Friday, 31 October 2014

Sister Joan Faces Her Demon

 (Another re-post for Halloween)

Janey Olson or Sister Joan as she was known by for the last five and half years sat in quiet contemplation in the silence of the church.
With only eight more weeks remaining of her temporary vows, Janey was in a state of inner turmoil. The idea of returning to the ‘real world’ terrified her; it terrified her as much as her dreams of late had disturbed her.
Had those dreams sent as some form of warning?
Some omen of divine intervention even or were they only just dreams coming from a worried mind?
When she joined the order her parents were not happy, they thought that she was giving her life upon a mere whim. Her older cousin Mona had told her so much to her face.

“So Saint Janey is off to save the world? Off to save the world and not caring about her family’s feelings?”

That wasn’t how it was at all; she had never expected to save the world, all she wanted to do was to make a difference. She had considered joining the Peace Corps, but the fact that they had been used too much for political purposes in the past by various administrations put her off that avenue.
Also, she wanted to join something more spiritual in nature; she had always looked at the local Amish communities with a jealous eye. She loved the way that they seemed to be so content with their lot, living side by side with the modern world, but not polluted by it.
So she somewhat reluctantly agreed with her mother’s wishes; she became a nun on the understanding that it would only be a six-year tenure.
The reason for this was that her parents desperately wanted grandchildren and as an only child she was their only hope.

Now though those six years were nearly over, after six years of travelling she had worked in some of the world's most deprived areas, now all of that was coming to a close.
So here she was sitting in a church in County Antrim, her mind a flurry of activity. She needed to speak to Father Thorn, to seek out not only his spiritual advice; she needed from him something much more tangible than that.
It was a release from the troubling dreams that she needed from him; years ago it would have been so easy for a ‘sister’ to clear her sinful thoughts. All that she needed would have been a brisk application of  ‘The Discipline’ to punish the flesh to cleanse her soul.

The Discipline, the small martinet that nuns would have used in the past for self-flagellation, had long since been abandoned by her order, though still used by others. So she was now locked in promises and vows, none of which she could break.
Her release back into the non-clerical world was imminent; her uncertainty of her release was manifold.

How could she cope outside of her order?

Would she, could she, settle down to the life of domesticity that her parents wished for her?

How could she drive these troubling thoughts and night terrors away?

Would Father Thorn agree to her request…an idea so wild and radical?

How could she word such a request, would he think her mad to suggest it?

She knew that she could not tell him of her dreams, or rather her dream, as it was the same dream every night, or at least some variation upon the same theme.
She would be kneeling at the same pew as she was at today, though not dressed as she was today. Rather than current modern clothing of a knee length cream skirt and matching blouse, with a black headscarf. She would be wearing the old-fashioned style ankle length black habit.
As she knelt praying for guidance, she would feel the presence of someone or something, behind her.
With her eyes, tightly closed, she would feel fingers at the hem of her habit. She prayed harder, more earnestly; as that hem was lifted up over first her calves, then her thighs.
Next she would feel a cool breeze upon her naked behind, for some reason she was never wearing underwear in these strange nightmares. She did indeed feel the cold upon her bottom as these dreams were corporeal in their nature; she felt all these sensations upon her body as they occurred; every nuance she felt upon her skin.
She even felt the eyes staring down upon her nakedness, was this some angel sent to chastise her, to give her the physical castigation that she felt that she so needed. She would arch her spine and push her bare bottom back to meet the angel’s punishing hand.
Instead of a sharp impact that she was expecting, she would receive the caress of a lover’s hand; the hand would cup her springy buttocks, and the fingers would search at her virginal fleshy folds. To her shame, she would never recoil from the attention, rather she would force herself further back to meet up with it to wrap it to engulf it!

As those ‘angelic’ fingers worked upon her, she could feel and indeed hear herself getting wetter. She would bite upon her bottom lip in shame as the squelching noises emitted from the most secret parts of her anatomy; the parts of her body that in her piety, she had always endeavoured to ignore.

Always; without fail she would turn back to look upon ‘her angel’, and then instead of some heavenly creature her eyes were met with those of a demon.
A demon dressed in black, his skin a burning red, his face was familiar but each morning Sister Joan could never remember it, never quite place it. The harder she tried to recall the demon’s features, the quicker the dream faded from her mind.

It was the realness of her demon though that worried Sister Joan; he was as real to her as Ofelia’s faun was in Pan’s Labyrinth. This demon though did not bring the promise of a magical kingdom; Sister Joan's demon was driven only by pure self-centered lust!

