, white arse.

“I must admit,” said the pretty girl, “It was most pleasurable watching The Good Mother’s cheeks quiver under my strokes.”

Maria Clare nodded. “She does possess two mighty mounds to display most prominately when she accepts the strap.”

“I wonder if I shall ever attain such a bottom,” mused the girl. “With propper diet and workouts such as we endured today, it is surely possible.”

“To think how all those mountains of flesh must multiply the sensation you gave my tender bottom yesterday. I wonder if I could bear such a strapping on such an expansion of what I possess.”

“You have a most beautious bottom and I love it dearly as it is,” said Maria Clare. I could stroke, forever, its smooth curves and warm skin and kiss all that lies between your parted thighs.”

“And I yours,” said the girl. “Still the abbess has so much to recommend her. Her crack does not have the flavor of yours but still her juices are not offensive.”

The women had just entered the warm, natural baths to which Maria Clare had led her. As they lolled in the warm, bubbling waters A middle aged sister descended the stone steps and began loosening her habit. “I trust you good sisters will not object my joining you in your evening’s ablutions.”

“We have none, Sister Rosemary. Please join us,” invited Maria Clare.

“Thank you Sister Maria Clare, I have endured a most strenuous day.”

“This is novitiate Rachael,” said Maria Clare. “She received her first taste of the strap yesterday under the tutulage of The Good Mother herself. We now further cool our warmed bottoms.”

Sister Rosemary nodded sagely. “Ah yes. The Good Mother weilds the strap most efficiently. This poor sister’s broad arse has known the taste of the strap in The Good Mother’s punishing hand many times.” The heavy habit fell to the ground and the nun stepped from it.

Rachael found it difficult to believe another human being could grow so much, bristly, wiry hair on one rounded belly. From the apex of her fleshy, rounded thighs to her navel, it was one large black mass, a curly, tangled triangle dotted with a sprinkling of gray, kinky curls.

“A hairier gash, I trust you’ve never seen,” said Sister Rosemary.

“Tis true,” granted Rachael.

“I have noted it often and sipped the juices at your holy font,” said Maria Clare, “and truly none is more hirsute.”

The woman approached the pool and turned her back to reveal dark stripes across the broad twin loaves of a most generous bottom. “As you can see, this old arse has known its share bum warmings.” She descended into the pool and stood in water that nearly reached the tops of her thighs. She stopped to take the fingers of each hand to part her nether lips and reveal a pink slit in a way that did not appear seemly to Rachael. “And this old snatch has had its quota of fingers and tongues take it measure and I’ve turned away none.”

Rachael wondered at a woman approaching fifty who should display her private parts in such a way. She turned away.

“Do not look down on an old cunnus because it’s gained a few gray hairs,” said Sister Rosemary. Yours will be so tinged the same one day. Do not believe your honey’s taste will be much altered or your desire to have it sipped will wane with age. If anything, the desire for that lingual caress increases. Is that not so Maria Clare.”

“Most true, Sister Rosemary, and I must say to you once more, Never have I seen a mount more mossy over its entirety and at it’s font, it is still a joy to drink deeply.”

Rosemary touched the noviate on the shoulder and bid her kneel. “Your lips may pay a small tribute of adoration.”

“You are most kind, Sister. I long to sip from your love bowl.” The younger woman knelt and bent forward until her lips touched the hairy lips and her tongue parted the slit opening under her caress. “I have tasted but few though those I have were most tasteful in their flowing but never have I sipped from such a foliaged font where the well is hidden so deeply.”

“You are to become one of us,” said Sister Rosemary. “In time and in turn you will open and sip the extracts of all our hairy cunts.”

“I am honored, sister.”

“I would be happy to accept further tribute from a tongue so young,” said the old nun. “But first let us frolic in the warm waters and tease each other’s cunnies. When we climb out and you may warm these old buns to a temperature that causes my old puss to pucker and issue those slick, honey juices you wish to sample.”

“So be it,” said Maria Clare. “Meanwhile, entertain us with tales of times before The Good Mother we know became Abbess.”

Sister Rosemary nodded. She laved herself and sat on the small shelf by the side of the pool and the water came to inches below her shoulders. Her sagging, old tits floated to near the top. Sister Maria Clare and Rachael sat to either side.

In my early days here, before our present Abbess, the previous good mother was known as Sister Plentypuss for surely she had that, and her slit had more hair covering it than I ever dreamed of growing.”

“How could that be possible?” marveled Rachael.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Sister Rosemary, “For when she became Abbess she shaved it clean and presented her smooth cunt to the entire cloister to be tongued by all before she donned the holy robe of her station.”

