A few days later, Maria Clare led the young novitiate down the dark curving steps that led to the more remote catacombs beneath the convent. It was a place the young novitiate had been warned never to enter. Now within the bowels of that deserted section they entered a large room that appeared to have been a place of recent activity. There were candles and oil lamps though only one lamp was lit. A few pillows were strewn on the floor and soft rugs made the place seem almost livable.
Maria Clare led the way down a dark passage beyond and paused before a heavy wooden door banded with iron straps. A small window at eye heigth had a small iron grillwork across it.
“It is time that you were acquainted with a more secret portion of our holy order,” said Maria Clare.
“It is frightening down here,” said the novitiate.
The older woman opened the heavy cell door and sheilding the lighted candle with her hand, entered the dark place that had the peculiar though familure odor of one of the outbuildings. “Certainly, it stinks,” thought Rachael. She inhaled the fetid odors of human piss and shit.
The room contained a hard, wooden bunk with but a single blanket. In the corner, a half full, wooden bucket held stale piss and soft, floating turds. “The Good Mother does her monthly penance here,” explained Maria Clare. The lone occupant of that dreary cell wore a solitary, short, loose garment that failed to completely drape her enormous buttocks. The Mother Superior knelt before a panel mural that covered what might have once been a doorway.
The life size painting, on wood, depicted a naked man though there was a circular hole cut out at the groin. Throughout the year a three dimentional, oiled, erect wooden phallus filled that space where the genitals should be. On special holy days, that opening was filled with the earthly equipment of the Holy Father‘s flesh to be adored and laved by the kisses of a holy sister of the inner circle, those qualified to be in the presence of the true organ of all creation.
Now, through that hole was threaded a long, round piece of what looked to be shriveled flesh. It hung limply against the wood and appeared to have recently be immerced in something wet. The moisture still shone on it.
The nearly naked woman turned to them and wiped a drop of spittle and something thicker, slick and milky, from her lips. “Sister Maria Clare, you have arrived to complete my abasement?”
“If I may be so permitted, oh Holy Mother.” The good nun genuflected before the older woman who remained on her knees.
“I see you have brought the novitiate to begin her initiation in our most holy rites.”
“I have, Most Holy Mother.”
“Does she recognize the object hanging limply before me?”
Maria Clare turned to the younger woman. “You may address the The Good Mother. Do you recognize the object?”
The girl shook her head. She moved closer. “Never have I seen such a soft, ugly thing.”
“You may touch it,” said The Good Mother, “but gently.”
The girl lifted the flesh with her fingers and thought she heard a deep moan or a groan from beyond the thin wood partition. “It seems almost alive,” said the girl.
“It contained some life before I drained it,” said The Good Mother. “It is still attached to a lower life form on the other side.”
“What in heavens’s name can it be?”
“It is that, that differs men’s anatomies from our own,” said The Good Mother. “That limpness, when lost, is named a prick.”
“Surely it is most strange.”
“It is now useless. The drained brother has suffered his pennance beyond the wall,” explained The Good Mother, “as I have suffered mine here. With my holy mouth, I tongued and teased his instrument. I milked his seed until his sturdy weapon droops harmlessly, as you now see it.”
“You have done well, Holy Mother.” said the nun.
“Now I must pay for my venery,” said the older woman. “Lead me from this abomination and that worthless man flesh. Bathe me and lay upon my bounteous buns many applications of the strap I so richly deserve.” Maria Clare helped the older woman from her knees and led her from the cell down the cold, damp corridor to a room where warm springs steamed and bubbled to overflowing in a large stone depression suitable for half a dozen to bathe. She helped the The Good Mother rid herself of her filthy rags.
Rachael watched the garment fall from her massive form to reveal the holy woman’s nakedness. Her large, well formed teats sagged heavily. Her waist, though thick, was not unseemly. The bulging hams of her meaty buttocks were emormous but tightly packed and smooth. In the front, The good Mother displayed in that secret place, where others grew manycurls, a clam as completely hairless as a babe’s crotch. Rachael gasped at a gaping slit that owned no consealment from prying eyes.
The Abbess stood and asked of the younger of her two attendants. “Is this not the largest ass you have set your innocent eyes upon?” The Good Mother slapped her huge buttocks. “And not so badly formed for a woman of my years if I may say so.”
“Quite lovely,” said the novitiate. “I have not been privy to the viewing of many, but surely your bum is the most magnificently rounded my eyes have beheld.”
“In your limited experience, I venture that is true,” said The Good Mother. “But Sister Maria Clare will assure you that there is not a larger arse in the convent.”
“That cannot be denied,” confirmed Maria Clare.
“Now,” said the The Good Mother. “Divest yourselves of your habits and aid me in my ablutions.” Maria Clare immediately shed her habit and seeing the Good Sister doing so, Rachael, the lusty lass, had little compunction in becoming quite naked as well. Soon, in the steaming water, the Good Nun and the noviate laved the naked person of the Abbess, the Mother Superior herself, touching and soaping each crack and crevice, every rounded surface of the huge ass cheeks and the pendulate, large nippled breasts hanging weightily from her chest.
