If you broke the rules at St. Hilda's Convent you could expect to be expelled. If you were really unlucky you might be offered a chance to join the Sisters of Servitude. Sophie, Susan, Grace and Stephanie are that unlucky, and in days their virginity is taken from them as they vie for a place on the training program from hell in the naive belief it will be better for them than facing the wrath and punishment from their own angry fathers.
A story of pain and lots of sex as four legal teens are brought cruelly into the world of womanhood where they train to serve the needs of their new masters - men of God with a lusting for young, ripe bodies.
EXTRACT
“You, my girl, may be eighteen but we have a total ban on alcohol
at St. Hilda’s. This is a matter for Father Tomas. You will all wait
here and pray that he is lenient on you. Pray hard for he has not had
a good day and this is just the kind of misbehaviour he will not
tolerate.”
With that, Matron, turned and marched out of the door, banging
it closed behind her and turning the key in the lock.”
“Great,” said Stephanie, “we’re for it now. I went up before
Father Tomas last term and he caned me good and proper just for being
rude to one of the nuns. Christ alone knows what he’ll do for this.”
“Oh God, what will my parents say?” Eleanor was sitting on the
bed looking close to tears. She too had been caned by Father Tomas in
the previous term for some misdemeanour and her father, upon reading
her report at the end of the term, had taken off his belt and made her
bend over the dining room table. Then he’d lifted her skirt so only
her knickers covered her bottom. They had soon been dropped to her
knees and then the belt crossed her bare buttocks ten times with such
vigour that she had not been able to sit down for two whole days. Now
she was in trouble again.
By the time Matron opened the door again, half an hour later,
all the girls had shared their worst fears. Of the eight, four had
been punished by Father Tomas in the past year and two received follow
up punishments when their parents heard about their `sins` at the end
of the term. Of the four that had not been punished, Sophie was the
most concerned because the party had been her doing.
“How the hell did Matron know about the party?” Sophie looked
around. “Who told her?”
All the girls shook their heads as they looked round the room.
“Well someone must have done?” She added softly.
“Unless it was the shopkeeper where you got the bottles from,”
said Eleanor.
“Shhh, someone’s coming,” said Elizabeth, hearing a creak on the
floorboards from outside the door.
Instantly all the girls made it look like they were praying
fervent repentance of the crime they had committed.
“All stand!” Matron’s voice was stern and one of authority, as
she once again stood in the doorway. “Father Tomas will see you all in
the chapel immediately. Be under no illusion that he is not best
pleased to have to do this at this time of night. Let’s go.”
“But Matron, we need to dress first,” said Elizabeth in her
squeaky voice.
“No you don’t. You will see Father Tomas in the same clothes you
are wearing now.”
With that, the eight girls formed a rough line as they walked
down to the chapel, with Matron bringing up the rear. In the chapel,
Father Tomas, for once wearing casual clothes and looking more like a
headmaster than a priest, stood waiting. He had a chair in the middle
of the centre aisle with the seat of the chair pointing towards the
altar. On the seat of the chair was a cane, a four footer made of the
finest rattan.
“Ladies, you are here because you have broken one of the most
serious rules of this establishment. You have all been caught drinking
alcohol. Now, so I can be sure, whose alcohol was it?”
“Mine Father,” said Sophie, knowing there was no point in trying
to hide the fact.
“Yes, I guessed it would be, and where did you acquire the
alcohol from?”
“A shop in the town. I can’t remember which one, but it was near
to the post box.”
“I see. So you not only broke the rule of not drinking alcohol
in the Convent, you also broke the rule of purchasing it and then
smuggled it into the Convent, didn’t you?”
“Yes, Father,” Sophie squeaked with fear in her voice.
“Come forward Sophie,” said the Father. “Which hand do you write
with?”
“My right hand,” said Sophie when she was standing in front of
the chair and facing the altar.
“In that case, reach out your left hand and place it on the top
of the back of the chair.”
“Why, Father?” Sophie bit her lip.
“Because I am going to punish you for what you have done. Ten
strokes of the cane on your hand should be a good start point. You
will keep your hand open and placed on the back of the chair at all
times. You are allowed to cry out but not move nor utter any
profanities. Now, do as you are told.”
