THE CONVENT, PART 4
by Zenna Swallows
Ryan hurried down the busy street, as fast as his heels would let him and without doing anything to call attention to himself. Or at least any more attention than would naturally be directed to the sight of an attractive young nun whose elaborate and skilful makeup contrasted vividly with her plain white robe and traditional wimple.
Keeping his eyes downcast to avoid the gazes of any curious passers-by, Ryan was all too aware of being a walking contradiction. At one level, he was completely comfortable with his appearance, with the sensuous feel of the lingerie underneath his habit, even with walking in heels that many women would find awkward.
But he was also terrified of being out in public looking like this, of being seen by other people - and especially other men - who might at any moment see through the trappings of femininity.
In other circumstances that contradiction might have paralysed him. But as it was, he was trying, but failing, to suppress a rising tide of elation. Because he had done it! After so much patience and suffering, over so many months - surely now well over a year, though he couldn't be sure - he had finally earned his chance at freedom.
At long last, he was out of the convent that had been his home and prison since the fateful night he first went to stay there.
The place where his manhood had been taken away from him. Sometimes in obvious and immediate ways, such as the clothing and makeup he'd been forced to wear, the concealment and chemical suppression of his cock, or the changes to his voice. But also through methods that worked more gradually and insidiously, such as the hormone treatments, injections and corsetry that had gradually given him B-cup breasts, a narrow waist, wide hips and a plump, rounded butt.
Not to say the training that had allowed him to walk, talk and act like the young woman he now appeared to be.
The opportunity for escape had only come because of his relentless discipline and self-control. After initially raging against his capture, he had been given a frightening glimpse of what his future could look like if he openly defied the cruel and well-resourced Order that had seized him. A lifetime spent in servitude, perhaps, or even worse - being confined to a cage and reduced to something closer to an animal.
As it was, he had gradually earned the trust of the perverted women who held him, even to the point of suffering the indignity of being relentlessly fucked by his former girlfriend Dana - or Sister Felicity as she was now known. And it had all now paid off.
The chance to get away had come completely out of the blue. It was not the product of any escape plan. He had long since given up on finding a way past the convent's security system, which included a tiny device embedded in his anal passage that would cripple him with pain if he got even a few metres away from the building.
He was outside that system now, and walking around the city in which he used to live and work, purely because he had been brought here.
The first he'd heard of what was mysteriously described as a "field trip" was when he and Agnes, the gorgeous young novice who had become his favourite bedmate, were summoned from breakfast to see Sister Mercy.
His immediate thought was that they must be in some kind of trouble. Not, surely, for what they were getting up to in bed together. It was true that they were routinely now not just kissing and cuddling when rostered to sleep together, but having sex - or the nearest thing it was possible to have with what was left of their cocks tucked away underneath a prosthesis designed to look like a vulva. But all the novices were doing that to a greater or lesser degree, and had been for months.
Left to his own devices, Ryan would probably have resisted the idea of fingering each other's assholes to trigger the pathetically small discharge that was all their shrivelled balls could now produce. Especially since the release was invariably accompanied by the exquisite frustration of a ruined orgasm.
But he had long since given in to Agnes' insistence that they "take care" of each other in that way each time they were assigned to the same bed. At least it stopped her spending the night wriggling and squirming against him - most of the time anyway.
Plus, he had to admit, relieving the aching tension that built up every day in his groin and his sensitive, easily excited nipples was often worth the price of the stalled climax. Especially as he got to kiss and fondle the delectable Agnes...
Every time he thought of her, he marvelled anew at how beautiful she was. He knew, intellectually, that she used to be a man - or a boy at least (she was still young, and he had no idea how long she'd been at the convent).
Like him, she lacked a pussy. And her breasts were far less developed than his, barely A cups in size. But in every other respect, she was everything he could want in a woman. The large, blue eyes that sparkled with connection and desire every time she spoke to him. The full, pouting lips that seemed ruby red even when she wasn't wearing lipstick. The lithe body. slim but not skinny, athletic but not muscled. The tiny but perfect nipples, which stiffened so readily when he touched them. And the pert buttocks that he so loved to caress, before he parted the cheeks to penetrate her tight asshole with his digits.
She was spectacular, far more enticing than anyone else in the convent, even his ex-girlfriend.
It was odd too, but he found he had no desire to fuck her. Not that he could right now, of course. But for someone who had spent the best part of the last decade relentlessly screwing the women of his choice, he found it strange that his fantasies were not of impaling her on the phallus he used to have.
