Frank Brown: Raped nuns in chains

"Fuck me!" she muttered between clenched teeth. "Grind me! Deeper, deeper! Oh, baaaby!"

"Bitch whore!" Ronny snarled. "I'm gonna blow your guts out!"

"Do it! Oh, do it!" She contracted her cunt again and again around. Ronny's plunging cock, milking it, skinning it, trying to make his prickhead shoot off. "Come," she gasped. "Shoot it!"

Ronny's eyes rolled back and nearly sank into his skull. His face flushed purple. He shuddered in her arms, his naked body as hot as grilled steak. "Uhhhh, ohhhh!" His cock flexed inside her cunt, shivered fiercely. His molten cum exploded up her pussy, and she shrieked with excitement.

"Shoot it, Ronny, oh, God, shoot it!" She kneaded his bouncing little ass with her toes, caressed his lower back with her hands, jerked under him as each spurt of his teenaged cum dashed against the seething walls of her pussyhole. She felt so ecstatic that she wanted to die… and then her cunt exploded, and she thought she was going to. She screamed as the spasms ripped through her pussy.

The sensations came in waves, overwhelmed her with their intensity. Her cuntmeat almost cramped as he fuckhole shuddered and clutched. The nerves of her loins felt as if they were being tortured with electrically charged drills. She felt pulsating tingles in her fingers and toes, in her tits and lips. A fire consumed her pussy and waves of heat washed through her entire body. She screamed again and again shocked by the intensity of her feelings.

"Goddamn!" her brother grunted, firing wads of hot fuck-cream into her body. "Holy fucking shit!" He squirmed in her anus, his cock jumping inside her, his loins humping frantically. "Ohhhh, fuck!"

Bernice clung to him… fucking, fucking, fucking… coming endlessly, dying with the feeling of it all.

Sister Bernice gnawed on the pillows, her body contorted into a ball as she lay on her side in the darkness of the convent bedroom and crushed the shameful spasms out of her cunt with two clutching hands. She groaned loudly, but her voice was absorbed in the pillow. As her orgasm subsided, she realized that she had thrust three fingers up into her crotch, and she slipped them out, cursing herself, praying that God would forgive her, praying that God would know that none of this was really her fault.

The daydreams were as beyond control as the nightmares. What could she do about them? She surely couldn't go on like this. Which was precisely why she had to impress Sister Francine at the interview. She had to be accepted by Sister Francine. She had to leave the security of the convent here for the uncertain life at St. Michael's Reformatory.

Her brother was there. After three long years, her brother was still there. And she had to see him, had to face him, had to speak to him, had to forgive him. But Sister Francine must never know, must never find out. Inmates at St. Michael's were allowed no visitors. St. Michael's was an experiment in the penal system, a juvenile prison for teens, a prison administered and staffed entirely by nuns. No inmate had ever escaped from St. Michael's, no inmate had ever earned an early parole. And the state, which subsidized this penal experiment – at a cost of only ten percent of what it took to run the ordinary juvenile teens' detention institution – was very satisfied. Sister Francine, the mother superior, head warden, or whatever one called her, had free rein over the prison and over the lives of the teens. And Sister Bernice had to impress her, had to get into St. Michael's.

Sister Eve enjoyed whipping naked bays when they got erections during the whipping. And then she thrashed them but good, sometimes tearing little strips of flesh off their bleeding backs with expert flicks of the leather strap. The teens would scream like girls then, and hot juice would bubble out of Sister Eve's young cunt, and she would tremble with such excitement that she could hardly stand up.

Sister Francine, looking on as supervisor or coach, would smirk vaguely, her usually severe red face softening just enough to let Sister Eve know that she was doing well, and Sister Eve would scourge the hanging youth with renewed strength, causing him to black out. That would end the fun, because one couldn't very well torture an unconscious teen. They would cut him down then and throw him back onto the piss-smelling straw of his stone-floored cell. The naked teens in adjacent cells, hugging their bony knees and trying to warm themselves against the damp drafts, would cower and remain silent, not daring to even turn an eye the wrong way lest Sister Francine single them out for the next whipping.

"Filthy beast," Sister Francine said now, gazing with a disgusted frown at the naked youth hanging unconscious from the rough wooden beams of the stone chamber. "Smells like a goat, doesn't he?"

"Yes, Sister." Sister Eve wrinkled her nose to show the older nun that she agreed completely.

"Cut the pig down."

"Yes, Sister." Sister Eve pulled the hunting knife from the leather sheath attached to her belt. She had to step up on a shaky wooden stool in order to cut the teen down. They hung the teens high because their bodies always stretched during the hanging, and letting their filthy toes touch, the floor wouldn't do. It was extra exciting to see a teen swaying freely in the air while he was being thrashed.

The ropes broke before she had cut all the way through them, and the teen collapsed onto the straw-padded floor, knocking his head on the stool as he hit. He groaned, his eyes opening slightly. Sister Francine placed the raised sole of her black shoe on the teen's swollen brown ballsac and twisted her foot. The teen arched up, gasping, his eyes wide open. Sister Francine removed her foot and the teen slumped back, eyes closing as he apparently slipped back into a faint.

Sister Francine's face remained expressionless. "Such a weak sex, and so utterly worthless. I don't see why God ever made them. Drag him back to his cell. Here, I'll help you." She grabbed a handful of the youth's shaggy brown hair while Sister Eve grabbed him by one arm, and they dragged him out into the dim stone passageway that led back to the cell-blocks.

"Hope to God I don't catch lice," Sister Francine muttered.

They returned to Sister Francine's office on the ground floor of St. Michael's Reformatory. Sister Eve was glad to get out of the basement where the cells were… even thought she intended to sneak back down there for some quick fun once the old bat left for the airport. She couldn't understand why every last teen hadn't died of pneumonia, down there without heat, naked and half starved. They were all so skinny, all bone and muscle, not a trace of fat on them. It was a wonder their cocks hadn't shriveled up and fallen off. But if anything, their cocks appeared to become larger as their bodies became leaner. Sister Eve closed her eyes and thought of their cocks as Sister Francine's hot wet tongue twisted inside her cunt.

"Mmm!" she sighed, wiggling her ass, rubbing her crotch in Sister Francine's face.

Sister Francine slipped her tongue out and sat back on her heels. Her red face was slimy with Eve's pussyjuice. "Behave now, darling. We can't have pussycream, delicious as it is, staining my habit now, can we? The taxi will be here in a few minutes. I don't have time to change."

"I'll try to stay still, Sister. It's just that you're so good at it, I can hardly control myself."

Sister Francine's face softened, almost smiled. "Well, try."

"Yes, Sister." Eve braced herself, leaning her bare ass against the big wooden desk, spreading her legs a little wider. If it weren't for this damned black skirt she was holding up above her waist, she'd be able to brace her hands on the desk.

Sister Francine spread Eve's cuntlips with her thumbs and licked between them. The starched visor of the mother superior's black veil filed against Eve's tender belly skin. This was so awkward, Eve though, trying to make it with their habits on.