Nun Pussy Ch. 04

A few days later, Maria Clare led the young novitiate down the dark curving steps that led to the more remote catacombs beneath the convent. It was a place the young novitiate had been warned never to enter. Now within the bowels of that deserted section they entered a large room that appeared to have been a place of recent activity. There were candles and oil lamps though only one lamp was lit. A few pillows were strewn on the floor and soft rugs made the place seem almost livable.

Maria Clare led the way down a dark passage beyond and paused before a heavy wooden door banded with iron straps. A small window at eye heigth had a small iron grillwork across it.

“It is time that you were acquainted with a more secret portion of our holy order,” said Maria Clare.

“It is frightening down here,” said the novitiate.

The older woman opened the heavy cell door and sheilding the lighted candle with her hand, entered the dark place that had the peculiar though familure odor of one of the outbuildings. “Certainly, it stinks,” thought Rachael. She inhaled the fetid odors of human piss and shit.

The room contained a hard, wooden bunk with but a single blanket. In the corner, a half full, wooden bucket held stale piss and soft, floating turds. “The Good Mother does her monthly penance here,” explained Maria Clare. The lone occupant of that dreary cell wore a solitary, short, loose garment that failed to completely drape her enormous buttocks. The Mother Superior knelt before a panel mural that covered what might have once been a doorway.

The life size painting, on wood, depicted a naked man though there was a circular hole cut out at the groin. Throughout the year a three dimentional, oiled, erect wooden phallus filled that space where the genitals should be. On special holy days, that opening was filled with the earthly equipment of the Holy Father‘s flesh to be adored and laved by the kisses of a holy sister of the inner circle, those qualified to be in the presence of the true organ of all creation.

Now, through that hole was threaded a long, round piece of what looked to be shriveled flesh. It hung limply against the wood and appeared to have recently be immerced in something wet. The moisture still shone on it.

The nearly naked woman turned to them and wiped a drop of spittle and something thicker, slick and milky, from her lips. “Sister Maria Clare, you have arrived to complete my abasement?”

“If I may be so permitted, oh Holy Mother.” The good nun genuflected before the older woman who remained on her knees.

“I see you have brought the novitiate to begin her initiation in our most holy rites.”

“I have, Most Holy Mother.”

“Does she recognize the object hanging limply before me?”

Maria Clare turned to the younger woman. “You may address the The Good Mother. Do you recognize the object?”

The girl shook her head. She moved closer. “Never have I seen such a soft, ugly thing.”

“You may touch it,” said The Good Mother, “but gently.”

The girl lifted the flesh with her fingers and thought she heard a deep moan or a groan from beyond the thin wood partition. “It seems almost alive,” said the girl.

“It contained some life before I drained it,” said The Good Mother. “It is still attached to a lower life form on the other side.”

“What in heavens’s name can it be?”

“It is that, that differs men’s anatomies from our own,” said The Good Mother. “That limpness, when lost, is named a prick.”

“Surely it is most strange.”

“It is now useless. The drained brother has suffered his pennance beyond the wall,” explained The Good Mother, “as I have suffered mine here. With my holy mouth, I tongued and teased his instrument. I milked his seed until his sturdy weapon droops harmlessly, as you now see it.”

“You have done well, Holy Mother.” said the nun.

“Now I must pay for my venery,” said the older woman. “Lead me from this abomination and that worthless man flesh. Bathe me and lay upon my bounteous buns many applications of the strap I so richly deserve.” Maria Clare helped the older woman from her knees and led her from the cell down the cold, damp corridor to a room where warm springs steamed and bubbled to overflowing in a large stone depression suitable for half a dozen to bathe. She helped the The Good Mother rid herself of her filthy rags.

Rachael watched the garment fall from her massive form to reveal the holy woman’s nakedness. Her large, well formed teats sagged heavily. Her waist, though thick, was not unseemly. The bulging hams of her meaty buttocks were emormous but tightly packed and smooth. In the front, The good Mother displayed in that secret place, where others grew manycurls, a clam as completely hairless as a babe’s crotch. Rachael gasped at a gaping slit that owned no consealment from prying eyes.

The Abbess stood and asked of the younger of her two attendants. “Is this not the largest ass you have set your innocent eyes upon?” The Good Mother slapped her huge buttocks. “And not so badly formed for a woman of my years if I may say so.”

