The Convent Pt. 04

THE CONVENT, PART 4

by Zenna Swallows

Ryan hurried down the busy street, as fast as his heels would let him and without doing anything to call attention to himself. Or at least any more attention than would naturally be directed to the sight of an attractive young nun whose elaborate and skilful makeup contrasted vividly with her plain white robe and traditional wimple.

Keeping his eyes downcast to avoid the gazes of any curious passers-by, Ryan was all too aware of being a walking contradiction. At one level, he was completely comfortable with his appearance, with the sensuous feel of the lingerie underneath his habit, even with walking in heels that many women would find awkward.

But he was also terrified of being out in public looking like this, of being seen by other people - and especially other men - who might at any moment see through the trappings of femininity.

In other circumstances that contradiction might have paralysed him. But as it was, he was trying, but failing, to suppress a rising tide of elation. Because he had done it! After so much patience and suffering, over so many months - surely now well over a year, though he couldn't be sure - he had finally earned his chance at freedom.

At long last, he was out of the convent that had been his home and prison since the fateful night he first went to stay there.

The place where his manhood had been taken away from him. Sometimes in obvious and immediate ways, such as the clothing and makeup he'd been forced to wear, the concealment and chemical suppression of his cock, or the changes to his voice. But also through methods that worked more gradually and insidiously, such as the hormone treatments, injections and corsetry that had gradually given him B-cup breasts, a narrow waist, wide hips and a plump, rounded butt.

Not to say the training that had allowed him to walk, talk and act like the young woman he now appeared to be.

The opportunity for escape had only come because of his relentless discipline and self-control. After initially raging against his capture, he had been given a frightening glimpse of what his future could look like if he openly defied the cruel and well-resourced Order that had seized him. A lifetime spent in servitude, perhaps, or even worse - being confined to a cage and reduced to something closer to an animal.

As it was, he had gradually earned the trust of the perverted women who held him, even to the point of suffering the indignity of being relentlessly fucked by his former girlfriend Dana - or Sister Felicity as she was now known. And it had all now paid off.

The chance to get away had come completely out of the blue. It was not the product of any escape plan. He had long since given up on finding a way past the convent's security system, which included a tiny device embedded in his anal passage that would cripple him with pain if he got even a few metres away from the building.

He was outside that system now, and walking around the city in which he used to live and work, purely because he had been brought here.

The first he'd heard of what was mysteriously described as a "field trip" was when he and Agnes, the gorgeous young novice who had become his favourite bedmate, were summoned from breakfast to see Sister Mercy.

His immediate thought was that they must be in some kind of trouble. Not, surely, for what they were getting up to in bed together. It was true that they were routinely now not just kissing and cuddling when rostered to sleep together, but having sex - or the nearest thing it was possible to have with what was left of their cocks tucked away underneath a prosthesis designed to look like a vulva. But all the novices were doing that to a greater or lesser degree, and had been for months.

Left to his own devices, Ryan would probably have resisted the idea of fingering each other's assholes to trigger the pathetically small discharge that was all their shrivelled balls could now produce. Especially since the release was invariably accompanied by the exquisite frustration of a ruined orgasm.

But he had long since given in to Agnes' insistence that they "take care" of each other in that way each time they were assigned to the same bed. At least it stopped her spending the night wriggling and squirming against him - most of the time anyway.

Plus, he had to admit, relieving the aching tension that built up every day in his groin and his sensitive, easily excited nipples was often worth the price of the stalled climax. Especially as he got to kiss and fondle the delectable Agnes...

Every time he thought of her, he marvelled anew at how beautiful she was. He knew, intellectually, that she used to be a man - or a boy at least (she was still young, and he had no idea how long she'd been at the convent).

Like him, she lacked a pussy. And her breasts were far less developed than his, barely A cups in size. But in every other respect, she was everything he could want in a woman. The large, blue eyes that sparkled with connection and desire every time she spoke to him. The full, pouting lips that seemed ruby red even when she wasn't wearing lipstick. The lithe body. slim but not skinny, athletic but not muscled. The tiny but perfect nipples, which stiffened so readily when he touched them. And the pert buttocks that he so loved to caress, before he parted the cheeks to penetrate her tight asshole with his digits.

