Conversion of a Nun

Angela wasn't even allowed to call herself a sister - not technically speaking. At eighteen she was only in her second year of the novitiate, a trainee nun who had to bob her head to the full-fledged sisters when she met them in the corridors of the convent or when they entered the classroom at the start of a lesson.

If she thought of herself as Sister Angela, it was because her vocation to the order was so strong and certain within her, and she was so completely sure that when she finished her novitiate she would take full vows and become a bride of Christ.

In the meantime, she led a life of strict chastity, self-denial and obedience, in competition with the other novices but more importantly with herself to be as blameless, selfless and spiritually spotless as she possibly could.

Angela was beautiful, but she didn't know that she was beautiful. The sheltered life she led, surrounded entirely by women, gave her no opportunity to learn from others' reactions how attractive the contrast was between her slim figure and her large breasts, or how gorgeous her child-like face. The only hint she might have noticed was that she was allowed to wear her beautiful, fine blonde hair down over her shoulders. Rather than cut it to neck-length like the other novices.

Of course most of the time it was bound up anyway, so the difference was less obvious - but it was a concession made precisely because the older nuns couldn't bear to spoil Angela's perfect beauty, poised as it was between the innocence of the child and the voluptuous curves of womanhood.

It was the innocence that troubled Sister Bridget the most. She was aware that despite the seclusion of convent life, it took a tough soul to stick to it year after year. Life in a closed order was sometimes bleak and hard, and it pained her to think of such an untried, naive girl as Angela entering that world without having any experience of anything else. In a way it seemed to negate the essence of her choice if she chose on the basis of ignorance of the wider world.

It was because Angela was a church orphan. She had been raised in convent schools all her life, never seeing the world except through the bars of a convent gate. Surely that was wrong, Sister Bridget thought. Surely the child should at least have a taste of freedom before opting for a life of seclusion - a glimpse of earthly beauty before choosing to devote herself to the perfection of her soul.

After pondering this conundrum over most of a year, Sister Bridget summoned Angela to her study one fine Spring morning. The gorgeous young girl made a perfect courtesy, then greeted the older woman with real affection.

"Angela," Sister Bridget began, "I've had a request from our sister house in London. They've received a grant to refurbish the older parts of the building, and they're hoping to set up an additional dormitory there so that they can take in intending novices on day release from the schools nearby. But they need some help in painting and decorating. Would you like to give them a hand?"

"Oh yes, Sister!" said Angela, all eagerness. This sounded like a real adventure. Bridget sincerely hoped that it would be - and that Angela would enjoy the trip to London on the train as well as the experience of working with other young nuns and novices on a shared task of such importance. She would experience camaraderie, and the joy of a job well done - and she would see a little of the world along the way.

So three days later, Father Connell drove Angela to the Oxford railway station and put her on a train to London, clutching her ticket, a letter of introduction to Mother Andreas at the London house, and a small purse with a twenty pound note in it in case of emergencies.

Father Connell stayed until the train left, waving goodbye to Angela until the train turned a bend and she was out of sight. Then he drove back to the convent to meet a flustered Sister Bridget. "They've just phoned from London!" she said.

"They said they've been delayed and they won't be able to meet Angela's train. She's to wait at the inquiries desk for half an hour until they arrive - but she won't know that! What are we to do?"

Father Connell quieted Sister Bridget's fears. He said he'd phone ahead to King's Cross and ask for a message to be read out over the tannoy. Angela would hear it and would know what to do.

But the best laid plans don't always work out as they're meant to. Angela's train was delayed for five minutes, and though Father Connell's message was read out in due course, she walked out onto the station concourse just in time to miss it completely.

It worried the young girl at first that there was nobody there to meet her. But she knew that the London convent was busy and short-staffed, and she reasoned that something important must have come up to prevent them from sending someone. So she would use her emergency money and take a taxi.

Carrying her single suitcase, which wasn't very heavy, she walked out of the station building into the street. It was very busy and full of traffic. She looked around for a black cab, knowing what they were meant to look like, but there were none in sight. There were several mini-cabs, however, and she approached the first of these.

The two men in the front seat watched her approach with evident interest. Her beauty was enough to make her stand out in a crowd - and the contrast between her lovely face and body and her austere black novice's gown made an even stronger impression.