Sophie slowly raised her arm and placed the back of her hand on
the back of the chair. She felt relieved when Tomas left the rattan
cane on the chair, until she noticed he already had a shorter,
thinner, more whippy cane in his hand. Then her heart sank as he took
a practice stroke in the air, the swishing sound almost making her cry
as she flinched in reaction to the noise. The tip of the cane patted
her upturned palm three times then Sophie shrieked.
“Yeeeeaaaarrrgggghhh!” She howled as the wooden rod slammed
right across the open palm of her hand. Instinctively she closed her
fist as the excruciating pain shot up her arm, into her brain and made
tears form in her eyes.
“Open your hand,” said Father Tomas sternly, “and remember that
the angels of the Lord and even your Lord’s mother, Mary, is watching
you. If you want to break rules as an adult then you must accept your
punishment as an adult.”
“Yes, Father. Owwwwwwwwww!” The cane whipped into her hand for
the second time and again she closed the palm into a fist, but this
time as the tears flowed from her eyes she managed to open her hand
before Father Tomas could reprimand her again.
“Geeeeeeeee!” She howled again as the third stroke landed across
her fingers, adding a fresh bruise mark to her hand and more pain
racked her body.
“Arggggggghhhhh! Please stop!” She screamed as soon as the cane
lashed down onto her poor hand again, but Father Tomas was not a man
of mercy and Sophie continued to howl as he delivered all ten strokes
of the vicious cane onto her hand. By the end of her punishment, her
hand was red and purple and Sophie knew she would not be able to form
a fist with it until the bruising had eased.
She’d heard other girls who’d received such a caning say it
would take some days for her hand to stop stinging and now, as she
stood their sobbing her heart out, afraid to move her hand off the
back of the chair in case it broke into pieces, she understood what
they had said.
“Go and stand over there, and put your hands on your head. I
haven’t finished with you yet, but the others must take their turn.”
Sophie’s heart almost stopped at the realisation she was to be
further punished that night but she had the sense to walk away from
the chair and put her hands on her head, though her left hand was
pounding so fiercely from her caning that she thought it would
explode.
“Elizabeth Drinkwater,” said Father Tomas severely, “what do you
have to say for yourself?”
“Sorry, Father Tomas, it won’t happen again.”
“Quite right, it won’t if you know what’s good for you, and that
goes for all of you. Come over here Miss Drinkwater,” said the priest.
He waited while Elizabeth took the four strides over to the back of
the chair.
“I’m left handed, Father,” she said.
“Did I ask you what hand you wrote with?”
“No Father, you didn’t,” Elizabeth felt as if she was about to
wet herself with fear.
“Bend over the chair, Drinkwater. Look at the altar and pray for
mercy, for you are going to get ten strokes of the cane on your
backside. Matron, come and hold the girl down and please, bare her
bottom first.”
“No, no, please don’t do that,” pleaded the attractive
brunette.
Matron was already standing beside Elizabeth. With her strong
hands she pulled the girl over the back of the chair and then hoisted
her nightdress up over her legs so her bottom was fully exposed. The
girl wore knickers but these were soon pushed down to her ankles by
Matron. Then she pushed down on the girl’s back with one hand to keep
her in position and with the other she grabbed the back of the girl’s
head and jerked it upwards so Elizabeth was forced to look at the
altar.
“Keep looking at the altar and ask for forgiveness of your
sins,” she said severely as she held Elizabeth in place.
Elizabeth noticed the rattan cane on the chair had gone and a
moment later she knew where it was as the cane patted her square
across her buttocks.
Punishment was swift and harsh. Father Tomas wielded the cane like a
true professional, with none of the delays lesser mortals would have
left between strokes. There was no flamboyance, no delays between the
strokes to let the pain of the previous one sink in, just a rapid
onslaught of sheer pain on Elizabeth’s bottom.
In less than twenty seconds, Father Tomas delivered the ten
bottom-blistering strokes. Elizabeth cried out as the first one landed
and struggled to free herself from Matron. She howled again every two
seconds as the cane whipped her once-pale bottom into a frenzy of red
and purple welt marks and bruises. She was screaming almost
catatonically by the time the tenth stroke had bit into her tender
flesh leaving her a howling, bruised wreck.
“Get up and go and stand beside Sophie, with your hands on your
head. Do not attempt to rub your backside,” said Father Tomas with no
mercy in his voice.