She was spectacular, far more enticing than anyone else in the convent, even his ex-girlfriend.

It was odd too, but he found he had no desire to fuck her. Not that he could right now, of course. But for someone who had spent the best part of the last decade relentlessly screwing the women of his choice, he found it strange that his fantasies were not of impaling her on the phallus he used to have.

He dreamed instead of being able to bring her to a proper orgasm - and of her being able to do the same to him. He wanted to feel her sweet juices pouring into his mouth and down his throat, and of filling her mouth in return as she drove her fingers into him.

The fact that the "juices" he wanted would actually be another guy's semen, or that he had come to enjoy having his rear passage stretched and his prostate stimulated (at least by her), were things he tried very hard not to think about...

Paradoxically, the strength of his attraction to the cute young blonde was also the reason why they saw so little of one other out of bed, other than when brought together by their lessons or chores.

The strategy that had served Ryan so well as an initiate, of keeping strictly to himself, was no longer viable. Not with all the novices being expected to chat incessantly to one other, to practice and reinforce the feminine mannerisms in which they were being so carefully schooled. The stoic demeanour that he cultivated in front of the senior nuns, or out in the corridors, had to be abandoned when conversing with his peers. Whether he felt like doing so or not, he was expected to smile and laugh along with the rest of them.

But even so, Ryan did his best to socialise with anyone bar Agnes. Not because he didn't want to talk to her - quite the reverse.

He was worried he was getting too preoccupied with her, infatuated even. He had to fight to avoid thinking about her during the periods set aside for meditation and prayer - or when being tormented by the vengeful Sister Felicity or one of her colleagues. He knew that if he became too attached, it might not just cause him to relax his discipline and get into unnecessary strife, but even weaken his resolve to escape his captivity and reclaim his life.

He could see that Agnes was hurt by the distance he kept from her and his unwillingness to acknowledge, much less try to strengthen, the bond that was forming between them. It was there in the tightness around her eyes as she watched him keep his distance during the day, in the forlorn glances she directed towards him even when apparently preoccupied with someone or something else.

But she never complained, or even sought to question him about his choices. She put no pressure on him at all, other than to give her what little pleasure he could offer in bed. And that somehow made her even more appealing. He knew it was wrong, detested himself for his weakness. But he couldn't hate her for being so attractive.

It was typical then that when on this particular morning they were ordered to Sister Mercy's office, his first thought was not so much of what might happen to him, but whether he had somehow caused a problem for Agnes - and of what he might be able to do to shield her from any punishment.

As it turned out, he wasn't in trouble at all, and nor was she. To his considerable surprise - which, characteristically, he refrained from showing - the two of them wee told there was a car waiting for them outside the front door, though no explanation was provided as to where they might be going.

Outside! Somewhere he hadn't been since that horrible first week at the convent when he'd been walked around the grounds on all fours like a dog.

The experience of not just walking down to the main entrance, but being allowed to pass back into the outside world, was almost surreal. Ryan couldn't stop glancing round, half expecting that someone would stop him. Even as he walked down the small flight of stone steps outside the entrance, he was tensing up, anticipating a blast of pain from the device implanted in him.

Yet all he encountered was brilliant sunshine and the feel of the unaccustomed breeze tugging at his robe. The unfamiliar sensations hit him so hard that he had to choke back a sob. Agnes clearly felt it too. She stumbled and would have fallen if Ryan hadn't shot out a hand to support her.

"Be careful, you stupid little slut!" barked a nearby voice. That was Sister Patience, waiting for them besides a sleek black limousine with tinted windows, and characteristically showing absolutely none of the virtue for which she was named.

