‘This was a woman of past eighty years?’ Lalage queried. ‘Dancing in frenzy?’
‘Just so,’ Nest answered, ‘which shows her command of unholy secrets. That was the response of Farmer Piate when the Quaestors put that very question to him. The Quaestors gave out the orders for her trial and death, then took soldiery, to bring her back for judgement.’
‘And what then?’ Lucilla asked in excitement. ‘She was burnt, or merely drowned in a duck pond? No, a scaffold you said…hung by her heels, or by her neck?’
‘She was never found!’ Nest exclaimed. ‘Her cottage was empty, the raven gone also, and of her gold not a piece was found!’
‘I doubt it ever existed,’ Lucilla commented.
‘No, it was well known. Her accuser had seen it, a pile of gold coins, more than a strong man could carry. She had taken it all, by magical means, the final proof that she was a witch!’
Lucilla laughed. Lalage restrained a chuckle of amusement.
‘No!’ Nest insisted, her voice for once full of emotion. ‘She was! How could a woman of over four-score years flee and not be caught? And they took the goat, moreover, a great black beast with a huge pizzle…’
‘Oh nonsense!’ Lucilla cut in, ‘if the goat was the Beast, how could they catch him? Would he not have burned them?’
‘The accusation would not be that the goat was the Beast,’ Lalage pointed out. ‘Rather that the witch summoned the spirit of the Beast into the goat for the purposes of indulging her carnality, and so worshipping the Beast. In law, if a woman is found to have been taken by a goat, possession, and thus witchcraft, is considered proven. This is evident, as goats do not mount girls by habit.’
‘Indeed? And who made you an expert on Holy law?’
‘I have spent much time in the library. I consider a vocation as a jurist for the church…’
‘Ho! Do not let Sister Verena hear this! For such arrogance you will go in the pillory with your head shaved, for a thousand cuts of the cane, with a Novice standing beside with a bucket of water to dunk your head in when you faint from pain!’
Lalage winced, and quickly changed the topic of conversation.
‘So if the witch escaped, Nest, what need had the town for a scaffold?’
‘They hung the goat.’
Lalage nodded thoughtfully. Lucilla continued.
‘Do goats not mount girls by habit? Or is it simply that a girl standing, in a dress has no appeal. A girl kneeling, naked, with her cunt flaunted, would be mounted, I imagine.’
‘Only a witch would flaunt herself so!’ Nest exclaimed.
‘An act which in itself would draw the Beast in, to take possession of the goat,’ Lalage stated. ‘If the girl kneels, she is a witch. If the goat mounts up, he is possessed. The logic is irrefutable, the two observations mutually reinforce each other.’
‘You are beginning to sound like Sister Verena,’ Lucilla remarked. ‘But isn’t the Beast’s member supposed to be as hot as burning coal? How could even a witch take that inside herself?’
‘By the practise of her vile craft!’ Nest asserted. ‘Red hot, his member is, and his seed as cold as ice!’
‘Surely one or the other?’ Lucilla queried.
‘These are mere tales,’ Lalage said, ‘but this is how the Beast tempts women to fornication, by possession of man or animal, and lewd display to weaken our resolve.’
‘It would not take the Beast to weaken my resolve,’ Lucilla sighed. ‘I have not seen a man these three weeks, save for priests. Priests are timid when young, and perverse when old, there seems to be no middle ground…They think too much, also. I prefer young stalwarts who think not at all, whose cocks grow hard at a touch…’
She trailed off, and changed position once more, lifting her knees and opening them as she spoke again.
‘Perhaps I should have one of you steal a small marrow from the kitchens. I could close my eyes and have you feed it into me, and imagine…’
‘Into you? What of your hymen?’ Lalage asked in shock.
‘My hymen is gone,’ Lucilla answered. ‘Have you not seen, when I make you flaunt yourself for my pleasure?’
‘Yes…no…I assume…,’ Lalage stammered.
‘You assume I am pure, because of my rank?’ Lucilla laughed. ‘Or that I tore myself on horseback? No, as little Mouse well knows, I am not pure. Why should I be when my lightest wish is command to over a hundred men, not one of whom would dare cross me? And who would dare inspect the Tesserette d’Ortaise? Even Blessed Mother Berengaria Aesu, our lofty Prioress, fears my father.’
