The day had finally come; I received my station assignment: Saint Agnes in a small hamlet outside the cathedral city of Norwich, about 160 kilometers northeast of London. Finally getting out of the convent after years of recovery and therapy, an exhaustive mortal combat against my past abuses and addictions. Teenage runaway, drug addict, prostitute, gutter dweller... arrest, juvenile detention, reform school, then convent.
My life finally had purpose; I had direction, a calling, a duty, and a clean slate... or so I hoped.
I received the call about 10:30 am from my superior, Mother Constance Joan. She had been an ardent supporter of my "conversion" from day one. Having completed my formal training at the convent at the top of my class, I knew I would get my choice of assignments. Mother Constance knew I wanted to go to England, and she pulled some strings to place me with Saint Agnes.
She spoke highly of the rector, Father William Gherity, a no-nonsense priest who was in line for Bishop at the time of his next commission. I had seen a picture of him once: an impressive stature, late 50s, silver hair, tall... rumor had it that he had been a professional prizefighter and had joined the priesthood after killing a man in the ring. He had spent most of his early career at a seminary in La Spezia, a small coastal town in Northeastern Italy, where he was known as "il prete dalla mascella di ferro." Loosely translated: Father Iron Jaw. I had to finish packing, as my plane was leaving from IAH in a few hours.
The flight to Heathrow was long, and I didn't sleep, feeling excited and nervous at the same time. A driver was waiting for me in customs, and as a member of the clergy, I was shuttled right through. A short car ride brought me to the rail station, followed by a rather pleasant train ride to Norwich. The gently rolling countryside featured winding rivers, rich farmlands, and big skies—it was very lovely, really.
I soon arrived at the convent and received my room assignment. I unpacked quickly, donned my basic habit, and hurried to the dining room for dinner. After dinner, I met my mothers and sisters, received my work assignments, and then settled into evening prayer. It was nice to arrive later in the day; I was exhausted and needed a good night's sleep.
It became a baptism by fire, getting accustomed to the daily routine of the sisterhood—so much so that I was only just getting around to journaling for the first time in two weeks. It was exhausting work, but I had plenty of time for quiet reflection. I slept deeply at night and felt a sense of inner peace. I found the discipline of a daily routine comforting. But then I had to stop writing; I was summoned by the rector. I had been curious to meet him, though I was honestly nervous at the same time.
I arrived at the rectory just after 9 pm. I was attended to by the rectory porter, who led me to the study of His Eminence. I was politely seated by the porter at the small conference table in the center of the study. The furnishings were elaborate and ornate: dark mahogany furniture, high-backed chairs, large paintings of papal themes, and Catholic relics in silver and gold. There was a fireplace in the room; it was very cozy, and I felt comforted.
Father William entered through a hidden panel in the bookshelf behind the desk. He barely fit through the width of the opening and had to duck to clear the jamb. He was even more impressive in person than in the photo I had seen. He was intense-looking, intimidating surely, but there was a calmness in his demeanor that made me relax. Don't get me wrong—this man was all business.
He stacked a few folders on the desk and took a seat across from me. He pulled out a pair of spectacles and started reading the contents of the first file. He looked at me over the top of his spectacles, and when he first spoke, his deep voice gripped me. I couldn't quite describe what I was feeling, but I felt suddenly jittery and hot under the thick fabric of my tunic.
"Sister Samantha Sherman, top of your class at St. Catherine's Convent, a dozen letters of recommendation from people I hold in high regard, particularly Mother Constance Joan—a model student, not a single disciplinary action in your file."
He closed the open file, returned it to the stack, and retrieved a thicker file. He gently slid the file across the table to me. I looked at him stoically, puzzled by the gesture.
"Open the file, Sister. There are items of interest in there that require further consideration and discussion."
I flipped open the file and was horrified to see the entire history of my sordid past staring back at me. On the left side were a mountain of police reports, psychological evaluations, court documents, and therapy reports. On the right were booking photos, surveillance camera stills, and, to my horror, a huge stack of pornographic images downloaded from the internet. I was speechless.
"What have you to say for yourself, Sister?"
I couldn't speak; I was paralyzed with fear, shame, and guilt. I started to sob uncontrollably. Father William placed his hand on mine—his hand was massive and engulfed mine, but his touch was gentle and reassuring. I stopped crying long enough to stammer:
"That's all in my past, Father."
He removed his reading glasses and looked at me inquisitively.
"Sister, I need you to understand why you're here. Part of your calling is penance for your past misdeeds and transgressions. I am simply here this evening to ascertain if you are worthy of redemption. There will be certain acts of penance that I require of you for you to remain here with us. Your acceptance of my terms must be credible, unconditional, and without prior disclosure. Are you prepared to make this commitment?"