Elizabeth stood up and howled again with the renewed intense
pain in her bottom. She hobbled to stand beside Sophie and they
exchanged a brief but silent look of horror between their tears.
“Grace Brown, it’s your turn,” Father Tomas said with no passion
in his voice as he looked at the attractive redhead. He knew she was a
genuine redhead because the previous term he had caned her bare
backside and had, during the punishment, seen the thick thatch of her
pubes. “We’ve been here before haven’t we Grace? Last term when you
were caught smoking. I am beginning to think that you should be
expelled from the Convent as obviously our regime does not suit you.”
“No, please no, Father, my Dad would half kill me.”
“Would he indeed? Well, perhaps we need to think of some other
way to get the message across then. For now, take Elizabeth’s place
over the chair.”
Grace shrugged her shoulders in despair and hauled herself over
the chair’s back. She was wearing a short nightdress and Father Tomas
smiled when Matron lifted it to reveal she was naked underneath. He
could still see the wisps of red pubes between her legs, poking around
the sides of her pouting, puffy labia.
The cane patted her bottom twice as he took aim and then, as
before he let fire with the rapid salvo of ten skin-breaking strokes.
These had Grace instantly gasping as her bottom turned from pink,
through red to purple in under ten seconds and by the time the last
stroke landed she had signs of blood where the welts had broken from
repeated strokes to the same part of her bottom.
Grace stood up and their were tears in her eyes, but she refused
to scream because of the pain. She hobbled over to take her place
beside Elizabeth, again with her hands on her head and forbidden from
touching her bottom.
“Charity Smith, now it’s your turn.” Charity went pale. She had
suffered punishments at home and knew she had a low pain threshold.
She stepped forward and, already with tears in her eyes she took her
position over the back of the chair. Charity was wearing a night suit
– like pyjamas but for girls.
“Yank them down, Matron,” said Father Tomas and Matron obliged,
exposing Charity’s pale bottom for the priest. When Matron was holding
Charity in position with her head back so she could look at the image
of Mother Mary that stood in the middle of the altar, Father Tomas
took aim once again with the cane.
And so it was that Charity screamed for all she was worth until
she fainted from the pain at the fifth stroke. When she recovered, she
was lying on the floor in front of the altar, her bottom throbbing
with a kind of pain that she had never dreamed about let alone
suffered before. Even while she was unconscious, the priest had
delivered the final five strokes, determined the girl should not get
off lightly.
Susan Cordle was next. A short, slightly dumpy girl with dark
hair, her hips and her chest were broad, as evidenced by the ample
cheeks she offered to the priest once she took up her position over
the chair for her punishment. As she bent over for her punishment, the
priest could just about tell she had dark pubes, but her plentiful
buttock cheeks almost prevented him from seeing her sex at all.
As before, the ten strokes were delivered with full venom and
without delay, and though Susan gasped loudly with each stroke, and
though tears welled up in her eyes, she did not cry out like the other
girls had done.
“Stand up,” the priest said when he had delivered the cane ten
times. “You have a resilience which is not found in many. I am not
convinced that you have fully learned your lesson here tonight, so you
will hear from me tomorrow. Now, take your place in the line.”
Susan walked slowly over to where she had to stand with her
hands on her head. Sure, her bottom ached from the caning but she
wasn’t going to let the priest know just how bad it felt.
“Rachel Hartman, you are next.”
Rachel assumed the position and like the girls before her,
received the allotted ten strokes of the cane in about twenty seconds.
Certainly the vigour and energy of the priest was to be admired for
her had now caned six girls with no sign of the strokes becoming
softer. Rachel’s bottom turned as deep a shade of red as any of the
previous girls who’d been caned and she howled from the third
delivery. When she stood up she so badly wanted to rub her bottom but
the priest had told her not to. She hobbled, in intense agony, to her
place in the growing line of girls with their hands on their heads.
All the girls, except Sophie, had their bottoms still exposed, for
Matron had clipped the hems of their nightdresses above their waists
so their bottoms would be visible when they stood up again. Any
knickers they had been wearing were dropped before their punishment
and they had not been allowed to pick them up afterwards.
“Stephanie Byers, you’re next,” said Tomas, looking at the two
frightened girls who did not yet have red and welted bottoms.
