Harlotsville II: Altar Ego

For the first time in a long time, she could stimulate that most special area right in front of everyone. And that she did.

She sighed, then contained herself as the nozzle slipped through her experienced anal ring with ease. It felt far too thin to her; barely more than a pinky. Her hole just sucked the tube up deeper, winking greedily. The sensation still aroused her quite a bit, but she immediately knew she needed more.

This inspired her to quickly devise a motive. She turned her head and gazed at the arrangement of blinking, uncomfortable-looking young nuns and pointed to one who randomly caught her eye.

"You, what did you say your name was again?" Betty said quickly.

"Grace..." the gaunt, sunken-eyed postulant replied with some difficulty. Betty looked the girl over for a second, noting the look of suspicion on the girl's acned face. She smiled at her broadly, but found

"Young Grace, come here. The machine next to me, wheel it closer."

"Oh...okay, yes Sister Arbach..." the girl started, looking around at her peers who only stared back at her cluelessly. She took a few reluctant steps over to the neighboring machine and carted it over to where Betty could reach it.

"Now some of you may be wondering why I am using two machines," Betty improvised to her growing arousal. Her audience remained rapt.

"...Because the flow of soapwater into the lower colon increases exponentially when multiple sources are entering the same passage. This is not recommended for beginners to internal irrigation, mind you. I am simply doing this to expedite the demonstration, as I want us...all to..."

She heaved, her eyes falling on Grace's tiny white hands.

For a flash in time, Betty wanted all ten of those little fingers inside of her, balled up and plunging the depths of her insatiable rectum. But she shook the idea away and tried to stay focused on her immediate goal.

"Ahem. I am expediting this because I want us all to have time to try it for ourselves. Lunch time is only 15 minutes from now after all, so..."

Several of the girls had begun to dimly perceive the true subtext. Sensing this, paranoia threatened to strike Betty again, but she powered through, her lust outstripping any logical concerns now.

She snatched the nozzle from the second machine and hastily crammed it up her large wobbly rump where it joined the first. She swallowed a grunt as it slid through the sweaty, twitching ring.

Now the two parallel nozzles managed to approximate something less ticklish and more substantial, and although this still was not even close to truly satisfying her, it at least afforded her some small glimmer of the sensation she truly craved.

It took every ounce of willpower for her not to demand, "One more!" of the young girl. She knew she was truly pushing the limits of her authority over these young women, and so with some effort she managed to divert their attention to the ostensibly pious subtext of this whole endeavor.

"Cleanliness is next to...Godliness, young ladies. That is...the entire point of the enema. We wash our...exteriors, that we may show others the respect we have for ourselves as...God's creations..."

This roughly produced the effect she was hoping for. The strange display was rendered much more palatable and sensical with this reminder, and many of the young women still nodded receptively.

"But the Lord knows us all both inside and out. So to truly honor Him, you must clean the whole body! E-every organ, every valve. Now...release the cleaning solution...both machines..." she told Grace almost breathlessly, her voice rising sharply in pitch.

The young girl did as told, using those skeletal little fingers to remove the small seal at the base of each bag. There was a gurgle as ounce after ounce of soapwater now rapidly began to flood Betty's colon.

"Now! T-the water...enters our waste passage, freeing its walls of debris..." she mumbled, shivering in her bent-over position. Her gigantic buttocks now flexed and convulsed in involuntary reaction to the overpowering sensation building beyond them.

When a truly whorish moan threatened to escape her lips, she bit down on them and shut her eyes tight. Save for the glug, glug, glug of the fluid inundating her bowels, the room was silent.

"Nnghh..." she finally let out, biting down so hard that she could taste the salt of her blood.

Her face was bright pink and her entire body continued to jerk and shake with the sensation, and yet somehow she managed to suppress the more incriminating throes. This remained "educational" as far as the students were concerned, if eye-opening.

Within a few minutes, the bags were empty. The full combined eight quarts of water sloshed around noisily in Betty's stomach, which was now distended to the point of appearing pregnant.

Those young onlookers, no matter how keyed in or oblivious to the perverse undertones of the display, were as quiet as petrified mice. And many of them looked the part as well; when Betty's eyes crept open, she could see several of the girls had blanched considerably, their eyes wide.

