“Shit!” Mel said when she saw the figure of a nun waiting at the entrance to the Chapel. “Do you think she saw us?”
“I hope so,” Emma said. “Pleasure is always so much more satisfying when you rub it in the face of someone who’s denied it to themselves.”
“That’s a bit mean.”
“Is it? Oh. I can be a bit mean sometimes.”
“You’re late, girls,” the nun said as they approached. “What took you so long?”
Oh, great, Emma thought. An American nun. They're even more fun to shock.
“Oh, um, I couldn’t find Emma’s classroo—”
“We stopped so I could eat Mel’s cunt,” Emma interrupted bluntly. “Do you have a problem with that?”
To the surprise of both girls, the nun smiled in delight.
“Not at all; I would have done the same. However, I believe the headmaster is waiting for you, Mel.”
“Yes, I should go. Um, thanks, Emma.”
As she tried to leave, the blonde girl pulled her back for a final, defiant kiss.
“Tell Mr Fuller he’ll pay if he’s too hard on you,” she told her.
“No.” The nun was firm. “Tell him that I said you should get the cane. Twenty strikes.”
“No!” Emma snapped, protectively. “Who do you think you are? I don’t know what crazy things your order does, but here, at least—”
“I won’t tell if you don’t,” the nun interrupted. “Mel?”
Emma watched her new friend blush and shake her head, looking at her shoes.
“What? Mel, you can’t let him do that!”
The girl stayed silent a moment, then addressed the nun. “I’m not sure Gez—”
“Tell him you confessed to me that you instigated it, so she should only watch. And, Mel?”
“Yes, Sister?”
“It’s okay to enjoy it.”
The girl’s eyes snapped up, her mouth open and a strange expression creeping over her cheeks.
“Yes, Sister! Thank you, Sister!”
Without a backward glance, she headed off for her punishment, far too eagerly by Emma’s reckoning. She turned to the nun, examining her harder. Although hard to tell with only her face visible, she guessed she was in her mid-thirties, with smouldering brown eyes brought out by far more eyeliner and eyeshadow than any Sister she’d met before.
“What the fuck was that about?”
“Your friend has certain desires that she should explore. I helped her. Unlike you, she lacks the confidence to just take it — as I think you realised, judging by the cum on your lips.”
“You don’t talk like any other nun I’ve ever met, Sister...?”
“Sister Joan,” she said, extending her hand. “Please, come inside; it’s more conducive to conversing.”
They stepped into the Chapel, and the nun bolted the door — “So we won’t be interrupted,” she explained — and they walked down the aisle to the front before settling on a pew.
“You are quite the corrupter, Emma,” Sister Joan began. “Since you turned sixteen, you have transformed this place from a dull, pious guilt factory to den of sin in less than two years. Walking around this morning, I spotted at least eight girls who will make wonderful postulants once they turn eighteen, and three more that show promise, not to mention the number of the faculty we should be able to, ah, persuade to help us. I think it’s your eyes.”
“My eyes?” With so much to process, Emma focused on the final statement.
“Yes. They exude innocence. Such sweet innocence that not even the pope himself could resist defiling it.”
“Can you arrange a meeting?” Emma asked with a smile. “I do have a thing for older men.”
“Perhaps we could arrange something in a few years’ time, if you join us.”
“That’s a big ‘if’. Mr Fuller said you’d pay my university fees; is that true?”
“That’s correct. I’m a doctor of geophysics myself. We encourage Sisters to pursue whatever field they desire.”
“Very progressive. Who’s your saint? Every order has a saint, but I couldn’t make out the writing on the card Mr Fuller showed me.”
“We are the Order of Saint Lilith.”
“Lilith? What’s she the patron saint of?”
“Women.”
“I thought that was Mary Magdalene.”
“A different aspect of women. Lilith is the patron saint of women who don’t take shit.”
“That does not sound like any saint they’ve taught us about.”
“Lilith is out of favour with the Church of Rome. All churches, actually. Only we recognise her as a Saint.
“Lilith was Adam’s first wife, made from the same clay, but she refused to be subservient to him and ran away. She fucked her way through the archangels until God got pissed off and cursed her, giving her bird feet and wings.”
“Whatever. So what, you recruit horny young women to test the faith of the priesthood? I guess that could be fun.”
