Investigating the Penance Chapel

[This story is a continuation of the Mrs. Tupa series. For better context and understanding, you might consider reading the previous stories. Please note that this story is not for everyone. It includes bodily functions, religious rituals, body hair, and strong smells, among other things. If you find any of these off-putting or offensive, please do not read it or down-vote it. I generally reply to personal messages, but please include your username and email if you wish a reply. Thank you for reading.]

Jack discovers a hidden ritual chamber in the Church

For several days after Sister Katka and I had performed the intense Rite of the Immaculate Conception with the assistance of Dame Taborova and Mrs. Capekova, I was in a kind of a spaced-out bliss. This did not affect my visits to the needy Czech widows of the parish -- if anything it enhanced them, as several of them remarked that I seemed especially energized and my blissful state was quite infectious. Nevertheless, Father Viktor, who continued to monitor my physical and emotional state on a daily basis, told me that he felt that I needed to be "better grounded", as he put it.

"Jack, my lad, I think that to better integrate your angelic twin with your physical being, we had better bring you back down to earth. I don't mean to be a party-pooper, so to speak, but I do think that this would be a good time to acquaint you with another of our parish's community activities. There is still so much for you to learn, and I think you might find our weekly ritual in the 'Penance Chapel' just the thing to help re-ground you."

"The Penance Chapel? Where's that? I'm positive that Brother Dougal didn't show me that when he gave me my orientation tour of the Church complex."

"Yes, well, I had him give you the beginner's tour, as we have some facilities -- all very popular, I might add -- that might be too shocking or confusing to a brand new catechumen. The last thing I wanted to do was scare you off. Did the good Brother show you much of the Church basement?"

"No, not really, now that I think about it. He just walked me through the underground tunnels between the Church, the Rectory, and the Nunnery."

"Well then, you are in for a treat, Jack my boy. Now that dinner is over and done with, it will soon be time for our Wednesday night 'Sharing Circle' in the Penance Chapel in the basement. This is an activity that is especially popular with our parish widows. I had them save us two seats, so that we can join in. Come, let's go down there. We don't want to be late!"

* * *

I followed Father Viktor down the stairs to the Rectory basement and then through the concrete tunnel to the Church basement. He led me through a dimly lit corridor to a rather anonymous double-door entrance to the Chapel. The wooden doors each had a small frosted stained-glass window embedded in them, through which we could make out a defused flickering light within. I expected to find a small chapel with dark-stained wooden pews filled with devoted parish widows. Wow, was I wrong!

Father Viktor pulled the right-hand door open and ushered me into a room in which ten or so widows stood around naked in their natural state, drinking tea and chatting. Almost without exception, they were short and hairy, with low hanging pendulous breasts that wobbled and swung as they gestured to each other.

"Hello, ladies!" the good Father called out. "I've brought a special surprise guest to join us tonight. I believe that some of you may have already met Brother Jack, our new catechumen and lay server."

Every head in the room swiveled around to greet us with beaming smiles and little exclamations of "Oh my!" and "Bless you!" I grinned back, recognizing a few familiar faces and bodies, one of whom was Mrs. Tupa, who gave a joyous little squeal and hurried over to give me a chaste kiss on each cheek. Father Viktor looked on benignly, and then in a low voice advised that we best disrobe without further delay.

While I removed my clothes as quickly as I could, I gazed around the candle-lit room, and only then did it sink in that instead of pews, the chapel seating consisted of a dozen brown porcelain commodes with dark-stained wooden seats, all neatly arranged in a circle facing inward.

"Well, lad, what do you think? See that toilet over there with the small table in front of it? That will be your seat. Why don't you go over and take a peek in the bowl?"

I did as the good Father suggested and was shocked to find the familiar face of Mother Magdalene smiling back at me, quite recognizable despite the small swimmer's goggles covering her eyes.

"Holy Shit!" I exclaimed, and looked back at Father Viktor in confusion. "What's going on?"

"Why don't you take a stroll around the circle and have a look in each bowl, Jack? See if you can figure it out."