“As did The Good Mother we know,” said Maria Clare. “I hear when she was so shaved even the Good Brothers were invited to attend.”

“That is so,” said Sister Rosemary. “Our present Abbess now follows tradition. And,” she added, “The Good Mother surely has established a record size in her holy buns and she offers them often in solemn atonement to expiate her sins, real or imagined.”

“That is true,” said Maria Clare. “She gererousy shares and offers her bountious arse to all who would punish them.”

“The Abbess Plentypuss was a more strict disciplinarian than the Good Mother now,” said Sister Rosemary. “She relied upon the cane instead of the strap. Though both carry a sting the strap does not leave the permanent welts that have now graced my hide these many years.”

“I carry a few such scars proudly,” said Maria Clare, “from my early days here.”

“And proudly you will display them all at our private masses,” said Sister Rosemary.”

Maria Clare nodded. “I have prayed and waited patiently for a invitation to those secret secssions it is rumored you hold.”

Sister Rosemary smiled. “Then you have heard tales of our secret rites.”

“I have. Though I know little of the select membership it has been rumored that you carry on a most select office in that group.”

“We are a small, secret group within the sisterhood,” admitted Sister Rosemary. “It will be no revelation that, as you should surmise, The Good Mother was initiated by the former abbess herself. Your yesterday session with her was your first step in your initiation to our select group.”

“Then this is surely her second, said Rachael.”

“That is true.”

“How is it so that a novitiate, thought I admit she is a most sweet and worthy one, should be privy to this group at such a tender age,” asked Maria Clare.

“That will be divulged,” said Sister Rosemary. “This mere lass will, though her age is tender, will join you at every step. As you rise in stature so shall she be elevated to full sisterhood in our cloister . She shall be privy to secrets only the privileged few are exposed to”

“It is too much,” said Rachael. “I am not worthy.”

“I understand that candles are used in this initiation,” said Maria Clare. “In what manner do the fit they into the scheme of our induction?”

“As you might suppose,” retorted Sister Rosemary, “they are induced slowly into an initiates fundament until she learns to accommodate even the largest and longest comfortably.”

“Surely that is painful,” said Rachael.”

“Uncomfortable at best, when you are first introduced to them,” said Sister Rosemary. “I have had more than a little experience of candles put to my rear passage. Though it begins with pain, much pleasure to be derived through that entrance.”

Sister Rosemary turned to the younger woman. “The initiation will bring much pleasure to you as you learn to accommodate larger objects until perhaps you will one day feel a sacred instrument similar to one the Holy Abbot possesses between his legs.”

“That is done?” asked the shocked young woman. “What of the holy vows we have both have taken to abstain from men?”

“Nothing in the way of vows is broken if they take us on a holy day in the same manner that they receive and relieve each other of their passsions,” sighed the old nun. “They shove their rampant staffs, regularly, into each other’s bottoms and those of the young men in training. It is only with invasion of that secret place that we sisters so often lick for relief that either would commit a sin.”

“It is logical,” said Maria Clare, “That a place incapable of creating life should not be out of bounds for pleasure.”

“I have never heard that,” said Rachael. “You say that it is true men enter their pissing instruments into each other’s bottoms and they also enjoy invading ours?”

“That is their method,” admitted Sister Rosemary. “By using that orfice as well as a willing mouth, they cause to be emitted a sacred essence.”

“Amazing,” said Rachael.

“Only on our holiest days are the Brothers and Sisters permitted in each other’s company. Then, all habits and cowls are cast aside. Many holy unions between our two holy sects are formed.”

“It sounds most exciting,” murmured Maria Clare. “I think I would relish such an invasion of my backside.”

“You will squirm most excitedly, I promise,” said Sister Rosemary.

“You have been so mounted, Sister Rosemary,” asked the young girl.

The old nun smacked her broad hips and the sound echoed in their ears. “This old ass once holstered the stiffened miter of the Cardinal himself when he visited our humble monestary next door last Easter,” bragged Sister Rosemary. “I must say his eminence tickled my old bowels. He made me quiver till I could barely stand.” She smiled. “He quite complimented my hole with an efflusion of his balm and told me I held his member most tightly as he spurted his holy essence into me.”

And that instrument did not cause discomfort?” questioned the young woman.

“I must admit,” said Sister Rosemary, “I felt a tenderness there for a few days and I hesitated to shit for the pain the turds caused when wanting out.” She sighed, “A small price for the pleasure he gave.”

“And this does not affect our vows of chastity?” asked the girl.

