Lalage glanced at the Novice’s stripy bottom cheeks. She could confess, or she could lie.
‘I…I was sent on an errand,’ she panted, and suddenly realised that she needed to explain the blazing nettle rash on her legs, ‘to…to read an inscription on a stone in the old part of the graveyard, by…by Mother…Blessed Mother Keturah.’
Four
Lalage had told a lie. It had been on the spur of the moment, yet it was well calculated. Mother Keturah had a reputation for uncompromising severity. She held ultimate responsibility for the Salvatoras, and had been known to have even Elder Sisters put in the pillory. Sister Clarimon would not dare ask if the story was true, for fear of being accused of impertinence and herself being caned, or so Lalage hoped.
It proved true, but left her with a persistent and agonising fear of discovery. For the next week she was constantly glancing over her shoulder, and her heart would jump at every unexpected noise, and at every opening of a door. To be caught meant the pillory, and a full explanation, perhaps under punishment. In the agony and ecstasy of confession, she was not at all sure if she would be able to hold in the full story, and a sin far worse than shirking her work.
Her behaviour became as close to the immaculate standard expected by the nuns as it was possible to be. Humble, diligent and quiet, she went about her duties and tasks, day after day. Only at night did she let her true feelings show, cuddled close to Lucilla, or taking turns between each other’s thighs. She also shared the story, Lucilla making her repeat the details of the goat’s arousal several times before masturbating over the same lewd fantasy.
A full week passed and she began to relax. Even in the unlikely event of Sister Clarimon and Mother Keturah sharing a conversation, it was hardly probable that the brief use of a Supplicant to run an errand would be mentioned. There would be more important things to discuss, Lalage was sure. On the eighth day she watched Pillory instead of hiding among the crowd with her head hung, and at breakfast allowed herself to join in the silent communication of gestures and expressions the girls used while overlooked by the nuns.
She was seated with Benedicta, Coralie and Sabina, on a bench with her back to the central aisle. When Nest came to join them she was greeted with smiles and questioning looks. The response was a dog-like lolling of Nest’s tongue, a gesture conveying exhaustion and hard work, then the exaggerated wince that meant a punishment. Lalage nodded in sympathy, and went back to her gruel, wondering how things would now be between herself and Lucilla.
A sudden hush and a look of alarm on Benedicta’s face put her heart in her mouth. Not daring to look around, she hung her head. Soft footsteps sounded, behind her, in the aisle. Coralie’s lips moved in prayer. A shadow fell over them. Bony fingers locked together on Lalage’s ear.
She squeaked in pain as she was pulled roughly to her feet, and almost fell as she struggled to disentangle her legs from the bench. No notice whatever was taken of her difficulties. She was simply hauled upright by her ear and dragged stumbling towards the arch in the refectory wall. Only when she saw the black robe and white hood of an Elder Sister did she realise that her captor was not Mother Keturah.
The knowledge brought little relief as she was taken from the hall. A dark corridor gave way to a small cloister she had never seen before, another corridor, and a steep spiral staircase. The nun, Elder Sister Aspasia for certain, said nothing, and never let go of Lalage’s ear, even when climbing the stairs. At the top was a single door, which Lalage was pushed through and sent stumbling onto a richly woven carpet.
‘Kneel,’ the nun ordered.
Lalage scrambled into position, knees together, hands folded in her lap, head bowed in submission.
‘Understand,’ the nun spoke again, quietly, ‘that for a period you are to be my maid. You will do what you are told, when you are told, without hesitation. You will not speak unless a question is addressed to you. Error will be punished.’
She turned on her heel, back through the door, leaving Lalage kneeling on the carpet. Suspecting a trick, she stayed down, moving only to rub at her sore ear. Sure enough, the door opened again after a minute or so, the Elder Sister coming to stand over her, and speaking.
‘So, an obedient one, that or of bovine stupidity. I suspect the latter. I am Elder Sister Aspasia, girl, as no doubt you know. What is your name?’
‘Lalage, Elder Sister.’