"Hello," she said to the two men. "I need to get to the convent at Highgate. Could you take me there?"

There was a pause that lasted long enough for Angela to be sure she'd made a mistake. Blushing, she opened her mouth to apologise and move on, but then both men spoke at once.

"Sorry, love," said the driver. "We're not here to..."

But the man in the passenger seat interrupted him.

"It's no problem, though, Jimmy, is it? You hop in, love.

We'll get you there inside of ten minutes."

The man addressed as Jimmy stared at his friend in astonishment, meeting a very intense and meaningful stare in return.

"Oh. Yeah," he said at last. "No problem, of course. Yeah. We can do that."

The other man - not Jimmy - got out of the car and opened the rear door for Angela. He took her suitcase from her, and she climbed in with a smile of thanks. Then he did something to the lock mechanism in the door. "Case you fall out," he said with a bright smile, and slammed it closed.

Then he got back into the car and Jimmy pulled away from the curb.

Angela settled into her seat and looked all around, excited that her London adventure was beginning. Then to her horror she saw in the car's rear view mirror her suitcase left on the pavement behind them, already receding into the distance.

"My case!" she blurted. "It's got all my clothes in it!"

"Er... the next car will take that, love," said Jimmy hurriedly. "We work in twos, like. One car for the passenger, one for the luggage."

Even to someone as untutored in the ways of the world as Angela, this sounded unusual. But she supposed that the driver must know his own business, and she made no further protest. She just gazed out in happy curiosity at the bustling city as it unrolled itself past her window.

Jimmy Heron and Mick Summerfield were pimps, essentially. They had a few other earners, but most of their money came from running girls around King's Cross Station, and a few in Paddington. They were at King's Cross that day to meet a young slag from Wales who was meant to be on the 11.10 - but it was nearly mid-day and it was clear that the bitch had either not come or had missed them somehow.

So when Mick saw Angela, his first thought was "Tasty bit of cunt. Wonder if she's legal." Then his second thought, following quickly on its heels, was that the afternoon might not be a total waste after all.

Now they had the beautiful little girl in the back of the car, and nobody who gave a fuck about her would have the slightest idea where she was. Raping this little chick would burn off some of their frustration and annoyance and help to pass an afternoon that had suddenly become vacant.

Angela was in blissful ignorance of these callous calculations, but she was puzzled and a little unnerved when the car, after about ten minutes' driving, turned into a narrow street on a run-down estate.

"Is this Highgate?" she asked doubtfully.

"Yeah," said Mick. "This is... er... the shabbier end of Highgate. I think the convent's on the next street along, but I thought we could stop and ask for directions."

Jimmy stopped the car and Mick jumped out. Angela tried her own door, but of course Mick had put the child-lock on and it didn't open.

"Just stay put, love," Jimmy told her. "This'll just take a minute, okay?"

Mick ran up the driveway of the house where they'd stopped, then unlocked and opened the roll-over door of the garage. Jimmy pulled the car into the drive and then rolled it carefully into the garage. As the garage door slammed closed behind her, Angela felt the first stirring of unease.

But by then, of course, it was far too late.

"I'd like you to let me out now," she faltered.

"Yeah, sure love," said Jimmy. He opened his own door, then hers. Angels climbed out, finding herself pressed up against Jimmy because the space was so narrow. He grinned at her in the half-dark of the garage. "Bit of a tight squeeze, eh?" he said cheerfully. "You just follow me. Soon have you out of them wet things."

Angela's eyes widened. "They're... they're not wet," she pointed out.

"No," agreed Jimmy. "But that's a small detail, innit?" He grabbed her arm and hauled her, a little roughly, through a small door that connected the garage to the house. Mick was letting himself in by the front door at the same time. Then the two men locked and bolted both doors with a scary finality.

"I don't understand," said Angela, her heart beating fast.

"I thought we were just asking for directions."

Jimmy nodded. "You thought that because we told you that," he agreed. "But now that we're inside, I can quite honestly put my hand on my heart and say that we're going to rape you. Repeatedly."

Before she could even respond, the two men fell on Angela like a pair of wild animals. She cried out in surprise and fear, but her cry was choked off by Mick's heavy hand as he slapped it over her mouth. Then they lifted her bodily off her feet and carried her through into the living room. Later on they were going to rape her in comfort on the big double bed that had seen a lot of similar action over the years, but the living room was where the beer was, and it made sense to start there.