“So long as our forward cracks do not have the hair about them parted and our hidden holes breached by that part that signifies them men, our virginity remains intact. So long as they do not enter us in front, their vows also remain holy,” assured the old nun.”

“Though I have been strapped, smartly on my nether cheeks and been kissed thoroughly on those lips damply parted below, I now feel an itch in my backside that needs a rubbing,” Maria Clare confesed.

“I too,” responded the novitiate.

“None have tended me today. Behind this thick haired cunny, I too feel an itch in my backhole that feels need of a tongue lashing. Our talk such causes my juices to flow and your fingers would be a most welcome preview to your tongue in this graying cunt or my backside.” So saying, the old nun took the young woman’s hand and guided her fingers to the moist crease between her thighs. Rachael found the opening and inserted three finger inside the hungry trap as far as she could force them.

The old woman moaned and her hips began a dance all their own around the stiff, teasing fingers. “By all that holy,” moaned Sister Rosemary, “I am a horny old woman and I wish to be tongue fucked until I can no longer stand while you insert a finger or two into my itching fundament.”

Rachael withdrew her fingers from the old nun’s cunt and quickly inserted the longest one into the puckered asshole between the solid ass cheeks of the older woman.

“Yes! Oh God Yes!,” shouted Sister Rosemary. “Finger my arsehole and tongue tickle my slippery slit. I want to feel the throbbing in both of my piss-hole and my shit-hole.”

“You do truly speak filth,” marveled Maria Clare, “and it excites me greatly. Please say more. I think I might know the raptures merely from watching young Rachael finger your holes and hearing your licentious assault upon my holy ears. Come, Dear Sister, with all of your obscenities in full voice.”

Rachael took turns at fingering a froth at each of the old nun’s two holes while she titilated the other with her tongue.

Sister Rosemary moaned and let loose a string of profanities surely never heard to escape from a holy sister’s mouth before. “Finger fuck me! Oh Yes! Lick my arse and tickle my back hole and shove your tongue in there to taste my shit! OH YES! I quiver and throb in every hole and I cannot stand such pleasure for more than another hour. Such sweet torture you give me. Go on. Go On forever. I promise i will do the same for all of your holes. Oh God! May I never stop coming!”

Maria Clare could not help herself. Her fingers clutched her cunt and worked rapidly in her slit while the lonest finger of her other hand reached behind and insertred itself into her own fundament and moved rapidly in and out until she thought she might shit herself. When she came violently, she screamed and fell to the floor a hand at either place.

Finally the old woman turned away from Rachael and whispered, “Please. No more! I am, for the moment, satisfied and my ecstasies will last me until next Sunday when The Bishop calls for Easter and we will all get our backsides thoroughly threshed and filled with good, piss hard, seminarian cocks.” She fell to her knees and Rachael sank to the ground beside her. “Now what may an old lady do for you?” asked the older woman.

“If you would, Dear Sister, tongue my back hole as I did yours for that has never been done to me and it seems most filthy.”

The old woman parted the girls nether cheeks and her stiff tongue, curled stiffly into a probe, tickled the crinkly little star of an opening.

Rachael moaned and her toes curled.

The old sisters tongue pressed forward and forced the tight ring to part and sought entrance in the tight, slickened passage.

The girl could not keep her hips still. She pressed backward onto the rough grained object invading her most private place. Rachael was not sure she could endure the pleasure of this horribly nasty thing being done her. She felt words foreign to her rising from her throat, words she had heard for the first time fall from Sister Rosemary’s lips in her delerium of ecstasy. “LIck my shithole!” screamed Rachael. “Fill my asshole with your tongue! Oh God,” screamed Rachael, “It’s so good!” The young novitiate fainted. But the old nun, hypnotized by the taste of the young girls shit kept licking until she had her fill.

*** The Good Sisters of The Inner Sanctum met beneath their chapel in the anteroom to the most secret part of the Convent, a place reached by secret passage through the catacombs, a winding route known only to the initiated.

The Secret Sisters, five of them, including the Good Mother, the Abbess herself, sat on the floor, in a circle. Maria Clare sat quietly by Rachael, the noviate. They were totally naked, not even the holy habits of their order were allowed here.

“You have been intimate with the initiate, Sister Rosemary,” said The Good Mother. “Does your evaluation coincide with mine?” Sister Rosemary bent to the large woman next to her and placed her lips to the smooth, hairless slit in reverence. Her tongue is most agile, Holy Mother.”

“And she accepted full punishment on her nether cheeks the required number of times?” asked The Good Mother.

“As all the good sisters of our convent have. It is the solemn basis of our holy obeisance,” said Sister Myriam, a smallish woman nearing forty. She had small, firm breasts and her ass cheeks were well formed though everything about her was petite.