Aspasia didn’t answer, but walked past Lalage, to a chest, from which she drew an object made of leather straps and brass buckles. It was thrown to the carpet in front of Lalage.
‘This is a head basket, a device designed to keep brats in their proper place. Put it on.’
Lalage hastened to obey, picking up the object and turning it in her hands. As the name implied, it was designed to enclose her head, and she pulled it on, trying twice before it settled correctly. A few adjustments to the buckles and it fitted snug, a cage of leather, encasing her head from neck to scalp but leaving her mouth free. Three straps remained, longer than the others, one at either cheek and one at her forehead, their purpose unclear. A braided lead led from the rear of the collar, hanging down at the back to the crease of her bottom. Elder Sister Aspasia reached down, to clip a lock off behind Lalage’s neck, then took the lead.
Lalage followed as the older woman began to walk, crawling over the soft carpet, through one door, to a bedroom carpeted in blue and hung with fine tapestries. Lalage imagined herself being put to use, but Elder Sister Aspasia walked on, through a second door, to another room, as bare as the others were lavish. The lead was twisted around an iron loop projecting from the wall and locked off, leaving Lalage helpless. Elder Sister Aspasia left without another word.
For a while Lalage knelt, ready for the woman’s return. Nothing happened, and she quickly realised the Elder Sister had really gone. Making herself as comfortable as possible on the hard boards, she lay down.
Other than a pot, the room was completely bare. A single window admitted light, and that small and set so high in the wall that it gave only a tiny glimpse of sky. The lead was short, keeping her in the room and close to the wall. She could do nothing, save stay as she had been put, and pray, or meditate on her sins, as she was supposed to at every available opportunity.
Time passed. She slept, briefly, and woke to the sound of the suite door opening. Quickly she scrambled up into a respectful kneeling position, but it was only a Novice, who had come to tidy the room, and who ignored Lalage as if she did not exist. The woman left, more time passed, until again the door opened. This time Lalage did not see who had entered, but soon realised that it was the Elder Sister herself, working in another room beyond the comfortable sitting chamber she had first seen.
Briefly the sun slanted directly into the high window in Lalage’s cell, making a beam of sharp yellow light through the dusty air. It passed, fading, and still she was ignored, with only the faint scratching sounds of a quill to mark the Elder Sister’s presence at all. Finally she heard the sound of a chair being pushed back, and a moment later Elder Sister Aspasia appeared in the doorway.
Without so much as a glance for Lalage, the nun lifted her robe and the silk shift beneath, revealing silk stockings tied above the knee. With her bare bottom towards Lalage, Elder Sister Aspasia squatted down on the pot. Lalage heard the hiss of urine and caught the sharp smell, mingled with the scent of quim.
‘Deal with that,’ Elder Sister Aspasia ordered as she rose.
‘Pray pardon, Elder Sister Aspasia,’ Lalage answered, ‘but my lead is locked. Nor do I know the way to a sluice room.’
Elder Sister Aspasia turned Lalage a glance of utter contempt.
‘Drink it, you stupid girl.’
‘Drink it, your piddle?’ Lalage managed.
‘What else?’ Elder Sister Aspasia snapped.
‘But…’
‘Should I be inconvenienced for your sake?’
‘No…’
‘Should my time be taken up with your needs?’
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sp; ‘No, Elder Sister…’
‘Then drink. If you go to the sluice room I might need you. This way you keep the piddle in your belly and can still be useful.’
‘But…’
‘Drink!’
Elder Sister Aspasia turned sharply on her heel, took two brisk steps into the bedroom and returned, clutching a cane. Lalage squealed in pain as the Elder Sister’s bony hand twisted in her hair, then in shock as she was dragged to the pot and her face held over it, just inches from the contents.
‘You will obey!’ Elder Sister Aspasia snapped. ‘You will do what you are told, when you are told, without hesitation. Did I not say this?’
