She was supposed to crave penance, and in a sense she now did, approaching her punishments with a mixture of expectation and very real fear. Yet the expectation was not for the ecstasy of spirit she was suppose to feel after punishment, but a very different and more earthy ecstasy. Sin gave rise to more sin, which either meant that the church theologies were wrong, or that she really was an irredeemable slut.
The girls in the dormitory were already moving, and Lalage forced herself to get up and go about her morning tasks. Ablutions gave way to Chapel, Chapel to Pillory and Pillory to breakfast, but still she found it impossible to either justify or condemn her actions. By breakfast time she was considering going to a senior nun to confess her sins and ask for clarification on her feelings. Fresh twinges of pain as she lowered her tender bottom onto the hard, wooden bench made her think again.
It would mean the pillory for certain, and while she was sure an explanation would be forthcoming, she was equally sure it would be delivered as a series of Axioms to consider while she hung waiting for punishment, and after. The Prioress alone could give an answer without the associated penance, and even to apply to see the Prioress would mean a beating for presumption, and the confession of her sins anyway.
For once the morning lesson passed without the use of the bench, Sister Tryphena contenting herself with an over the knee spanking for Rosabel and a brief application of the strap to Sabina’s legs. Lalage made for the dairy afterwards, still trying to square her new found feelings with the doctrines she had accepted since childhood. It proved impossible, even with the task of mucking out the goats requiring so little concentration and Novice Jael dozing in the shade of an olive tree.
With the nannies dealt with, she went to the back of the dairy, where the single billy, Baudus, occupied a long paddock beneath the nunnery wall. He was there as always, trotting over to her in the hope of a piece of carrot or a handful of herbs. Lalage gave him the half apple she had rescued from among the slops and pushed her way carefully through the gate. He stayed close as she began to fill a bucket with his dung, occasionally nuzzling her leg, then her bottom as she bent to her work. Lalage shooed him away, gently, then more firmly as she saw that his penis had begun to protrude from its sheath.
As she beat a hasty and undignified retreat over the gate, she was thinking of Nest’s story, and her own reasoning. The law denied the possibility of a goat becoming aroused by a woman unless the animal was possessed. Yet here was a goat, moreover a large black goat, clearly aroused by something, and, judging by where he had put his nose, by the smell of her quim. It was an intensely embarrassing thought, which sent the blood to her cheeks.
Standing outside the gate, she paused. She had cleared perhaps half the paddock, leaving enough dung to ensure that even the lazy Novice Jael would notice, and dish out a spanking, even a dose of the strap. Then again, Jael was unlikely to bother to inspect the paddock, while if she climbed in again, it seemed more than likely that Baudus would continue his investigations, perhaps even try to mount her. He was big, and not always good tempered, so if he did, she had a nasty suspicion she would end up losing her precious virginity to a goat. It was hard to imagine a more undignified end to her career in the nunnery.
He had come close, and the long pink shaft of his penis was now fully out of the sheath. Glancing at it, Lalage found herself wondering how it would feel inside her, and if it would be possible to preserve herself by taking it up her bottom, only to go into blushing confusion at her own thoughts. Trying to think logically, she asked herself if his arousal could mean that he was possessed, as doctrine suggested. She looked into his eyes through the bars of the gate, but could find no red spark of demonism, only her own reflection and a look of patient hopefulness.
Evidently he was not possessed, which meant that she was safe to go into the pen. Putting theory into practice was not so easy, and she hung back, biting her lip and tickling him behind the ear as she wondered if she ought to go in, if she wanted to go in, and if she did go in, what she really wanted to happen. One part of her mind was screaming at her to run, another to stop being silly and get on with her work. A third, tiny, yet insistent, to climb in, get down on her knees and take the fat pink cock into her bottom hole, even her quim.
Recognising the voice of temptation, she walked quickly away, and for the second time that day decided not to make the confession she knew would be expected of her. To her relief, Novice Jael was still propped against the trunk of the olive tree, only now asleep. With a brief prayer for her escape, Lalage emptied her pail into the dung barrel and set to work mucking out and scrubbing down the areas where the cows went.