“Quite lovely,” said the novitiate. “I have not been privy to the viewing of many, but surely your bum is the most magnificently rounded my eyes have beheld.”

“In your limited experience, I venture that is true,” said The Good Mother. “But Sister Maria Clare will assure you that there is not a larger arse in the convent.”

“That cannot be denied,” confirmed Maria Clare.

“Now,” said the The Good Mother. “Divest yourselves of your habits and aid me in my ablutions.” Maria Clare immediately shed her habit and seeing the Good Sister doing so, Rachael, the lusty lass, had little compunction in becoming quite naked as well. Soon, in the steaming water, the Good Nun and the noviate laved the naked person of the Abbess, the Mother Superior herself, touching and soaping each crack and crevice, every rounded surface of the huge ass cheeks and the pendulate, large nippled breasts hanging weightily from her chest.

Above all, what most fascinated the little novitiate,kneeling before the older woman was the shorn mount at the juncture of The Good Mother’s enormous thighs. With all evidence of hairy growth removed, the plump inner lips protruded beyond the outer ones and and the deep crack lay oprn, totally pink and vulnerable. Most startling was the small, stiff object protruding from the uper part of the The Good Mother’s slit, an object closely resembling in size and shape of an item Rachael once viewed projecting between the legs of a boy babe except this member did not have the attendant pouch created for the holding the male jewels.

The Good Mother, notcing the young woman’s facination with the object, spoke. “Have you not seen one so large,” she asked proudly.

“I have not,” replied the girl. “As you observe, I have nothing similar, nor does the good sister Maria Clare.”

“Oh you have one. Though quite small it is, no doubt, quite sensitive. Mine, I assure you, is a wonder. The good sister can tell you there is none larger among all the sisters.”

Rachael looked to her companion. “It is true? You have viewed the hidden charms of all those who live in this convent?”

“An so, in time, shall you,” assured The Good Mother. “We hide our charms only from men and their brutish ways. Amongst the sisters, we conceal nothing.”

“Tis truly a wonder,” said the girl. “I am so ignorant in the ways of the world.”

“You shall soon be enlightened,” said The Good Mother.

The Abbess stepped from the bath. The two women bussied themselves with drying her.

“Now,” said The Good Mother, “you must put the strap to these old buns, sharply, for I crave a spend and the prelude to bedewing this old crack is a brisk warming of my bottom cheeks. A fire kindled there tranfers to heat to my loins and enlarges further that nub that so entrances our little novitiate.”

“We are to thrash you?” asked the girl.

“And soundly,” advised The Good Mother. “I truly relish each stroke laid heavily upon this old arse. I wallow in it and as Sister Maria Clare will aver, these cheeks will withstand any ordeal and beg for more.”

“It is true,” conceded, Maria Clare. The Good Mother’s bounteous buns absorb more punishment that any other sister can withstand.”

The Abbess bent at the waist and placed her hands on her knees. She raised her massive bottom and presented it to the equally naked nuns. The fully blown buttocks rose and protruded above full, tree trunk thighs. As she bent, the shaved fig of her sex pouted outward. “Let my punishment begin,” said Abbess. “Withhold nothing and do stop until I am set to loose the demons possessing this poor flesh.”

“We obey, Holy Mother.” Maria Clare dipped her finger in the moistening slot between her own thighs and crossed herself with the slickness. “I am not unwilling to accept such punishment as I mete out to others,” said The Good Mother. “I will accept ten strokes from each. Each select a cheek and lay it on.”

Maria Clare handed a broad strap to Rachael and retained one for herself.

“Do not spare your arm, girl,” warned, The Good Mother. “I expect you to lay on your best. This bum merits extra attention.”

Rachael looked to Maria Clare who let go a tremendous blow on The Good Mother’s right lower cheek. The Good Mother did not flinch as she absorbed the pain. The bright pink stripe rising in the straps wake deepened and became bright red. Rachael folowed suit and felt the moistness trickle from between her thighs. The women alternated the laying on of their straps across the broad, quivering cheeks of the Mother Superior until the count of twenty was reached.

The older woman’s backside was now totally crimson with darker stripes criss-crossing the broad expance. “I am surely well warmed and shall not sit comfortably tonight,” gasped The Good Mother. “You may now tongue my pleasure now until I reach my crisis repeatedly.”