"The rest...is quite simple," she managed to say as she stood there, weak-kneed and flushed. "The fluid must be retained for exactly fifteen minutes, and--"

"Fifteen?" Grace blurted from her nearby position, a reaction mirrored in the wave of disturbed gasps and groans building among her ranks. She immediately followed her up with, "I-I'm sorry, Miss Arbach..."

Betty simply flashed the almost cowering, raccoon-eyed young lady a warm, if strained smile.

"Now, now, dear. It's not...as hard as it sounds. Simply tighten your sphincter, and--this is what I personally like to do--let your mind wander to a nice place. For me, it's my childhood garden. I grew all sorts of tasty veggies there...cucumbers...carrots. Can you imagine it?"

"Yes, Miss Arbach..." the girls mumbled in clumsy, confused unison.

"You see, young ladies," she continued as she grabbed her keys and started towards the doors, "simply go to whatever your nice place is, in your mind...go there...and before you know it...it will be time to release..."

"Yes, Miss Arbach..."

She unlocked one door. Then she waddled slowly across the room to the opposing door, unlocking it as well.

With a truly pained smirk, Betty's turned finally to her audience one last time. Her voice raised an octave to inform her class: "Release In private, of course. You don't need me to show you how to use the toilet."

There was nervous laughter from her audience, and then a slow, deep gurgle from her churning stomach.

"And on that note...class is dismissed...More tomorrow..."

As row after row of nearly catatonic girls steadily filtered out of the room, Betty became more and more excited. The pressure in her bowels was driving her mad, and concealing her pleasure long enough to be out of sight was extremely difficult.

Yet one student seemed to linger.

She said nothing else. She merely hovered by the door, watching Betty as she nearly danced with pleasure, her large rump tensing fitfully as she walked in tight circles. Noticing her remaining presence, Betty waved her away desperately.

"Go, young one. Thank you for your assistance...more tomorrow...G-god be with you..."

Grace's dark eyes grew wider in sudden realization, then shock.

"You're...why are you..."

She backed away slowly, suddenly turned on her heels, and sprinted away.

Oh no. But Betty had only time to do one thing: release. The toilets were just around the corner.

___________________________

Almost nobody ever really ate the food during lunchtime. While breakfasts and suppers were much more palatable, being regularly prepared by an actual cook, lunchtime was usually just aging rations, the same scraps fed to the inmates in the state's most neglected prisons. Lunchtime was for gossip. And there was plenty going around now.

The chatter and bustle of the lunchroom provided a particularly precious moment of cover for the novices. Even the raptorial eye of Mother Haywood could not catch every furtive exchange.

Assisting in her surveillance were two regulars: Margo, whose senses were too dull to make her an effective scrutineer, and Grażyna, a heavy Polish woman whose general temperament was so depressive that she could rarely summon the energy to reprimand or direct anyone. And so it was under these auspices that Grace whispered to her table:

"I'm telling you. She's a pervert."

The rows of girls on either side masked their giggles by pantomiming the consumption of the brittle biscuits and odorous gruel laid out in trays before them.

"Are you sure?"

"You saw it with your own eyes, don't lie," Grace returned. "Do you remember that expression on her face? It was like she was getting some sick--"

She paused to monitor the movements of two monitors traipsing around the large, brightly-sunlit room. She then glanced over at the sitting Mother Haywood, who was momentarily preoccupied with the task of sawing one of those dreadfully hard biscuits with a butter knife. Satisfied, she continued.

"But I have proof..."

Now their curiosity was thoroughly piqued. Grace dug her hand quickly into her white postulant's habit, beyond the blonde frizz at her temples, and retrieved a tiny piece of cloth she'd tucked in the back. She tossed it on the table and pointed at it.

Name: Betty Ann Arbach

DOB: 11/3/1897

Admitted: 12/02/1940

Status: PROB

"What is this?" one girl asked in a furtive whisper.

"Look," Grace said, pointing. "It's Ms. Arbach's habit tag. Look there. It says "PROB."

"What's that mean?"

"I...don't know, but it doesn't sound good."

"Maybe it stands for 'problem'?"

"Uh, maybe..."

"Then what?"

"Look, I don't know, but it can't be good. No good words start with PROB. It's even in red letters. None of our tags say that, do they?"

"But maybe it's because she's older...you know, like, she has a higher rank?"

