The bell tolled, and I opened my eyes. Another day had begun at Saint Benedict's. I pushed the coarse blanket off me and stood. I used the toilet in the corner of my cell and then poured a bowl of cool water. I soaked the flannel, rubbed it with coal soap and washed myself. Finally cleaned, I prepared to dress.

I have three bras: one to wear, one to wash and one to rest. This was the standard three-bra rule at St Benedict's; it made our bras last longer and so saved funds for more important things. I put on my ‘one to wear’ bra, a simple white sports-style bra. It only had one job: give me support for my DD-sized bosom.

Knickers were next, white cotton that covered everything that needed covering and captured any drips that may fall; no one wants to leave a trail of drips. I took my tunic from its hanger on the clothes rail, like my bras, in fact, all my clothes. I had three tunics, all black and all reaching to the floor.

With my tunic on, it was time for my scapular, veil, and cincture. I hung my cross around my neck, and now it was five o'clock. I wound my clock up so that the time would be correct for another day, opened my door, and went for morning prayers to the Office of Prayers.

After Holy Mass, it was time for breakfast. Breakfast was simple porridge, glasses of water and then some quiet reading from the Bible. That took me to eight thirty. I had time to go and wash my clothes and put them to dry before Father George came for his morning visit. I was not sure if I would get time alone with him or not.

By the time I had finished washing my clothes, it was nine fifteen. I went into the Great Hall, and Father George was sitting quietly; there was no one with him.

“Father,” I said quietly from behind him.

“Sister Mica,” he answered, raising his head and looking at me.

“I need to speak with you, if I may.”

“Yes, of course you may. We can go into my office if you would prefer.”

“I would.”

He got up and I followed him to the office that he had been allocated. He came to the convent most days, and Mother Superior had given him use of an office off the main corridor that leads to the Great Hall. He went in first, and I followed, shutting the door behind me. I turned the key in the lock, as slowly as I could, shuffling my feet to try and mask the sound of the tumblers turning.

“How can I help you, Sister?” He asked.

Sister Victoria had told me two days ago that he had touched her, touched her where no man should touch her, and he told her that it was a direction from God. Blasphemer; that was no more from God than I was the Virgin Mother. He had lifted her habit and pushed her knickers to one side.

Sister Victoria had been a virgin, a true virgin nun, and Father George had taken that from her. He had made her lean over a table, and he had thrust his dick into her untouched fanny, hard and deep. She had gasped, unsure at first of what he was doing and unsure of the feelings of pain and then pleasure. She had gasped as he thrust; she had stayed bent over as he took his pleasure. She had said nothing when it was over. Father George had simply withdrawn and left.

After Sister Victoria told me what he had done, I knew then that I could get what I wanted without any risk. He was mine. So was Sister Victoria; she had told me about the Father as my tongue slipped along her fanny and I drank her juices. I had determined there and then that I would have him for trying to corrupt my Victoria. Her fanny was mine, not his. He would not touch her again.

Victoria had a big body, at least three clothes sizes bigger than me. Her breasts were pendulous and swung as she walked. I had little interest in them; it was what she had between her legs that I craved. We had been in the showers, a communal affair that ran to only tepid water, and she had seen me watching her as she washed.

“It can be difficult doing my back,” she had said. I had taken the soap out of her hands and stood behind her, getting a lather and then rubbing it over her back, standing closer and closer, and as my hands went around her sides and found her breasts, I pushed my mound against her buttocks. She had sighed and then she gasped, and I knew I had found a new toy. My hands had gone further around her and slipped down her stomach, through her hair and into her crease.

Her fanny parted like the Red Sea, my fingers sliding into her hot valley, pressing her nubbin and finding her entrance. I pulled my left hand back behind her, slid it between the cheeks of her arse and pushed it under and up. Her fourchette was small, and I easily slipped over it and through her entrance. As my fingers buried themselves deep inside her, my other hand worked at her nubbin, flicking it, pressing it, pinching it. She began gasping rhythmically, and as she was about to explode, I pushed my hand hard, burying my fingers deep. I knew that I could have gotten my whole hand inside; perhaps I would, I decided.

“Oh, sister,” she gasped, and she began to force herself on my fingers, her body rising and falling, her breath simply one gasp after another. I kept moving my fingers inside her, feeling her ridges and bumps, a fingernail scratching against the torn tissue that used to be her maidenhead. Her body tensed, her fanny clenched tightly, and she broke any vows of silence as her orgasm erupted through her body, her hand stuffed into her mouth to muffle her scream.