Maria Clare knelt before her as the older woman sat on the edge of the cool stone shelf, lay back and widely parted her thighs to open the prominate, brown lips of that fleshy fig she displayed most shamelessly. Maria Clare licked one of her superior’s taut nipples and it erected at least half an inch from the huge teat. She motioned Rachael to suck at the other one. When she was certain the girl understood her chore, she slipped between The Good Mother’s thighs and buried her head at the junction. Her tongue played loving tribute to the older woman’s open labia and the extended cllitoris.

“Yes,” moaned The Good Mother. ”Tongue my holy slit and keep the juices flowing. Make good things happen in my holiest of holy holes. Lick the crack of my cunt, Sister!”

Maria Clare stiffened her tongue and entered a slick tunnel with no reachable end, then gave attention to that large nub of sensitive flesh protruding more than an inch. Maria Clare sucked that organ between her lips until the older woman, moaned and threshed until, gasping for breath, she moaned, “Please! That’ is enough for this old woman.”

Maria Clare raised her head and met Rachael’s eyes.

The young woman looked as she could not believe The Good Mother had so accepted the rite of the offering of the forbidden fruit she had just witnessed.

The Good Mother turned to Rachael. “It is an old woman’s curse that she must be so treated to reach her peak.” She smiled, “This holy arse shall be sore pressed, tomorrow, to bear my weight when sitting.”

“Then the hunger for the strap rises again,” said Maria Clare.

“I fear I was so trained” said the Abbess, “and so were we all.”

“Sometime the strokes fall on that fine ass so hard she pisses herself in ecstasy,” revealed Maria Clare.

“I have done so during many a good threshing,” said The Good Mother. ”But now you must be punished for being a party to this secret vice.

Maria Clare bowed her head. “I willingly accept your punishment Good Mother.”

“Then pass the strap and present yourself.”

The nun kissed the leather and passed it to the older woman. I bow to your will and accept your punishment , Good Mother,”

“Then assume the position.”

Rachael, the novitiate stood, stunned, as Maria Clare knelt before The Abbess and presented her bare backside.

The older woman lifted the strap and brought it down with a crack. The tender flesh quivered. When the strap was lifted for the next slash, a red welt remained.

Another crack of leather on naked flesh rang in Rachael’s ears.

“The novitiate will find bums must be warmed, the cheeks well pinked before knowing their greatest delight.“ The Good Mother breathed deeply. “Is it not so, Sistser Maria Clare?”

“Yes Good Mother.” Maria Clare’s voice strained to hide her pain. “You are too good to me.”

“You may now pay your respect.” The Holy Mother turned her large posterior to the punished woman. Maria Clare wiped a single tear from her cheek and pressed her lips once to each enormous cheek of the Abess’s bountious, reddened ass.

Maria Clare lifted her head in askance. “I would soothe the Good Mother once more should she so desire.”

“Tis sufficient until later. Instruct the novitiate now as I have instructed you.”

Maria Clare took the strap from The Holy Mother. She moved to Rachael. “You must accept the strap as pennance for what you are about to do.”

“Not for what I have done?”

“What’s done is forgot in the past,” said The Good Mother. “What you shall do needs absolvement before the deed and also needs the warming to prepare you for it.”

Rachael knelt as the nun had done and presented her ripening young ass.

“She displays her bum nicely for one so young,” said the Good Mother. “Please commence.”

At Maria Clare’s first blow and the young girl gasped her pain. The first stripe was crossed with a second and a third. The girl sobbed and tears streamed from her face. On the tenth stroke, the girl screamed out her pain.

“Pay you respects to your corrector,” instructed The Good Mother.

The sobbing novitiate turned, to her tormentor as Maria Clare had done to the Good Mother, and faced the red striped buttocks of Maria Clare. She pressed her moist lips to the hot, nether cheeks. Rachael looked up to Maria Clare’s smallish, perky breasts. She sobbed. “I will do more if the good Sister requires it.”

The Good Mother smiled. “It is plain you two have fingered each other’s cunts before,” said the Holy Mother. “Perhaps you have done more.”

“I have instructed novitiate Rachael in ways she might please others should she enter the order,” confessed Maria Clare.”

“Being ignorant, I asked for instruction,” confessed Rachael.

“Of course,” said The Good Mother. “Now that you are warmed you may seek your pleasure in each other and savor the honey from each other’s combs.”