They dumped the little girl unceremoniously down on the sofa, and as she opened her mouth to scream Mick lamped her one across the face with his open hand. Her head bounced off the pillow and her breath escaped her in a wuff, momentarily silencing her.

"Listen," Mick said. "Now listen, just listen!" He held up a warning finger in front of Angela's face, and the terrified girl took a deep, gulping breath. More screams were welling up inside her, but she managed to swallow them for the moment and stared at Mick with big, scared eyes.

"Good," Mick said approvingly. "Listen, girlie, here's how it is. You're some sort of nun, are you?"

"I-I'm a novice," Angela said, barely audibly.

"A what?" Mick snapped.

"A novice," she blurted. "I-I'm training to be a nun."

"Okay," Mick nodded. "Well we're going to open up another career path for you, alright? We're going to teach you how to fuck. Then when we're done, if you decide you'd still like to be a nun after all, we'll clean all our spunk out of you, give you some ointment for your sore cunt and let you go. Is that fair?"

Angela knew how babies were made, in theory at least, and so she had some tiny inkling of one of the many things these two men were about to do to her - but in her sheltered upbringing she'd never encountered the words "cunt" or "spunk". In any case, she couldn't answer: she opened her mouth, but the words died in her throat. Mick took that as a yes.

"Right, get your kit off and let's have a butcher's at you," he said. Angela didn't move.

"Your clothes," Mick roared, impatiently. "Get your fucking clothes off." When Angela remained frozen in terror and shock, he grabbed her by the front of her gown and brought her face up close to his.

"Listen, you stupid little bitch," he said, "you may have been a nun when you went to bed last night, and you might be a nun again tomorrow, but today you're a fuck-toy, and we're gonna rape seven kinds of shit out of you. That's gonna happen, like it or not. But if you don't do as you're told, we're also gonna beat seven kinds of shit out of you. You probably won't survive if we do both."

Trembling like a leaf in a gale, Angela tried to get her gown off. It was awkward at the best of times, and it seemed to take forever. When it was still only halfway over her head the men were putting their hands up between her legs, hauling off her knickers and exploring the virgin territory beneath.

"Cute little snatch," Jimmy said, stroking her cunt lips with his thick, blunt fingers.

"Nice arse, too," Mick said, poking at the little puckered rosebud of her bumhole. "Fuck, this is gonna be great!"

They threw Angela's gown down on the floor, and her bra followed a moment later. Last to come off was the silver crucifix that hung around her neck. Jimmy took this off, and waved it over her in a jockey benediction. "For what we are about to receive," he said with a lecherous grin, "may the Lord make us truly thankful."

Her big breasts delighted them, and soon they were both licking on her nipples as they continued to play with her nether holes. Angela tried to explain to them, in a quavering voice, that a nun was married to Christ.

"It's alright," Mick reassured her. "We don't want to marry you - just have a fuck on you."

Under her terrified gaze, the two men got their own clothes off. Then they shoved her to her knees on the floor between them and brandished their huge erections in front of her face. "Get sucking," Jimmy ordered her.

Angela just barely knew what a penis was. She had never seen one in her whole life, and the sight of these two monstrous, turgid hard-ons was absolutely terrifying to her. She simply had no mental model of what Jimmy was telling her to do.

So Mick helped her out by grabbing a handful of her hair and shoving her face down into Jimmy's crotch.

"Lick it," he growled. "Lick his knob."

Gingerly, flinching inwardly, Angela stuck out her tongue and lapped at the bulbous head of Mick's huge penis. It tasted sour, and smelled very strongly of sweat and musk. Mick gave a grunt of satisfaction at the initial contact, but soon got impatient with Angela's timid ministrations. He told her curtly to take it in her mouth and suck on it. Angela obeyed, a single tear of dismay running down her cheek. She wanted to please her captors, because she didn't want them to hurt her, but she had so little idea what they wanted of her. She suspected with a sinking heart that her best wouldn't be good enough.

After a few minutes, Mick grabbed her head and pulled her over so that her face was in his lap. His colossal erection stood up in her face so that she was staring straight down the barrel of it.

"My turn," he leered. "Come on, Sister. Get sucking."

