Monastery for Nuns

 

Synopsis

 

Orphaned at fifteen, Mary is sent to London to live with her aunt and uncle. Persecuted for her devout religious beliefs she is sent to live as a nun in a Mediterranean monastery, a monastery devoted to worshipping Satan.

 

 

Monastery for Nuns

 

by obohobo

 

 

Warnings

 

Please take note!

 

The text in this story contains erotic material and is expressly written for adults only.

 

MF NC. Spanking

 

If you are underage or offended by such material, or if viewing this file is illegal in your locality, then leave, close or delete this file-story now.

 

This is a work of fiction, any resemblance to persons living, dead or otherwise is purely coincidental. The ideas and thoughts that follow are pure fantasies. In real life, at the very least they would be unpleasant and probably illegal. Fantasies are like that; daydreams where we can contemplate and imagine the sensations without suffering or inflicting the pain, despair or humiliation.

 

© obohobo 2009

 

 

“CHUFF! Chuff, WOOSH! Puff, puff, CHUFF, CHUFF!” Slowly, amid much noise and squealing from the wheels, the steam train pulled out of the old Great Western Railway terminus in London headed for Bristol. Soon the new Paddington station Mr. Brunel is building will be complete but we only saw the walls beginning to rise. I settled into the comfortable padded seat of the first class carriage, clasped Michael’s hand and closed my eyes.

 

“There’s nothing to be afraid of dear,” he whispered, “Although we will travel at speeds of over forty miles an hour, it is quite safe.” I glanced at him and nodded and swiftly took in the sight of the other couple in the compartment, an elderly couple, he in a dark suit and she in a severe black dress. They reminded me of my dead parents and the train journey I made several months previously, a journey very different to this; a journey to hell. Tired from lack of sleep on the steamer ploughing the rough water in the Channel and with the uncertainty of my life henceforth, I again closed my eyes and rested my head on Michael’s shoulder. My mind began recalling the earlier train journey, the events leading to it and those following.

 

 

Chapter one. Orphaned

 

Father, the Rev. Joseph Cannington, mother and I were returning to our village from Colchester in the county of Essex after he’d preached a rousing sermon praising the sanctity of marriage and condemning the licentiousness of today’s society. In the fading twilight, the pony pulled the trap at a goodly clip and we thought to arrive home before it became fully dark, when out of the shadows, two masked horsemen appeared, each holding a pistol. Father had no intention of handing over the collection money and whipped the pony to make her go faster but a pony and trap is no match in speed for men on horseback. They yelled for us to stop but father ignored them. Both men drew abreast and again demanded, “Stop and hand over the money.” Father defied them to his cost. Seeing one man raise and aim his pistol, mother moved to shield him and took the bullet herself. The other highwayman had already aimed his pistol at father from the other side and almost at the same instance, killed him too. For a short while the pony careered on but the men soon caught her reins and pulled us to a halt.

 

“Hand over the money girl unless you wish to join the others,” one bandit demanded. I did. They rode away at a fast speed without harming me and eventually I took the reins and continued to the village where I tearfully informed the elders of the tragic events but by the time they’d raised a posse, the bandits were long gone.

 

Three days later, after we’d buried my parents, two elders visited me to discuss my future. “You are fifteen years old Mary and eligible to marry with your guardian’s consent, except that you’ve no one local, you have no money and no training for any work. You are destitute and the village does not have the funds to keep you therefore, you have two choices, one is to be taken in by the workhouse in Colchester until such time as you can find employment or, we understand, you have an uncle and an aunt in London who might be persuaded to take you in.” Father never mentioned them and when I asked mother, she simply retorted, “They are not good people,” and refused to say more.

 

We talked it over and agreed they were the better option for me and being in London, I would have a better chance of gaining an employment position. Father kept a leather bound addresses book in his desk and on finding their residence in it, I immediately wrote a letter and within a week had a reply inviting me to stay. The elders sold my parents belongings for a pitifully small sum, enough to cover my fare on the railway and leave me a few shillings of my own. They claimed that most of the stuff in our house belonged to the chapel.

 

One of the elders, drove me to Colchester station and saw me settled in a third class, open carriage and gave my trunk to the conductor to look after, which I’m pleased to say that he did.

 

My first journey on the railway is not one that I wish to remember. My thoughts kept returning to that dreadful and fateful evening when the robbers appeared on the road and the callous way they shot my parents and made me a pauper and an orphan and then my mind looked forward with great apprehension to my stay in London. What had my mother meant by, “They are not good people?” Surely her own sister couldn’t be that bad? The inclement weather made the journey worse and in the open carriage my clothes soon became wet and the soot from the engine covered my face with black spots which streaked when I wiped them although I didn’t know this until later. Fortunately, as befitted my bereavement, I wore a long black dress and a black bonnet and this concealed the soot marks except for the white lace collar.

 

Three hours later, after stopping at every station on the way, we arrived at Bishopgate station where the conductor reunited me with my trunk and I waited alongside the train until most of the passengers had disembarked, praying that someone would come. I’d almost given up hope when a uniformed man came and asked, “Miss Mary Cannington?” When I nodded he smiled. “I’m Daniels Miss, Mrs. Manterson sent me to escort you to her residence but before we leave I suggest you repair to the ladies lavatory to clean your face.” What a shock I had when I saw my reflection in the mirror.

 

Daniels procured the service of a cabriolet for the exciting and somewhat terrifying journey to Edmonton, terrifying to someone whose experience of crowds and noise was limited to Colchester on a market day. Immediately we stopped outside a large, imposing house, the door opened and a lad in a similar uniform to Daniels, came down the steps to assist me from the carriage. I paused for a few moments to take in the scene; the place exuded wealth but that fuelled my apprehension of the life inside and brought back my mother’s statement, “They are not good people.” A maid, showing more of her bosom than I thought decent, curtseyed and greeted me in the foyer and escorted me to my Aunt Isobel who sat with several other splendidly dressed ladies, each showing even more of their breasts than the maid and certainly much more than any of the country folk I’d lived with, would have tolerated. I quickly realised this place, my home for the foreseeable future, was an ungodly place and I would need all my strength of will, not to succumb to their sinful ways.

 

Aunt Isobel stood and looked down at me with distain and greeted me coldly without introducing the other ladies and turning to the maid ordered, “Diane, take her to her room and have hot water sent up and clean her thoroughly. She does so smell of the railway. Make sure you remove all the soot and the country smells of the farmland animals. Send her clothes to the scullery maid for washing and bring her into the dining room in time for dinner.”

 

Tears welled in my eyes at the harshness of the reception and I knew I would never be part of the ladies circle. They were tall, lavishly dressed, spoke differently to me and were very brazen concerning their appearance. My short, skinny body and tiny breasts combined with my peasant dress, must have given me the appearance of a street urchin, which, in a way I suppose, wasn’t far from the truth.

 

“This way Miss, please.” Diane’s voice brought me back to the present and I followed her back to the entrance where she stopped and ordered a boy to have a pail of hot water and one of cold sent to my room. We climbed the ornate stairway to the first floor. “This is your room Miss, “Lee Valley”, the Master’s is across the hall, “Brockbourne” and there is a lavatory at the end of the hallway. A lady guest is staying in “Walthamstow”, the room next to the master’s.