‘What of the Quaestors?’ Nest asked.
‘Men have taken you, in your quim?’ Lalage broke in.
‘Certainly,’ Lucilla answered, ignoring Nest. ‘Plenty. There was a boy in the yards, tall, and very strong, like a great cart horse. He could lift me, with one hand beneath my bottom and another at my neck, and so place me on his cock, as if it were no effort at all. He was the first. His cock was pale and smooth, beautiful, and so large my fingers would not meet around the shaft when he was engorged…’
She gave a little shiver, making her breasts quiver beneath the blue silk of her gown. Her hand went to one, to stroke the taut bud of a nipple.
‘What did I say?’ she sighed. ‘That whoever told the better story would whip the other? It is hard to judge…Maybe you should both be whipped, and flaunt your beaten bottoms for me, while I stroke myself.’
‘Lady Lucilla, what of noon prayer?’ Nest asked.
‘I have a dispensation for noon prayer,’ Lucilla answered.
‘We do not!’
‘What of it? Who will miss you, among three thousand?’
‘We are certain to be caught, and put in the pillory!’
‘No, you are likely to be caught and put in the pillory. If you do not do as you are told, you are certain to be whipped, now. No Salvatoras will enter this room, be certain. Now show for me, cunts spread wide. I like that view, to see the little red halos you hold so precious.’
Lalage stifled a resigned sigh, but opened her knees and rocked back onto her heels, to open her quim. Reluctantly, Nest adopted the same rude posture. Lucilla stretched in contentment, then reached for her sash, to pull it open. Her dress came up, her shift with it, tugged high, to show the striped stockings on her long legs, her bare quim, belly and breasts. With her eyes fixed to the lewd display of quim the others were making for her, she began a lazy masturbation, and to talk.
‘I would like to see you two fucked. It would be wonderful. I’d have you tied, arses up, to get it from the rear, I think, like animals, or witches. Wouldn’t that be a disgrace? How would you feel as your hymens tore to the thrust of some drunk from the town, or a filthy old sailor, unwashed after a year at sea, with a pint of seed in his balls, to be spurted up your ravaged cunts…’
She moaned, and began to rub harder at her quim, her finger now on her clitoris. Lalage could see clearly, and as Lucilla’s hole opened and began to juice, it became very obvious that her hymen was really gone.
‘Do you like it, little Babbles?’ Lucilla asked suddenly. ‘Would you like to lick it?’
Lalage swallowed, unable to answer, at once horrified by the suggestion and fighting down an urge to comply. Lucilla laughed and bounced up on the bed, knees wide, to make a yet ruder display of her quim, her lips held open, her clitoris straining for attention.
‘Nest does,’ Lucilla declared. ‘Now I want you to. Come on, and be grateful it’s not the other hole.’
Lalage shook her head weakly.
‘Lick my cunt, Babbles,’ Lucilla demanded.
‘Lady Lucilla!’ Lalage blurted out. ‘I can not!’
‘Lick my cunt, I said!’ Lucilla snapped. ‘I want it! Now do it!’
‘I can not!’ Lalage answered. ‘Not possibly! It is an abomination, a witch thing, specifically discountenanced by the Book…’
‘Lick me!’ Lucilla screeched, and snatched at Lalage’s hair.
Lalage squeal
ed at the Tesserette’s hand twisted hard into her hair. She was pulled in, still babbling in confusion, but unable to make herself resist properly. Nest held still, frozen in her lewd position, her thighs wide, spread open, her face set in a look of horrified fascination as she watched Lalage’s head dragged towards the open, pink centre of Lucilla’s quim.
‘No!’ Lalage managed, a final, panic-stricken protest before her face was smothered in warm, wet girl flesh.
‘Now lick my cunt!’ Lucilla ordered.
