The keyhole was wide. What occurred in the punishment cell, which Abbess Clarissa eccentrically called the Misericord, was the stuff of constant gossip among the lesser sisters, but what I now beheld made me gasp in awe.

The room was peopled with four naked female bodies.

The Abbess, her unleashed red hair falling in crimson tresses along her sensuous back, held a whip in her hand. Without her habit her ample charms were for the first time fully visible.

Genevieve held a chain which attached to the collared form of Sister Gwendolyn who lapped at a dish of milk before her, reminding me of my old cat Pierre. She had clearly been punished as her back was striped with red marks yet her look was one of beatific bliss. Had she suffered or been pleasured? She fairly cooed as, at the end of her taut harness, her pink tongue lapped at the creamy milk.

The walls were hung with whips, cords of leather and twine, chains with collars attached as if for the convent watchdogs, belts and sleek lacquered devices shaped like the phallus, attached to harnesses.

Dangling with her wrists bound from ropes that hung from hooks set into the ceiling was Sister Mary, the meekest of all the convents sisters. She was gagged, a wad of cloth tied around her face. Her nipples were clamped with the wooden pins used to hang our wash. The Abbess, having turned her attention from the evidently satiated Gwendolyn, was poking, probing, whipping and worrying the helpless form of Mary, circling her, contemplating her, a jackal over a grounded dove. Tears coursed down her cheeks. With each smack she gave a long muffled groan and her legs buckled, her body shaking as she gave way, the ropes holding her up when she would have collapsed.

As I witnessed the humiliation of these poor sisters I began to feel a heat rise simultaneously from my heart and my sex that spread quickly through my body. Why had Cordelia led me here? What had this to do with the destiny she had spoken of?

Genevieve pulled Gwendolyn up from her dish, her collar taut. She led her to Mary’s tortured body which hung limply, positioning her face even with Mary’s pussy. I could see even in the wavering candlelight of the cell it was moist, glistening and swollen. The Abbess parted her legs with the end of her crop.

Gwendolyn looked up at her frowning charge, apparently meekly asking permission with her eyes. Genevieve, frowning in glorious domination, yanked her chain once in response and Gwendolyn opened her mouth, receiving Mary’s eager sex.

Gwendolyn’s chestnut brown eyes closed blissfully as she devoured. Her head shook a little and I heard smacking and suckling, Mary’s body shaking in a St Vitus’ Dance of pleasure.

I have never envied a woman as much as I did Sister Mary at that moment. Dangling, humiliated, debased and abused, she looked like a holy martyr during the bliss of ascension.

I was so absorbed I hadn’t noticed the Abbess disappear from view. The door swung open and I gasped in shock. Her severe gaze, lips curled into a sneer, confronted me. Her magnificent breasts bobbed temptingly, pink nipples erect. I wanted to run but her presence, her awesome nudity, froze me to the spot.

I felt my will melt from me, sweetly, like butter over bread.. Genevieve was at her side, her ebony skin contrasting with the extreme fairness of our Abbess. I seemed to sense a question in Clarissa’s eyes and I felt a solemn if unspoken “yes” arise within me in response. They each pulled me by an arm into the wicked Misericord. I heard the door bolt and latch.

The two submissive sisters were too well trained to show any distraction. Gwendolyn’s eyes remained latched to Mary’s as she happily pleasured her, holding her now by the buttocks, the lower half of her face invisible now. Her eyes were full of rapture.

They tugged, the Abbess and Genevieve, at my meagre nightgown, spitting on me.

“Tonight?” Genevieve pronounced huskily..

“No” Clarissa cackled. ”This hen must be left to roast.”

She beckoned with her fingertips and Genevieve, alert to her every wish, approached me with a full chalice. I felt the riding crop strike my ass twice. I howled, to the amusement of the Abbess.

“Drink.” Genevieve commanded. She pressed the cup to my lips and I drank. It was a very sweet and strong wine. This was the last I remembered.

I awoke the next morning to a rap on the door of my cell, dazed, wondering if it had all been a nightmare. I opened to see Sister Gwendolyn’s face smiling brightly, wishing me good morning. When I last saw her she was kneeling between Sister Mary’s legs pleasuring her yet she showed no shame. I must have blushed. What sort of a convent was this?

“I have a message for you. Would you like to take a walk?”

She waited while I performed my morning ablutions. We walked through the orchards, a few sisters were about performing their varied chores but none paid attention to us.

