THE NAKED NUN | girl bound and whipped | bdsm stories

When it was done, Aveline was limp with exhausted emotions and Nest hung from her wrists replete and uncaring of the pain. Both girls had travel ed a path to places more distant than they had ever known or believed in. Their enforced coupling had prolonged itself far beyond any original intent. Even the Abbess and Sister Unity were awed by its intensity. It was as though the captive girls had found escape within each other from their bondage.

Aveline was brought back to reality by Unity's freeing of Nest's feet. The wide spread legs united again and the toes found footing to ease the hurt wrists.

“On thy feet, girl.”

She was stil helpless, tied and tethered, but she stood erect and waited obediently. Aveline found it a thing of wonder that she had scarcely missed her lost hands during her fleshly task.

Her captivity was taking on fresh depths and widths utterly bizarre. She and Nest were possessed by an authority, as strange as it was merciless. She fol owed meekly to be tethered anew where she could view in its entirety the whipping about to be administered to her companion in distress.

“What is to be done to thee, dear Nest?” the Abbess inquired conversationally.

“I am to be whipped, Reverend Mother.”

“Does’t agree thy striping be just, child?”

“Yes, Reverend Mother.”

“Does’t wish to scream or to be gagged?”

“I would scream an' it be permitted.”

“It is permitted. Thy screams be passing sweet. Do ye recall the nature of the whip, Nest?”

“Only that it was promised to be worse than I have known.”

Aveline listened in awe. Nest's responses to the Abbess' erotic play with words were calm and assured. Faced with a punishment she understood, the young girl had an immense courage.

Coming on top of al else she had endured the whipping to be given her now should be daunting. Yet the watching girl realised she herself had so far suffered more pain from the Abbess' lash than Nest had received from the six strokes upon her pubes, and the shaving was an agony only of the spirit. Nest's anguish of the flesh was stil to come.

“So ye thought to invite me, eh! And about time too!”

Startled, Aveline turned to behold the Abbot Gabelot. He was surveying the assemblage with his own cynical interest. His look at her was both penetrating and speculative.

“You're a witch, Cissota. Ye've stolen my prize.” His accusation was devoid of malice.

“We share enough with thee, ye ancient heathen,” the Abbess told him firmly. “Be ye thankful for what ye are about to receive.”

“This is the one to be whipped, I take it.” Gabelot bestowed an approving scrutiny on Nest's nakedness.

“Aye, ye'l enjoy her. She whips well.”

“And Malenfant's wench? I see she bears fresh marks?”

“A few she invited by the way. Ye speak of Milord Malenfant; what news is there of his quarrel?”

“He lays siege to Coudraye, the last I heard. A bloody piece of foolishness that's like to profit no one.” He chuckled sardonically, “Save perhaps thyself. If his war lasts long enough he may forget the maid. If ye share her with me I'l not remind him.”

“I'l think 'ont. For now, does’t wish to strike the first blow?”

“That I wil !” Gabelot agreed heartily. “Hand me the scourge. Ah ha! It has a fine feel and supple thong. T'wil make our pretty maid sing.”

“You're an erotic old lecher.”

“Look who's talking!” Gabelot leered at al present, then turned his attention to the bound and waiting Nest whose eyes had been riveted on him in pure horror since his arrival. “Wel , my girl, art thou prepared to have thy pretty hide wel striped?”

“Yes ...” choked Nest in her bewilderment.

“Ye may call me Father, my child,” the Abbot offered generously. “Ye may forget about the reverend.”

“With good reason,” the Abbess interjected dryly.

“Yes, Father, I am ready to be whipped.” Nest was anxious to please and was taking no chances.

“And where would you like me to whip you, my dear?” His outrageous query simulated a pure benevolence.

“Wherever it may please thee, Father. I cannot move from where I stand.” Nest gazed in awed appeal. “Please ... not my breasts ... not my breasts.”

Gabelot was intrigued. Watching, Aveline realised again how, potent to the loins was maiden submission and maiden pleas. It was evident, too, that he enjoyed the words by which maiden anguish and suspense might be prolonged and savoured to the ful .

“So thy breasts are thy treasure, child!” Gabelot went to the bound nudity and fingered the taut cones long enough to cause the inverted nipples to declare themselves. Then he backed away and looked below with professional discernment. “But I see thy little cunt did not escape.

Thou art nicely inflamed between thy legs.”

“Yes, Father, thank you.”