“That is very true, Sister Myriam,” said the tall slender sister across the circle who answered as Sister Megan. She parted her slender thighs and ran a thin finger up the trough of her parted vagina. “It is a given. All members of this sisterhood are horny bitches. It for us, the most passionate, to be the keepers of the holy secret. We guard the sanctity of the holy sanctum as the true brides of the upstanding Christ.”

Sister Megan parted her slit, wet her finger there and made the sign of the cross on her left breast.

Each of the five sisters and the twin initiates followed the speakers example. None had to stroke themselves twice to start the flow of honey.

“First,” said Sister Elsbeth, keeper of the holy candles, “We must all candle them vigorously.”

“Most assuredly,” said Sister Megan. “Everyone must be candled as we do ourselves weekly in each other’s presence.”

“Of course,” said The Good Mother, “If one does not love the candle one cannot love the cock on the cross we sisters adore above all else.”

“Amen,” whispered Sister Elsbeth. She put an arm around the Holy Mother, reached under her arm and squeezed one of the mother Superiors pendulous tits. She let her thumb idly stroke the large nipple and brought it to life. “I would candle your cunt faithfully until you scream.”

“Bless you, Sister,” said The Good Mother, “and I will do likewise for you at the proper time.”

It is time for the initiates to assume the candling position,” said Sister Maryam, keeper of the candle. Crawl forth, bend forward and present your arse holes.”

Maria Clare and Rachael moved forward on their knees and facing away touched their foreheads to the floor and raised their naked rumps to the small group of holy nuns.

“Part your ether cheek and let us view your unholy holes from whence you pass great turds,” said Sister Maryam. The Young women complied and their dark hole were presented to the coven *** A nun’s whimple shadowed Rachaels face as that single adornment sheilded her peripheral vision like blinders on a horse so that she saw no evil to either side as her sister nuns fingered each other’s slits. An occasional muffled gasp reached her ears as her own fingers moved furatively at the core of her sensual being. Such feelings! Such passion! Such devine sinning in the presence of the divine cock of her lord, her husband as she prepared to become the bride of Christ and be pierced by his mighty prick.

“It is time for the taking. Let us all prepare the bride,” commanded The Good Mother.

“To lose her virginity,” said Sister Myriam, “you’ve either had the one true prick of God driven in to you or you still have it.

“And the candles?” asked Rachael.

“Candling does not count,” said Sister Rosemary for they do not approach the size or the solid virility of the one, true prick.”

“Nor does a good candling in the alternate hole,” said Sister Myriam. The hole to the rear is reserved for such candles as we use here and perhaps the devils own cock which I am told has barbs on it that stretches and tears at one’s tender places.”

“Tis said the good brothers work similar weapons into each other’s back holes and move therein to spurt and drain off their seed that they may not be tempted to a like sin with us,” said Sister Elsbeth.

“Tis true they have such weapons,” confessed The Good Mother, “I have tested their worth through the port in the atonement room as well as in person on Easter Eve. I have raised the dead in some of the brothers There I have drained their seed from them into my gullet and my backside. But they have no barbs and their starch is easily taken from them.”
“We have not been required to atone in such a manner,” said Sister Myriam. “The duty falls on me to abase myself and seek atonement for all the convent and then have the evil I have done strapped from me, painfuly, on the broadness of my bottom.”

“We have all known the strap on our tender tether parts,” said Sister Maria Clare.

“We seek the ecstasy of the strap upon our bare bottoms,” said Sister Elsbeth. “It is in our nature to crave that to supplant other cravings that might be sinful in other eyes.”

“It is our pennance to bare our bottoms to the strap,” said Sister Maryam. “A stinging pennace we all endure,” echoed Sister Elsbeth.

Sister Rosemary smiled. “The strap for some, is an end in itself. For others, it only warms our parts to seek further excitement.”

“Which brings on a greater reward,” said Sister Maryam.

“‘Tis a good pennance,” said Sister Rosemary. “I gladly present my broad arse for punishment. I relish every slap of the leather. Many nights, I crave it.”

“Someone always stands ready to oblidge with the strap,” said Sister Maryam. “I love strapping a bare arse and seeing the red stripes criss-crossing the tender flesh when I lay on with a will.”

“Which is no sin,” put in The Good Mother. “That craving also finds relief by being addressed in the proper tongue.”

“Praise the lord,” breathed Sister Rosemary, “for our moistened, hairy slots.”

“From this exchange, alone, my cunt drips its honey,” said Sister Myriam.

“And mine,” confessed Sister Megan, “sorely need a fingering or perhaps a good candling to the rear.”