“I am, Father. I will do whatever you require without hesitation, question, or reservation.”
"I accept your commitment, Sister. You are dismissed for this evening. You will report here every night promptly at 7 pm unless directed otherwise. Our sessions will be private and shall not be discussed with anyone else. Failure to comply with any of these terms will result in your removal from the diocese. Good evening."
My head was ablaze, my heart was pounding, I was sweating profusely, and I could still feel him in the pit of my soul. I didn't sleep much that night, mainly due to the unknown requirements of my penance. I tried not to think about it, knowing I would find out soon enough.
The next evening, penance began at 7 pm, sharp.
Father William was seated in his chair behind his desk as I was brought into the study by the rectory porter. He bade me remain standing while he rose and locked the study door.
"This is a private matter, Sister. I do not wish to be disturbed."
He placed the key in his desk drawer and seated himself behind the desk.
"Do you need me to review the rules you agreed to, Sister? Good. Then please remove your habit entirely and place it on the table there."
My face flushed as I began to disrobe. I was suddenly overcome by a sensation of extreme nervousness and excitement; it made me clumsy, but I managed to complete the task as directed. As I stood there in my sheer slip, I was aware of my nipples hardening as this stone-faced priest stared at my scantily clad body. Father William rose slowly and approached me from the front. He gently slid the narrow straps of my slip off my shoulders; the sensation of his fingers brushing against my bare flesh thrilled me. It had been four years since a man had touched me like that.
The thin fabric of my slip fell away from my breasts, exposing their firmness to the priest. He stared at me with no expression on his face as he brought the slip over my hips and let it fall to the floor. He extended his hand to me; I took it, his grip firm but gentle. I did not fear this man in the least. He led me to a high-backed, ornately carved chair and motioned for me to sit down. I complied immediately. He pulled a matching ottoman close to where I was seated and took a seat...
"Spread your legs, Sister."
I was completely aroused by then, aware of how wet I was. As I opened my legs slowly, I made sure to spread them wide enough so that my vagina would naturally yawn open... I wanted him to see my delicate pink labia open wide so he could see my swollen clit and the moist pink folds of my inner labia. He was expressionless—the ice man—with no emotion showing; not even his eyes betrayed his arousal. I wouldn't have been aware save for the massive bulge straining against his trousers.
"Pleasure yourself, Sister. Don't stop until you climax."
My fingers instantly began edging my soft petals, dipping into my wetness, pulling the thin strands of girl juice up to my throbbing clit. As I rubbed my clit teasingly, I inserted my finger into my anus. I needed a place to rest my feet, so I placed them on Father William's shoulders. He didn't flinch—Jesus, this man was disciplined! I started imagining he was eating my sloppy wet pussy like a man would after a 30-plus-year dry spell. At one point, I hooked my heels behind his head and attempted to pull him into me, but he simply grasped my ankles with his powerful hands and spread my legs even wider. I climaxed instantly, moaning his name softly, my thick cream draining from my vagina while I shuddered violently from my orgasm. Father William released my ankles, rose, and returned to his chair behind his desk.
"That will be all for this evening, Sister. Please get dressed and return to the convent."
I complied in silence, dressed quickly, and returned to the convent, thinking the whole time what a motherfucker he was! I was so disappointed. Maybe that was the whole point of the penance exercise. God, I hoped not. I would have given anything to feel that man rearrange my insides.
My penance started on the second evening in much the same way, with me standing naked in the center of the study, wet and curious, while Father William sat stoically behind his desk with his hands folded.
He rose without saying anything and retrieved something from the desk drawer. He approached me slowly, fastened a studded collar around my neck, and cinched it tightly—so much so that I swallowed hard as I let out a slight whimper. He clipped a long leash to the steel ring embedded in the collar and led me to a long table. He bade me lie face up on the table, where he strapped my wrists and ankles with leather bindings. He lashed each set of bindings to one of the four table legs so that I was completely prone and couldn't move.
He circled me like a predator moving in for the kill. I tried to make eye contact with him, but he didn't oblige. When he was certain I was completely immobilized, he retrieved a large tapered candle, roughly eight inches long and an inch and a half in diameter. He lit it with a match and allowed the wick to burn down before dripping the hot wax on my nipples—first the left, then the right. I writhed against the leather bindings as he tortured my delicate nipples with the hot wax. I was so aroused... my hips were thrusting up and down as I felt each searing hot drop of wax burn my flesh.