“And thy name?”

“It is Nest, Father. Please do not whip me too hard.”

“Does’t understand that al girls ask that of me?”

“The whip hurts girls most terribly, Father.” Nest twisted unhappily against her tied wrists. The subject was not a happy one.

“Get on with the job, man, before ye rouse thyself an erection with such chatter,” Cissota adjourned irritably.

The Abbot wrapped his whip around the pert smal bottom. Nest screamed lustily and without inhibition. Her legs flailed against the invisible enemy.

“She's nice, isn’t she?” Cissota commented chattily.

“Please don’t whip her any more,” Aveline pleaded with more courage than she felt. “She's so young.“

Al eyes turned. “And who asked your opinion, pray?” the Abbess asked icily.

“She's had so much. You've been so cruel.”

The Abbot leered at his hostess. “Is this the way ye train a damsel?” he asked affably.

“Methinks there's a fine rump there for a bit of basting.”

“It's been dealt with already. Leave her alone.”

The Abbot turned Aveline about and examined her inflamed seat. “I'l lay a crown or two that's Miles Hardwin's work. I'd know it anywhere.”

“So! I'm letting it heal. I've got plans for it myself.”

Gabelot patted one of the punished cheeks, then as an afterthought cupped Aveline's sex.

“Just as I thought,” he said, pleased, “She's more than ready. Wouldn’t like to leave the room for half an hour, would you?”

“You're supposed to be whipping the other one,” the Abbess pointed out reasonably. “The poor child feels neglected. She'll think ye love her not.”

The Abbot left Aveline with obvious regret. She wished she could feel flattered by his preference. Forgetting the whip, he performed the same service for Nest. His hand, when he raised it, was glistening wet. “How about this one?” he asked hopeful y. “Nothing like a good shave to get 'em flowing.”

“Whip her, man! She's not for fucking.”

Gabelot returned the whip to its owner. “Here, you do it. The child's a bit young for my taste.

Now if it was the other one … “

“Could I be of service, Father?” Sister Unity asked hopeful y.

“Humph!” The Abbot gazed at the dutiful member of his flock without enthusiasm. Sister Unity was not old, but she was no beauty. “T'would take a goodly number of stripes upon thy arse to get it hard.” He obviously judged from former experience.

Sister Unity wasted few words. She was always grateful. Bending over, she flipped up her habit to reveal a posterior of more inviting contours than her features. It was evident that beneath her single garb she was naked.

“I'd forgotten it was that good,” the Abbot observed pensively. “I'm going to make it hurt, y'know.”

“Oh, thank you, Father! You are so kind.” Sister Unity looked back past her stiff legs with a smile so radiant she was transformed.

Once more Aveline was aghast. Two members of Holy Church doing this! That was bad enough, but she was disturbed too by the good sister's all too evident gratitude for the pain she was about to receive. There had been no mention of penance; Unity was doing this because it gave her happiness. The tethered girl wondered if it was she and Nest who were odd ones in an insane world.

“‘Tis a truly fine rump,” the Abbot exulted as his hands fol owed its curves and planes. The wil ing legs parted slightly to al ow his hand entry to a well proportioned quim. “Ye don’t shave down here, do ye now!” The Reverend Father chuckled as he playful y tugged back into hind view a couple of dark and curly fronds.

“Should it please ye, Father, I wil do so.” The stern Unity was suddenly a smal girl anxious to please.

“I'l do it for ye, but another time,” the Abbot promised. “But now I'd best lay a few across these noble cheeks. Would'st not wish to be tied, I'l strike thee hard?”

“No, Father, I wish to set a good example of these two girls.” Sister Unity was both pious and panting.

“Oh, aye, I'm sure ye wil . But I'l wager crown I'l make ye squeal.”

“‘Tis wrong to wager.” Unity positively giggled.

“I'l take the bet,” said the Abbess. “But make it two.” She turned a stern eye upon her subordinate. “Now keep thy mouth shut or ye'l have me to reckon with after.”

“That's not fair,” protested Gabelot.

“I'l up the odds,” the Abbess offered dourly. “If Unity howls you can have a go at mine.” She considered thoughtful y. “Let's say five of your best.”

“Done!” said the Abbot with alacrity. “I've been waiting to have a go at you for a long time.

Ye've a fine shape 'neath that bolt o' cloth ye wear.” He turned a warning eye upon the beaming sister. “There's much at stake here, my girl, you're going to sing and loud.”