It was a pattern with the sisters of the Blessed Order of Saint Pilarupta. Sister Joy never smiled. Sister Mercy never showed any. And those like Ryan who got to spend any time with Sister Felicity learnt all too quickly and painfully that there was no happiness to be found in her company.

"Come on girls, get in," said a less tetchy voice from inside the vehicle. That was Sister Chastity, one of the youngest of the senior nuns.

Her vice was an insatiable lust for the fingers and tongues of the novices, initiates and servants who populated the convent. She would sometimes spend hours on end using them to pleasure her, to the point of utter exhaustion on their part and mild fatigue on hers. But although it was not saying much, she was the nearest thing they had to a kind and friendly mistress.

The journey to the city took a couple of hours. It was almost like getting into a time capsule for Ryan. He had done this drive many a time, back in the old life which had been receding into the mist, but was suddenly now coming back into focus.

As they went through the outer suburbs and then approached the city centre, Ryan could only dimly make out any details through the darkened glass. But what he saw was hauntingly familiar. He still had no idea exactly where they were heading, or why. But he knew from long experience not to ask. He might be physically outside the convent, but its rules surely still applied.

Eventually, the car pulled up close to the central railway station. "There's some sort of parade going on today, so the streets are blocked," said the black-clad man in the driver's seat, turning around to speak to the senior nuns. "You'll have to walk the last few blocks."

Sister Patience muttered a most unholy curse and motioned to the novices that it was time to get out. As they did so, they emerged to find a great tide of humanity flowing past in either direction. Many of them seemed to be wearing masks of some kind, although Ryan had no idea why. Perhaps some kind of pollution problem?

Ryan could see that Agnes was overwhelmed by the press, her eyes darting nervously from side to side. But even though he could feel that same fear, of being exposed as a fake or a pervert, there was also something else. It was a sense of eager anticipation, though as usual he kept it from his face.

Because the crowd was all he could have wanted, all he would surely need. His freedom was so close he could smell it.

As they got out, Sister Chastity raised her voice to speak to the two novices. "Stay close and try not to get separated. If you do, make for this address - it's the hotel where we'll be staying." She gave them the location and then, as the car drove away, set off down the street.

Losing her and the others was simplicity itself. It took Ryan less than a minute to lag behind, then dart off down a crowded alley, head down to keep his headdress from showing above the tallest pedestrians around him.

Impassive as usual on the outside, he was seething with tension as he set off for his target. He was heading to the bank where he used to work, and where he hoped to find either his father or his older brother.

He had no great liking for either of them - but they were blood, and he needed them now as never before. The anticipation of reaching them warred with two very different kinds of fear. That he would somehow be caught before getting to them. And that they would not know him, or refuse to accept his story, even if he made it.

Scant minutes later, his gut clenching, he crossed a busy intersection and was about to enter the bank foyer when he stopped in confusion.

This was not the right building. He looked around, perplexed, wondering for a moment if in the year he'd been away, the old one had been demolished and a new one erected in its place. But that was ridiculous. The one he knew had only been up for a couple of years - and even for a bank used to getting its way, nothing happened that fast.

It gradually dawned on him that this was a completely different location to the one he had so confidently struck out to find. But if this wasn't the bank, where on earth -

"Ah, there you are Amanda! We wondered where you'd got to!" He whirled around to see Sister Chastity approaching him, a broad smile on her face. A scowling Sister Patience and a nervous Agnes, relief flooding her face as she saw him, were close behind.

"You must have taken a quicker route, yes? Come on then," said Sister Chastity as she swept past and into the building in front of which Ryan had been standing.

Automatically, he followed her in, belatedly registering that this was the very hotel she had named back at the car. But how was it that he had found his way here, the one place in the entire city he wanted to avoid?

His thoughts were still a blur as the two senior nuns checked them in. They were sharing two rooms, with a connecting door between them. As Sister Patience guided Agnes to a lift, Sister Chastity pulled Ryan aside. "I'll be up in a minute sister," she called to the older nun, who jerked her head in irritable acknowledgement.