Stephanie lay over the chair and felt her nightdress pulled up
over her waist. Her hair was dark and cut in a bob and the priest felt
his cock stiffen more with the realisation the girl had shaved off all
her pubic hair. Stephanie felt the tell-tale pinch of the clip as it
fastened her dress in place and then she felt her full knickers being
tugged down to her knees. They slid down past her knees to her ankles
where they remained for the rest of her punishment.
Ten strokes as before were delivered to Stephanie’s tender
bottom. She’d never been smacked before so had no idea, up until a few
minutes previously, what a caning would be like. She felt the heat,
she felt the desire to run and escape and she felt the tears form in
her eyes, but she remained silent throughout apart from a gasping
sound as the air rushed out of her lungs from the force of the
strokes.
“You too show remarkable composure and I am sure it is because
the message is not getting through. Take your place in the line and
you will see me again tomorrow,” said Father Tomas as he allowed the
girl with silent tears running down her cheeks to stand up. Stephanie
stepped out of her knickers and let the front of her skirt fall back
down over her shaved sex, and then she hobbled over to her place in
the line and put her hands on her head.
Father Tomas looked in the direction of the final girl, Eleanor
Ranton. Eleanor needed no bidding to come forward. She stepped slowly
towards the chair, dropped her own knickers to the ground and stepped
out of them. Then she pulled up her nightdress and lay over the back
of the chair.
Like the others, Matron clipped up the back of her nightdress to
keep it away from her bottom and then pushed down on her back and
pulled her head backwards by her hair so she could see the altar ahead
of her.
Swish! Crack!
“Yeeeeaaaaarrggggghhh!” Eleanor howled as the cane bit into her
taut, pale buttocks, leaving the first red mark that would be forming
a welt by the time her punishment had been completed. She barely had
time to howl the once before her bottom was striped again by the
vicious cane.
Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! The priest continued the onslaught
of pain, oblivious of the girl’s screams for mercy.
Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! It was over before Eleanor had cried
out more than three times.
Now her backside burned with an intense stinging sensation that
she had never experienced before, not even when her father had used
the belt on her, nor when her mother had put her over her knee as a
young child and delivered the sound spanking she needed for being rude
to a neighbour.
This night, Eleanor vowed to herself not to misbehave again,
assuming she lived through the fiery pain that was racking her body
from the punishment she had just received.
Almost without knowing what she was doing, she took her place in
the line of girls who had their hands on their heads.
“Now, Miss Westcott,” said Father Tomas, addressing the girl
whose hand still burned on the top of her head, “you are responsible
for the misery these other girls are going through. You will shuffle
behind each girl on your knees and gently kiss each fiery buttock
cheek in turn and ask the owner of the cheek for forgiveness. Then you
will come over here for your own visit over the chair.”
“Yes, Father,” said Sophie demurely as she dropped to her knees.
Then she shuffled across the chapel’s floor on her knees, stopping
behind the first girl where she planted a kiss on each of her flaming
red buttocks and asked her for forgiveness.
Of course, each of the girls knew they had to forgive her, at
least in words. They also knew that in reality they were each
responsible for their own actions and they had only too readily agreed
to the party invitation with the lure of forbidden alcohol to drink.
So none of the girls really blamed Sophie for their downfall, but they
had to do what the Father demanded of them.
Finally, Sophie had kissed the last ass cheeks in the line and
been told she was forgiven. With pain still raging through the hand
that had been caned, she stood up and slowly walked to the chair.
“Remove your nightdress and get over the back of the chair,”
said Father Tomas, his cock already fully erect from the delightful
sight of so many punished bottoms.
“Sophie Westcott, you are the ringleader in this misdemeanour.
It is therefore fitting that you receive greater punishment. You will
receive twenty strokes of the cane. Matron, if you will hold her
please.”
Sophie was about to protest at the harshness of the punishment
but Matron hauled her over the chair, forced her shoulder blades down
with one hand and yanked her long blonde hair backwards so her
steel-blue eyes could look at the image of Mary on the altar.
Crack! The first stroke of the cane slashed into Sophie’s pale
bottom right across the middle.