 

I looked around the room with awe. A large four-poster bed with Damask coverings, dominated one wall with an armoire either side, and opposite, a mirrored dressing table with a tall cheval mirror standing alongside it. A large lavishly inlaid, mahogany wardrobe and a tallboy that occupied another corner had far too much space for the few clothes I’d brought. Everything exuded wealth; a richness I’d never aspired to.

 

“Let me help you undress Miss, the girls will be here with the water shortly.” Diane’s voice broke my reverie.

 

“I’m perfectly capable of washing myself, thank you,” I replied more snootily than I intended.

 

“I’m sure you can Miss, but the Mistress ordered me to clean you thoroughly and I’ve no wish to feel the strap for not doing so. Now, please let me undo your lacing and get you ready for when the water arrives. Neither of us will wish to feel the wrath of the master if dinner is delayed.”

 

Very reluctantly I allowed her to undress me but did all I could to keep my private parts hidden especially when three girls appeared carrying the water, a large enamel bowl, an oiled cloth sheet to protect the floor and soap and sponges. Fortunately they retired after checking the temperature of the water, taking my clothes with them. Not for many years, had anyone seen or washed my body but, apart from the embarrassment of having a woman look at and clean parts of my body I hardly saw, it wasn’t altogether an unpleasant experience and having warm water and scented soap provided a novel experience.

 

“There Miss, that wasn’t painful, was it? Not like the strap would be,” Diane commented and I wondered how frequently my affluent relations used it on the staff and would they use it on me? I resolved to try and avoid it if at all possible.

 

“I’m in mourning,” I answered when Diane commented that all four of my dresses were black but she dressed me in the best one and took me to the dining room where I met my uncle for the first time. A tall, gaunt man with a clipped beard and a sour expression on his face when he looked down at me and, like his wife, made me feel like an intruder from a different world and certainly from a lower class.

 

My first confrontation with them came when I requested we say Grace at the start of the meal. “We don’t bother with that,” he snapped but I stood and bowed my head and said one. The servants stood still until ordered by Uncle James to get on with the serving. “In future, if you wish to say a Grace, do so silently, we have no place for religion here.” I resolved to do my best to enlighten them in the ways of the Lord, but I could foresee it being a difficult task.”

 

The next afternoon seated in the drawing room, I gave an account of my life to a group of aristocratic ladies. For a while they pandered to my views but then went on to gossip about the extra marital affairs they indulged in, until I severely condemned them for their sinful ways and ungodly life. Aunt Isobel abruptly ordered me to my room.

 

Wishing to have some way of passing the time, the next day I wandered into the kitchen and asked the cook if I could stay there. Norah, the cook, a buxom Irish woman, looked me over and answered, “Only if you’re prepared to help. We don’t have any need for girls who stand and gawp. Get her an apron Maggie and she can help making the pies, I’ve no doubt she’s done that before.” They all knew about me and treated me as one of the staff. I enjoyed it but I wondered if I would be in trouble when I didn’t appear in the dining room for lunch.

 

“The Mistress asked over your whereabouts Mary,” Diane gave a little smile when she saw my face fall, but after a pause, went on, “I said you were helping in the kitchen. “The best place for her,” the Mistress commented, “But she is to dine with us for dinner.” So make sure you get washed and put a clean dress on and get to the dining room before six.”

 

During the next week, I saw several examples of the sinfulness of my Aunt and Uncle and indeed, of the staff. One afternoon a young military gentleman visited Aunt Isobel and she took him to her bedroom for over an hour and they both emerged looking much less tidy of appearance. And late one night, I took my candle and headed for the lavatory. Just as I passed the master bedroom, the door opened and Ethel, one of the maids, came out wearing only a thin nightdress and through the open door, I glimpsed Aunt and Uncle, both completely naked. I’d heard whispers when with the downstairs staff, that this happened and wondered if I would be asked but I’d pronounced my views on the debauchery too many times for them to believe I would do so willingly.

 

“We’re having a soiree on Friday evening for a number of influential guests and their wives or mistresses. With your religious views, it will not be a party at which you are welcome. Please stay in your room from after dinner until breakfast.” I’d been at the house about ten days when Aunt Isobel gave me the order. From staff comments during the afternoon, I had an insight into it being an orgy more than a party, and that a few of the maids and two of the footmen were to take part. They didn’t show any shame for what they were about to do and only thought of the extra coins they’d receive as a reward.

 

Despite severe misgivings as to disobeying my Aunt, I resolved to see if I couldn’t preach like father and turn them away from their sins. The music floated to the first floor and getting close to midnight, I plucked up enough courage to leave the safety of my room and make my way to the balcony above the hall. Here the musicians played but their backs were towards me, I crept to the balustrade and peered over. Auntie danced bare breasted with a man who tried to suckle her nipples, Uncle fornicated with a young woman and I could see other couples in various states of undress and impropriety.

 

WHACK! I screamed. Even through the material of my thick nightdress, the strap bit deeply and I yelled a second time when another hard stroke sent pain into my bottom. The musicians stopped playing the dancing ceased and everyone looked up at me. In the silence that followed Uncle roared, “Bring her down Rogers, we’ll teach her not to disobey me.”

 

I learned later that Uncle expected me to try and interfere and had positioned a boy inside their bedroom with the door open a crack, to keep watch on my room. Immediately I left it, the boy pulled the bell cord to the servants’ quarters and Rogers, the butler, came with his strap. He didn’t even wait for me to walk down, but threw me over his shoulder and carried me into the hall with my nightdress thrown up immodestly.

 

To my horror, even before we entered the hall, I noticed the whipping bench being brought in and shortly after, the tall jar with the birches steeping in brine that I’d seen stored in a room by the kitchen, but I’d never seen them used. I felt like a martyr being punished for my beliefs and tried to draw strength in prayer but that didn’t stop my suffering. “Be brave,” Diane whispered when I passed but I could only feel disgust at her, dressed only in her chemise with both breasts and her cunnie exposed. I didn’t have long to worry over her.

 

“Strip her,” Uncle ordered, “And hold her so everyone can see her scrawny body and those parts she so covets and seeks to hide even from the maids.” My tears blurred my sight of the guests as my arms and legs were held away from my body. I know I blushed profusely. “This, Ladies and Gentlemen, is my niece Mary, the daughter of my brother-in-law, a religious bigot and preacher taken from this world by highwaymen. His God didn’t protect him from them and her’s won’t from the rod. She seeks to follow in his footsteps and tries to preach to us whenever she is able and sort to stifle this party by ignoring, or, more likely, deliberately flouting my instructions. Now, instead of halting our activities, she will provide the entertainment. Fasten her to the bench and make sure her legs are widely splayed.” It took only moments to pull the straps tightly around my body, arms and legs, leaving me helpless and totally exposed.