The Abbot enjoyed every preliminary, the tapping of the bared bottom, the measuring of distance. It was very plain to see that Sister Unity shared his enjoyment. Her eyes sparkled and she deliberately imparted unnecessary motions to her hips. Aveline watched in amazement the transformation of a nun into a woman, a woman carnal and without shame.

The blow was cruel. Gabelot swung on the ball of his foot and delivered every ounce of his strength to the sweeping lash. It curled around the tight cheeks as though embracing them forever. It drove Sister Unity to her knees, but without a sound she stiffly resumed her shameful bend and, looking back, said a dutiful, “Thank you, Father.”

“The silver's as good as mine,” said the Abbess. “You can’t hit her harder than that. Unity, I'm pleased with thee.”

“I can but try,” Gabelot affirmed. “Any wench can take a single.”

Aveline watched the sister's flesh rise in a ridge of pain and turn slowly purple. As though by magic a second wound sprang into living colour as Gabelot plied his whip with cunning. Unity gasped and grimaced but returned to her grateful smile. In the third stroke the Abbot excelled himself and Sister Unity yelped in agony and fell to her knees. Save for her panting breaths there was a shocked silence.

“Five of my best, I think you said, madam?” The Abbot turned a triumphant smile upon a dismayed Abbess.

“You let me down, Unity.” Cissota's voice held infinite promise.

“Oh, Reverend Mother, I am so ashamed! I ... I could not forbear. Oh, please let me continue.”

“No point to it now,” the Abbess said acidly. “I'l attend to you another time, and you'l wish ye'd bit thy tongue.”

Sister Unity straightened up and arranged her habit. Her eyes brimmed. She seemed strangely human. Guiltily she stood to one side.

“Al right, you old satyr, how d'you want me?” The Abbess was a woman of her word.

“Bare arsed and bending, madam.”

With a bitter glare of pure animosity, Cissota flipped up her covering and bent as Unity had done. She too wore naught but the cloth of St. Agnes.

“A superlative bottom, madam.”

“Of course it is, idiot! You've seen it before.”

“But never from this perspective, my dear. I feel most privileged.”

“Don’t gloat, you old bastard. I'm but paying a debt - there's nothing personal in this little scene. And, yes, my cunt shows up behind when I bend as I am. Kindly have the grace not to strike it.”

“How could I be so lost to shame!” the Abbot exclaimed piously. “ ‘Tis a most fulsome joy to see. Perhaps with the tip of one stroke ... “

“No! You hit my slit and the bet's off.”

The Abbot sighed and made a mental reservation to slice the plump cunt only on the fifth stroke. “I reverence thy fortitude, dear lady.”

“Damn my fortitude! Whip my arse and have done. I'm not posing for a statue.”

“I wil give of my best.” The Abbot's voice was vibrant with feeling.

“And you can dispense with tapping it first and the feel up, you old rogue. I'm not susceptible to suspense.”

The cut made Aveline gasp in pity. The Abbess yawned. “Perhaps this one.” The Abbot struck viciously. He was miffed.

“It's supposed rain later in the day,” Cissota to remarked casually.

“Ye'd get thyself less pain if ye acted like a woman,” said the Abbot, disgruntled. “Try this one, down low.” Aveline positively winced. Sound of the fleshly impact fil ed the room. The glowing weal was horrendous.

“We should really do something about that couch grass in the courtyard,” the Abbess mused thoughtful y. “You're doing it on purpose,” Gabelot accused morosely. “Being cocky, just to annoy me.”

“How's thy erection?”

The Abbot swung again but his heart was no longer in the blow. The fifth and last he delivered without hope. He even forgot his resolve to cut the mature cunt that mocked him from between the heroic legs. “Ye've got the arse of an old mare,” he affirmed disgustedly.

Cissota straightened up and patted herself into tidiness, seemingly unperturbed by pain. There was a glint in her eye. Aveline found herself incredulous of such fortitude; but perhaps the ecclesiastic bottom possessed immunities not vouchsafed to common folk! Smiling serenely, Cissota patted the Abbot's cheek as one might that of a child.

“There, there, poor man! We females are a sad trial to thee. I pray thine cock has not proved fickle?”

The Abbot scowled. “T'would be no fault of thine if it was,” he growled. “Ye're a cock crinkler if I ever saw one.” The Abbess bestowed her most winning smile. “Ye had a piece of carnal knowledge in mind, as I recall?”