"No, because I did wash duty a few times and none of the other nuns have that on their tags. Look, I don't know. But I'm telling you, Sister Arbach is a perv. She wants to make us put those...things up our bums and turn us into pervs just like her! And she's picked the first five of us to convert!"

Just at that moment, Sister Margo came strolling by whistling a jaunty tune. Her weak eyes could not distinguish the tiny sheet of paper on the table from any of the other clutter, but it was clear she had detected something in the anxious posture of the cluster of girls.

"Now is everything okay, girls?" she asked, resuming her whistling as soon as the words left her mouth. She paused to look over the young women, trying to discern why their expressions were so peculiar.

"Yes, Sister Margo," the girls all joined in on cue. Grace, feeling some degree of guilt for having attracted attention to the table, followed up with, "We're fine, Sister Margo. It's just that...it's that, ahem, time of the month for some of us here, you know, so we're a bit tender is all..."

Grace's gambit seemed effective. Margo was quick to retreat from the entire subject.

"Oh, well that's your business I s'pose! Carry on, girls!" Margo said, trotting away and resuming her mindless songbird motif.

Grace quickly swiped the list off the table and tucked it back in her habit.

"I'm telling you," she mumbled, leaning in and making eye contact specifically with the other girls mentioned on the list. "Sister Arbach fancies us. I think she must be a tommy, too. I see the way she looks at us...it's only a matter of time before she comes for your bums!"

"Maybe we should call her Sister Arse-bach," one girl blurted, trying to lighten the mood. Amidst some tense chuckles, Grace replied, "That's a good idea. Spread the word."

______________________________________

"Doesn't it feel amazing?" Betty said in a quivery, blissful tone.

"O mój Boże! Y-yes...I cannot believe...!" Grażyna concurred shamefully, her doughy face shot through with a rosy blush.

"I told you!" Betty said, grinning mischievously as she bent forward a bit more to allow the soapwater to access the true depths of her colon. Unlike her companion, she had three nozzles crammed through her sphincter, pumping away. She'd have gone for four, but she was in a hurry.

"My Lord!" Grażyna let out, unable to contain herself. Betty stood up straight again to behold her companion. While very plain-looking about the face, the portly Slavic nun had a pair of absolutely gargantuan breasts that Betty had become quite fond of lately, and she now reached out to grab them again.

When she twisted their pale peaks between her fingers, Grażyna bleated loudly, overwhelmed by the rushing sensation growing beyond her rear cheeks. The violent undulations of her body were even more extreme than Betty's, as this sensation had no precedent for her.

To be naked in the shower together in of itself would constitute a major, punishable infraction within the Mercy Convent. To be naked doing this...it was unthinkable. The knowledge that either of them could face years of utter, church-mandated and state-approved misery just for this one infraction only made the transgression more exciting.

"We must Hurry!" Betty told Grażyna, sensing there was little time left. They'd be expected out on the lawn with the rest of the nuns in only a few moments. She released the woman's heavy bosoms and tugged at her hair. "Stand up, stand up straight..." Betty demanded desperately.

Grażyna lifted her head, looking up at the slightly taller Betty, then straightened her body. Their faces met. As the soap continued to flood their deep reaches, they kissed passionately, hungrily. Although Grażyna's lips were much thinner than Betty's, the two locked together perfectly, the tips of their tongues dancing to the music of depraved moans.

"I-I love it," Grażyna gasped into Betty's suckling mouth. "I-I did not know...this feeling before..."

"I love it too," Betty echoed. "Promise me...we'll always do this together..."

"Yes! Always!" Grażyna said. "Oh, Betty! I so love it up my bum! I love it!"

"I am so glad..." Betty groaned, kissing the woman's plush and now almost beet-red cheek. "We must finish. They'll wonder where we are. Release with me. Right here. Right now!"

Betty placed one hand at her crotch and found the tender nib there, rubbing it rapidly. Then, with her other hand, she reached behind her. Grażyna did the same.

"Right now!" Betty repeated shutting her eyes tight.

Both women pulled. The minute Betty felt the clyster nozzles exit her body, it happened.

A torrent of liquid excrement was swiftly jettisoned from her spastic rectum. It bypassed her knot with a loud fart, fanning out to a vivid spray.

