Frank Brown: Raped nuns in chains

Sister Bernice awoke gasping, her pillow drenched with sweat, the sheet under her churning ass slimy with the juices that were bubbling out of her spasm-wracked cunt. She shimmied her thighs together and moaned feverishly in the electrically charged atmosphere of her convent bedroom as the lightning flashed again and again outside and the thunder roared like a demon. But thank God for the thunder, she thought.

Thank God the thunder was drowning out her pained groans. At least tonight none of the other sisters would hear her in her shameful misery.

As the lightning slapped her again with its hellish blue light, as the thunder rattled the rain-battered windowpanes, Sister Bernice arched up one last time, her eyes rolling back from the intensity of her spasm. "Oh, God, oh, my."

She fell back at last, the autumn dampness, chilling her, and she groped in the darkness alongside her bed for the bedsheets and her nightgown. Unable to find the gown – she might have hurled it across the room during her sleeping fit – she drew the sheets up over her nakedness and sighed.

She was still panting. It was as if she'd been wrestling with a demon. She felt drained, exhausted. She wondered how much longer she could withstand these nightmares before she ended up in an asylum.

There was a flicker of lightning, a low rumbling of thunder. Except for the rain, the storm had passed. In the quieting night, Sister Bernice listened to the hiss of the rain in the convent garden outside. She sighed again, her heartbeat normalizing. Maybe she could still get a little sleep in what remained of the night. The last thing she needed for tomorrow's interview with Sister Francine with bags under her eyes.

She turned onto her left side and folded her pillow under her cheek. Her heavy tits fell to the side, one pillowed atop the other. She scowled to herself. What kind of tits were these for a nun? What kind of overgrown tits were these for a petite young woman? All her big tits had caused her was trouble. Maybe if she hadn't grown such fat tits as an adolescent her entire life would be different today, her brother might not have gone to jail and she might not have entered the sisterhood.

Go to sleep, she told herself. Go to sleep and don't start thinking about it. Hadn't she thought about it much too much over the last three years? She'd relived that terrible night so many times that she could remember every lurid detail of it, could see and hear, could smell and taste and feel everything. In her nightmares, in her daydreams, she relived that night over and over, exactly as it had happened. And at the climax of each nightmare, of each daydream, she would experience an orgasm, an orgasm of nearly the same shameful intensity as the one she'd felt on that terrible night three years ago when she'd been robbed so brutally of her virginity.

Go to sleep, she told herself. Don't think about it another second. Sleep. Just sleep.

Make your mind a blank screen.

She clenched her teeth and clamped shut her eyes and fought the images that sought to fill her head. She would sleep. She would! She had to! But the image of her brother's leering face bled through the blank screen in her mind, appearing before her as it had appeared out of the hallway darkness on that evening three years ago. The face still looked young… and yet so wicked. Golden hair framed that tanned face, blue eyes shined from it. The teen's square white teeth flashed, dazzling her. She looked up from her school work, squirmed uneasily in her chair, felt her brother's eyes on her tits, and cursed herself for not wearing a bra under her T-shirt. Without taking his gaze off her, the teen kicked shut her bedroom door with a bare foot. She could see his hard-on throbbing through the faded denim of his jeans, which were all he was wearing.

"What do you want?" she asked foolishly. "I'm studying." She wished to God Mom wasn't at work. They were alone in the house.

Her brother squeezed his huge fucker through his tight jeans. His throbbing prick bulge resembled a billy club clown his pants leg. "Let me see your tits naked."

Bernice flushed, heat washing through her face. "Are you out of your mind? Leave me alone, will you? If you get out of here now, I won't tell Mom."

The teen smirked. "Who cares about Mom? I can handle her."

"Ronny!" She used the same tone of voice Mom would have used.

The teen licked his lips. "Same way I'm gonna handle you."

He unsnapped his jeans, and Bernice felt panic. She groped instinctively for the letter opener on her desk. This couldn't be happening. But the letter opener was real as her fingers closed around it, and her brother's cock was real as it sprang up out of his lowering jeans. Her heart beat hammered so loud in her head that she thought she was having a stroke.

Her brother kicked off his jeans and stood naked before her sun-browned torso, white legs, grubby tanned feet. His prick resembled an arm as it throbbed at a forty-five-degree angle to his tight, skinny loins. He was well muscled for his age, an undefeated wrestler on the freshman wrestling team, but he was shorter and lighter than she was, so there was a ghost of a chance that she could handle him, just the ghost of a chance.

She knew that she wouldn't be able to, though, unless she kicked him in the balls, unless she stabbed him half to death with the letter opener. She couldn't do that, and yet she had to. It was her only chance.

She raised the letter opener. "Get out of here. You're disgusting!" She tried to keep her gaze off his throbbing fucker.

"Bitch!" he said, not even flinching as she raised the letter opener higher. A pearl of clear fucklube appeared at the tip of his menacing prickshaft. "Take off your shirt, bitch. Let me look at them big juicy tits."

Bernice began to tremble. She felt so weak, she could hardly hold onto the letter opener. Her brother wasn't playing games anymore.

"Ronny," she said softly, trying to smile. "Be reasonable. Let's talk this over, okay?"

The teen twanged his cock with the tip of his finger, inspected the sticky gob of fucklube he'd rubbed off, sniffed it, then rubbed it on his leg. His balls twisted in their brown sac. He sneered at her. "Take off your shirt."

Bernice fought the impulse to bawl. He wasn't even paying any attention to the letter opener as a threat. He was beyond listening to reason. He'd attempted to assault her a dozen times over the last few months, but she'd always managed to either threaten him off or reason with him. Tonight, she knew, neither would work. She had to try, though.

She got up out of her chair, stepped out around the desk to face him, the letter opener held before her at her midriff. "I'll use this if I have to. Now get out of here."

For just a moment, the teen appeared hesitant, intimidated. Then his prick flexed and he grabbed it, his sinewy brown hand fisting it slowly, firmly. His pisshole opened up and more fucklube leaked out, trickling down over his knuckles.

"I'm gonna shove this up your cunt, bitch. Maybe I'm even gonna ram it up your shithole."

Bernice caught her breath. He deserved to die for saying things like that, deserved to burn forever in hell.

She lunged forward, jerking the letter opener toward him. For just a moment she felt the perverse desire to stab his bulging ball-sac, to let the air out of his balls.

Ronny didn't move except to let go of his prick. "Watch it," he said coolly in his half changed voice.

Bernice was panting, her heart hammering. "Then get out of here! Just get out!"

He sneered again. "Cock-sucking bitch!"

She wanted to kill him. She lunged again, driving the sharp point of the letter opener into her brother's abdomen. At the moment of contact, she realized what she was doing and held back just enough to avoid skewering him. Ronny gasped, jerked back and stared down in apparent disbelief at the small puncture wound in one of the rectangular segments of his muscled belly from which trickled a small flow of crimson blood. His chest heaved.