“I hated it when they first held me over The Good Mother’s lap and whipped my naked buns,” said Maria Clare . “I cried and struggled and they all laughed at my pain and embarassment as they took turns laying it on.”

“She did not sit comfortably for a week,” said The Good Mother.

“Then we warmed her with another session,” laughed Sister Rosemary.

“Soon she was kneeling, hoisting her habit and praying for the strap, ” said Sister Maryam.

“Bare buns high in the air, begging for it,” said Sister Rosemary.

“Then we gave her her first candeling,” said Sister Maryam. “With her arse raised high we put the candle to her in that tiny nether hole until she could take no more and her ass was truly fucked.”

“Till I was too weak to walk and too sore to sit,” breathed Maria Clare.

“But she took to it like a bitch in heat,” said Sister Maryam.

“Elsbeth is the keeper of the candles,” said The Good Mother, “Sister please bring them on let us tickle and invade that passage the strap has awakened and opened for us.

They lay Rachael, the Novitiate, on the altar and examined carefully the open font of her womanhood. Each sister appraised the young beauty’s golden triangle and the bruised slit it decorated. Each touched the parted hairs and the delicate crack between her thighs with a stiffened finger and then brought that diget to her lower, pouting lips.

“First you must be candled,” soothed Sister Elsbeth.

“Candled by each of us,” added Sister Rosemary.

“It will prepare you for your wedding night,” whispered Sister Myriam.

“If you are to become a sister of Christ, You must first become his bride.”

“You must suffer the mighty prick of Jesus as it tickles to the depths of your cunt,” proclaimed The Good Mother.

“He must be lodged in that holy font you have reserved for him, symbolically that is,” added Sister Elsbeth.

“What a solid symbol you‘ll receive that night,” said Sister Megan.

“By a full twelve inches of his holy prick,” said Sister Elsbeth, “we will know your measure.”

“As ours has been sorely taken,” said Maria Clare.

“The first time I thought it would split my tender, young cunt,” tittered Sister Rosemary.

“By now it would hold a dozen such,” added Elsbeth.

“As would yours,” said Rosemary, “Your inner lips sag as much as mine.”

“I bled profusely,” bragged Sister Megan. “I had hardly been stretched at all before I mounted that thing on the cross.”

“You frighten me,” said Rachael.

“As you can see, child,” said The Good Mother, “We all have lived through it and are the better for it.”

“Let us prepare her,” said Elsbeth.

“Candle her and stretch that place for the monstrous prick she must take between those tender lower lips,” said Rosemary.

“And become the Sister of The Christ but first his bride. Only the chosen few consumate their marriage upon the prick of our lord.

*** The other sisters, long past their wedding night with their groom came naked as they were commanded to be in his presence. Soon the novitiate would be led to the figure with the huge wooden phallus projecting upward and would be lifted by her sisters to be lowered upon that rigid object that would invade her until nothing was left exposed but the carved wooden balls of the grotesque figure on the cross. The pain would be overwhelming, she knew. She only hoped that she could bear it as well as she knew others in the room had in their younger days.

“You approach your mating with the holy phallus of the Christ himself,” said Maria Clare.

“I am to be bethrothed?” asked Rachael. “So soon?”

“You will soon be one with us,” said Sister Rosemary.

Sister Maryam entered the cell. “You have but one crucifix to mount.”

“To be impaled upon,” said Sister Rosemary.

“Using that place unbreached by man and saved for the one true prick of our salvation.”

Sister Maria Clare remembered her ordeal. She winced as the girl was led forward, supported by Sister Myriam and Sister Rosemary. They lifted her to face the statue and The Good Mother guided her down upon the stout wooden phallus that had been librally oiled for the occasion.

Rachael could not believe how large it was, far larger than it looked. She knew it expanded and tore at her tender parts stretched her to the limit. She bit her lip, determined she would not release the scream filling her throat. Tears streamed down her cheeks as the sisters lowered her inch by inch on the stout peg rending her in two. As the last inch disappeared inside her, the new bride of The Christ fortunately fainted.

*** A trickle of blood escaped the gaping tender lips recently stretched beyond their limits. Sister Maria Clare blotted at the seepage of red and longed to kiss the tender slit so recently riven by the now bloody phallus.

Rachael, the youngest bride to survive her wedding night, moaned and opened her eyes. She blinked and her hand went to her groin. “How long must it remain in me? I am full to bursting with that monstrous thing.”

“It is no more with you,” assured Maria Clare. “You have passed the ordeal and your hymen is no longer with you and you are truly The Christ’s new bride.”

The End