Above all, what most fascinated the little novitiate,kneeling before the older woman was the shorn mount at the juncture of The Good Mother’s enormous thighs. With all evidence of hairy growth removed, the plump inner lips protruded beyond the outer ones and and the deep crack lay oprn, totally pink and vulnerable. Most startling was the small, stiff object protruding from the uper part of the The Good Mother’s slit, an object closely resembling in size and shape of an item Rachael once viewed projecting between the legs of a boy babe except this member did not have the attendant pouch created for the holding the male jewels.
The Good Mother, notcing the young woman’s facination with the object, spoke. “Have you not seen one so large,” she asked proudly.
“I have not,” replied the girl. “As you observe, I have nothing similar, nor does the good sister Maria Clare.”
“Oh you have one. Though quite small it is, no doubt, quite sensitive. Mine, I assure you, is a wonder. The good sister can tell you there is none larger among all the sisters.”
Rachael looked to her companion. “It is true? You have viewed the hidden charms of all those who live in this convent?”
“An so, in time, shall you,” assured The Good Mother. “We hide our charms only from men and their brutish ways. Amongst the sisters, we conceal nothing.”
“Tis truly a wonder,” said the girl. “I am so ignorant in the ways of the world.”
“You shall soon be enlightened,” said The Good Mother.
The Abbess stepped from the bath. The two women bussied themselves with drying her.
“Now,” said The Good Mother, “you must put the strap to these old buns, sharply, for I crave a spend and the prelude to bedewing this old crack is a brisk warming of my bottom cheeks. A fire kindled there tranfers to heat to my loins and enlarges further that nub that so entrances our little novitiate.”
“We are to thrash you?” asked the girl.
“And soundly,” advised The Good Mother. “I truly relish each stroke laid heavily upon this old arse. I wallow in it and as Sister Maria Clare will aver, these cheeks will withstand any ordeal and beg for more.”
“It is true,” conceded, Maria Clare. The Good Mother’s bounteous buns absorb more punishment that any other sister can withstand.”
The Abbess bent at the waist and placed her hands on her knees. She raised her massive bottom and presented it to the equally naked nuns. The fully blown buttocks rose and protruded above full, tree trunk thighs. As she bent, the shaved fig of her sex pouted outward. “Let my punishment begin,” said Abbess. “Withhold nothing and do stop until I am set to loose the demons possessing this poor flesh.”
“We obey, Holy Mother.” Maria Clare dipped her finger in the moistening slot between her own thighs and crossed herself with the slickness. “I am not unwilling to accept such punishment as I mete out to others,” said The Good Mother. “I will accept ten strokes from each. Each select a cheek and lay it on.”
Maria Clare handed a broad strap to Rachael and retained one for herself.
“Do not spare your arm, girl,” warned, The Good Mother. “I expect you to lay on your best. This bum merits extra attention.”
Rachael looked to Maria Clare who let go a tremendous blow on The Good Mother’s right lower cheek. The Good Mother did not flinch as she absorbed the pain. The bright pink stripe rising in the straps wake deepened and became bright red. Rachael folowed suit and felt the moistness trickle from between her thighs. The women alternated the laying on of their straps across the broad, quivering cheeks of the Mother Superior until the count of twenty was reached.
The older woman’s backside was now totally crimson with darker stripes criss-crossing the broad expance. “I am surely well warmed and shall not sit comfortably tonight,” gasped The Good Mother. “You may now tongue my pleasure now until I reach my crisis repeatedly.”
Maria Clare knelt before her as the older woman sat on the edge of the cool stone shelf, lay back and widely parted her thighs to open the prominate, brown lips of that fleshy fig she displayed most shamelessly. Maria Clare licked one of her superior’s taut nipples and it erected at least half an inch from the huge teat. She motioned Rachael to suck at the other one. When she was certain the girl understood her chore, she slipped between The Good Mother’s thighs and buried her head at the junction. Her tongue played loving tribute to the older woman’s open labia and the extended cllitoris.
“Yes,” moaned The Good Mother. ”Tongue my holy slit and keep the juices flowing. Make good things happen in my holiest of holy holes. Lick the crack of my cunt, Sister!”
Maria Clare stiffened her tongue and entered a slick tunnel with no reachable end, then gave attention to that large nub of sensitive flesh protruding more than an inch. Maria Clare sucked that organ between her lips until the older woman, moaned and threshed until, gasping for breath, she moaned, “Please! That’ is enough for this old woman.”
Maria Clare raised her head and met Rachael’s eyes.
The young woman looked as she could not believe The Good Mother had so accepted the rite of the offering of the forbidden fruit she had just witnessed.
The Good Mother turned to Rachael. “It is an old woman’s curse that she must be so treated to reach her peak.” She smiled, “This holy arse shall be sore pressed, tomorrow, to bear my weight when sitting.”
“Then the hunger for the strap rises again,” said Maria Clare.