“I would be most grateful, Father,” said Unity from the wings.

“Since I lost the bet, I suppose mine own virtue is also forfeit,” the Abbess suggested coyly.

Aveline wanted to giggle. The look Gabelot bestowed upon his female counterpart was withering.

“I'd not fuck ye with a cucumber,” he avowed angrily. “After that bare arsed performance ye don’t deserve it.”

“I don’t see what you're so huffy about,” the Abbess sniffed. “It's me that's got the marks,”

she sniffed even more eloquently. “As for your apology for a prick, you may recall last time. It just made a mess on the sheet.”

For a moment, the watching girl feared violence. The Abbot's complexion stopped short of purple only by virtue of Unity's dulcet interjection. “I am most ready, Reverend Father.” Her voice held anxiety, she was well aware of the debilitating effect of acerbity on the male organ.

It was not every day she snared an Abbot!

Gabelot brightened. Sister Unity's worship stiffened his cock, his morale and his decision.

“Come, beloved sister,” he said benignly as he took her hand. “Thou showest a proper respect for a Father of Holy Church:” He led her from the room and did not look back.

“Have the old hypocrite say a mass for thine ass, woman,” the Abbess cal ed after them. “I can promise ye'l need it.”

There was no answer from the passage. Aveline giggled. “What's so damn funny?” the Abbess demanded.

“I but laughed at thy wit, Reverend Mother.”

“Humph! Mayhap ye did. On the other hand - “ Cissota's eyes lit on the bound, strained nudity of Nest. “Great Heaven, child, you're supposed to get a whipping!”

“Yes, Revered Mother. Thank you.”

“I was going to have Sister Unity scourge thee well, but I expect she's busy either getting it up or getting it down. I'l have to do the job myself - don’t suppose you mind?”

“No. Reverend Mother. Thank you.”

Always unreality! Aveline knew herself witness to a masque in which absurdity, lust and cruelty were intertwined. She cringed at Nest's pathetic meekness. The poor child was frightened, her bound wrists were obviously hurting, naked and helpless she was pitiful y vulnerable. Having been compelled to watch the appalling whippings the two nuns had absorbed with such sangfroid, her mind must be a welter of conjecture as to whether she could acquit herself as well and if such fortitude was expected of maiden flesh unsanctified by vows.

“Please, Reverend Mother, do not whip Nest too hard. She has suffered much and is passing weary. I beg mercy of thee.”

Even as Aveline uttered the words she sensed their pathetic inadequacy. Naked, bound, tethered to the wall, she could strike no bargain, offer no bribe. Yet sight of Nest's nakedness standing on tip-toe awaiting its promised pain was more than she could bear in silence. She stood trembling.

It was to be understood that the bottom of the Abbess of St. Agnes was hurting; she had also been scorned in the offer of her person, and by a man she despised. These recent humiliations could not be conducive to bonhomie. No doubt the sight of Nest's slim nudity suspended by its wrists for the sole purpose of assuaging her own carnality was at the moment her only comfort.

She turned upon the leashed Aveline a jaundiced eye.

“And since when did ye start to give an Abbess her orders?”

“Oooooh, Reverend Mother!” Aveline's voice was almost a wail. “T'was no order. I but beg mercy for us both - we are so helpless.”

“And so ye should be! Impertinent baggages! Mayhap ye'd like to take half her strokes for her?”

“Yes! Oh, yes. Please let me.”

“Bah! The nobility of maidens, it sickens me. Such ardent flesh seeking the rampant prick -

and if there's no male cock ye seek the whip to stil thy conscience!”

Aveline blushed. Was it true? Did the lash and her love for Nest play surrogate for Miles? She was lost in her own complexities. She guiltily recognized that if it was Miles who yielded the scourge she would endure its bite with primitive joy, but from the hand of the Abbess she would hate and loathe each stroke. Witnessing the whipping of the nuns had left her with questions and strange puzzlements.

“We are in thy power, Reverend Mother. Ye must do what ye wil with us. But ‘tis no fault to beg thy mercy.”

“Humph! Ye're a crafty wench as well as bold. I'l have thee meek enough in time.” Cissota ran the whip through thoughtful fingers. “But I've our pretty little baldpate waiting, and there's Sister Unity! Enough's enough for a day.”

It was like a striking snake. Without preamble the Abbess pivoted and swung, a perfect weal sprang into being across the youthful skin. Nest screamed.