 

“Three dozens, Rogers. Lay half from each side and don’t spare her because she is young.” I knew the butler wouldn’t spare me; of all the servants, he was the one person that I didn’t get on with. He didn’t. The six bound rods splayed out and bit deeply into my bottom, nipping the flesh and tearing the skin. I screamed loudly and couldn’t see how I could possible withstand thirty-six strokes like that. The second and third strokes fell with similar force and I prayed for God’s help but the flogging went on without interruption. I yelled myself hoarse, I begged for mercy, I prayed for deliverance but the birching went inexorably on. Sometime in the midst of all the pain, I noticed a pause while Rogers moved around and struck me from the other side to ensure my poor bottom was fully and equally covered with bleeding welts and bruises and I prayed fervently for unconsciousness but even that wasn’t granted. My senses remained with me the whole time. Had my Lord deserted me or was it a test? With my body wracked with pain, I couldn’t work it out. Finally the beating stopped and amidst the clapping Uncle told them to have a good look at my punishment, “But regrettably,” he ended, “I cannot allow you to give the little bitch a good rogering. We hope to sell her to a family and they may wish to take her womanhood and so fetch a better price.” The pain almost obliterated that piece of information but I thought about it many times during the following days.

 

Uncle James had a final piece of humiliation for me. “Daniels, take this wretch to her room and treat her arse and spend the night in her bed to see that she doesn’t try to do herself harm, but remember to keep your pego under control and out of her. I’ll check her virtue in the morning and woe betide you if she’s been rogered.” Ever since we’d met at the station, Charles Daniels had been a bit sweet on me and I later suspected Uncle deliberately tempted him. Between him and Norah I made my painful way upstairs and they laid me face down on the bed. “Put a large piece of towelling under her Charles while I get the stuff to ease her pain.” Norah hustled off and returned shortly. “Rogers reminded me that I was not to treat you but I can give Charles the instructions. Seems like the master wants to get you used to having a man handle your body.”

 

Charles administered the medicine which after a while made me sleepy but not before he’d carefully washed the blood off with something that stung the open wounds but which cook said would stop them festering, and then applied liberal amounts of a home-made salve. He had to do this to the inside of my thighs too because Rogers made sure the tips of the birch twigs curled and hit my sensitive parts but even when he touched places that only a husband should touch, the pain prevented my protesting. Finally in the early hours of the morning, Charles pulled the covers over me, undressed himself and climbed in. I feebly muttered a ‘no’ but the medicine began to take over and I drifted into sleep.

 

Next thing I knew daylight streamed through the window and Charles started to ease out of the bed in an effort not to wake me. For a moment he stood by the bed, totally naked and his pego fully hard but I knew he hadn’t touched me although the temptation must have been there. I waited until he’d donned his trousers and pretended to wake and asked the time. “Eight o’clock. Breakfast will be late this morning. How are you? I’ll put some more cream on if you wish.” Diane appeared looking a bit under the weather before I could answer.

 

“I’ll take over now, Charlie, you get on with your other work.” Carefully she peeled back the blanket and sheet and grimaced when she saw my raw, swollen buttocks. “I’ll see what Norah suggests.” Moments later they both appeared and decided on a period of cold, wet towels to see if they would reduce the swelling and then further applications of the cream. Diane sat with me the whole time, and changed the towels at intervals. At first I sort to avoid the subject of her part in the orgy, but she brought it up.

 

“I know you think I am a slut and a trollop and I know I drank too much wine but it is not often that I get to taste it at all and, you may find this difficult to believe, I actually enjoy having a man fuck me.” She actually used the peasant term. “It makes me feel warm and pleasant inside, it makes me feel like I’m a woman. Until you’ve experienced it, you won’t have any idea of the sensations it brings about within your body. Yes, I enjoy it, and the drink cook makes, ensures I don’t have a baby growing inside me afterwards. You, I know, think it is dirty and sinful, but if God makes it pleasurable, why shouldn’t we enjoy it?” With the pain and the medicines, I found myself too weak to counter her argument.

 

Late afternoon a maid came in, “Diane, the mistress says you are to wash Miss Mary, put on a thin nightdress, one of yours if she doesn’t have one, and bring her to the drawing room a little before dinner. They want to inspect her.”

 

“I cannot move,” I protested to no avail. During the day I’d only once moved as far as the lavatory and then in tiny steps like an aged woman but getting to the drawing room would mean going down the stairs.

 

She must have told cook because she appeared as Diane tried to make me stand, “Get on your feet girl and walk around the room for a while,” she said roughly, “And then get her washed and dressed Diane. I shall expect her at work in the morning. One day off is quite enough after a few strokes of the birch.” For a woman I thought of as a friend, the words seemed harsh but I learned they weren’t meant to be cruel, more to help me to get on my feet again and get over the punishment as soon as possible.

 

“She wants you to use your muscles before they set and become even more painful and difficult to use again,” Diane whispered. So eventually I hobbled downstairs feeling almost naked in only having a nightdress on during daylight, a nightdress so thin, the sunlight made it near transparent. A few guests were staying for the weekend and eight assembled to watch my degradation.

 

“Bend her over the back of that chair and raise her dress,” Uncle ordered Diane. She did and once more my privates were exposed to the gaze of all those present. Uncle rubbed his hands over my swollen buttocks and commented, “Still nice and warm and nicely ridged, she’ll remember this for a day or two.” The others present took a turn at feeling my nates and several rubbed the area between my legs and one woman spent a long time there and commented that I’d become wet and therefore wasn’t as frigid as I’d made out. The sensation made me wonder if Diane’s words were true. I resolved not to let them know but kept my mouth shut in case another outburst resulted in further punishment.

 

“Come Mary, let’s go in for dinner,” Aunt Isobel suggested knowing I couldn’t refuse and yet I didn’t wish to even attempt sitting on the lightly padded chairs.

 

One of the wives took pity on me, “Why don’t you bring one of the cushions with you, dear? You’re so short and the table is quite high.” Everyone laughed but allowed me to pick and bring the thickest one I could find. Even by lowering myself very slowly on the cushion I could hardly contain myself from crying out from the pain and many times during the meal, which I hardly ate, I lifted myself to relieve the pressure on my bottom.

 

 

Chapter two. Sent abroad

 

“Do you remember Captain Valcheno from the party the other week, Mary?” Uncle asked. Of course, I didn’t. “He came to see me at my office a few days after and suggested the best place for you would be in a convent with an order of nuns. As you know, I wanted to sell your services but so far no one has come forward and I know you are not happy here and you would be more at home somewhere where you can practice your religious beliefs.”

 

At first hearing, this sounded far better than staying there but from the smile on Uncle’s face, I knew I wasn’t being told the truth, or maybe not the whole truth. In the two weeks since my thrashing, I’d recovered slowly but I still didn’t wish to sit on a hard chair. Norah kept me busy but only gave me light work to keep me occupied and to keep my muscles working. I kept away from the master and mistress (that’s how I came to think of them) as much as possible, but had to sit with them at the dinner table and, obstinately, continued to say grace but placed my hands together said it silently while the others ate. I’d witnessed two other domestic punishments during that time; Emma had eight strokes of the strap for ostensibly not doing her work properly but the Diane told me it was because she hadn’t gone to the Master’s bedroom the previous night, and Clarkson, the boot boy, had a dozen for not cleaning the Master’s boots to his satisfaction. Rogers delivered the punishments on their bare bottoms with the victims bent over a table and having to hold themselves in place without any restraints. All the available staff were forced to watch, not only the strapping itself, but the humiliation of them revealing their private parts when they undressed in front of us. I couldn’t help but notice that Clarkson’s pego stood out from his body before his punishment but had deflated by the end.