Noon prayer passed without incident, and she returned to work to find that there was little to do. It had grown warm, the last of the puddles from the previous day’s rain already close to dry, with the air dusty and full of the buzz of insects. With the exertions and pain of the day before, along with spending most of the night making love to Lucilla, she quickly found herself growing drowsy. Novice Jael evidently felt the same, returning to her olive tree and soon asleep. Lalage spent a brief moment wrestling with her conscience, a longer one wrestling with her fear of punishment, and went behind the dairy to find somewhere quiet and comfortable where she was unlikely to be caught.
The billy goat’s paddock ended against a high wall which separated the working areas of the nunnery from the graveyard. Trees had been allowed to grow up, some within the paddock, some in a narrow angle of ground. It was ideal, shaded, grown with long, soft grass, and hidden from any but the most thorough inspection. Lalage walked quickly towards the haven, glancing back from time to time until she was safely in among the trees.
Baudus had not been visible in the paddock, and sure enough, he too had chosen to escape the heat of the afternoon sun, lying down in the shade of a clump of syrex. His eyes followed Lalage as she pushed in among the trees, but with no more than simple, lazy curiosity. Finding a suitable spot, she lay down on her tummy in the grass, with her chin in her hands. The goat returned to placidly chewing the cud.
Lalage thought of Lucilla, and the ecstasy they had reached together under each other’s tongues. All other things aside, if it was a pagan practice, then it was fairly typical. The pagans seemed to get most of the fun, and certainly the sweetest pleasures, particularly the use of the mouth for sexual pleasure. Quim licking was exquisite, and Lucilla assured her that cock sucking could be just as enjoyable. Having her nipples kissed was lovely too, and it was yet harder to see how it could be other than an innocent pleasure. By contrast there was a dirty quality about those bodily sins related to the church and so less serious, that or an association with pain. Most involved making use of the bottom or anus for pleasure, sodomy itself, or any unnecessary insertion. Then there was becoming aroused under punishment, and just becoming aroused for that matter. Worst of all was the pleasure which she and Lucilla had enjoyed the most, and which fell into both groups, enjoying having her anus licked, or taking pleasure in licking an anus. All gave pleasure, and when given freely, as between she and Lucilla, all inspired love. The Lord was love, by definition, yet he had made her body a trap to lead her into every imaginable sin, which seemed to make no sense.
Irritated by her return to the apparently unanswerable problems of theology, she purposefully turned her mind back to what she had done with Lucilla, and what was certain to happen again that night. She had lost count of the number of times she had come. It had been as equals too, and when Lucilla had taken charge or been cruel it had been playful. Best of all had been licking each other, fingers and tongues probing every forbidden orifice, dirty and wanton, and revelling in their sin.
She purred, wondering if she dared masturbate. It would be so easy, a hand slipped under her belly to the soft, furry mound of her quim, a finger to the little bump at the centre. She would soon be there, coming over her delightful memories, and in anticipation of more pleasure to come.
A quick glance showed the narrow strip of grass between
paddock and wall to be empty. She was going to do it, and it would be over Lucilla. There was a moment’s resentment of the memory of how the Tesserette had been so cruel to her before, but no more, and as her fingers found the damp crevices of her sex her memory settled on the comfort she had felt being held.
She gave a low purr, pushing up her bottom and spreading her thighs apart to let the air get to her quim. It felt glorious, the same rude position Lucilla had made her adopt so often, to show off her quim, ashamed, embarrassed, but wet too. Lucilla had always laughed to see her helpless reaction, and that of the other girls. Their shame seemed to act as a spur, as when she had first made Lalage lick her, and what she had said as she came. It was unspeakable, too dirty to be repeated, yet it was what Lalage found herself thinking of as the teasing strokes of her fingers to her sex drew her towards orgasm.