"Now Amanda," said the younger nun pleasantly, using the name that Ryan so abhorred,

I think we might need to have a quiet chat, don't you?"

She didn't wait for him to answer.

"Because it occurs to me that you might, how can I put it, be tempted to stray from the path of righteousness while you're here in the big city. By, perhaps, paying a visit to a certain bank? Or one of the many other places that someone who looks, walks and talks absolutely nothing like you used to frequent around here?"

Ryan was in a state of confusion, still trying to figure out how he could have taken the wrong route to a place he knew so well. As the nun's words slowly sank in, however, his studied impassivity failed him for once and he gaped at her.

She laughed. "I think we can save you some trouble. Here, why don't you just give Ryan's father a call?" She offered him a phone, which until then he had not realised she was holding.

"Go on," she prompted him, as he stared at the device.

Wonderingly, he took it from her. A touch of the screen brought it to life, revealing a keypad. His finger hovered over it and then stopped. He couldn't think of the number.

"Oh dear," said Sister Chastity, "maybe there's something wrong with your memory? Quick, what's the phone number of the house in which you grew up?"

Without pausing to think, Ryan rattled off the answer - then closed his eyes in chagrin as the realisation hit him. He'd just recalled a made up number from a fictitious residence - the one in which Amanda had supposedly lived when she was younger. The fake history the nuns had forced him to develop around his female persona was somehow more real to him now than his actual past.

"That's okay," said the nun soothingly, "I'm sure I can figure it out."

She took the phone from his unresisting hands, tapped in a number with a speed that suggested great familiarity, then handed it back.

As Ryan took it he heard a voice say: "Mr Seldon's office. How may I help you?" The voice was that of his father's long time personal assistant.

Ryan didn't stop to wonder how Sister Chastity could have the number of a direct line available only to selected colleagues and family members. He asked to speak to his father on an urgent personal matter.

If the assistant was at all perturbed by hearing a stranger's voice, she didn't show it. The connection was made and just seconds later Ryan heard the familiar clipped tones of the man for whom she worked, the person to whom Ryan had owed all his former wealth and privileges.

Ryan hesitated, his mouth suddenly dry. He had been rehearsing all day what he would say if he got the chance. Now he was so tempted just to blurt out his identity. But he knew his voice had been changed beyond all recognition. So, willing it not to shake, he said the words he'd practised.

"Sir, I have a very important message from you. It's from your son. From Ryan."

There was a silence on the line. When the response eventually came, it was not spoken, but spat. "You sick fuck!"

All thought of how the conversation might go withered in the face of his father's vehemence. Weakly, he started to protest, but the older man overrode him.

"No, you listen to me! Whether you actually know him or not, you should be ashamed of yourself. And if you do have the mischance to be in touch with that piece of shit, tell him that if he ever shows his despicable face I will personally beat it to a pulp. And then hand him over to the police so they can do the same."

The phone was slammed down with a noise so loud it echoed through the hotel foyer.

Ryan turned his stricken gaze on the nun standing next to him, who was frowning sympathetically.

"Well, that wasn't very nice, was it? He was clearly upset about something, I wonder what it was?" She retrieved the phone and started tapping away at it.

"Let's see, how about we google the name of Mr Seldon's second son, shall we? Maybe that will tell us something... Ah, well, yes - that would be it, I would think." She handed it back to Ryan with a sad smile.

He stared in horror at the search results. One click was all it took to confirm the grisly truth - or what the internet thought was truth. Ryan Seldon had mysteriously disappeared nearly two years ago, having misappropriated millions of dollars from his father's bank. And that wasn't all - a warrant was out for his arrest on child pornography charges as well.

"Hmmm, all that money missing, I can see why daddy might be angry," mused Sister Chastity. "Oh no wait, that was us, wasn't it? Whoops!" She raised her hands to her mouth in mock horror.

"And if only we hadn't planted that trail of breadcrumbs to Ryan's hidden server on the dark web. Well, not his, but the people who actually run it are hardly going to come forward to claim it, are they?"