I proceeded to do so, and without fail there was a face staring back at me, each wearing swimmer's goggles. Nearly all of them were the faces of our parish widows, though the one in the final bowl next to mine, which I assumed was to be the good Father's, I recognized with another shock, as the elegant visage of Dame Taborova.

"My Dame?" I asked like a fool, immediately wishing I had kept my mouth shut.

"Not to worry, my dear boy. There is never such a thing as too much Mortification. The good Father is kind enough to accommodate me each Wednesday, and I wouldn't miss this for the world. It is a great blessing."

By now, I was practically reeling, and Father Viktor came over to steady me and take a quick look into the bowl. He gave a loving smile to its "inhabitant" and spoke in a low voice.

"Why hello, My Dame. Lovely to see you, as always. You never fail to honor us with your participation."

"The pleasure is all mine, Father. It is always so satisfying to see that the Old Ways are not being forgotten."

Father Viktor turned to me and briefly explained.

"As you must have guessed by now, these are not typical commodes, but bottomless bowls set over holes cut in the floor. Beneath this room is a sub-basement chamber with a large hydraulic platform able to accommodate 12 'recipients' who are positioned like spokes on a wheel, so that, when the platform is raised, each recipient's face is immediately below the hole beneath a given commode.

"The parishioners laying here are willing to be shat upon as penance for their sins. It is one of the Old Ways of Mortifying the Flesh, though obviously no physical pain is involved. It is also a blessing for those seated, as this serves as a variant of sharing one's pee and poop.

"There's a bit more to tell, but let me move things along here, first."

"Alright, Ladies. Let's each share an Embrace of Eden with the person nearest you, so that we can proceed."

Mrs. Tupa was still close to me, and she eagerly hugged me before anyone else could get a chance. As always, we just lost ourselves in a close embrace, our hearts both open, and a strong feeling of love warming us. It was even more intense than usual, as the presence of my angelic twin seemed to stir and it felt as if its invisible wings were enfolded around us. Our embrace was only ended by Father Viktor telling everyone to take a seat. Not surprisingly, Mrs. Tupa hastened over to claim the seat to my right, so that we were in close proximity. It was obvious that she still missed the early days when she had me to herself several evenings a week.

Once we were all seated on our toilets, Father Viktor leaned over to me and explained things a little more.

"Jack, my lad, this group defecation and penance may be one of the Old Ways, but we have modernized it in one respect. We have brought an element of Bingo into it, which the old gals seem to love. As you may notice, each seat has number painted on the floor in front of it. On the table before you is a hollow leather box with a hole on top and twelve numbered cubes inside. Before each turn, you will shake the box, turn it upside down, and let a random cube fall out. Then you announce the number and it is that participant's turn to pee and poop in their seat. Do you think you can handle that?"

I looked at him and nodded. I could see where this procedure added an element of suspense to the ritual. Once again, I admired the good Father's creativity.

"Alright, everyone. Brother Jack, our special guest, is going to draw the numbers tonight. I hope you are all ready to find out who will be the first to pee and poop upon their penitent below."

I picked up the brown box from the small table, covered the hole on top with my thumb and gave the box a good shake, hearing the cubes click and clack against each other. Then I flipped the box over, pulled my thumb from the hole and let a cube fall out into my cupped hand.

"Five!" I announced. That elicited a little scream from a widow on the other side of the circle, who I recognized from one of my home visits. Mrs. Jezekova was a very excitable sort who, once I got her going, was capable of a string of orgasms that were like a string of firecrackers going off. She was very uninhibited and so she was in tonight's sharing of pee and poop.

All present seemed to enjoy watching her squirm around on her seat, trying to make herself shit on demand, and after much grunting and heavy breathing, she suddenly cut a tremendous stinker and ejected what sounded like an explosion of dung balls. This was succeeded by a hissing stream of piss that must have nearly drowned the poor penitent beneath her substantial keister.

This performance earned a spontaneous round of applause from all present. And so things proceeded in a much more playful way than I would have anticipated. I was still not fully used to just how relaxed the parish members could be with each other when it came to matters of their bodies and their waste.