“You misunderstand; we are not a Catholic order. Our dispute with the Church is not over some minor infraction or petty difference in interpretation of a three-hundred-year-old papal bull. We differ at deep, fundamental levels.” As she spoke, the nun unclipped the cross from her rosary. “Such as who the hero of the Bible is.” In one deft move, she flicked the cross upside down and reattached the now inverted crucifix.
“Huh.”
Emma sat back and stared at the altar with its own golden cross, looked around at the garish, sickly images of simpering saints that adorned the Chapel, and then nodded slowly.
“You’re Satanists. The Order of Saint Lilith. It does roll off the tongue rather nicely. What’s your aim? To storm the gates of Heaven?”
“No. Why, do you want to go to Heaven?”
“Not really. It would so boring; full prudes who don’t know how to fuck.”
“Our thoughts exactly. Our interest is only in what is South of Heaven.”
“Good album.”
“Hmm?”
“South of Heaven. By Slayer. No? One of the greatest thrash albums of all time? I thought a Satanic Order would know all about metal.”
“No. I’m surprised you do; you don’t look like a metalhead.”
“I don’t really look like a whore, either, yet here I am, casually discussing selling my holes to Satan. You still haven’t told me what your mission is, though.”
“Our full name, if it helps, is the Horny Order of Saint Lilith. We serve the Dark Lady through the pleasures of the flesh.”
“The Dark Lady?”
“Why else would cranky old men have spent millennia besmirching Satan’s name?”
Emma smirked.
“So if I join the Order, I get to fuck as much as I want? I like fucking.”
“I like fucking too. We all do; it’s a prerequisite for joining. We believe in the Satanic possibilities of pleasure games.”
Emma looked back at the saints and the saviour nailed to his cross, smiling to herself as she thought of all the times she’d got herself and others off in here under their disapproving gaze.
“Fine. Fuck for Satan; why not? Do I have to sign in blood?”
“Only if that’s your thing. However, there is a ritual we must perform before a witness. Let’s go get him.”
Sister Joan stood and led them to the confessional, opening the priest’s side. Emma raised her hands to her mouth, not sure if she should be horrified or a giggling mess.
Sitting on the bench in the box was Father Gorman, a rather corpulent man in his fifties, but not as Emma had ever seen him, despite her best efforts at seduction. He was naked apart from his shoes, socks and, absurdly, priest’s collar, with his hands bound behind his back. A bright red ball gag explained why he had made no sound during their blasphemous discussion, the leather of the straps biting into his fleshy face and a veritable waterfall of frothy spittle flowing out through the holes onto his chest. A chain between the two nipple clamps he wore formed a bridge for any Lilliputians who happened to need to cross over this river of saliva.
Beneath the pallid swell of his paunch jutted the purple head of his cock — not especially long but perfectly satisfactory to Emma’s experienced eye. It twitched as she watched in an odd way, so she tilted her head for a different view, and discovered that the low buzzing sound was a small vibrator, taped to the underside of the shaft. A tear rolled out of the corner of his eye when they met Emma’s gaze. Sister Joan reached in and stroked his cheek affectionately.
“There, there, Father, you’ll have your release soon, then you’ll feel better. For a minute at least, before all your guilt floods back. Get up!”
She yanked him up by a handful of his greying hair and dragged him out of the confessional. Lifting her skirt to give a brief flash of the stiletto boots she wore underneath, she gave him a playful kick in the butt to move him forwards. On the way, she grabbed a prayer cushion and dropped it at the end of the aisle before the altar.
“Kneel before your saviour, Father,” she sneered. He obeyed, eyes flitting between the schoolgirl and the nun, pleading, though for what, Emma did not know. She felt slightly uncomfortable, seeing him abused.
“Do we have to torture him so?” she asked. “I don’t really like him, but as far as I know he’s never done anything bad to the girls. I thought maybe he’d been sent here to keep him away from boys from the way he rebuffed me.”
“Father Gorman?” Sister Joan laughed. “Oh no, he’s into women, all right, but he’s a true believer — full of guilt. His problem is that he also gets off on that guilt. Every time he has an ‘impure’ thought, he whips himself, but finds that to be a pleasure rather than a punishment, and feels more guilty – a vicious circle of horniness-induced guilt and guilt-induced horniness.