 

Uncle continued, “The good captain, suggested a convent in the Monastery of Montedelvedo on the island of the same name in the Mediterranean. He takes supplies there about once a month and his ship, a steamer, is back in London now after a trip to Newcastle and he’s willing to take you as one of the passengers.”

 

I had no idea where the Mediterranean was but it had to be over the seas if we went by ship so I knew it meant leaving England, perhaps for good. Would that be so bad? Perhaps I would become a missionary? Was it God’s destiny for me? Had my thrashing been a preparation to see if I withstood the vigour and hardship of converting heathens?

 

“His ship leaves on the morning tide, so pack your trunk and be ready to leave with me at 6 a.m.” I didn’t have a choice; my destiny lay in another world. I asked about the convent but either he didn’t know or wouldn’t say but it seemed that I might return to England because he remarked, “The captain said that it might be a training place for nuns as many of them returned after a few months there. As captain of the ship, his concern is for their wellbeing and safety while on board and not for their life in the convent.” If he’d been at the soiree, I suspected the captain would certainly be interested in the nuns for other reasons.

 

The ship, “Star of Venus” built less than a year previously for trading between England and Constantinople, still retained its smartness and the midshipman who collected me from uncle’s office in the city, proudly pointed her out to me as we approached. She lay moored amidst many sailing ships, the like of which I had never seen. The noise and bustle of the dockside activity both excited and terrified me, and the coarse language the dockers used in my presence, caused me to blush with shock and embarrassment. Seeing this Captain Valcheno ordered a seaman to take me to my cabin, a tiny, airless box of a room two ladders down from the main deck. “Stay in here until you feel the boat moving and then come back on deck,” the seaman ordered and I guessed they wanted me out of the way while they untied the boat or perhaps to keep me prisoner until I had no chance of escape. In the flickering light from the hurricane lamp, I first sat and then lay on the narrow bunk and listened to the strange sounds filtering through the wooden walls; the hisses and bangs, the running water and the myriad of unidentifiable knocks, squeals and shouts. Presently the noise increased and the whole ship vibrated and then settled down to a steady, loud throb and I knew the engines had started and we were moving. I decided to give it a little longer before leaving my berth but when I did, I found blackness outside my door; no light anywhere, so I lay down again and waited until someone came, feeling as much of a prisoner as if in a cell with steel bars.

 

I guess an hour or more passed before I looked out again and found a lantern alight near the ladder. By then the rocking of the boat and the swinging of the lamp in my berth, had made me feel queasy and I made my way towards the deck hoping the fresh air would revive me. Several seamen came running down the ladder, one of them, Jacob, the man who’d showed me to my cabin. “Are you alright Miss?” he asked and seeing me shake my head, he escorted me to the deck and found me a sheltered spot out of the breeze and the spray. Several other men were already there, enjoying the sunshine. “You’ll be fine here,” Jacob informed when I looked and the swarthy men whose eyes stared directly at me.

 

“Aye, Miss, we dare na’ touch yer, Cap’ns orders. Not like them other ’uns in the stern who want all the men thay c’n git. Yous to be kep’ pure for them monks at the convent,” one of the others commented but didn’t elaborate and it left me very puzzled and worried as to what went on at the Monastery.

 

I soon found out that I’d been given a berth in the crew’s quarters, well away from the ‘real’ passengers. Not all were destined for the monastery but from snatches of conversation I overheard, I became more and more concerned that I’d been tricked into believing the convent was a genuine religious order. However for the first two days, I did little but reside in my berth, feeling most unwell, and in fact several times I prayed that I would die. The violent motion of the boat as we crossed the ‘Biscay’ as the seamen called it, made me very sick and only with Jacob’s persistence did I finally go on deck again and partake of a little food. Thereafter I spent more time on the foredeck in the company of the crew, who at least, treated me kindly. The captain largely remained on the back part of the ship in the company of the passengers.

 

Ten days later we arrived at Montedelvedo and for the first time I saw the imposing monastery perched high on the hill overlooking the harbour. At least in the calmer water of the Mediterranean, my sickness ceased and I began to enjoy the voyage. We’d called at several places on the way but I wasn’t allowed to go ashore although the other nuns and monks had and seemed to be enjoying each other’s company in a most unseemly way. This continued to raise my doubts as to the nature of the religious order I expected to join. With no way of returning, I could only pray that my misgivings were unfounded.

 

I counted five women and nine men making their way behind the cart carrying their belongings up winding path from the dock to the monastery. “You’ve to stay here Miss,” Jacob informed me. Captain Valcheno has to see the Cardinal to arrange for you to attend. He said there wouldn’t be a problem but you’ll have to wait until he gets back and they know about you.”

 

I’d eaten dinner with the off-duty crew before the Captain returned. “The Cardinal has agreed to take you in, as I expected he would, and you are free to leave the ship. Just follow the path to the main door. Leave your trunk with Jacob and he will see that it is put on a cart and delivered with the supplies in the morning. Everything we unload now is put in the store shed by the quay.” Shakily after having been on the boat for so many days, I slowly made my way up the steep hill to the huge wooden door at the entrance and rang the ancient bell. I heard it ring loudly within the depths of the building and soon after the door opened.

 

Immediately my worst fears were realised. A young woman appeared, dressed in a white mockery of a nun’s habit that completely showed her breasts including her dark nipples. The indecently short dress length, being cut well above the knee and loosely flared, added to my fears and I knew I’d have to fight not to be dragged down to that obscene level. Still the girl was friendly and spoke English with a slight London accent.

 

“Hello, Mary isn’t it?” I nodded. “I’m Sister Ruth and I’ll be your companion for the first few days until you get into the routine. Follow me please and I’ll show you into the dormitory and you can have the bed next to mine. Did you bring anything with you?”

 

“My trunk is not coming until the morning,” I replied only then realising I had no nightdress or toiletries with me.

 

“Not to worry, you won’t need very much until you start working in the gardens or in the house. They’ll give you a few days to get used to things and they’ll issue you with a habit tomorrow. Here’s your bed and the cupboard on the right is where you can put your things when they arrive.” She chattered on without giving me time to ask any questions except that I asked about the many tailed whip that hung alongside each bed. “That’s for penitence,” she explained but at that moment a small bell rang insistently. “Time for our devotions,” she ended and taking my hand led my downstairs to a large, chapel, but a chapel very different to any I’d seen previously.

 

At the far end stood a large marble statue, not of Christ but of Satan, naked and with his enormous erection in full view and with his arm around the marble naked woman alongside, his hand clasping one of her large breasts. Her thighs were widespread to show her pubic mound in detail. I wanted to run, I wanted to scream but there was no place to go and in any case, the worshipers, nuns and monks crowded and jostled in a lively and irreverent mood.