As Father Thorn left the vestry, he saw Sister Joan sitting in an otherwise empty church. His heart lifted at the sight of the beautiful young sister sitting there. Despite his vows, Father Daniel Thorn was still all things said, no more than a human male, and liable to all the weaknesses of his sex.
So the sight of the shapely nun naturally stirred up some of his baser feelings.

“Hello sister!” He said smiling widely, though his smile quickly vanished as he saw the look of consternation upon the nun’s pale face, “Is something troubling you sister?”

“Yes Father there is indeed…I feel a heavy weight upon me…as you know very soon I will be returning to the outside world…” Sister Joan struggled out, her eyes cast down upon the cold stone flooring.

“Yes Sister I am well aware that you will be leaving us soon, and I can understand that you are feeling a little nervous at that very idea.” Father Thorn replied his smile now returning to his face.

Finally, Sister Joan lifted her face to look at him, her eyes edged with tears she spoke.

“It is more than just a little nervousness Father…I’m troubled…I have been having thoughts…” She could never tell him of her wild dreams. “Thoughts of a carnal nature!”

“Ah!” Father Thorn was more than a little taken aback by this revelation. “These thoughts... have you acted upon them?... Do you want me to take your confession?”

“No Father I have never...ever...acted upon them!” Sister Joan replied, shocked at the very idea of her indulging in such self-pollution. Though some mornings she would awaken from her disturbed slumber with her nightshirt rucked up around her hips, and her cell scented with the smell of her inner core. “I have not come here to make my confession; I have come here for you to drive these wicked thoughts from my mind!”

“I’m sorry Sister I don’t know what you mean…what it is that you wish from me?” Father Thorn replied; wondering if this young woman were asking him for an exorcism, an exorcism just for a few dirty thoughts.

“Father we are now no longer allowed to use The Discipline upon ourselves, I wish for you to beat this…these…thoughts from me!” Sister Joan sighed in relief, at last she had said it, and at last she had made her request.

Father Thorn was initially dumbstruck, and then he quickly composed himself, as the full ramifications of this young nun's request sank in with him. He then went to the back of the church. As he walked towards the large double oak doors, he fished in his pocket for the large key. As well as finding the key his fingers brushed upon his now growing erection.This pretty young nun was asking for him to deliver a spanking, and he had no intention of letting her down!

Quickly he locked the door and turned around to Sister Joan.

“I think the vestry would serve us best.” He said trying to hide the tremor in his voice.

Sister Joan rose up from her pew. Her heart now hammering in her chest; she never had, even as a child, experienced corporal punishment, deep down inside her though she knew that was what she now required.

Needed even.

Father Thorn opened the vestry door and ushered Sister Joan into his robing room.

As Sister Joan entered the room, she was struck by the ethereal green glow to the room. The bright low winter sun shone through the stained glass window picturing the now defunct Saint Christopher carrying a young Jesus across the river.
Father Thorn followed behind her; his eyes now locked upon the bee sting waist and the rounded buttocks of a young lady rather than that of the colour of the room.

“As I have no instruments of correction here in the church we will make do with a very firm…harsh even…hand spanking.” The middle-aged priest said as he pulled a high backed wooden chair into the centre of the surprisingly large room.

Sister Joan nodded silently, resigned to her fate.

“Also, as to help to reinforce the punishment a certain level of humility, or humiliation is required. Do you accept that?” Father Thorn asked, swallowing hard, wondering could he actually carry out what he had planned for his lovely young charge.

“Yes Father whatever you require of me.” Sister Joan replied her voice now a mere whisper, as she made her way to the side of the now seated priest.

With Sister Joan now standing by his side, Father Thorn told her.

“Lift up your skirt, please sister, and then tuck the folds into its waistband.”

“Er…what you cannot be serious…lift my skirt?” Sister Joan replied in both shock and disbelief.

“Yes, as I explained humility to you. When I was a young man at the seminary; the old priests and the brothers would punish us in the state of Adam before the fall. So I plan to spank you in the state of Eve.”

Father Thorn said, his voice now low and even, his logic to the young nun seemed unarguable.
After all, she thought to herself it was her who was seeking out his assistance, so she would have to comply at least to his methods.
Slowly with shaking fingers she lifted her skirt, all too aware of the view that she was going to be giving to the middle-aged priest.

Once she had tucked the skirt in tight, Father Thorn motioned for her to come closer still to him. She gasped as she felt his hands move up the outside of her hips reaching for the waistband of her dark tights.

