The Tale of a Nun

Sister Agatha knew she had made a big mistake when icy sleet began to fall. She had left the Leper village a few hours before under leaden skies, hoping to catch-up with Father Dubois and her fellow Holy Sisters before nightfall, but there was no sign of the pilgrims on the muddy road as dusk was descending.

The middle-aged nun considered briefly whether to return to the village and shelter, or press-on in the hope of finding her brethren on the road before dark. She guessed that with the bad weather, they had parked-up the wagon to see-out the storm and await her arrival the next day. Surely, they would not be too far ahead.

The trees around her started to bend and swirl as the wind picked-up and sleet and hailstones whipped down upon the small, vulnerable figure as she hunched into the storm. Lightning flashes and thunder boomed, coming closer and closer. A huge gust blew her wimple from her head, which flew-off high into the trees and within moments her hair was soaked, as was the rest of her body, encased within a simple, grey, woollen habit.

Sister Agatha's teeth began to chatter and she shivered uncontrollably with cold, but pressed-on, staggering through the wind and cloying mud of the track. She knew she was in a desperate situation and would likely die right there alone in the wilderness if she could not find shelter and warmth very soon. Another furious blast of wind blew the little Sister into a cart rut full of freezing water; struggling to her knees, she dragged herself to collapse, bedraggled on the grassy verge.

As she faded in and out of consciousness, Agatha was sure she glimpsed within a flash of lightning, a dark horseman looming above her on the road. Perhaps Death himself, or a Horseman of the Apocalypse, come to claim her soul...

The flicker of a small fire was dancing when the nun slowly opened her eyes. The storm was still raging, but sounded somewhat muted, as she realised she was in a small space out of the wind. Looking-up, she could see cathedral-like wooden arches glowing in the firelight and realised that she must be huddled within the hollowed-out centre of an ancient oak tree.

Sister Agatha was frozen to the bone, her body shaking, but her heart still leapt in fright as the rugged and scarred face of a large, wild-looking man hoved into view. "You'll need to warm-up quickly or you will die" he said bluntly with a deep, gruff voice. He pulled her roughly onto her feet with strong arms, then reaching down with one swift movement, he whipped her heavy and sodden, woollen habit up over her slender body, leaving her naked and shivering in front of him.

Before she could react in horror, the man was rubbing her whole body roughly with a woollen cloak, before wrapping her in a rough, dry blanket and dumping her unceremoniously onto a bedroll besides the little fire.

After that moment of indignity, Agatha had a chance to weigh-up her rescuer, as he began to break-up branches that he must have collected for the fire. The strong and powerful frame of the man, the scars on his face, leather jerkin and short sword at his belt, marked-him-out as a Soldier at Arms. The chaste and virgin nun had never been in the presence of such a man, a real man and handsome too in a rugged sort of way. A frisson of fear and excitement ran through her at the perilous situation in which she found herself.

Sister Agatha had been sent to a convent twenty-five years before at the tender age of 16 when her parents had died in the War of the Roses. Her only remaining uncle had taken her in at first, but it soon became clear that he was desirous of her youth and beauty, so her jealous and unsympathetic aunt had packed-her-off as a novice nun, despite her total lack of vocation. Agatha had never felt like a nun and yearned for a life of love and adventure, but had always been true and faithful to her vows. An aged woman now of 41, she had long accepted that there would be no other life for her but early rising, hard work and prayer.

The soldier removed his belt and pulled off his leather jerkin. Undoing his jacket and removing this and then his shirt had him naked to the waist. Agatha gazed shyly at his lean and muscled torso, but when he began to unbutton and remove his trousers, she recoiled in shock at what this might entail. On seeing her obvious fear, the man murmured gently: "My name is Roland DeMont of the King's Guard and I've had many beautiful women, but I have never taken a woman against her will. We will need to hold each close under the blanket and next to the flames to share our body warmth, if you are to live - do you understand?"

Agatha felt weak with cold to her very core, so nodded her consent, lifting the blanket for Roland to slip-in beside her on the bedroll; his large, strong body wrapped around her slender, feminine frame with the welcome warmth of the man immediately flooding over and into her. "What's your name?" he whispered quietly. "Agatha" she responded simply, frightened to admit to him that she was a holy sister. "Happy to make your acquaintance, lovely Agatha," was the last thing she heard as she slipped exhausted into troubled sleep.

Gradually awakening, Agatha became acutely aware of the strong, musky scent of the man wrapped around her. Being held in strong arms and with powerful male thighs upon her slim legs was a totally new experience for this virgin woman. Something about the smell and touch of a man roused a deep, animal instinct from within her to cause a warm glow to arise between her thighs and make her pert breasts throb and ache gently with need.

She could tell that Roland too had awoken and on taking deep breaths of her, this was having a similar reaction to the pheromone scent of the subconsciously aroused female he was holding. Agatha felt something growing and prodding her gently between buttocks and thighs; she knew from the gossip of the sisters what this must be and felt a shiver of intense excitement pulse through her whole body; the sudden flooding of her womanhood was overwhelming and pleasurable, as it was quite unexpected.

Agatha felt lips kissing her cheek and neck and large hands reaching up to fondle and cup her sensitive breasts, tweaking the nipples into little peaks. She had never felt anything like this and she arched her back, with mouth gaping at the delight of this novel affection. Both of their bodies rubbed lightly against each other, with Agatha opening her legs slightly to allow the man's hard rod to slip to and fro between the slippery lips of her virgin parts.

Sister Agatha could think of nothing at all, her whole universe was in the overwhelming feeling of her breasts and the throbbing, soaking pussy between her legs. Roland's rock-hard cock was ploughing to and fro between her swollen labia, when the slightest change of angle caused Agatha's world to explode. The rampant love-pole of a man pushed up through her opening and deep into the moist depths of her womanhood. A sharp pain and then a starburst of ecstasy as her neglected pussy gripped onto the thick shaft, filled to the brim and then immediately spasming over and over again, as Agatha screamed in her first ever orgasm.

The soldier's cock had yet to finish with the newly-deflowered nun and continued to pound within her. The pleasure just built and built in Agatha as the thick shaft pummeled in and out of her. Agatha's high-pitched cries at each of the powerful thrusts were met in-turn by Roland's deep, manly groans. Agatha's mouth gaped wide in delight, as strong hands groped her jiggling little tits and stroked all over her shuddering body.

The pace of the shafting grew faster and faster as Roland's moans became louder. Agatha knew this meant the coming gift of fertile seed, but cared not that this meant a fall from grace for a pious nun, as she had now discovered an earthly world of men, far more suited to her and certainly more to her liking.

Sister Agatha shouted loudly as Roland pumped her harder and harder, his thick cock filling her to the brim and sliding exquisitely in and out of her wanton pussy. Suddenly he rammed right up inside of her and groaning in pleasure, spurted streams of warm, white spunk, flooding her tight, love tunnel. This amazing experience, the first of her life, had beautiful Agatha spasming again in orgasm, clamping and milking the cock of the last of its life-giving sperm.

A breathless Agatha turned to kiss the man, who without knowing had just liberated her from the prison of her virginity and marriage to the Church. This was a fate that she had not chosen freely for herself. "Take me with you" she said to the man, who smiled and kissed her, drawing her closely into his loving embrace.