Father Viktor had been right that an evening with the Sharing Circle would help ground me. Katka's and my Sunday afternoon with Dame Taborova may have blasted us all sky high, but it was seemingly no fluke that the good Dame sought out this weekly grounding for herself. No stranger to the highest realms of spiritual exaltation, this dignified Saint nevertheless found it necessary to be pissed and shat upon in this weekly ritual, if not still more often in her own advanced practices at home.

After I had called out a few more random numbers, all of which had been of parish widows in the room, the shaken leather box had coughed out the number of my own commode. To be honest, I felt somewhat put on the spot, as here before a roomful of parishioners, I was being called upon to piss and dump my load upon the florid face of Mother Magdalene, a woman of the Church for whom I had both a great deal of respect and a bone-stiffening hunger that had yet to be fulfilled. She was probably the last person in the parish whom I wished to shit upon, especially before I had had a chance to wedge my boner up her enormous fundament to our mutual pleasure, but the choice was out of my hands.

I realized, with the least bit of thought, that her placement under my commode was not by chance, but almost certainly a result of her lobbying the good Father for a favor. Indeed, it was questionable that she was even here as a penitent, as she and the good Father had engineered so many loopholes in their interpretation of moral dogmas that they were rarely burdened by more than minor sins. Though it sent a shiver up my spine, I was forced to conclude that the good Mother craved for me to piss and shit upon her, either out of some depraved erotic desire or as a perverse bargaining chip that she could cash in with me for a yet greater pleasure further down the line. In either case, I had better not delay any further.

The eyes of everyone in the room were upon me and I was sure that few if any of them realized who was beneath my seat eagerly awaiting my excretions. I looked around and smiled as warmly as I could and then proceeded to flex my abdominal muscles and move my turds down into my rectal chute. Against all odds, I tried to open my heart and expel my waste onto the good Mother as an act of love. I felt a flutter of approval from my angelic twin who had made no objection to the evening's proceedings that I could detect. Either I had a particularly Bohemian Guardian Angel or the Almighty had better things to worry about than the parish's members sharing pee and poop in rituals of penance.

Finally, with a loud splurching sound, I passed some gas and expelled some turds onto the good Mother, then released some pee, and had a further round of fecal extrusion, softer this time. I could only hope that Mother Magdalene was enjoying the full range of my foul gifts. I held back nothing and she received it all. The only sound I heard rising up from the woman below was a sigh of contentment.

* * *

There was no rushing the Sharing Circle. When you have twelve parishioners doing their business in an order randomly determined by numbered cubes in a leather box, you have a process that takes it own time. No one in the Penance Chapel seemed to be watching the clock or concerned whether things were on schedule or not. We were in a sort of timeless present, which seemed to be a common feature of holy rituals.

If a simple Embrace of Eden could take its sweet time, then so could everything that followed. If there was a "quickening" occurring that Dame Taborova had alluded to, better that we resist its haste and enjoy the pleasure of satisfying each other's needs, even if they were a strange need for debasement.

Mrs. Tupa's number was chosen almost near the end, and she did her business sweetly and efficiently, giving me a sideways glance now and then, as if doing such a thing in my presence was as intimate as if we were alone together in her bathroom. What a sweetie. It was only two days until I would be able to spend the night with her at her home again, and I looked forward to that with a yearning I couldn't quite put into words.

By happenstance, the final numbered cube fell to Father Viktor. Did the assembled ladies know that beneath his seat Dame Taborova was invariably positioned, week after week, year after year? I had to imagine that they did. There was no privacy as to which numbered head cradel penitents positioned themselves upon on the recipients' platform, and as the parish's members fluctuated between giving from above and receiving from below, it was likely common knowledge that the good Dame's position was always beneath the good Father's commode.

I don't think that anyone begrudged this place of honor for Dame Taborova, nor felt that the good Father should bestow his waste on them instead. In a community devoted to preserving traditions, no one was inclined to challenge the prerogatives of its two most devoted exponents. Besides, everyone knew that the good Dame had underwritten the cost of the Penance Chapel's construction and its hydraulic platform. Were it not for her, none of them would even be enjoying their weekly social ritual and penance.