Lucilla had wanted her mounted, by a goat, by a possessed goat, a fucking that would not only take her virginity, but leave her pregnant with the Beast’s child. It was the vilest possible heresy, utterly unspeakable…unthinkable, only it was exactly what she was thinking, imagining Baudus as the goat, catching her as she lay, her quim moist and ready, ready for cock. He would be out of the pen. He would come behind her, quietly. He would mount her, unexpectedly, completely unexpectedly. His huge red cock would push to her hole. She would scream in shock and then in pain as her hymen tore, and he would be up her, pumping into her body to send her into uncontrolled ecstasy as she came under her fingers at the same instant his monstrous phallus exploded seed into her womb…
She had come. She collapsed, panting, overcome by guilt so fierce that she was gritting her teeth and screwing up her eyes, trying to tell herself over and over that she had not done what she had. As the tears burst from her eyes an Axiom came into her head — “the thought of the deed is but the deed without opportunity, and as great a sin”. She had not only thought of the deed, but had masturbated herself to orgasm over that thought.
The only thing she could possibly do was run to the nuns and throw herself on their mercy. She would tell everything, and accept whatever penance she was given as justice, to redeem herself through her suffering, as she must. She stood up, barely able to see for her tears, and turned, determined to do what she knew she must, only to stop. Her resolve vanished as she saw that two figures were approaching along the side of the paddock, one in grey, one in black. Hastily she wiped her eyes.
One was Novice Jael, the other was Sister Clarimon, who was overseer for the whole dairy. The Novice looked distinctly unhappy, and would occasionally reach back to rub at her bottom through her robe, a familiar and alarming gesture. As they came closer, Sister Clarimon spoke.
‘The little brat must be here somewhere.’
Novice Jael answered with a nod and a sniff. Sister Clarimon ignored both, her face set in anger as she scanned the trees. Lalage moved quickly back among the foliage. Sister Clarimon’s expression sharpened. Lalage moved further back, all thoughts of surrendering herself to justice gone in fear of the long brown cane in the nun’s hand.
‘Who is there?’ the Sister demanded. ‘I can see you, you lazy girl. Now come out!’
Lalage stayed still, certain that the Sister could not see her, and was lying. The nuns always lied if they thought it would catch the girls out, as surely as they demanded honesty of others.
‘I am going to count to five,’ Sister Clarimon called loudly. ‘If you are kneeling at my feet before I reach that number, you will be spared the six strokes of the cane you have earned. If not, your punishment will be doubled.’
Lalage knew the trick. The Sister would count slowly. Lalage would show herself. The counting would speed up, and Lalage would get double anyway. She stayed still.
‘Very well,’ Sister Clarimon said, ‘if that’s the way you want it, I shall fetch you out by your ear, and you will go into tomorrow’s pillory for gross disobedience.’
Lalage shrank back against the wall as Sister Clarimon began to march forward. She would be found, it was inevitable, but even as she chided herself for not coming out in the first place she realised that there was a way out. With her heart hammering in her chest she pushed through the bushes, to where the paddock fence met the wall, and over, pulling herself up among the lover branches of the tangled trees to drop down on the far side.
‘Lalage!’ Sister Clarimon snapped as she reached the bushes.
Dropping down behind a berberis, Lalage froze. The smell of goat was strong in her nostrils. A glance to the side showed Baudus’ hairy black flank just feet away, but Novice Jael had been sent into the bushes and was rummaging among them. Shivering, Lalage hugged her own body in a vain effort to make herself as small as possible. Again the Sister called out.
‘Lalage! I know you’re in there! I can see you!’
‘I…I’m not sure she is, Sister,’ Novice Jael answered.
‘Don’t be foolish! Where else could she be? Besides which, I am certain I heard a noise.’
‘Well…’
Jael broke off as Sister Clarimon pushed in among the bushes. Lalage moved a little way back, only for her heart to jump into her throat as something wet nuzzled the bare flesh of her bottom. She turned, her hand to her mouth, to find Baudus looking at her from a matter of inches, his big brown eyes with the same faintly pleading expression as earlier. He pushed forward again, snuffling at her leg, and lower, all too obviously intrigued by the scent of her quim. Lalage tried to push him away, half rose, only to duck back down as Novice Jael’s voice sounded from immediately across the fence.