 

Most of the nuns were dressed like Sister Ruth but a few wore scarlet habits, if you could call the improper dress a ‘habit’. The monks were no more decently clothed. Their hooded cloak again finished well above the knee and none had the belt fastened so the robe swung open at the front with each step. I almost swooned as Sister Ruth ushered me into a line that slowly moved forward and I felt the monk behind press his pego against my bottom. I turned and glared at the elderly man but he just smiled. The line ended at the statues and each worshiper went to Satan and kissed his pego and then kissed the woman’s vagina. I resolved to take a stand against this iniquitous place.

 

At the statue I turned and vehemently condemned each and every one of them and called upon the Lord my God to bring down this house of evil. I tried to emulate my father, but I fear I fell short of his eloquence and, at first, it only brought laughter from everyone but then the crowd parted and a man in red robes bordered with gold braid, stood before me, his anger showing in his facial features. “So,” he roared, “The Captain spoke true when he said you were a religious fanatic and we would need to take strong measures to cure you. You have one last chance to redeem yourself. Unlace your ugly black dress and reveal your breasts to us and then turn and lift your dress so one of the monks can remove the drawers that I expect you are wearing and allow us all a sight of your virgin cunt. Afterwards, turn and kiss the sacred prick and prepare yourself to kiss the real thing and to take many inside you. Denounce the God you’ve worshipped until now and who has done nothing to protect you or yours. Bow down and enjoy the delights of our monks and nuns.”

 

Of course I refused to part with my faith and, with tears flowing freely down my face, quietly said, “No.”

 

He spoke in a language I didn’t understand but immediately four monks seized me and quickly removed the clothes from my body, tearing them badly. I struggled as much as I could but my efforts were feeble enough and shortly they strung my wrists to a rope from the ceiling and fastened my feet widely apart to rings on the floor. My naked body hung in full view of everyone and I blushed deeply. I knew my views would once more get me a flogging, one that would make my time on the birching bench seem like a child’s spanking. Sometimes I hated the moral code father taught so rigidly but I had no time to reflect on it, or speculate that if I’d had a normal upbringing, I would never have ended in the monastery with these evil people. My thoughts were cut short. The Cardinal spoke again.

 

“You have desecrated this temple of our Lord, a temple devoted to the enjoyment of life. We believe our Master, Satan, gave men pricks and women cunts and empowered them to receive enjoyment when one is inserted in the other, not just for procreation but to give them the pleasure to love one another fully and deeply. We believe that it is a woman’s duty to give her cunt and other holes freely to any man and do anything to heighten that pleasure and fulfilment. These pleasures should be practiced fully and for some, seeing you whipped will add to that pleasure, as it will when they see your virgin cunt and arsehole opened and filled with the seed of several men and afterwards you will savour the flavour of their juices and indeed, the juices flowing from a women’s cunt.” The utter crudity of his language appalled me but I feared more for the punishment I expected to receive.

 

Through my tears I saw monks and nuns fondling each other whilst standing and watching me, some smiled but others looked sad and ready to cry. I wanted to shout and protest, but my fear of further punishments curbed my desire while I waited and wondered how severe my punishment would be. I didn’t have to wait long. The first stroke of the single tailed whip lashed across my shoulders and I screamed. The pain seemed almost unbearable but shortly after another lash crossed my back and I screamed and yelled and pleaded, all to no avail. Steadily the whip strokes made their way down my back, across my bottom and ended a little above my knees. I hoped to pass into unconsciousness but didn’t. To my horror the whipping started again, this time frontally upwards from my thighs. The strokes now came in quicker succession, probably because they thought I would pass out. The pain blurred into one mass of horror and I hardly knew when it finished and they carried me to the ‘altar’ and laid my back on the cold, black marble. Two monks caused me further pain by pulling my legs back to my face and I hardly knew my private parts were fully exposed until the Cardinal stepped close and I felt his pego seek my entrance. Seconds later he’d taken my virginity and raped me vigorously. The pain in my body numbed the disgust I felt as a second and a third monk had his way with me, and a fourth one forced his way into my bottom hole. In the background I vaguely heard cheering and clapping especially when the spent penises were pushed into my mouth.

 

I must have blacked out then because I came to in a lamp lit room with an elderly Sister gently applying cream to the welts on my front. “I’m Senior Sister Bridget,” she introduced herself, “I’m in charge of the nursing side here and there’s also a doctor who is one of the monks but he’s had too much wine to be able to see you. I’ll get you a drink that will make you sleep and then I can treat your back. It’s a long while since anyone has been whipped like that.”

 

When I next awoke I saw Bridget lying on a bed across the room with an elderly naked man alongside her. “Up you get Joseph,” she grinned when she saw I’d awakened, “I’ve got work to do. Get us some juice if you please and maybe after I’ve seen to Mary, we’ll have time for another cuddle before breakfast.” Playfully she pushed Joseph out of the bed and came to me, her sagging breasts swaying as she walked. I rightfully guessed everyone slept naked in the monastery. It didn’t bother her. “You want to piss? She asked and helped me up. Every muscle in my body screamed at being made to move but she insisted that I had to move a little or the muscles would completely stiffen up and be worse later, sentiments that I remembered echoed those Norah gave me just a few weeks earlier.

 

“This is Brother Joseph,” she introduced the man when he brought glasses of juice, “We have a relationship and he sleeps here most nights so you’ll see him for the next few days.” She treated the fact that I sat holding my body slightly above the commode while introducing her ‘boyfriend’ with an erect pego, as perfectly normal and such was the state of my mind, I began to accept it too; the pain in my body caused much more concern. He even helped me back to bed and assisted Bridget to apply cream to my welts. I noticed blood stains on the sheet covering the mattress but she said, “They’re only small cuts and I’ll clean them and change the bed later.” She turned down the lamp and returned to her bed and I heard him rogering her and tried to turn away so I didn’t see them.

 

For a while I lay still, trying not to move any muscles but eventually I dozed off again but woke when a nun pushed a trolley in with our breakfast. Bridget insisted I sit up and put a pillow under my bottom but I only ate a little of the food and returned to the bed although with welts back and front and on the sides where the whip had curled round, there really wasn’t a place where I could lie in comfort.

 

Sister Ruth came in when Bridget started to get ready to wash and dress my welts. “Senior Sister Rachel said for me to come here because I had been detailed to show Mary around the place and orientate her for the next three days.”

 

“Well you’ll only get to show her around this room today, or maybe to the end of the corridor, but seeing you’re here, you can help with cleaning and dressing her wounds.” I could see Ruth wasn’t pleased with Bridget’s words and found out why as soon as she saw blood oozing from several places when she washed my back. The poor girl turned very pale and would have fled the room if Bridget hadn’t ordered her to take the sheet and pillow to the laundry and to make sure they soaked them in cold water before washing. By the time she returned Bridget had covered my open wounds. I asked if I would be scarred and she said honestly, “There’ll probably be some on your back and arse but your tits should heal up fine. I soon found out that she, like all the nuns and monks, used crude peasant, words but she spoke with sympathy in her voice and seemed sorry that she couldn’t do more to prevent my being scarred.