Maria Clare looked, questioning, to Rachael. “If you so desire,” she whispered.

Rachael nodded.

Maria Clare lay back on a pile of cushions, displaying an open invitation the younger woman. She motioned the novitiate to straddle her face and lower her tenderest, private parts untill the nun’s tongue tasted the slick drippings of her flowing juices.

Rachael bent forward to taste the dewy offering welling up between Maria Clare’s quivering thighs.

The Good Mother watched the two women roll on the floor, each with her lips glued to that hair fringed slit between the other’s thighs. She savored the burning of her bottom and fanned at the moisture between her thighs as her juices dried. She watched the two women a moment longer before slipping into her habit and leaving. Tonight, Sister Elsbeth would rub balm into her burniing flesh. Sister Elsbeth’s fingers always soothed her scorched buns after a good warming. Sister Elsbeth’s tongue was most comforting. Also the younger sister was adept at stroking her with the large candle that was made from a mold said to have been taken from the hard penis of good Pope Leo himself. They kept this holy treasure to themselves.

*** Zachary lay on his side behind old Brother Longono, pressed to the old man’s scrawny buttocks and fingered the old monks scrawny nipples. Occasionally he grasped the long, limp cock that stretched along the skinny thigh virtually useless. The old monk’s member had remained that way since returning from the room of atonement.

Zachary had heard rumors of happenings in that room. The brothers said a penitent monk was bound to a pillory and so positioned that his cock was threaded through a hole into a similar cell where. There, for three days, a penitent nun whose thirst for male sperm was insatiable, teased and sucked him dry.

Zachary only knew that when a Brother returned from that place he took days, before there was a stirring of life in that most male part of him.

As Brother Longono grew older, and the recovery time grew longer, there was little the lustful, old brother could find in the way of satisfaction other than offer his tired bunghole to anyone willing to plug it and massage his overworked and wornout prostrate.

Few of the Brothers cared for a tired, old receptacle with little elasticity left in an anal muscle that no longer guarenteed a pleasing grasp around an invading cock. Thus it fell to younger men, those not yet brothers, to plug the old man and give him a bit of pleasure.

“Put it to me, youngster. Slam it hard enough I can feel it,” begged the old monk.

“Yes sir, I’m trying.”

“Can’t squeeze a hard cock up there like I used to,” complained the old man. “The prostrate needs a massage by a sturdy young prick with some juice in it. Ram it to me, boy. I can hardly feel you.”

The boy slammed his hard cock home and pressed the scrawny buttocks to his groin in an effort to satisfy the old man.

“She drained me,” whimpered the old monk. “After I shot the third time it hardly stiffened at all. But she kept at it and kept at it after I was totally drained. Even after it was soft she drew my vital juices from me.”

“She sucked out many loads?” asked the boy.

“I am sure she swallowed six the first day.” He moaned. “Too much. Too much for an old man. I fear I will never stiffen again. I am turned into an old woman with an asshole for a cunt.”

“Perhaps you should rest and let your body recover.”

“Her tongue was rough, like a cat’s tongue and it inflamed me even when the poor flesh would no longer stand,” whined the old man as though the boy’s cock were not hammering steadily at his back entrance.

“Don’t you feel it?” asked the boy, “Can‘t you feel my stiff cock tickling in your bowels?”

“I like dirty talk,” said the monk. “You’re fucking my back-hole.”

“As far as I can reach,” panted the boy.

“Need more hair around my ass-cunt,” moaned the old monk. Get more hard cocks up me that way.”

”I want to come,” groaned the boy. Tighten your hole.”

“Are you really filling me back there?” asked the old man. “You barely tickle me.”

The boy, frustrated at the loose asshole that did not clasp his prick, pulled out. “That’s enough,” gasped the boy. “Now turn and suck your shit off my prod.” “Gladly,” said the old man. He grasped the boys stiff prick and swallowed it easily and sucked it like a babe at the nipple.

Moments later the old monk removed the boy’s prick from his mouth. “Me thinks you withdrew from my hole barely in time. My time has come. I must shit.”

The monk proceded to do that, most smellily and most profusely, there in his cell, there in his bunk as he continued to suck the boy until he swallowed the boy’s load, licked his lips contentedly and went, happily, to sleep in his own filth.

To be Concluded