Only Nest moved. She writhed in torment, legs flailing at the air. The bar to which her wrists were tied shook and quivered against her struggles. Cissota and Aveline stood in rapt contemplation of pure beauty.

“Oh, Mother Superior, I did not know ... I did not know! ‘Tis too awful, I cannot bear - “ Nest's gasps were piteous.

The Abbess struck again; another stigmata on the pale skin; another scream! Without realizing, Aveline was writhing against her own bound wrists in a mindless need to give succour to the child who was being dealt pain too great to bear.

Nest was inarticulate in distress. “No, oh Mother, no! Don’t, oh don’t. Ohhhhhh ... Arrrragh!”

The Abbess of St. Agnes whipped the naked girl methodically and with precision: The weals blossomed like flowers of the flesh. Nest's responses varied with the strokes. Cissota savoured each. The captive girl leashed to the wall wept in frustration.

The return of Unity ended Nest's torture. The features of the sister in disgrace were a quaint blend of satisfaction and suspense. It seemed probable that the Abbot had acquitted himself with competence.

“Well fucked, I suppose?” Cissota was stil disgruntled.

“Yes, Reverend Mother.” There was a pride in the calm admission.

“The old fool taken it home to wash it?”

“I bathed it for him before he left, Reverend Mother.” Had Unity been feline she would have purred.

“Well, ye've had thy fun; now ye can pay for it.”

“I am ready, Reverend Mother.” The assured voice had lost some of its vibrancy.

“Well, get this weeping youngster down and fasten her. Ye can take her place.”

Unity was a subordinate jewel. She commenced the preparations for her own agony with dispatch. When the sore and sobbing girl was released from the bar she was taken to the wall from where hung gyves, one was locked upon each of her wrists to cause her to stand with arms out stretched as a captive audience for what must fol ow. To Aveline, and perhaps to the older women too, she looked ineffably sweet.

“Shed thy habit, Sister.” Cissota's voice was grim.

With an almost eager innocence Sister Unity doffed the garment which was her only badge of servitude. Aveline gasped at sight of the cascade of silken hair that tumbled from the coif. It would seem that neither of these two women of an unconventional order practiced what they preached. But it was not the hair alone; the body of Sister Unity belied the ugly cloak she had shed. It was beautiful! Naked, she was transformed from an ascetic celibate into a glowing Eve. The attentions of Father Gabelot had softened away the severities of thin lips and cold eyes. Unity's features had taken on the same female loveliness her body flaunted. Fear flickered faintly in her eyes but she held it well in check. Aveline judged this woman to be no more than ten years older than herself.

The Abbess looked testily around and picked up the discarded rope. “Work, work, work,” she grumbled. “There's none else to tie thee, so I'l do it myself.”

“There is no need, Reverend Mother. I wil clasp my hands behind my neck and stand to receive my stripes.”

“Ye believe that now, Unity, but ye know as wel as I no woman's like to stand stil for what I'l do to thee.”

“I wil wil ingly try. I am sad to have displeased thee.”

“Put thy wrists on the bar, Unity.”

Aveline winced in sympathy as the passive wrists were bound fast. For a moment then, as the nuns stood close and face to face, and with the delinquent wrists tied tight so that their owner was prisoner as were the younger girls, there passed between the woman named Cissota and the woman named Unity an unspoken message, a communion of eyes and spirit tangible and visible to those who watched in wonder. The moment passed as Unity's arms rose in response to the pul ey's demand. Soon she stood with hands high and well apart, a breathing sacrifice to the Mother Superior's anger - if anger indeed it was! Aveline was inclined to believe it simply a lust for flogging female flesh.

“Cissota, be not wroth with me. Whip me in love.”

The plea was startling. Startling in the use of the Christian name and its frank admission of motives. The naked nun had shed more than her clothes.

The Abbess' only response was to take more rope and bind Unity's ankles to the rings as Nest's had been bound for shameful purpose. She tugged hard so that the lovely legs straddled more and more and the black bush sought attention. When the new captive was stretched to stand only on her toes she broke her compliant silence gaspingly. “Cissota, tie me not thus. Ye know I hate it.”

“ ‘Tis why I do it, Unity.”

“It frightens me. I cannot bear to be whipped between my legs.”

“Can ye struggle?”

Unity obediently fought her bonds. “No. See, I cannot move.”

“Good! Perhaps ye'l quiver when the leather laps thy cunt.”