“Then I call him up and make it worse, whispering all the filthy things I know he wants to do and denies himself, working him up, edging him for months, until he begs me to visit. And I refuse, for at least a month, usually, but this time it’s been more than two.”
She turned to the subject of their discussion.
“You should be grateful, Father. Emma here has brought me here a few weeks early. And,” she leaned closer, and his nostrils flared, “today your seed will not go to waste as it usually does. Emma will make your guilt so much worse, Father. Look into those innocent blue eyes. Think of all the degrading things you want to do to her, and know that when you cum today, you seal her pledge to the Dark Lady.”
“MMFFF MFF MFFFMM!” he spluttered at her, and she laughed.
“He volunteers for this?” Emma asked.
“Oh, well, his cock does, and it controls his head — priests are men after all. You can take the gag out if you need reassurance.”
“I do, actually. This dominatrix shit is not really my bag, to be honest.”
“Really? Very well.” She reached behind his head and removed the gag. The priest coughed and spluttered, then spat a mouthful of spit at their feet.
“Bless you, my child,” he began. “Please, reconsider. You don’t have to enter a life of wickedness for a degree, the Church has its own—” The nun slapped him across the face to shut him up.
“Really, Father? You want to wait another two months to cum?”
“You wouldn’t!”
She laughed. Something made Emma think it should be a cackle but instead it was a musical, flowing laugh that send shivers down her spine and round to her clit.
“Of course, I would! I would make it three, just for doubting me. You’d be a gibbering wreck by then, and probably get moved from this cushy posting. Is that what you want?”
The priest worked his jaw angrily, but then his shoulders sagged, defeated.
“Better. Now, Emma, you had some things you wanted to ask Father Gorman?”
Emma had zoned out with a look of vague disgust on her face as she watched this exchange, so it took her a moment to realise she was being spoken to.
“Oh, yes. Um, is all this really your thing?”
“Yes,” he said through gritted teeth, cheeks burning with humiliation.
“Oh. Interesting. That explains why you won’t fuck me, I suppose. What about the orgasm denial thing? How do you manage that? I don’t think I can hold off from cumming for more than six hours, let alone two months!”
His eyes rolled back in his head briefly, overcome by a fresh wave of guilt. “I gave into temptation and accepted her cockring. Look!”
Emma bent down and raised her eyebrows, impressed by the details of the gold ring carved in the shape of a snake constricting the base of his shaft.
“It’s been on for two months! I can’t remove it, and I can’t cum until she says the command. Look at my balls! I’ve literally got blue balls!”
Emma looked closer, having not examined them closely in the shadows before, though she now wondered how she had missed them. Under their covering of sparse grey hair, they were indeed a bright, throbbing blue, the scrotum stretched to the size of a deformed grapefruit. She tried hard not to laugh, though did not have much success.
“It’s not funny! Do you not understand how painful it is to be this hard for months on end? I should have to go to hospital, but her black magic denies me even that relief.”
“I thought you priests already denied yourselves orgasms when you took the cloth, so why are you whining, Father?”
His eyes bulged at her indifference.
“You haven’t told her everything, Father. You know full well you can cum anytime you like; you have only to utter your safe phrase.”
“I am not uttering those words!”
“Go on — if you really don’t want to play, say it. Say it for Jaysus!” He tried to stare down her mockery but failed. Lust won and he knew it. “I thought not. Well, Emma? Do you have any more questions?”
“No, none. May I?”
“By all means.”
Emma leant forwards and pushed the gag back into his mouth. Then, smiling sweetly, she reached down and squeezed his cock, making him close his eyes and groan, glaring at her with renewed hatred when she let go.
“Come.”
The nun led the schoolgirl up the steps, leaving the naked priest kneeling and seething on his cushion. With a single sweep of her arm, she cleared the altar of everything, sending it clattering to the floor and then pulled a stick of chalk from the folds of her habit. Before Emma’s bemused eyes, she began drawing arcane symbols seemingly at random all over freshly bared stone and then leading down the steps, past the indignant priest, to circle behind him in a kind of hook, under which she drew a pentangle before mounting the steps to admire her work from beside the teenager.
