Izzy the Initiate: Pt. 01

Was it blue? More yellow and edging to purple. It was alive with an aching sting. At least, being at the top of the cheek, it would be easier to conceal than the previous black eyes. And no tears anymore.

Physical pain wasn't usually a part of Izzy's life, but this new town had a less liberal view and apparently she offended the sensibilities of the young men. No time for self pity. Not anymore. She could see the funny side, the obvious side - they had feelings they didn't understand about her. Everybody always did. She blew herself a kiss in the mirror.

Destiny awaits.

The best thing about best friends is when they know you better than you know yourself.

'I just think you'll get bored,' said Alex, adjusting her cereal delicately.

'Only boring people get bored,' smirked Izzy.

Alex raised half an eyebrow, half a lip.

'Fuck. Got to go,' said Izzy with a semi-leapfrog off Alex's shoulders.

'For god's sake don't forget nuns don't swear!'

***

'Here at the convent of Hestia and Ignatius, the vows of chastity, poverty and service are total. You are choosing to be abject servants of the Lord and of the neediest in society. And by making that commitment, you will be blessed.'

The prioress Magdalene, a slender, rabbit-eyed woman in her late 40s, had a way of speaking which was like a lullaby growing thorns. The heart was warm but the message was a brand, cauterising a predicted wound.

'...which is, of course, confession,' the prioress ladled oil onto the last word, like a challenge. And had she looked straight at Izzy?

'Prior Sergio?'

Of the three men seated behind the prioress, the man who now stood to speak to the novices was the oldest. Slightly grey at the temples but with a strong build, Izzy noted him struggle to walk with an almost-hidden drag of one leg.

'Welcome,' he began, with a sparkle in his eyes, 'children of our Lord.' He raised his arms outward in that way the religious often do - _I'm raising you up, up to the Lord_. Izzy bit back a smirk at the clichè of it. 'We all find our way to God from different homes, different countries-' at this, Izzy noted that Sergio had a hint of Eastern European in his clipped speech- 'different paths.' Another clichè to disregard, although this one struck an unavoidable something in Izzy. 'We hope, through our Lord, to bring peace to our small part of the world here, and to each other and the community. The prioress and I, expect nothing of novices that we do not practice ourselves. That is my promise to you all. Stand, initiates, and be blessed.'

The novices, in their regular casual clothes, took a second to catch each other's eyes. Some were tearful, others looked caged, guilty and enlightened. The prior dipped fronds into a liquid and flicked it over all the initiates. A drip pattered onto Izzy's freshly-covered bruise.

Follow the sisters. Unpack your clothes. Hand over your contraband. Take a first taste of life in the convent.

***

'Contraband.'

'I don't have anything.'

'Your earrings...I said your earrings.'

Clip. Clip. Clip. Clip, clip, clip.

'What else do you have, novice?'

'I don't have anything else, sister.'

'Do you have make-up?'

'I need it.'

'You need make-up to serve our Lord? You need make-up to fulfil your service to our community?'

'...I need it.'

***

'She's insubordinate. I need you or prior Sergio to talk to her.'

'Patience, sister Miranda. Remember she is a novice and will develop.'

'She's scum and unworthy.' Immediate regret. 'Sorry prioress. Forgive me.'

The slap is instant and fierce.

'You're forgiven.'

***

'Novice, the prioress insists that you pass on your contraband.'

'It isn't contraband.'

'...Novice Isabelle-'

'-Izzy-'

'Make-up is an unnecessary vanity and it is not - ever - needed in your duties at this convent.'

'It isn't contraband. The rules don't mention make-up.'

***

As he entered Izzy's room, Prior Sergio saw a cross-legged, cross-armed, pouting novice poking at a few little items in a case.

'Make-up isn't contraband,' she said without looking him in the eye.

'What brought you to us, Izzy?'

She stopped poking.

'I needed a fresh start.'

'And...'

Then she looked up.

'I want to feel useful. And I want to ...feel loved.'

'Of course.'

He sat down with evident relief on the simple wooden chair in the corner opposite Izzy. She noticed his green eyes. And his presence.

'You'll have a true sense of purpose with us, Izzy - Isabelle. Finish organising your things here and then come to confession. Hand in the make-up when you're ready to give it up. He smiled and pulled himself out of the chair and left her, gently closing the door. A few moments of reflection for Izzy as she questioned this last encounter. Then she got her things organised.

'Oh and nov-' he paused in the doorway. For a second she saw his green eyes take in her body in its undressed state. She didn't cover up.

'They are also contraband, novice.'

'These, prior?' asked Izzy, innocently running a finger over the waist of her black lace underwear. 'I thought this was regulation.'

'...Bring your recommendation letters with you to confession.'

***

Her confession was stilted. Yes, she had been disrespectful to her parents. Yes, she had dabbled with casual drug-taking.

'It says here in your recommendation letter from,' he paused to check and she heard the paper flip through the filigreed bars, the only open space between them,'your employer that you could be undisciplined and unpredictable.'

Izzy scoffed. 'That would be fairly typical of her to say.'

'So it's not true?' There was the hint of accusation in the prior's voice.

'It depends how you define undisciplined.'

There was a deliberate, lingering pause.

'I have to say, it seems likely that you would challenge authority. That you might expect others to earn your respect? And that it won't be easy.'

'That's true enough.'

'What about your sexual history?'

The question didn't come with the red-faced awkwardness Izzy might have expected from a religious prude. It was more like the tone of an experienced therapist. It caught her somewhat off-guard and she sought to return the balance in her favour.

'I've never been actually fucked if that's what you're asking.'

'Isabelle-'

'Sorry. Never 'had intercourse'.'

'No partners?'

'I didn't say that.'

The myriad of unasked questions merry-go-rounded through Izzy in the space of a moment. To relieve the tension - and in fact she felt compelled -, she began to answer those hanging, inaudible questions:

'I mean, obviously, I've masturbated ... like a lot. Everyone has needs like that. Who doesn't like to orgasm, right? And vibrators feel so good. Crazy good. Toys are so easy to get now as well. You could say I'm experimental. Like with toys. Anal toys and stuff. But lots of people do that now. Anal toys do something special to me. They really hit my spot. They make me c---'

'--Isabelle.'

'--um so hard. Blackout hard, ok? Is that what you wanted to know?'

'Isabelle.'

Izzy felt a stirring. Partly because any thought of those delicious inner physical feelings always made her horny but also because she was saying this in confession! Such a taboo being broken. She started to wonder if the prior was getting hard.

'Yes, prior?'

'Do you think it's appropriate to-'

'I'm just getting horny because you made me talk about -'

'Are you still wearing that contraband underwear?'

'...it's not contraband.'

She heard the prior's side door open and close and then he was in her confessional with her, in the cramped space, her eyes widening.

He pulled down her skirt to, indeed, reveal the black lace of her underwear. But this time a stiff little cock was unmistakably poking there behind the lace. The prior snapped them off with one hand and pushed them into Izzy's mouth.

'Speak no more, sinner.'