“The Abbess was surprised to see you last night. We all were but she isn’t angry, Clarissa I mean.” I remained silent.

“We all know why you came to this convent.

Most of us are here for the same reason. We were going to initiate you regardless when the Abbess felt the time to be ripe. It seems your curiosity has pushed matters ahead a little though. Truth be told the timing is rather good. You see the Abbess has just received a certain bit of intelligence with which she hoped to...bait you, I guess I should say.You see your erstwhile spouse Gaston Beautoix happens to be travelling in this area on business. He of course knows nothing about your presence here. He assumes I suppose that you were spirited out of his dungeons by the Dark Lord himself.” She laughed. Her mirthful and unmalicious tone reassured me.

I saw up close now the deep chestnut of her eyes and a curled lock of hair that fell charmingly from her white coif and which she made no attempt to replace. Her eyes glimmered with wantonness. Our eyes locked briefly and she bit her robust pink lips.

“Why would you tell me this? The last person I even want to think of is Gaston. I am still very disturbed by the impressions of last night. I do not know what to make of these practices.”

“These practices? Were you not tribadic with your late chambermaid? You know at least something of it. It was easy to see from your eyes that you were most interested in what was going on. You could have run away in horror. You did not. How long were you kneeling at that keyhole?” She laughed at me.

“All of the nuns here are guilty of this sinful proclivity?”

“Not all. Can you imagine inviting some of these cows down into the Misericord?” She gave an affected shudder. “At any rate your ideas about sin and all that will undergo some adjustment as you begin to understand the true nature of female sexuality and spirituality. Our worship of the Patriarch Jehovah and his bastard is only facade. What you witnessed last night was our coven practising the rites of the Goddess. She has as many names as aspects, even more. Astarte, Ishtar, Demeter, Rhiannon, Artemis, Blodeuwedd...you will find your own name for Her through the practice of your devotions, a more personal one. What we did, while wonderful in and of itself, also has a ritual significance. It is how we commune with the Female Principle at the heart of all Creation, how we render her her due. It is necessary work my child. How would the young tree burst from the tiny seedling without the Creatrix? How would the Earth become pregnant by the Sun and Rain if it were not Female? The deity of the old Palestinians is an usurper and tyrant. We prefer the old ways. Our secrets have been passed down from coven to coven for millennia, despite the many persecutions we are forced to evade.”

“How do you evade them? I witnessed a man burnt for heresy once. I will never forget it. His screams resound in my sleep at times.”

“Cunning, guile and magic. We are witches. So shall you be. You are not a sinner at all. You are closer to saint in fact. Heir to a holy and ancient tradition. We want to welcome you little lamb.” So saying she embraced me. We were alone yet she lowered her voice to a whisper.

“Samhain is tonight. Last night was only a sort of preparation for it. The dead have already been visiting us and will come to life in full force tonight. They will walk among us and they must be appeased Sister Agnes. That is where you come in, you and your husband. Would you not be prepared to consecrate your life to the Goddess if she could give you what in your heart you most desire?”

“What I most desire is Cordelia and I have seen her. She led me to your cell last night.”

Her eyes brightened. “Aaahhh excellent, we were hoping it was something like that. Astarte cannot bring Cordelia back but she can give you something almost as precious. Your revenge. She requires a victim on Samhain and we think M. Gaston would make a wonderful offering.”

“A victim? You mean to kill him?”

“You shall have the honor Agnes, Lamb of God, of being Her Enthusiast and thus sealing his fate, whatever She may decree. That is your privilege as a neophyte. The Abbess will ensnare him by her own means. You will offer him to Ishtar thereby proving your own fidelity to Her. After that you will belong to Her and the Coven forever. From what you witnessed last night you can well imagine that your life will be much more interesting here than you ever could have imagined. We have fun my dear. And we don’t care too much for self-mortification. Now if the Abbess wants to mortify me, that’s a different story.” She chuckled. I was beginning to understand.

“We will see you tonight. Rest today for the night will be long and full of novelties for you. In the meantime amuse yourself with this.”

She handed me a small object wrapped in cloth and without more ado turned on her heel and departed. I opened it. It contained an ugly little doll with bloodshot eyes and a foul head of matted hair. Despite its crudeness I recognized it as a likeness of M. Beautoix. I knelt to the ground and fumbled for an errant twig. I jabbed it in his stomach. The autumn wind blew about me, the dry leaves rustling.