He dreamed instead of being able to bring her to a proper orgasm - and of her being able to do the same to him. He wanted to feel her sweet juices pouring into his mouth and down his throat, and of filling her mouth in return as she drove her fingers into him.
The fact that the "juices" he wanted would actually be another guy's semen, or that he had come to enjoy having his rear passage stretched and his prostate stimulated (at least by her), were things he tried very hard not to think about...
Paradoxically, the strength of his attraction to the cute young blonde was also the reason why they saw so little of one other out of bed, other than when brought together by their lessons or chores.
The strategy that had served Ryan so well as an initiate, of keeping strictly to himself, was no longer viable. Not with all the novices being expected to chat incessantly to one other, to practice and reinforce the feminine mannerisms in which they were being so carefully schooled. The stoic demeanour that he cultivated in front of the senior nuns, or out in the corridors, had to be abandoned when conversing with his peers. Whether he felt like doing so or not, he was expected to smile and laugh along with the rest of them.
But even so, Ryan did his best to socialise with anyone bar Agnes. Not because he didn't want to talk to her - quite the reverse.
He was worried he was getting too preoccupied with her, infatuated even. He had to fight to avoid thinking about her during the periods set aside for meditation and prayer - or when being tormented by the vengeful Sister Felicity or one of her colleagues. He knew that if he became too attached, it might not just cause him to relax his discipline and get into unnecessary strife, but even weaken his resolve to escape his captivity and reclaim his life.
He could see that Agnes was hurt by the distance he kept from her and his unwillingness to acknowledge, much less try to strengthen, the bond that was forming between them. It was there in the tightness around her eyes as she watched him keep his distance during the day, in the forlorn glances she directed towards him even when apparently preoccupied with someone or something else.
But she never complained, or even sought to question him about his choices. She put no pressure on him at all, other than to give her what little pleasure he could offer in bed. And that somehow made her even more appealing. He knew it was wrong, detested himself for his weakness. But he couldn't hate her for being so attractive.
It was typical then that when on this particular morning they were ordered to Sister Mercy's office, his first thought was not so much of what might happen to him, but whether he had somehow caused a problem for Agnes - and of what he might be able to do to shield her from any punishment.
As it turned out, he wasn't in trouble at all, and nor was she. To his considerable surprise - which, characteristically, he refrained from showing - the two of them wee told there was a car waiting for them outside the front door, though no explanation was provided as to where they might be going.
Outside! Somewhere he hadn't been since that horrible first week at the convent when he'd been walked around the grounds on all fours like a dog.
The experience of not just walking down to the main entrance, but being allowed to pass back into the outside world, was almost surreal. Ryan couldn't stop glancing round, half expecting that someone would stop him. Even as he walked down the small flight of stone steps outside the entrance, he was tensing up, anticipating a blast of pain from the device implanted in him.
Yet all he encountered was brilliant sunshine and the feel of the unaccustomed breeze tugging at his robe. The unfamiliar sensations hit him so hard that he had to choke back a sob. Agnes clearly felt it too. She stumbled and would have fallen if Ryan hadn't shot out a hand to support her.
"Be careful, you stupid little slut!" barked a nearby voice. That was Sister Patience, waiting for them besides a sleek black limousine with tinted windows, and characteristically showing absolutely none of the virtue for which she was named.
It was a pattern with the sisters of the Blessed Order of Saint Pilarupta. Sister Joy never smiled. Sister Mercy never showed any. And those like Ryan who got to spend any time with Sister Felicity learnt all too quickly and painfully that there was no happiness to be found in her company.
"Come on girls, get in," said a less tetchy voice from inside the vehicle. That was Sister Chastity, one of the youngest of the senior nuns.
Her vice was an insatiable lust for the fingers and tongues of the novices, initiates and servants who populated the convent. She would sometimes spend hours on end using them to pleasure her, to the point of utter exhaustion on their part and mild fatigue on hers. But although it was not saying much, she was the nearest thing they had to a kind and friendly mistress.
The journey to the city took a couple of hours. It was almost like getting into a time capsule for Ryan. He had done this drive many a time, back in the old life which had been receding into the mist, but was suddenly now coming back into focus.
As they went through the outer suburbs and then approached the city centre, Ryan could only dimly make out any details through the darkened glass. But what he saw was hauntingly familiar. He still had no idea exactly where they were heading, or why. But he knew from long experience not to ask. He might be physically outside the convent, but its rules surely still applied.