Her lips pressed to the wet flesh, her head full of the rich, musky scent, Lalage struggled to stop herself from doing what her body wanted her to. Lucilla gave a hiss of anger and twisted her hand harder into Lalage’s hair. Lalage’s head was pushed down, her nose bumping on Lucilla’s clitoris. Lucilla gasped, tugged at Lalage’s head, and she had begun to masturbate again, using Lalage’s nose. Lalage made a last frantic effort at escape, flapping her hands against Lucilla’s thighs and the edge of the bed, then gave in, pushing her tongue into the moist, open hole.
Lucilla laughed, then gave a purr of satisfaction. Lying back, she slowly loosened her grip in Lalage’s hair. Lalage continued to lick, broken to the lewd act. Her arms came up, she took hold of Lucilla’s thighs and she had given in completely, feeding eagerly on the open, wet quim, licking the hole, the lips, the clitoris. Lucilla moaned in pleasure, but maintained her grip, just tight enough to keep Lalage firmly in place, then began to talk again, fast and urgent.
‘How would you like it, little Lalage? Tied down…a cock in your hole…your hymen torn…your virgin blood on your cunt…dripping from your belly…the sailor pumping into you, hard, his seed filling your belly…Yes, to my bump, you little slut, harder…Yes…You’d be got with child…disgraced, utterly…made just another sailor’s slut…No…not that…a goat…possessed, to mount you, to fuck you, to fill you with freezing seed…to make you spawn the Dark One’s bastard…’
Lucilla screamed, coming full in Lalage’s face.
Three
Lalage peered into the beautiful silver framed mirror in Lucilla’s bedroom. Her face looked back at her, a delicate oval framed in soft brown hair, perhaps a little thinner than when she had entered the nunnery two months before. Picking up Lucilla’s hairbrush once more, she made a subtle adjustment to her fringe, increasing the vulnerability of her look.
Turning, she made an inspection of her bottom, moving a little to show each cheek. There were no blemishes. Aside from the occasional bottom warming at work or in class, she had escaped punishment for a full two weeks. Also, her flesh was becoming more resilient. Even the long hand spanking she had been given across Sister Verena’s knee for no apparent reason had left no evidence.
It had taken a lot, constant meekness, great care with decorum, also asking to be put to work in the nunnery dairy, sweeping out the animals’ stalls. This was an unpleasant task, but inspected by a single Novice, Jael, who seldom rebuked her with more than an idle swat of the hand. Even then, it would not have been possible had not Lucilla been in the sanitorium with a fever. Now, with her hair brushed until it shone and her bottom not only pristine, but creamed and powdered, Lalage felt ready.
‘Are you coming, Lalage? We will be late!’ Benedicta demanded from the dormitory.
‘Yes,’ Lalage answered, and padded quickly to the door.
Benedicta was standing at the window, Coralie waiting nervously by the door, Nest squatting over the communal chamberpot. All three looked up to stare at her.
‘Are you sane?’ Benedicta demanded. ‘They’ll have you in the pillory for vanity.’
Lalage grimaced but said nothing, simply moving to the door.
‘And you have been using Lucilla’s scent, haven’t you? And her powder, and her body cream. Do you have any idea what she will do to you? She marks the pot and bottles, you know, with tiny scratches from a ring, so that she can see if any is stolen.’
Lalage shrugged.
‘She’ll kill you,’ Benedicta assured her, ‘if the Sisters don’t get you first. You’ll be tied in the sluice room sump. You’ll be smeared head to foot in goat’s dung to recite a thousand times the Axioms of humility!’
‘Shut up!’ Lalage answered, and smacked Benedicta’s bottom.
‘You are up to something, aren’t you?’ Benedicta demanded. ‘This is the third day.’
‘Mind your own business.’
‘I know what it is too. You are hoping to be made a pet by an elder, aren’t you? Sister Tryphena is right, Lalage, you are an incorrigible slut!’
Lalage was blushing, but she contented herself with sticking her tongue out as they reached the top of the stairs. Other girls were also on their way to ablutions, and several gave her puzzled or shocked looks. When they reached the passage, she stayed close to Benedicta, hoping to hide in the tall girl’s shadow. By good luck Sister Verena was busy applying the quirt to the bottom of a luckless Supplicant whose head she held trapped between her ankles, while the Novice on duty was the notoriously short sighted Dillian.