 

Ruth talked incessantly and even my dozing didn’t interrupt her flow of words. She like most other monks and nuns, heard of the monastery through word of mouth and decided she wished to experience the freedom and enjoyment of having as many men as possible for a few months, without having to do it secretly or suffer the scandal that it would cause in England’s society. She also wanted to learn the various techniques she could employ ensnare the man of her choice to become the wife of an aristocrat and have money and servants of her own. “The monks have a similar outlook,” she informed me, “At least the younger ones have. They want to try out as many women as they can and learn how to satisfy them and keep their future wife interested and loving. Almost all the younger men and women are like me, we plan to stay for three or four months and return to our homes. I’ve been here two months now and will probably stay for another two. Thursdays and Mondays are the equivalent of the Sabbath in the Monastery and on those days, one of the experienced monks or nuns, gives a demonstration, and those of us who are not working, link up with one or two monks and practice what we’ve been shown. Sometimes we get to feel the penitence whip hanging by our bed but if we put a little effort in, it is rare or it is used lightly to warm our bottoms. No one has been whipped like you were and Sister Michelle, who serviced Captain Valcheno when he arrived yesterday, said that a James Manterson wanted you punished severely for things that happened at home.”

 

Knowing my uncle lay behind my thrashing, depressed me and, although I said nothing to Ruth, I knew the option to return to London no longer existed. “The sight of your whipping frightened many of the new nuns that came and we are having to make a special effort to reassure them, they will not get similar treatment. The extra work this entails has annoyed the Cardinal so don’t expect him to be lenient with you from now on. Many of the older monks and nuns stay longer or find relationships within the community, like Senior Sister Bridget and Master Brother Joseph who have adopted each other. They’re almost like married but are free to have others if they wish.” Ruth continued without a pause. When Bridget thinks you’re fit enough to leave the infirmary, you’ll be given work to do, perhaps cleaning or in the kitchen or even in the garden but it’s mainly the monks who work outside. Most of us come from families where we have servants to do these chores but were supposed to gain some insight as to what goes on in the servants’ quarters by having to do their type of work here. You’ll have to get over your reluctance to having men roger you Mary otherwise you will suffer more and more pain. Each night at the retiring bell, the nuns do their ablutions and go to their bed and lie there ready and waiting for whoever comes. It could be any of the monks, young or old. The exciting part is the not knowing who will fuck you. Don’t be deceived by the monk’s age; often the older ones are the best fucks. Of course, if you don’t satisfy them, they use the penitence whip and there are straps on the headboard and at the foot of the bed to hold you in place…”

 

I allowed my mind to wander while Ruth continued to chatter and mentally debated whether I should resist my raping by the monks and perhaps suffer a further whipping or worse, or should I cooperate and join in the so-called fun? Perhaps if I lay still on the bed and prayed to my God while the raping went on, would that result in further punishment? If they used the penitence whip, would that hurt too badly or should I suffer it for the sake of my beliefs?

 

 

Chapter three. Punished again

 

A month went by and my almost daily thrashing with the penitence whip no longer caused any comment. I still refused to cooperate and mostly lay completely still on the bed. A latticework of red weals permanently covered my body and I’d begun to think of ending my life. In the chapel, my lips barely touched Satan’s manhood or the vagina of Venus and sometimes they made me kiss them again but usually I got away without punishment. I soon found the monks not only wished to use my cunnie, but wanted my mouth and bottom hole too. Several refrained from using my mouth when I bared my teeth but others forced my jaws apart and pushed their prick in. I didn’t give them any satisfaction. I had less option when they strapped me to the bed with my bottom hole exposed. Again I tried to keep my hole closed and sometimes succeeded but usually one monk pulled my cheeks apart while the other forced his way in. If I felt particularly brave, I recited the Lord’s Prayer while being fucked but too frequently that led to a prolonged punishment session and more than once I passed out during it.

 

Things came to a head when an unusually fat, old monk came to my bed. I’d seen him perform with other nuns and knew he liked to bully them into doing things they were keen on doing. First he fastened me spread-eagled to the bed and then climbed on and aimed his pego at my mouth. His weight alone on my sore body caused me great pain but I resisted and firmly kept my mouth closed. Eventually he forced it open and used it like a vagina, forcing the head well back into my throat and causing me to gag. I debated whether or not to bite but feared the repercussions. Finally he sent his seed into my mouth and waited, expecting me to swallow it and lick his prick clean. I didn’t do either and as he withdrew, I nipped the head sharply with my teeth and when he bent over me I spat his seed on his face. Another bad move on my part. Angry beyond all reason, he picked up the whip and used it with his full strength on any part of my body he could see. I passed out but he continued and only when a stroke went across my face, did the others pull him off. I awoke in the infirmary.

 

Senior Sister Bridget gave me a dose of medicine that sent me to sleep and when I woke again, she and Joseph were eating breakfast. “Well you’ve caused a lot of trouble again, young Mary,” she started and then smiled, “The Cardinal and his advisers are discussing what to do with you. I ruled out another whipping with the single-tail because with all the thrashings your body has taken, another flogging like you had when you arrived would most likely cause injuries I couldn’t repair and cripple you for life. For the moment you are in my care and will be for at least a week.

 

“Just let me loose so I can find my way to the parapet and I can end all my suffering. I can’t take any more of this hell and I can’t go home because Uncle James will only find some other means of torturing me.”

 

“I don’t want to hear any talk of you taking your life Mary,” Bridget rebuked me sharply, “Yes, you have suffered terribly but really that is your father’s doing. Had he not instilled such strict religious dogma into your child mind, you would not even be here now. If you ignore the rituals we practice, do you see any other nun who is unhappy? You’ve kicked against our way of life without really trying it. If you are to live in peace with yourself you’ve got to give a little. Enjoyment isn’t a sin, even if you believe some of the things we do are sinful. Now let us see what we can do to heal you and perhaps over the next week or so, find a way out of your predicament.” Although she spoke sternly, I knew that she cared for me, perhaps more than any other nun in the Monastery.

 

That morning a young monk came into the infirmary, blood streaming from his left arm. “I slipped on a stone and when I fell my arm went into one of those spiky plants with razor edges,” he explained to Bridget as she removed his cloak and sat him in a chair. “Come here Mary and bring a chair, I want you to hold his hand still while I clean the cuts. You aren’t like that other silly girl who got sick at the sight of blood, I hope.” His blood flowed freely and mixed with the water, my body became coated too. Bridget tied a cloth tightly around his arm. “Brother Michael, I must sew some of these cuts together otherwise they will never heal. You must be brave as it will take a little while and I will have to let the blood run every so often.” Turning to me, she went on, “You have to be brave too Mary and from all your sufferings, I know you are, but this will need a different kind of bravery. I need you to hold his arm still and you’ll have to watch while I work because you must turn it to allow me to place the stitches. Can you do that or shall I send for Joseph?”