Both men continued to snap out instructions at her, and she obeyed as best she could. Soon she was wanking both shafts at once as her head bobbed on Mick's, his broad, swollen glans going backwards and forwards between her lips.

Jimmy picked up the remote and they turned the TV on, because there was a race coming up that he'd placed a bet on. They watched the pre-race coverage happily, drinking a can of Tennants Special while Angela orally pleasured their increasingly straining hard-ons.

Poor Angela's head was spinning from the musky smell of the men's cocks and from the enormity of what she was doing. Was it even possible to be a bride of Christ after you'd had a penis in your mouth? Were these two gigantic fuck-sticks shutting her off from salvation? She wanted desperately to ask Sister Bridget about it, but knew that even if she ever saw Sister Bridget again she'd never be able to find the words.

Then the race came on, and Jimmy's horse took an early lead. He got excited, and in his excitement he grabbed hold of Angela's head. "Come on, Mother's Boy," he roared, shoving her face down further on his cock. "Come on, Mother's Boy! You can do it!" Angela tried to breathe around the gigantic organ that was filling her mouth, but it was hard - particularly when Jimmy started shoving her head roughly up and down, using her mouth as a wanking implement to help him deal with the excitement and tension.

But Mother's Boy went down at the last fence, and Jimmy was not pleased.

"Fuck!" he cursed. "That's fifty quid down the sodding drain!"

"Never mind," Mick consoled him. "Let's go on upstairs.

You'll feel better after you've shagged this bitch."

"Yeah." Jimmy cheered up. "Come on, Sister. Let's get stuck in."

They half-led, half-carried her upstairs into the main bedroom, and shoved her down on the bed. This wasn't actually a house in which either Mick or Jimmy lived - it was one of the flophouses their whores used, although this one was currently unoccupied and they knew they weren't going to be disturbed. The dingy bedroom had no furniture except for the bed itself and a single chest of drawers. The curtains were nailed closed.

Jimmy started licking on Angela's tits again, and after a while Mick joined him on the other one. At the same time, both of them were groping between her legs. Angela gasped as one of Mick's fingers probed her tight little vaginal slit - then yelled aloud as Jimmy bit down hard on her nipple.

The yell annoyed Jimmy, and he smacked her hard across the face. "You keep your fucking voice down," he warned her. "If anyone comes snooping around because of your noise, I'll stick one fist up your cunt and the other up your arse."

Angela quavered into silence, but made a series of little gasping bleats as both men continued to chew and bite on her shapely tits. This turned them on a hell of a lot, and soon they were ready to shag her. They debated briefly about who was going to bust her cherry. In the end they tossed a coin and Mick won.

He spread her legs roughly, then got down in between them and hooked her pussy lips open with his thumbs. Hawking up some phlegm, he spat three or four times into her cunthole by way of lubrication.

Then he got on top of her and positioned his dick up against her vaginal lips. He pushed, and pushed again, grunting with the effort. Jimmy watched, amazed.

Mick's erection was a good ten inches long, and extremely thick - grown women had sometimes winced when they had to take it. To see it pressing against the immature fanny gash of this innocent little girl made Jimmy's own cock twitch in sympathetic arousal. Angela cried out in shock and pain and fear. As yet Mick hadn't even entered her, but his bulbous knob was stretching her cuntlips apart.

He shoved again and the knob began to slide into her. Her head swam. She had never felt a pain quite like it.

"Bleeding Nora!" Mick grunted. "She's tight as a drum."

"I'm sure you'll loosen her up," Jimmy said, with an evil chuckle.

Mick put more of his weight into it, and his colossal prong slid inch by inch up Angela's virgin slit. She gave a gasping, shuddering moan that broke up into incoherent, broken noises that she didn't even recognise as her own voice.

"Fucking lovely!" Mick panted - and he rammed home.

Angela fainted at this point. The sheer pain of the obscene physical invasion - the ramming of such a gigantic shaft of rampant cock-flesh up into her body - was too much for her senses to bear. When she came to again, she found that Mick was on top of her, fucking her hard up the cunt. It was still agonising - but it had come down from that unendurable peak of agony. Either the blood from the busting of her cherry or some slick of cunt juice that her body had made in response to this unexpected emergency had lubricated her, and the monster cock was sliding in and out of her gash more freely.