“Cissota, no! Whip me properly. I don’t deserve the other.”

“Do ye not!” The Abbess raised a caustic eyebrow. “ ‘Tis for me to decide and for thee to scream. I'l ask no silence of thee now.”

“Cissota, dearest one, be not cruel to me. Whip me so that I may love thee.”

Aveline realized the two women had forgotten them. They had entered a world of their own, and not for the first time. She smiled across the chamber to the chained Nest who nodded that she too understood this magic ritual of women for whom men had become only an abstraction.

The child's arms were taut against her shackles as she watched, enthral ed.

The whipping of Sister Unity's nakedness was a thing Aveline would always remember. It was a punishment; it was a paean of joy; it was an exultation of femaleness, an affirmation of the 9

feminine. The lovely body undulated beneath the lash in waves of pure eroticism. Tied as it was it could move but little, yet nourished by pain it found a new and separate life demonstrated by taut tensionings and writhing muscles and tendons. There were screams aplenty, but they came closer to being cries of savage fulfilment rather than acknowledgements of agony. There was a rhythm, a oneness between the whipper and the whipped.

When the sister's nudity was abundantly striped from breast to buttock the Mother Superior bethought herself of her revenge. The whipping thus far had been a strange, shared ecstasy; now it was to become a punishment. Viciously she flashed the thong to snap upon the open thighs.

Unity screamed. There could be no doubting it a scream of agony and fear. “Cissota, no! Oh, no! I begged of you. Whip me not there.”

“I wil adore thy pleadings, beloved, but I wil heed them not.” Cissota struck again and again into the most tender flesh.

“No - anything - the rack ... “

“I'l not break thy bones, foolish one. Bear thy pain as ye bear thy joy.”

“I cannot, I cannot! It destroys me.”

Cissota laughed. “Howbeit I lash thy cunt an hour ‘til ye come to love it?”

“No, oh darling, no! Forgive me that and I'l do anything. `Sily girl, you'l always do anything I demand. Set thy mind to rest from foolish hope. I'l scourge thy tender thighs and plump cunt for as long as it pleases me.”

“I'l faint. I'l die.”

“What nonsense you do talk! I'm ashamed of thee. Ready thyself now for a proper warming of thy hair and slit. You must thank me properly.”

“Oh, I do, I do!” Sister Unity could not affirm fast enough, but as the searching cuts snapped upon her sex she screamed in strange, contorted sounds of desolation. Between the fearful, almost animal sounds, she managed to moan: “Oh, thank you, Cissota. Thank you, darling.”

“Thank me for what, Unity?”

The naked sister saw the trap but entered it. “Thank you for whipping my cunt, darling.”

“Ah, so you enjoy it!” The Abbess was up to her favourite trick.

“No, no! Oh, no.”

The whip snapped anew with bitter aim. The naked nun jerked and screamed, her breasts vibrating with her struggles.

“It's in your mind,” Cissota assured her blandly. “I do believe you're actually enjoying it.”

“You know I don’t - oh, I hate it, it's beastly. It hurts me so much there, and I'm so tender for so long afterwards. Please, darling, stop whipping me there.”

Smiling beatifically the Abbess flicked a flushed and rampant nipple. “You would prefer I striped these instead?”

“Yes - oh, no! Oh, Cissota, why must you be so cruel! Whip my back and my bottom. Surely that's enough!”

“But I've already whipped them.”

“Whip them some more. Please ...“

“Because you enjoy that?”

“Oh, no! Cissota, stop teasing me. You're being cruel.”

“I strive but for thy good.”

“That isn’t it at all. You're thoroughly enjoying thyself because I was foolish enough to let you tie me helpless. Now al I can do is beg like our maidens who are watching my shame with such wide eyes. I should have had more sense.”

“For thy binding I could have cal ed help.”

“Oh, al right, I suppose you could.” Unity eyed her Mother Superior winningly. “Please, darling, let me loose. I've been beautiful y punished.”

“But I've scarcely begun!” Cissota sounded shocked. Unity moaned. In the frustration of helplessness she jerked her head from side to side against her pinioned arms. “No more,” she begged. “No more. Make me not cease to love thee.”

“That sounds like a threat,” said Cissota, delighted.