She was quick with her ablutions, taking care not to spoil her hair or skin, and she escaped without attracting attention. Chapel and Pillory were easier, the mass of nuns making it simple to hide, while the punishments drew attention elsewhere. Only at the refectory did she leave Benedicta’s side, to sit near the arch through which senior nuns sometimes came to make their choices, most especially Elder Sister Aspasia.
Seventeen days before, Aspasia had taken Sabina for the second time. Afterwards, eight days later, Lalage had coaxed some of the story from her friend. The time had been spent largely as the Elder Sister’s maid, serving in the well appointed rooms above one of the smaller cloisters, and each night sleeping at the foot of the nun’s bed after a number of sexual exercises. Sabina had been punished, and put through a number of humiliations, but nothing worse than those given out by Lucilla, and less frequent.
With Sabina back, Aspasia had taken another pet, a slender, dark-haired girl who Lalage saw only at meal times, being in dormitory in the Old House. Now, after nine days, Lalage was sure Elder Sister Aspasia would be looking for a replacement.
Sure enough, she was no more than half way through her gruel when the quiet, black-robed figure appeared in the archway. Lalage glanced to the woman, trying to make herself seem as vulnerable and winsome as possible, the characteristics apparently favoured by the nun. For a moment she caught a glimpse of Aspasia’s stern, handsome face within the white silk folds of her hood.
Absolute silence had fallen on the hall as the Elder Sister stepped forward. Lalage felt her heart jump into her mouth and looked firmly down, expecting the long, bony fingers to close on her shoulder at any moment. Nothing happened, and when she heard a sharp squeal from another table she risked a glance. Aspasia had selected her girl, Nest, who she was holding by the scruff of the neck. Nest was marched from the refectory, leaving Lalage to look after them in annoyance. Sullenly, she went back to her gruel.
The morning lesson was choral chant, never a good subject for her, and it went badly from the moment she found she was the last in and was given the traditional spanking for sloth. Worse followed, as she was forced to repeat the same piece again and again with Sister Tryphena standing behind her with the strap, to strike her thighs at each mistake. With each cut, Lalage’s mistakes grew worse, until she burst into helpless tears. She was sent to kneel on the punishment bench for the rest of the lesson, with a baton inserted in her bottom hole to remind her of her faults. Her twenty strap cuts were delivered across her legs, and she was made to suck the baton clean before being allowed to go.
Work was thoroughly miserable, shovelling cow dung in the rain while Jael sat watching her from the shelter of the stalls with a steaming hot cup of tea clasped in her hands. The goat stalls followed, out of the rain, but so hot and humid that she was quickly running sweat and exhausted by the time she had finished. She was also plastered in dung, up her legs and on her bottom and one thigh where she had slipped in a cowpat, als
o on her belly and breasts.
Washing off the mess made her late for noon prayer and earned her a scolding and twelve of the cane. She was beaten bent double, grasping her parted ankles on the chapel steps as the Sister who had caught her trying to sneak in delivered the strokes. She was made to count too, and twice missed her number in her pain and confusion, ending up with her previously immaculate bottom criss-crossed with angry red welts.
The afternoon’s work was no better than the morning’s. The rain had stopped, but left the yard awash with wet slurry, which had to be cleared away, before scrubbing the flags on her knees in the hot sun, with dung scented steam rising around her. That left her sodden with sweat and barely able to stand for her exhaustion, so that in place of her evening meal she curled up into a corner to sleep.
That in turn made her late for preparation, and earned her another spanking for sloth and also the state of her body, along with several remarks about how dirty she was and the mess her beatings had made of her bottom and legs from her classmates afterwards. Too tired to really care, she went to the sluice room, washed, and made her way upstairs, meeting Benedicta and Coralie on the landing below their passage. They went up together, Lalage leaning on Benedicta’s shoulder until they reached the dormitory. Lucilla was there, standing at the window to look out over St Quay. She turned as they came in, looking between the three of them.
‘Where is Mouse?’
‘Elder Sister Aspasia took her to serve as a maid for a period,’ Coralie answered.
Lucilla snorted in annoyance.
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