Henry Perkins: Dungeon nun

Whack!

The tip of the riding crop smacked into the brown rosebud of Beatrice's puckered asshole. Mary Celeste saw the crop land, and her own shitter clutched as if trying to hold back a flood. If even the narrowest pencil had been jammed up the opening, it would have been crushed as if in a vise.

Whack!

The tender asshole of the young nun was shocked again. Mary Celeste gasped. The blow had been so brutal that the tip of the whip almost penetrated Beatrice's tight little shitter. This time the riding crop was slow to come back, probing at the brown asshole before it was returned to the air. The mother superior leaned to her right and slashed again, this time with the crop almost vertical.

The crop smashed in on the tortured female body, following the crack of her ass. The shaft smacked across the shithole while the tip landed wetly into the young girl's cunt. The end disappeared into Beatrice's wet, pain-swollen pussy lips, and it was several seconds before the mother superior dragged it out. The tip glistened with pussy juices that had been tortured out of the young girl and left a glistening strip when it was dragged across the cheeks of her ass.

For a minute, Mary Celeste thought the beating of the sobbing, naked nun was finally over. The mother superior walked around in front of the chained girl and seemed to study the exposed tits and cunt. Then she stepped back.

"It's not complete!" the older woman proclaimed as she lifted the whip into the air again.

Sister Beatrice tensed in horror now that she could see the instrument of her torture and she watched it with bulging eyes as it whistled toward her tits. Her scream choked off into a gurgle as a crimson line was etched into the young nun's titty flesh. Both of the immature mounds caught the taste of the whip and jerked crazily from its shocking kiss.

Mary Celeste's hands unconsciously sought her own tits. Beneath the robe and bra, her fingers could feel the distended nipples where they poked outward swollen and firm. She rubbed them through the gray cloth as if trying to push away the pain from the lashed titties she watched. Then, suddenly, she was aware of what she was doing, and quickly glanced around to see if anyone had noticed.

No one was looking her way, but Sister Mary Celeste was still startled by what she saw. Her reaction had been a common one. Almost half of the young girls in novice gray around her had at least one hand on their own tits. A few hands were in laps with the gray robe bunched up tightly between legs as those novices rubbed their pussies through the cloth as if that could somehow soothe the pain of the tortured young girl.

The sound of the continued beating pulled her eyes back to the center of the room. Beatrice's immature tits were now a cross-hatch of angry red, and welts had begun to grow on her stomach. Mary Celeste's right hand sought her own abdomen, rubbing where the blows now rained on Beatrice, as her left hand stayed with her tits. And, as the whip turned and began to beat into Beatrice's almost-hairless cunt, Mary Celeste's right hand bunched her robe and began to stroke the source of her own torture. Even the robe was now wet from her spreading fuck juices, but so was the girl's next to her. It felt right – it was the only way she knew to share the torture of the young girl.

Mary Celeste didn't remember the blows ever ceasing, or what happened much after them. All around her, hands were stroking as her own hand rubbed her tit and cunt. All eyes were still locked to the flashing whip as it beat into the young girl's pussy, but whether it stopped there or continued on, her own aching cunt didn't let her know. All she remembered was finally being led from the room, her cunt feeling almost raw beneath robe and panties.

If that was all that happened that night, perhaps she could have put it aside and dampened any fears or doubts with the belief that it had all been in sympathy with the tortured girl. The mother superior could have remained just a figure of authority who had adrninistered a beating, and there would have been no further uncertainty about what her true motives had been.

It hadn't ended, however, with just that on that night. And it was what followed that caused her rapist's words to burn so deeply.

Whack!

This time the whip bit Mary Celeste's own cheek, and the blow startled her back to the present. Gone was the memory of the feel of gray cloth against her skin, and, in its place, was the familiar scratch of splinters in her tits. Her mind had returned to where her body still was stretched painfully over the wooden barrel in the dungeon of the Marsten Mansion with her ass and legs still alive with burning fire.

The naked Luke remained in front of her, the whip in his right hand and his cock jutting obscenely up from his crotch. Mary Celeste didn't know which weapon she feared the worst, and was afraid that she would end up getting a new taste of both.

"What the fuck do you think this is – daydream time?" he shouted at her as he threatened her again with the whip. "First you go off to sleep while you've got my prick in your throat, and now your mind's wandering like you're a damned bored school kid in class."

"I passed out when you… when you were fucking my throat," Mary Celeste apologized, not knowing how to say it except in words that she knew he would understand. "There wasn't room to breathe when you were doing that."

"And, I suppose," he said almost mockingly, "that you were trying to figure out how to get air next time rather than just daydreaming like some silly bitch." When he saw the fear creep over her face and her eyes lock onto his prick at the mention of more throat-fucking, he laughed loudly. "Don't cry," he told her in a falsely cheerful voice. "It ain't your Goddamn mouth – or your cunt – that I'm thinking about now. You got one more virgin hole that I can get me a cherry and, with your throat, that will make two out of three. That Goddamn Joe beat me to your pussy."

What could he be talking about? Mary Celeste wondered. She had known about her mouth from when her father had face-fucked her, and the maidenhead of her cunt had already been bloodied by Joe. Surely those were the ouly two holes that were big enough for a man to fuck.

Her eyes roved up to his face as if seeking an answer, then something on the opposite wall caught her attention. Automatically, her training caused her eyes to seek it out and a prayer began in her mind. It was a crucifix representmg the torture of dear Lord Jesus, and she pleaded with the icon and the figure pinned to its front.

Luke noticed that she was no longer looking at him and he turned to see what it was she watched. When he noticed the crucifix, he smiled to himself and walked over and lifted it from the wall. He brought it back and held it in front of the naked, bound nun.

"Does it make you feel a little better to see this?" he chided her, rubbing the cross against the side of her cheek. It was wooden, with a carved figure of Jesus suspended hands and feet from its front. The whole thing was a little more than a foot tall with the cross-bar about two-thirds up from the bottom. The beams themselves were about an inch square, with the cross-bar almost six inches long.

"So you think this represents something good to you?" he taunted her, slapping her face with the back of the icon, then holding it back where she could see. "This is old – look at it! This has been hanging there probably from the time this place was built, and it's been right here in this dungeon ever since. In fact, it's probably the reason this part of the mansion was built."

"It hasn't been some evil old black mass worshipper that's been using all of the torture equipment down here. It's been somebody doing it in the name of your God – your Jesus here. And he's been hanging here all the tie through all of the generations who've used this dungeon, taking all of the blood and pain in. What help do you think he's going to give you when everything here has been put together in his name?"