Quart after noisy quart of the dislodged waste spewed from her rear port, oozing down her calves. It collected at her ankles, between her toes. But she was too busy climaxing to notice or care now.

Grażyna's peak was even louder than Betty's. It was, very clearly, the first orgasm she'd ever accomplished in her life. Her wide, dumpy rear fired several solid logs of waste before a stream of olive muck sprayed out of her pulsing anus.

Even as the last contents of her enema found their way to the tiled floor, her hand still moved quickly over that special center between her legs, and at some point she became so faint that Betty had to reach out and hold the woman up lest she fall down into her own mess.

The two women hugged, leaning sideways against the chilly wall of the shower together, dripping. Betty rest her head, her dark curls draped over Grażyna's broad shoulders. The two of them held tight until noises from outside indicated that the photoshoot had finally been set up.

"Oh my! They'll be looking for us!" Grażyna exclaimed half-consciously, stumbling a bit as she tried to regain her own balance.

"Yes. Let's go," Betty agreed, hobbling over to the corner to dry herself. The black-and-white pile of holy robes laying on the floor would quickly become the veil of purity again, but now both women knew what they really concealed.

_________________________________

For the first time in his career, Moses had been caught in the act. Though he knew the consequences for him could be dire, they'd undoubtedly be even worse for the others involved. Particularly skirted, bewigged, cohl-eyed man bent before him, who was still cluelessly squealing in delight when the door swung open.

It was clear to Moses that his client had not covered his tracks well; even in his transformed state, he was quickly identified by the interlopers as the Archduke of Austria. Visiting the Americas ostensibly on a lark, here now the true reason for his trip was exposed.

The two culprits could not uncouple themselves quickly enough, and besides, it would not have mattered if they could. The three Mercy Convent scouts who had barged into the space had been aware of the proceedings for some time, and the cumulative disgust that they now harbored had crystallized into pure hatred.

The black was seized as a common gangster, and roughly hogtied; the Archduke, on the other hand, was contained through forceful verbal commands.

This did not happen smoothly. Still dressed in a flowing white skirt, pink hosiery, red high heels, a red bustier, and golden locks clipped to his head, the Archduke first attempted to speak in the same hectoring, boorish tone he was known for publicly; it did not seem to dawn on him that he was dressed so convincingly like a woman that had his mouth remained shut and his identity were not already known, there'd scarcely by any scandal here.

It was only when the wig was ripped from his scalp by one of the Scouts that his tone changed. Beneath the skirt his small penis was still stiff, his pallid rump still quivered from the overwhelming sensation, imagining his new audience was quite aware of this, he began to put on pathetic airs. Which quickly became real, desperate pleads.

Meanwhile, Moses wisely remained quiet for the time being. The situation was almost comical to him--these grave men of the cloth, who devoted whole lifetimes to tracking and calculating the carnal desires of others, were jokes to him.

But still, dangerous jokes. He knew to keep his laughter internal.

The Archduke was carried away in spectacularly humiliating fashion. He was not allowed a change of wardrobe, and as he was trotted out at the butt of a long pike to the main hallway of his estate, he was spotted by several underlings. A handful already knew; more had heard the rumours, but did not believe them; most had been oblivious. All were mortified by the sight.

Scandalized in the light of day, the Royal Fruit was forced to do a sobbing walk of shame down the stairs to the wheeled cage waiting outside, a puptent still formed at the crotch of his dress.

With some unexpected flicker of outrage rising to the surface of Moses's mind, he could not help but mutter to himself, "Is this all you do?"

"What?" the weak-jawed, pike-wielding scout barked back at him.

"Nothing."

"Shut up, half-breed. We should have never even taught you people English."

With that, Moses spit in the man's direction, landing it on the man's pant legs. Considering his bound position on the floor, he was quite proud of himself. Although he did not get to celebrate long, as a jab from the pike pierced his side and drove dangerously deep. He did not give his captor the pleasure of hearing an exclamation of pain; he simply absorbed the offense with gritted teeth.

"You're not very smart, but that's not a surprise," the furious scout told him, wiping the spit from his small blue eyes. "Uncivilized wretch. Where we're taking you, you will learn as much truth as that little mind of yours can handle."

"We are all God's creations, yes?" Moses countered. "When you insult me, you insult His handiwork."