In any event, Father Viktor felt totally at ease in crowning the evening's flow with a hearty pee and poop upon his Patron Saint's elegant face. By now, he understood her all too well: her advanced needs, her saintly Mortifications, her enduring generosity, and her gifts of grace to the parish and the world at large. The good Dame was ever so grateful for his understanding and he was for hers.

* * *

It was common practice for the closure of the Wednesday night Sharing Circle that once all the recipients had been served, the Penance Chapel providers would hasten downstairs and welcome the platform descending with their now forgiven community members. As the evening's special guest, I was given the honor of circumnavigating the circular platform and scooping up the feces adorning the penitents' faces and dropping them in a honey bucket. Then everyone traipsed off to the communal showers across the hall in the Church basement. There we scrubbed each other clean and made sure that all of us were in a newly purified state. Then the participants, regardless of higher or lower positions, dressed and bid each other good night as they headed home, refreshed and cleansed.

* * *

Of course there were a few lingering participants who were already home, in a certain sense. Father Viktor and Mother Magdalene seemed in no hurry to run off and neither did I. During the washing and cleansing, I had made sure to personally scrub the good Mother, whispering my apologies to her for befouling her shining face with my own shit and piss. She was having none of it.

"Brother Jack, you still have much to learn. No apology is called for whatsoever. Everyone in this parish is free to participate -- or not -- in rituals such as tonight's. The Sharing Circle is so popular, both for those above and below, that we are forced to limit participation on a first come, first served basis. We could easily have had twice as many congregants sharing together, but we do not have facilities that can accommodate that number all at one time. And besides, you saw how long it took to serve just a dozen penitents. If we had had two dozen, we would have been here past midnight!

"Speaking of which, might I request the favor of visiting you in your room tonight? I'm afraid that the sight of your manly young ass blossoming and pouring forth its gifts upon me has me so aroused that I am in desperate need of a vigorous fucking. Here, smell for yourself."

Mother Magdalene reached down and lifted her habit in front, exposing the fact that she wore no underpants and that her unruly twat was practically dripping its juices. She threaded her fingers between her rude labial flaps, covering them with her love sauce and brought her hand up and rubbed it under my nose. Merciful heavens, the potent musky odor instantly gave me a hard-on, and it was all I could do to restrain myself from mounting her on the spot.

Father Viktor was watching us with some amusement, and chose this moment to offer his seasoned advice.

"Jack, my lad, you have Maggie in a real dither, and I strongly suggest that you hustle her up to your room without delay. When she gets like this, she simply will not take 'no' for an answer. I think that the two of you serving each others' needs would be a fitting end to the evening."

The good Mother gave Father Viktor a heavy-lidded look of gratitude as she dropped her habit and pointed me toward the tunnel.

"Thank you for your understanding, Viktor, my dear. You know me all too well."

And with that, the two of us hurried down the tunnel to the Rectory entrance, while the good Father attended to turning out the lights and locking up the basement facilities.

* * *

When Mother Magdalene had asked me for the favor of visiting me in my room, there was no way in hell that I was going to refuse her. She was like a living fertility goddess to me, a larger than life woman with an enormous sexual drive concealed beneath the habits and head gear of an imposing Mother Superior. Once she had entered my room and I had locked the door, I was prepared to do anything and everything that she might desire, no matter how lewd or embarrassing.

Since becoming a lay server, I was beginning to realize that few things gave me more pleasure than fulfilling a woman's most intimate needs. If she wished me to spank her or overpower her, I was happy to do so. By the same token, if she liked to direct our intimacy, such as Dame Taborova and Mrs. Capekova seemed to do, I was down with that, as well. It was all good, as far as I was concerned.

As for which approach the good Mother might prefer, I left it for her to reveal. I suggested that we waste no time in disrobing, which I hastened to do at top speed. Once I had put all my clothes aside, I turned to enjoy watching her undress, but she wished for a more participatory approach. Her black habit had a zillion little black buttons that had to be dealt with, for instance, though she clued me into an old nun's short-cut, which was to start at the top collar under her chin and unbutton only far enough down to allow the habit to be pulled up and over her head.