Closing her eyes so she would not have to look upon his face, she felt her tights being lowered till he had dragged them down to her ankles.
Father Thorn smiled as he could now clearly see the nun’s once virginal white cotton knickers, now though they were off white greyish colour through all the years of washing. He guessed - rightly guessed - that these knickers had been issued to her when she had first joined the order, when she was not quite so filled out in her bottom and the hips.
Now her once modest underwear, now drum tight upon her, her mons venus clearly outlined much to the priest's delight. Of course though, for all that he admired the look of her knickered crotch, those knickers would also have to go.

As Sister Joan then felt his fingers at the waistband of her last vestige of modesty, she felt the first tears spring to her eyes.

“Please Father must you…” She whispered her eyes still locked closed.

He never replied, all he did was lower them till they cleared her upper thighs, then gravity took over, and they fell of their own accord to join her tights.
Now the view caused the priest to take a sharp intake of breath, unlike the women in his secret porn magazine collection, Sister Joan’s sex had a thick covering of light brown hair. A covering that had never, been trimmed or shaved, she looked like a picture from the nineteen sixties not a girl of the third millennium!

Father Thorn then took the nun by her waist and bent him over his waiting lap. As Sister Joan struggled to try and rest her hands upon the stone floor to aid to her balance, without warning the first harsh stinging slap fell upon her now naked upturned bottom.
The crack of that report echoed around the vestry; as did her shout of both pain and surprise, the next smack followed quickly.
Sister Joan then had to endure a volley of slaps to her bottom cheeks, causing her to tighten her buttocks up as much as she could manage.

“Please sister try and relax your bottom..” Father Thorn told her, his request though seemed to fall upon death ears. “I said relax sister!”

Now to emphasise his point the priest turned his attention to Sister Joan’s upper thighs. This sudden change of tack brought a torrent of both words and screeches from the young nun.

“You bastard…that hurts…” She shouted then realising what she had called her priest. “sorry, father…I’m so sorry!”

Her writhing and kicking upon the priest’s knee had caused three things. Her shoes to come off, her left leg to completely depart company from her tights and knickers, and for Father Thorn’s erection to gain even more tumescence!
The priest did not ease up any on the young nun; his hard hands kept up their onslaught upon her now very pink rear. His hands fell in a seemingly random pattern though he made sure that both cheeks received a more or less similar colouration, as did the backs of her thighs.
The colour was now enhanced by the sun's rays hitting off the red cloak of Saint Christopher; the room was now being washed in a red, rather than, green glow.
The other noticeable change that had taken place was in Sister Joan’s cries. Instead of the previous shouts of pain and protestations, she was now emitting earthy grunts and sighs.
Her movement too had changed, instead of the writhing in a futile attempt at avoiding the priest’s chastising hand; she was now rocking herself upon his knee in a steady rhythmic pattern. This change of events did not escape the priest’s notice; a thought then crossed his mind, a thought so wild as to be almost madness.
A thought though that stayed with him and grew; a thought that he decided to act upon despite any later consequences..

Sister Joan sighed in a mixture of relief and disappointment as the priest’s constant punishing barrage came to a sudden halt.
Then she gasped again; as she felt his fingers shallowly dipping into the lips of her pussy. They then moved along the length of her virginal slit finding their target; the hard little button that she had been at pains to ignore for all of her years since taking her vows.

“I’m sorry Sister you seem to be very wet here, and very aroused! I’m afraid your punishment seems to be encouraging the very behaviour that we were trying to rid you of.” Father Thorn said breaking the electric silence of the room.

“Father, please…” The young nun said; her sentence unfinished. Was it a plea for further attention or the start of an apology?

“It’s all right my child I know what is called for here.” Father Thorn whispered to Sister Joan as he helped her back up onto her feet.

Standing in front of her priest; her nakedness now forgotten, tears rolling down her face, her face a picture of bewilderment. Father Thorn now decided that damn the consequences he was going to continue upon this insane journey.
Standing up his hands went to the waistband of his coal black trousers and started undoing his belt. Sister Joan gulped down a little sob as she realised that now he was going whip her already sore behind with his leather belt.

“Sister if you could kneel across the chair, please, knees wide apart!” He said still in that unnerving whisper.
Now openly weeping Sister Joan climbed up onto the chair, obeying her spiritual guides instructions.

“Bottom right out please sister and arch your back for me.” He commanded, and she complied.

Instead of feeling the biting lash of the priest’s belt across her bottom, she felt something nudging at her sex, something hard, hard, but still giving.
Turning, and looking back over her shoulder, she could see Father Thorn his huge erection in his hand preparing to enter her. Preparing to deflower her.
Then she noticed his face, his face bathed in red from the stained glass window, now she recognised the demon of her dreams!



                                             THE END

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