He repeated the process on my neck, armpits, and belly button; I could feel my juices puddling on the table. Fuck, this man had done his homework... all I wanted him to do was fuck me like the reformed whore that I was with his giant papal organ. Suddenly, I felt a drop of hot wax land on my clit. I squealed—part pain, part ecstasy... he was teasing me... motherfucker! He continued to drip hot wax on my swollen clit as he inserted another candle into my vagina; its smooth texture electrified me. With each drop of hot wax splashing on my clit, I got closer to orgasm. He was a master; he wielded that candle like a professional, with perfect speed and perfect depth, even twisting it into me like a corkscrew.
When I came, I bucked so hard the candle snapped off inside me. I wasn't concerned; my pussy was so hot the candle would melt enough to slip right out. When I stopped shaking, Father William disappeared into the wall, leaving me attached to the table, dripping perspiration and panting.
I hadn't even noticed he had loosened the straps at each of the table legs. I sat up, almost sliding off the table from the puddle of my body fluids. I reached between my legs and carefully removed the candle fragment from my pulsating vagina. I dressed quickly, tidied up, and headed back for the convent, leaving my girl-cum-coated candle fragment in Father William's coffee cup. Nice touch—it made me giggle.
By the third evening, I knew the routine. I locked the door, disrobed, and stood in the center of the room before Father William even arrived.
I thought to myself: "You think you're in charge, Father? HA! I'll show you who's running this show, you son of a bitch."
When he arrived, he approached me.
"Were you instructed to disrobe?"
I was suddenly nervous. I had broken his rules, and there were going to be consequences. Fuck! What had I been thinking? I decided then and there that it would be the last time I tested this man's mettle. I was simply... out of his league. Breaking his patience and discipline were beyond my capacity.
He approached me with a stern look on his face and fixed my wrists with leather straps. He bade me raise my bound hands over my head. He stood on a chair, fastened the leash to the hand restraints, and attached the chain to the heavy wrought-iron chandelier above my head. He knelt in front of me and fixed a hobbling dowel between my feet, fastening a strap to each of my ankles.
His face was inches from my divine feminine, already moist and drooling pearls of girl juice. How could he not yield? How could he not consume me with unbridled passion at the first whiff of my pheromonal stink? I thrust my pelvis forward. When he raised his head, his nose caressed my clit. He froze... I grasped the chain between my hands and used it as leverage to gently massage the tip of his nose with my throbbing clit. He'll bite now for sure, I thought.
To my shock, he didn't move; he waited for my childish, undisciplined effort to entice him to finish, and then he rose and walked to his desk. He retrieved a handkerchief from his overcoat and quickly wiped my pussy slime off his nose. He returned and stood before me, towering over me ominously. He lightly tapped my cheek with his riding crop strap.
"Are you quite finished, Sister?"
Fuck, now I had done it... He was pissed. The first whack from the crop landed heavily on my left breast; I stifled my yelp, not wanting to give the prick the satisfaction.
"That was for leaving that unclean object in my coffee cup."
As tears welled in my eyes, the second blow landed on my right breast—harder than the first. I was unable to hold back my yelp.
"That was for messing my nose with your foul whore pleasure organ."
Tears rolled down my cheeks and dropped onto my breasts as searing pain ran through my body. He began circling me again, like a shark when there was blood in the water. Blows 3 and 4 came in rapid succession, one to each shoulder. Blows 5 and 6 landed squarely on my ass, one on each cheek. It hurt, but I was massively aroused by that point—so much so that I almost lost my balance from my quivering limbs. Blow 7 landed on my right inner thigh, quickly followed by blow 8 to my left inner thigh. I was sobbing uncontrollably, my legs shaking, my pussy drooling... Blows 9 and 10 both landed squarely on my clit, and I climaxed between the two blows. It was so intense that I emptied my bladder all over the carpet below me. I had never experienced an orgasm so intense. He left me hanging there, shaking violently until my orgasmic contractions subsided.
He put the crop down on the table, stood on the chair, and unhooked the leash from the chandelier. I was completely unable to stand. He steadied me by holding me around the waist with his powerful arms. As he stepped off the chair, he allowed my arms to drape around his neck. I buried my face in his barrel chest and let him hold me. I wanted to kiss him deeply, to let his tongue explore my mouth, but I dared not attempt such an overt act. I wanted to show him I had learned my lesson. I found myself wanting to please him. I understood then that he was breaking me. That was enough discipline for one night.
I believed Father William was of the opinion that he had broken me. My guess was that the tender moment of support we shared after my climactic beating had convinced him that I was done resisting. Yet I was mentally unprepared for the fourth evening... I remember it vividly to this day.
As I stood before him waiting to disrobe, he threw me a curve. He placed a padded kneeling board at my feet and bade me kneel before him. I was instructed to remove my coif and veil and place them...