She promised herself to me; she promised that she would never allow any man to sully her again. I would teach her how to pleasure me; that would be her future. Father George had been an aberration, one that would not happen again. He had fucked her, spilt his seed, taken his pleasure as she lay bent over.

But that was then. Now I had her tormentor at my mercy; he didn’t know what was about to happen. I gripped his face with my hands and forced him to his knees. “I think that you know very well,” I said as I pulled my scapula and then my tunic off. “Sister Victoria, I am not.” My hands went behind my back, and I undid and removed my bra, and then I pushed down my knickers, pushing my fanny into his face.

“Oh, God,” he mumbled between my legs. I pushed him again and made him lie flat on the floor. I stood directly over his face and smiled. I toyed with pissing on him, but that would leave a tell-tale aroma of urine on his Alb, and I didn’t want that. I crouched down and covered his mouth and relaxed.

"Drink," I said, “don’t spill any.” I felt the pressure in my bladder release and that wonderful feeling in my groin as my piss gushed out of my body through my urethra and filled his mouth. As I emptied my bladder, I pulled his alb up and undid his trousers, pushing them down to release his dick. It wasn’t my fertile time; I was safe; I could take his seed. He wasn’t going to give it to me; I was going to take it. No one treats my sisters the way he did with Sister Victoria, and goodness knows who else.

I pushed his foreskin down, revelling as the head of his dick was revealed, large, shiny, and a purple maroon. The hole in the end was dark, and then a small bead of white appeared. I smiled and then slapped his dick. He wasn’t allowed to enjoy it. I released his foreskin and then grabbed it again as it rolled back over his glans, and I shoved it almost viscously down. He groaned; I didn’t care. I was his punishment; he was my pleasure.

I wanked his dick hard and with no lubricant. His dick began to look red and hopefully sore. I released his member, properly crouched over him and plunged down in one swift movement.

“Oh, my fucking God,” I gasped out loudly as his dick filled my fanny, stretching me, pressing at my depth. He gurgled in pain as my buttocks squashed his balls as I landed. Tough. Oh, the feeling of a hard dick inside my fanny was wonderful, one that I rarely experienced but one I now knew I could experience more and more often.

I rocked forwards, feeling his dick slide within me, feeling his foreskin move back over his glans. I rocked back quickly, his dick once more at my depth, his rim uncovered and pressing against my walls. I flexed my muscles, squeezing his dick, his pulses giving me pleasure inside.

“You don’t fucking take liberties with the Sisters,” I said.

“I won’t, I won’t,” he blurted as I rocked hard on his dick, his shaft journeying up and down my fanny, his rim rubbing over my ridges, electricity flowing from my crotch to my fingers and my toes.

“My cunt is the only cunt that you will touch, do you fucking understand?” I gasped, my fanny squeezing his dick as hard as I could, my pressures close to releasing, my pleasures flowing freely through my body. As I plunged my weight down on him, I felt the squash of his balls between my thighs, hearing his grunts of pain.

I stopped rocking and began to rise and fall, pistoning his dick in my fanny, uncaring if he had pleasure or pain; this was for me, not him. He forced his legs apart, his balls falling down out of harm’s way, away from the crush of my arse. I was gasping, my mouth was open in a perfect circle, and my floodgates opened.

I screamed, I shrieked, and I took the name of my Lord in vain as my orgasm released and overtook me. I felt his dick spurt as he ejaculated, flooding my fanny, filling my womb. I didn’t care whether he had pleasure or not; this was for me, not for him. I kept moving.

Up and down I rose, faster and faster, squirts of his spunk splashing his thighs as I forced his softening dick in and out of my fanny.

“I am done,” he gasped. “I am done.”

“I don’t fucking care; you are done when I say you are.”

As I spat the words out, his dick softened enough and slipped from my fanny with a gurgle. As I landed down on him, I squashed it, sad that his balls had escaped. I slowly rose and moved to stand over him; his spunk dripped from my fanny and fell onto his face. I crouched down; I needed cleaning before I could leave. I didn’t want his spunk pooling in my knickers. I pressed my fanny over his mouth.

“Suck you bastard, suck me clean,” I said almost monosyllabically, my words almost staccato. I could feel the suction in my fanny, knowing that all his foul spunk would be finding its way to his stomach and not into my knickers.

Satisfied that I was clean, I stood, watching, with no drips. I stepped away from him and pulled my knickers on and then my bra. Finally, I was dressed and presentable. I wondered which other of my sisters I would need to help; it would be fun finding out.