 

“I can do it.” In many ways, I was glad to help as it took my mind off my own suffering and I wanted to help the young man. I remembered him as being one of the few that didn’t use the whip on me after he’s spent the night in my bed. For the moment, I forgot my own sore body and concentrated on helping Senior Sister Bridget. My hands shook when Bridget returned with a curved needle and fine thread, but they steadied when she inserted the needle and started pushing it through his flesh. I felt him wince but he didn’t cry out. Perhaps recalling my needlework days of long ago, when Bridget started on the second stitch, I slid my hands along his arm and, supporting his wrist on my lap, used my thumbs to press the cut together. “Thank you,” Bridget murmured and smiled. Michael looked very pale and sweat appeared on his brow but he stayed awake and gave me a weak smile too when I glanced at him.

 

Bridget put twelve stitches in the longest cut and untied the cloth around his arm for few moments. Again the blood flowed freely but the main one had been staunched. Ruth chose this moment to enter the infirmary, “The Cardinal wishes to see…” She slumped in a heap on the floor. The sight of three people with blood over their bodies proved too much for her sensibilities. “Get out,” Bridget ordered when Ruth came round.

 

Later, when we were sewing up the last cut, the Cardinal came in, stood and watched for several minutes and then said he would come back later, “From Sister Ruth’s description, I thought three people had been murdered.” For the first time, I saw him smile.

 

With clean sheeting, we bandaged Michael’s arm and only then did I notice the appalling mess we were in. Bridget’s stained habit and Michael’s cloak would need a long soak before the blood would come out but Michael and I would only need a good wash. “Would you mind washing him Mary please?” I couldn’t refuse even though it would mean washing his sexual parts. I’m sure she realised this. Carrying first a large bowl and then the water to fill it, brought back the pain in my body but I forced myself to ignore it. First I washed his body and then had to refill the bowl with clean water. “Can you stand in it?” I asked but even holding on the chair with his good hand, his body shook with the reaction to his injury and no doubt to his treatment too. Fortunately Bridget returned and supported him while I washed and dried his lower region. I tried to ignore the erection my ministrations produced. Bridget decided to put his arm in a sling to keep his arm up and perhaps to hide the blood that slowly spread through the bandage.

 

“Your turn Mary. I’ll get some fresh water.” I held on to a chair too because my reaction to witnessing and indeed, helping seal the cuts, had left me rather shaky and in any case, with the pain from my thrashing returning, I found it difficult to stand. Bridget washed and dried me and put us in separate beds but with only a small distance between them. I dozed a little and Michael did too.

 

“With your permission Eminence, I would like to keep her here as my assistant. You saw how she helped with Brother Michael and I doubt if any one of the others would have helped in such a positive way. She may be feisty in her disagreement of our ways, but for all that, she’s a very brave girl, a girl who has suffered too much at our hands. Leave her here with me for a week or two before deciding what to do with her. The steamer left the other day and will not return for about a month so you’ve time to consider what to do and see how she behaves while here.” The voices woke me but I kept my eyes closed. Senior Sister Bridget obviously had the Cardinal’s respect and I believed she had my welfare at heart. The Cardinal spoke to Michael and Bridget concerning his injury and I learned that the lacerations would leave scars but he should have the full use of his hand. He must have heard Bridget’s little speech too and I wondered if he agreed with it. I felt he would but I’d only met him once before today.

 

After lunch, Bridget pleaded that she’d some errands to do and asked Michael to walk me to the end of the corridor and back and to do it each hour. This he did and then sat alongside my bed and we talked, not about himself, but he seemed genuinely interested in me, my life in England, and how I came to stay in the Monastery. I only gave him the merest outline and asked about him but he’d only say that his father sent him to gain experience with women. After that we talked quietly on general things but much to my surprise, after a while he held my hand then raised it to his lips and kissed it. “Thank you for everything,” he whispered. We dozed until dinner came while Joseph and Bridget ate together, I cut Michael’s food so he could eat using a fork, and we sat at another table and talked quietly. For once I began to have feelings for a man.

 

Bridget insisted that I learn to change Michael’s dressings and then made him put the salve on me. Being limited to one-hand made it awkward for him but he made a game of it and spent more time gently rubbing my breasts and the love button between my legs than necessary. I didn’t voice any objection, something Bridget noticed but didn’t comment on.

 

“Let me lie alongside you Mary please.” In the low light from the night lamp, I saw Michael standing at my bedside with his prick standing hard and straight.

 

In a panic I cried, “No! Not that, I’m too sore.” I heard the noise from Bridget and Joseph’s copulation cease and wondered if they would step in to save me.

 

“No Mary dear, I just want to lie with your body close to mine. I know you’re not ready to fuck but I thought we could give each other some comfort even if it was only by touching. Reluctantly, and with grave doubts I allowed him on my bed. True to his word, we only touched until sometime in the night he held my hand and re-wakened my feelings for him.

 

In the morning when I changed his dressing, one of the cuts looked swollen and red and felt very warm. Michael said that it throbbed badly and when Bridget saw it, she immediately applied a hot poultice and ordered me to change it every half-hour. Despite our efforts, the poison in area gradually spread along his arm and a fever overcame him. “I shall have to lance it Mary, will you hold his arm still for me again please?” Of course, I did and watched while Bridget made a small cut in the infected skin with a sharp knife. Puss spurted and I worked it out with my thumbs and washed it clean. Her next move almost caused me to faint. From a jar she produced some maggots and loosely bound a few over the wound. “They’ll eat and clean the bad flesh,” she informed me, and when we looked later, the open cut looked clean and fresh.

 

The poison must have entered his system because Michael’s fever worsened and I spent hours washing away the sweat with cold water or lying close to him with a cover over us to get him warm. For two days we feared for his life but on the third day his fever broke and slowly he began to recover.

 

My own recovery took second place and I only thought to apply the salve when Bridget ordered it or when Joseph was there to do the places I couldn’t reach. In the mirror one morning, I noticed when I washed, the swelling on my face had gone down but left a ghastly looking bruise and wondered at Michael even wanting to be near me but it didn’t seem to bother him although he asked about the pain as he gently massaged salve into the worst places. He lay with me on the night he recovered from the fever and not only held my hand, but kissed me before tiredness and exhaustion overcame him. I lay awake for a long time, wondering what it all meant. Did he have real feelings for me or did he feel obligated for all my care and nursing? “What man would ever want you?” I chided myself, “Even before they battered your body so badly, you didn’t have much to offer. Skinny body and hardly any bosom, what man would want you except for fucking? No one would want to love you.” Michael though, continued to shower me with affection mainly by kissing, cuddling and caressing my breasts and mound. It quickly became obvious that his earlier training in the monastery yielded results and I became aroused and didn’t want his caressing to stop. Had I become a disciple of the devil? I didn’t think so. It wasn’t as if I wanted any man to do it, only Michael.

 

“Take her outside Michael and get some fresh morning air on your bodies but don’t spend too long in the sun and get burned,” Bridget ordered, “Don’t worry about not having clothing, everyone’s already seen you. Better find your shoes though.” I felt slightly embarrassed at being in the outside with nothing on but the monks working in the garden hardly took any notice and those that did, either commented on the way my body was healing or enquired after Michael’s welfare.

