Anonymous: The Nunnery Tales

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Anonymous The Nunnery Tales
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    The Nunnery Tales
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    Эротика, Секс / на английском языке
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The Nunnery Tales: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация

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The Nunnery Tales

Chapter One

“Good news, Augustus,” my mother exclaimed upon reading the message she'd just received from a friend in Dieppe. “Your father has escaped France in safety.” We hugged each other, overjoyed to know that he'd avoided the inevitable fate, which, as an aristocrat, would have befallen him at the hands of the purging Republicans. Then a look of distress crossed her face. “But until we get news from England to enable us to join him there, I hardly know where we can look for refuge. I suppose we're guaranteed a temporary home, for my younger sister, Agatha, is Abbess of the convent of St. Claire, but now there is talk of suppressing convents and priests altogether. My other fear pertains to you, my dear boy,” she said, wringing her hands. “Taking refuge and protecting you from danger is one thing; but how to smuggle you, a young boy of seventeen, into a convent full of young nuns is a perfect puzzle to me.”

“Nonsense, Mother!” I exclaimed. “Before the convents are suppressed, we'll be in safety in England, and as for getting me snugly into the convent, we're about the same height and resemble one another, so you must dress me up the best way you can and introduce me as your sister, or niece, or friend, or something or other.”

“You are impudent for imagining any such idea,” replied my mother, laughing, “but you forget one thing. It will be impossible to deceive my sister, Agatha.”

“Try, anyway,” I said, “and if the worst comes to the worst, we must let her into our secret and trust to her kindness.”

“Your plan is bold, if not rash, but as I can't think of anything else, we'll try it,” she agreed with some misgivings. “Let me see,” she continued in a musing tone, “I'll present you as the niece of your father's wife, but even then Agatha may have her suspicions, but we'll risk it.” She wagged a finger at me. “Mind you don't look so bold, and stride so wide in your walk as you usually do, and I'll dress you suitably tomorrow morning.”

I shook my head. “We don't know what may happen this afternoon or tomorrow morning. If we are discovered here, we shall never see the Convent of St. Claire, or any other place of refuge.” I gathered up my jacket and walked to the door. “There is plenty of time left today, so while I go and hire a coach, why don't you lay out suitable apparel for me.''

“You are right, Auguste, or rather Augustine, as I must now call you,” Mother said. “Go quickly.”

I lost no time in getting a conveyance, the driver of which I knew I could depend upon. And upon my return in twenty minutes with my mother's assistance, I was completely metamorphosed from a handsome youth into a tall, bold-looking, but still not unattractive girl. Of course, there remained one important physical difference. We packed up my mother's jewelry and some of our most valuable attire and prepared for the street. We had previously given my mother's chambermaid a holiday. When she returned and found us gone, the clothes and jewelry missing, she would take it for granted that we had either attempted to make our escape to join my father, or that we had been arrested and thrown into prison.

Our plan proceeded without difficulty, and before sundown, we arrived at the back gate of the convent of St. Claire. We were most cordially welcomed by my aunt, the Lady Abbess of St. Claire, who, however, could not help lamenting the necessity which there was for us to take refuge with her. I noticed that she stared at me with great curiosity and whispered apart to my mother. The answer that she received seemed to be only partly satisfactory. She shrugged her shoulders and smiled slightly as she glanced at me. “I do not doubt your step-daughter's discretion, but I hope that she will recollect that she is Mademoiselle d'Ermonville, and will behave as becomes her rank and sex.” This was addressed to me with very pointed emphasis. I remained silent; my only reply was a low, sweeping curtsey, at which feminine performance my mother could not repress her smiles.

“But my dear Henriette,” commented the Abbess, “I fear that I must now treat you inhospitably, and turn you out of the room. I am momentarily in expectation of the arrival of Father Eustace.”

“Oh, I know him very well indeed,” replied my mother, appearing to me rather confused, “and there is no necessity for my leaving the room unless you want a very private interview with him, Agatha!”

“None of your banter,” replied the Abbess tapping her sister's cheek. “The Father is coming here on duty.”

“Those handsome young monks are always 'on duty,'“ muttered my mother. Just then we were interrupted by a tap at the door. After the Abbess gave the necessary permission, a tall, attractive young nun entered. First she made a lowly obeisance to the Mother Superior, and then a slighter recognition of my mother and me.

“I have come, Holy Mother, to receive my punishment,” she said quietly.

“You have done well to keep your time punctually, daughter Emilie,” replied the Abbess not unkindly. “It shows some degree of penitence, although the degree of the penance must rest to a great extent with Father Eustace. Yet I think I can promise that you will not be treated very severely.” She arched one eyebrow. “But stripped you will have to be, and I think slightly whipped. So you had better begin to undress yourself at once in order to save time.”

“Will these ladies remain to be spectators of the proceedings?” asked Emilie, alluding to my mother and me.

“It is rather unusual to allow strangers to be present,” replied the Abbess, “but as these ladies are my sister and niece, I think I may venture to grant them the privilege.”

“Certainly, I should like it,” replied my mother. “I have a great curiosity to see what penance Father Eustace, whom I know very well, will impose on a fine girl such as sister Emilie. What fault has she been committing?”

“Oh, dear Lady Agatha, please don't tell your sister,” exclaimed Emilie, “or I will die of shame.”

“Nonsense, my child,” replied the Abbess. “Proceed with your disrobing, find a rod, and then go and kneel upon the divan in the corner. While you are waiting, you may repeat one of the penitential psalms to get yourself in the right frame of mind before the arrival of Father Eustace.”

I might mention here parenthetically, that I had, on my first entrance into the room, observed this so-called divan, and wondered what its use was! It was provided with pillows and cushions, and covered with black velvet. At each corner, moreover, it was furnished with leather straps and buckles.

Before this device the beautiful young Emilie stripped, my eyes devouring her nudity. She was most curvaceous, her hips wide. Her breasts were full and pendulous and capped with rosy buds that swelled under my intense stare. Her milky thighs swept up to the mossy juncture that was of the greatest interest to me. The hair on her mount was thick and bushy; below this mass, there peeped a most delicious pink slit that invited penetration. I felt a stirring beneath my dress and longed to ram my expanding cock into that moist love nest.

On this black altar then, which set off the dazzling whiteness of her skin most charmingly, Emilie knelt down, a victim for sacrifice, and after depositing the switch between her spread legs, proceeded to her devotions.

I was not altogether without experience in women's charms; for instance, I was more than intimate with a pretty seamstress, who lived on the top floor of a house in the Rue Joubet. She very sweet and loving, and liked nothing better than to be fucked. I'd also enjoyed my mother's young housemaid. While making her ladyship's bed one day, she was astonished, but not disagreeably I fancy, to find her petticoats abruptly thrown up from behind, and a hot, stiff cock thrust violently up her cunt and between her buttocks. But never in all my youthful experience had I seen such a sight as the young novice, Emilie – the swell of her breasts, partially concealed by her posture, her long graceful legs, and above all, her delicious cunt, looking like a garden of black moss pierced with vermilion and placed between two puffy cushions of satin texture and snowy whiteness.

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