It was cruel yet beautiful. Aveline cringed and winced as the careful y aimed slashes of the thong found and indented themselves within the secret flesh of the naked nun. As the red wounds mounted and multiplied upon the thighs and loins the cries of their owner rose and fell in an endless pleading for surcease. The watching maiden wondered if it was her fancy that their tone had changed, that perhaps the Abbess' outrageous prediction was coming to pass.

The lips of Unity's cunt had become swol en and, inflamed, yet in their agony seemed more demanding than before. It went on and on until Unity orgasmed again and again without shame and without cessation of her cries. When her head fell forward on her breast, Cissota cast aside the whip and held water to the mute, parched lips.

Aveline sensed an end and a beginning. The Abbess was obviously weary of her sport, her mind was elsewhere. In perfunctory inattention she freed Unity's chafed wrists and eased her whipped sister to the floor where she sat listlessly, her legs wide and stil bound to the rings.

“Ye can loose thyself, beloved, thy punishment is done. Ye know what to do with our little pigeons. I'l attend them later.”

The Abbess of St. Agnes was gone. Three naked females watched her going, each with a reaction of her own. Al three were stil bound. Two of them helplessly, the third too hurt and shamed to seek her freedom. Sister Unity sat and morosely examined her punished loins, her sex, her striated thighs, stil wide apart from the ropes upon her prisoned ankles. Finally, without urgency, she reached toward her bound feet and found them almost beyond her reach.

Pathetically she twisted and strained until her fingers could find a knot. Even then it took her painful and shaming minutes to free one ankle. It was easy then to free the other. Wearily she stood, her loveliness shameful y striped in red and purple, her sex a flaming tribute to the Abbess' venom. Both girls watched her, fascinated.

“I'l warrant ye'd have had her whip me more.”

The naked sister surveyed her charges without animosity. There was a faint twist of humour to her lips. She made no attempt to recover her habit. This was a quite different Sister Unity than they had first known. She sighed in faint exasperation at work to be done and found leg irons with which a maid might be hobbled.

“I must needs free thee both, I'm too weary for fights and flight.”

They made no protest. Both had become reconciled to such routine confinements. They knew themselves worse than slaves. They would never be given even a hope of escape. Each held out her ankle as required and felt the weight of metal and heard the snap of locks.

“I suppose you know where you're going?”

“You're going to put us in a dungeon,” Nest stated with sul en conviction.

Aveline was puzzled. “Sister, you've forgotten thy habit.”

Unity's grimace was sardonic. “In St. Agnes a nun wears naught for a day and a night after she's been whipped. Thus we share each other's stripes and learn our lessons.”

It felt good to be freed of ropes. Aveline reflected on the small, sad joys of captivity. She massaged her wrists and neck while she took the mincing, hobbled steps the shackles on her ankles permitted. Thought of exploiting this small freedom did not enter her mind.

“Why must a dungeon be so sad and dark?” Aveline asked as she surveyed their new prison.

“We could be as safely confined in kinder places.”

Unity chuckled. “Ye know the answer. A day or two in here and you're amenable. In sunlight ye'd stay rebel ious.”

“Oh, Unity, not those chains!” Aveline gazed in dismay at the rings in the stone from which drooped links and metal bands.

“Don’t be sil y. You know you have to be chained. Get thee against the wall.”

It was a woman's dungeon and the chains were light. But there were so many! When each girl's neck and wrists had been locked in their fetters they discovered the chain from it was separate to the wal . Links fell away from them everywhere, yet they had lost no freedom.

They could move as they wished, but they could walk no more than a few brief paces from where their chains were welded to the wall. Unity then removed the irons from their feet, replacing them with other fetters such as those they were already locked in. Every motion they made brought music from their links.

“Ye make a pretty pair,” Unity conceded.

“Please, Unity, must we bear so many? The one on our neck alone would keep us captive enough.”

“Don’t complain. They could be heavier and more of them. And the Abbess wil inspect thee before we sleep. If she finds thee less heavily ironed I'd be like to join thee here.”

“Would she do that - to thee!”

“Oh, aye.” The sister mused quietly for a moment. “Mayhap ye'l see me sooner than ye think.” She left them in the gloom and shot the bolts beyond the door with an unnecessary emphasis.

For a moment they stood uncertainly, feeling the unaccustomed weight of their chains. Then with a moan of wanting they clasped each other and sank to the stone that was their bed.

Hungry lips found hungry lips and eager tongues explored. Together they made a smal , pathetic heap of palpitating female flesh grotesquely intertwined with the cold, cruel metal of the links.

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