“Yeeeaaaaarrrgggghhh!” Sophie howled out from the new pain site
in her body. If her hand ached, it was nothing compared to the raging
pain now burning behind her. She struggled briefly with Matron then
realised Matron both had the upper hand and was too strong for her, so
she gave up the unequal battle. Five seconds passed, five long seconds
that had Sophie wondering when the next stroke would be delivered.
Unlike the previous canings, Father Tomas was waiting for the
effects of the stroke to be felt by the miscreant youngster.
Crack! The second stroke landed a fraction below the first,
causing Sophie to howl loudly again. Again the wait as the numbing,
stinging effect of the stroke fully formed in her young bottom.
Crack! The evil Father delivered another stroke to her bottom.
The first two strokes had left almost parallel red marks across the
middle of her cheeks, barely half an inch apart. The third stroke and,
when he delivered it a few seconds later, the fourth stroke formed
almost parallel red lines towards the top of her buttocks.
Sophie was crying uncontrollably now, the intense pain and her
inability to stop it only adding to her misery.
The next two swishing cracks of the cane landed right at the
bottom of her cheeks, almost on the tops of her legs. This is a
particularly vulnerable and sensitive area to strike and if Sophie had
thought the first four strokes were bad enough, the pain only doubled
when the cane struck the tops of her legs.
“Arrggggggghhhh! No, please have mercy, I can’t take any more,
it’s killing me.” Sophie howled more loudly when the priest ignored
her cries and delivered two more strokes just above the tops of her
legs again.
Sophie had lost count of the strokes but she knew there was a lot
more suffering to come.
“Please, I’ll do anything, anything at all. Just don’t cane me
any more, I can’t take it,” she pleaded.
Crack! Crack! Two more bottom-blistering strokes added two
further welt marks to the middle of her back.
“Anything?” The priest asked her.
“Yes, anything, only stop caning me.” Sophie cried out between
her loud sobs.
“You other girls will go to your dormitory now,” said Father
Tomas and he waited, with Sophie still over the back of the chair,
bawling her eyes out, while they gathered up their knickers and
prepared to leave the room.
“You will keep your bottoms bare tonight and present them for
inspection to Matron at first light. Now go!” Father Tomas seemed
agitated. “Matron, you can escort them back to their dorms. Make sure
they do not remove the clips on their nightdresses. When you inspect
them at first light, I want you to report to me any nightdresses that
have fallen down over their bottoms. I will finish here with Miss
Westcott and return her to her dormitory when we are through.”
“Yes, Father,” said Matron as she ushered the other girls out of
the chapel, leaving Sophie still slumped over the chair, crying
loudly.
“So, what does `anything` mean young lady?” asked the priest,
evidently agitated and excited. As he spoke, he put his hand on the
girl’s burning bottom and gently rubbed it, almost with disinterest.
“Whatever you want, Father, provided it is not the cane.”
“Have you heard of the Sisters of Servitude?”
“No, Father, who are they?”
“They, my dear child, are a group of devoted nuns who have been
trained to offer service to the priesthood, to attend to our needs as
humans and to be totally loyal and obedient at all times.”
“Sounds strange,” said Sophie.
“Well, to many it would do. We priests are, after all, humans
and as such we have certain temporal needs, just as you girls have
spiritual ones.” His hand had moved down her bottom and was now
rubbing the tops of the backs of her legs, just a small distance from
Sophie’s full, pouting labia, labia that for some irritating reason
started to feel damp.
“Are you saying what I think it is you are saying?”
“That depends on what you are thinking, my child,” said the
priest.
“I think, forgive me Father, that you are inferring I should have
sex with you,” said Sophie. When the reply did not come immediately,
Sophie realised to her horror that her guess was right.
“Would that be worse than the cane?” The priest said slowly,
with a certain huskiness in his voice. His hand was now gently and
almost imperceptibly prising Sophie’s legs apart by virtue of him
stroking her inner thighs. Sophie sighed slightly as her labia got
wetter from the arousing attentions she had no control over.
“No, not worse than the cane. But you mentioned the Sisters of
Servitude, would I not need to join them and be trained first?”
“You can look on this as your audition. If you pass the test
then I will put your name forward as a candidate though you may not,
of course, necessarily be accepted.” His hand had opened her legs
sufficiently to pass between her inner thighs and now the three middle
fingers of his hand were running lightly along the length of her
labia, making them wetter and wetter and making Sophie moan slightly
with her arousal.