‘It’s just Baudus,’ Sister.
Sister Clarimon snorted in response. Baudus moved, looking up, obviously at the nun. Lalage lowered herself down, curling into a ball beneath the berberis.
‘Come out, Lalage! We know you’re in there!’ Sister Clarimon shouted.
‘I really don’t think she is,’ Novice Jael answered. ‘Perhaps she was sent on an errand?’
‘Hardly likely,’ Sister Clarimon answered. ‘She is a dairy girl. The other Sisters know better than to use her for errands.’
‘An Elder Sister? A Mother even?’
‘In the dairy?’
Lalage had begun to mumble prayers under her breath. Both women were immediately across the fence, with only the berberis to hide her. All either had to do was lean into the paddock, while she dared not move an inch.
Then Baudus’ head was pressing to her thigh. She could do nothing, only screw her face up as the thick, wet tongue flicked out to touch the salty, sweaty skin of her bottom. She moved her foot, trying to cover her sex. The tongue touched again, in the crease of her bottom, near her anus. In desperation she pulled away.
‘What was that?’ Sister Clarimon demanded.
‘Just the goat,’ Novice Jael answered. ‘I am sure she is not here, Sister.’
The fat tongue touched again. Lalage bit her lip, struggling not to cry out as the muscular tip pushed between her buttocks, to lap at her anus, and again, then again, full on her quim. Lalage’s eyes came open in shock as the goat began to lick up the salty juices still spilling from her newly come sex.
‘No, perhaps not,’ Sister Clarimon admitted.
There was the rustle of foliage as the two women moved again. Lalage stayed down, not daring to move, with the big tongue all the time lapping contentedly at her quim, opening her hole, burrowing between her sex lips, pressing to her clitoris. She bit her lip, hard, struggling to hold in the sudden, unwelcome jolts of pleasure. Sister Clarimon’s voice sounded again, indistinct. Lalage risked a glance as she scrambled frantically away from the inquisitive goat. Baudus gave a little bleat of annoyance and followed, moving his shaggy bulk to reveal a huge, fully erect cock sticking out beneath his belly.
Lalage scrambled up and ran, pushing into the foliage, heedless of the noise she was making. Baudus followed. Sister Clarimon’s voice sounded again, inquisitive, then again, demanding. Lalage reached the wall and flattened herself against it. Baudus advanced, his
cock waggling beneath him, ready for her quim. Again Sister Clarimon called.
Near to panic, Lalage ran, ducking beneath branches, to the corner of the two walls, a curve of stone bulging outwards, steps, a door, decaying on its hinges. She pushed through, the rotten wood collapsing around her, nettles stinging her legs as she came into an area of dim green beneath low trees. Baudus followed, but stopped as his sensitive cock touched the stinging leaves. Lalage also stopped, to meet his great, pleading eyes for an instant before rushing on, heedless of stings and scratches, past trees, with the rounded tops of ancient gravestones sticking up among the nettles, most at angles.
She did not stop again until she reached another wall, of ancient black stone, bulging outward. There were steps nearby, leading up out of the nettles to an archway in which hung the rotting remains of a door. Realising that she was at one of the ancient towers set along the outer wall, she turned away at a new angle, jumping and skipping in a largely futile effort to avoid the nettles. At last she reached a newer part of the graveyard, with the grass mown short among well tended tombs. Immediately she broke into a run, ignoring the surprised looks of two Supplicants tending the graves, out into the chapel close, past the priory and back towards the dairy.
Sister Clarimon was still there, taking her displeasure out on the naked bottom of Novice Jael, who was touching her toes with her robe thrown up for punishment. Lalage slowed as she approached, and hung her head in submission.
‘There you are!’ Sister Clarimon snapped. ‘Where have you been.’
Whipping Girl Page 8