 

After a quick tour of the grounds, we sat in the shade and Michael asked for the true story behind my being there. Slowly I told him and pointed out that I’d no money and even if I returned to England, I’d nowhere to stay and daren’t go back to my Uncle’s house. He didn’t comment except to condemn my aunt and uncle for their barbaric treatment of me.

 

“Why are you here?” I asked, hoping he would tell me the full story too.

 

“Not quite like you. I knew roughly what to expect from a woman who’d spent a few months here. Father wanted to marry me to a well-to-do girl and set up several liaisons for me but for the most part I couldn’t stand the shallowness of their minds and the social intrigues. The last one seduced me to her bed and then complained how poorly I performed and this came to the ears of the nun who’d been here. She suggested I be shipped for a three-month stay to learn how to treat a woman and gain valuable experience. After she’d explained the sexual goings on, I knew I’d have to pretend to worship the devil but it wouldn’t be a lifetime thing and in some ways I wanted to come and yes, I’ve enjoyed quite a bit of my stay but the whippings, especially when I witnessed yours and could do nothing about it, put me off and I saw no one here that I wanted to spend my life with. That wasn’t the idea anyway, but I wondered if with all the ladies I’d meet, there would be one I could relate to. There wasn’t, at least not until you came into my life a few days ago.” His statement shocked me. How could he, a gentleman, want a poor peasant girl? “Please will you consider coming back to England with me? I know we’ve only known each other for a few days, but outwardly at least, you get along well with me and I with you. The fact that you are poor doesn’t concern me but I know it will father and he may try and stop our relationship but I won’t be thwarted this time, except if you have no wish to be with me.” I sat there speechless but he took the opportunity to give me a kiss and when I kissed back, he took that as my answer. That night I let him love me and he did so gently and with due concern for my injuries, and for the first time, I actually enjoyed the union and longed for it to continue.

 

For two days we acted like real lovers or even as man and wife but it had to end. “I’m sorry,” Bridget apologised, “But you are both well enough to go back to your dormitories, in fact you’ve been well enough for a few days. You can stay tonight but I’ll have to send you back in the morning even if I know you’ll suffer again.” I burst into tears at the thought of the nightly and other rapes I’d suffer and the whippings that followed. Michael added his voice to try and persuade her to keep us there.

 

Joseph interrupted. “It doesn’t happen often but there are two ways you can stay together, like you are now in a room of your own. One way is to get married. The Cardinal can perform the ceremony but it will be a very different service to the one you’d have in a Christian church and it might not be valid when you go home. The second way is for Michael to ‘adopt’ you, Mary. Adoption, would mean you becoming Michael’s fiancé and here you live together as though you are man and wife but are able to choose other partners if you wish. I adopted Bridget many years ago, so long we’ve almost forgotten about it and just spend our nights and free time together. Another ceremony is involved, one where you agree to sexually satisfy him and you must do so in front of the congregation.”

 

“I really wanted a valid Christian marriage so I could take Mary home and introduce her as my wife,” Michael stated.

 

“You’ll have to wait until the Italian ship sails in and get the Captain to perform the ceremony and give you a certificate to prove it. Maybe a week or two before she comes here again though, as she doesn’t have a fixed schedule and the wind varies.”

 

“Think about it tonight and let me know in the morning and if you still want to go ahead, I’ll let the Cardinal know and seek his approval,” Bridget ended the conversation.

 

Mid morning we were brought before the Cardinal who examined me closely and frowned at the bruise still disfiguring my face. Senior Sister Bridget put forward our request and suggested that it might at least give me a longer respite from the whippings and would save my young body from further permanent damage. His Eminence consulted Michael and questioned him at length for his reasons for wanting to adopt me and asked if he knew what it entailed and went through the main points of the ceremony with him. I wasn’t consulted at all. Michael had the choice but they knew we wouldn’t be there if I hadn’t agreed. The Cardinal consented to my adoption, more I suspected, from a desire to stave off any rebellion from other nuns who had no desire to see me punished further.

 

That evening, with both of us dressed in white robes, we entered the chapel and made our way to the statues and made our obeisance to them before returning to the altar where we promised to give our bodies to each other for the full enjoyment of fornication without procreation. I had to swear to make my body available for Michael’s service at any time he required it. Although I disagreed with it, I felt it better to give myself to a man I liked, even loved, than be forced to submit to the rapes and punishments of men for whom I had no regard. After the oath taking Michael laid me on the altar and, with a little help from two other monks because my body hadn’t yet healed enough for me to hold my legs in the way they required, he fucked both my nether holes until he spent in my vagina and finally, I sucked him clean. For his part, he kissed and tongued the holes he’d used and taking my hand, led me to our room.

 

We talked about our future in bed that night and how we could return to England at the earliest opportunity. “Will I still have to submit to your every whim when we get there?” I asked.

 

“Of course!” he laughed, “And you’ll enjoy it.”

 

We knew the “Star of Venus” wouldn’t return for about a month on it’s way back from Constantinople so we had to conform to the normal work rules until then. Senior Sister Bridget immediately nominated me as her assistant and I quite enjoyed helping her heal the minor ailments and cuts that occurred. Michael’s still not fully functional hand prevented him doing manual gardening but they kept him busy with lighter work.

 

The Italian ship came and while we were free for a Satan Sabbath afternoon, and we managed to sneak aboard and, for the payment of a fee, the captain married us. Only a very simple ceremony but he gave us both a sheet of paper with our names on that he said was our marriage certificate. I couldn’t read a word of it and neither could Michael. “We’ll have a proper service to cement our relationship when we get home,” Michael promised.

 

Only a few days later the “Star of Venus” arrived and a very surprised Captain Valcheno greeted us. Michael’s request for “A cabin for Mr. and Mrs. Hollsworth if you please Captain,” when he paid the fare, startled him further but we doubted he could contact my uncle before the ship arrived in London and by the time he did, we would be on the train and out of the city.

 

One morning soon after we left Montedelvedo, I saw Jacob and some of the crew I recognised taking a break and smoking their clay pipes at their accustomed place at the front end of the ship. Taking Michael’s hand, I led him along the main deck to meet them and we chatted for some time during which Jacob asked how we got married and when we told him he asked, “Have you got the certificate?” Michael went and found his copy and brought it to us. “Carlo,” Jacob called another seaman over, “You read this and tell us in English what it says.” For a little while I wondered if we’d been given a fraudulent certificate but when Carlo translated into his version of English, we knew we were legally married and the because of the Catholic religious ceremony, the Pope would have to nullify it.

 

Several times during the voyage, we went a talked with the crew and even Michael appreciated the time away from the rather up-market passengers and the two nuns and three monks that returned with us.

 

 

“Wake up dear, we’re nearly there. You must have been really tired to sleep for the whole journey.” Michael gently shook me awake. I wondered what my new life as a lady in a large house would be like and the reception I would get from Michael’s family. However hostile that would be, it couldn’t be worse than the hell I’d been through.

 

 

Finis