‘Yes, Elder Sister Aspasia,’ Lalage babbled, ‘not this, I beg…’
Her plea was cut off as her face was pushed firmly down into the urine and pressed against the hard china of the pot. She had closed her eyes in time, but some had gone into her mouth, and more up her nose. The next instant the cane landed hard across her upturned bottom and her mouth had come open, immediately filling with urine.
‘You will learn to obey me, without question!’ Elder Sister Aspasia shrieked, and once more brought the cane down on Lalage’s helpless bottom.
A third stroke fell immediately and the caning became a frenzied, vicious attack, the thin stick lashing down over and over on Lalage’s bottom as her face was ground into the chamberpot. Unable to breathe, she could only blow bubbles in the urine, making it froth up around her head, filling her ears and wetting her hair. Each stroke was agony too, making it impossible to control herself, or do anything other than kick her feet and bat her hands on the floor in futile protest. Elder Sister Aspasia kept on caning, silent except for the occasional angry hiss, until at last, with Lalage in panic stricken fear, it stopped.
Lalage pulled her face up, urine running from her nose and mouth, then exploding from both orifices as she went into a coughing fit. Elder Sister Aspasia ignored her, waiting until she had regained control over her breathing and could look up, still with urine running down her face and dripping from her hair and the straps of her head basket.
‘The pot,’ Elder Sister Aspasia ordered.
Reluctantly, Lalage lifted the pot. She put it to her lips. Her face screwed up as she tipped it, and more tightly still as the urine touched her mouth. Then she was drinking, swallowing down gulp after gulp of the acrid fluid, more spilling from the edges to run down her neck and over her naked breasts. Twice her stomach tried to revolt, but both times she fought back the sick in her throat, to finish the contents of the pot. She looked up, expecting to see Elder Sister Aspasia grinning down at her in lust and cruelty, but met a gaze of complete indifference. The Elder Sister spoke.
‘I will advise you. You are not to see such acts as degrading. They are entirely suitable for your rank. Indeed, you must consider such service a privilege.’
‘Yes, Elder Sister Aspasia.’
‘Then why the look of disgust?’
‘I…the…the taste is unpleasant, Elder Sister Aspasia. I am honoured that you should choose me as maid.’
‘The taste is unpleasant!? Do you think the Prophet Zullah spoke that way to our Lord at the miracle of the locusts? No, he gave thanks, as should you!’
‘Then I give thanks, Elder Sister Aspasia.’
The Elder Sister reached down, to tilt Lalage’s chin up with a bony finger.
‘You are a remarkably stupid girl, aren’t you, Lalage?’
‘Yes, Elder Sister Aspasia.’
‘Extraordinarily stupid, in fact. Months you have been here, and still you have not come to understand your place.’
‘Yes, Elder Sister Aspasia…I mean, no, Elder Sister Aspasia.’
‘Do you? Do you understand at all, I wonder. I am an Elder Sister. Thirty-three years I have served our Lord. And you, you are a mere Supplicant, nothing. Yet you dare to question me!’
‘I do not question, Elder Sister Aspasia.’
‘You question, Lalage. You question by your reaction to the service I require of you. Any service, from you to me should be an honour, to be accepted with suitable humility. If you hope to enter this order, you must learn not to question those older and wiser than yourself.’
She turned, replacing the cane on the table she had taken it from, and continued on to what seemed to be a study. Presently the thin scratching noise of the quill could be heard once more. Lalage had stayed squatting on the floor, the now empty pot in front of her. Her face, her hair, her chest were soiled with urine, while the boards beneath her were wet. Worse, the straps of her head basket had begun to stick to her skin and hair. She could also feel the effects of the caning, a mesh of hot lines across her bottom and the backs of her thighs where new welts had been laid on over old. Blowing out her breath, she wiped the worst of the piddle from her face and knelt up, careful to keep her striped bottom clear of the pee as she knew how badly it would sting her welts.
More time passed, with the urine slowly drying on Lalage’s skin and in her hair, until it had become sticky and uncomfortable. Briefly she considered calling out for Elder Sister Aspasia, only to dismiss the idea as likely only to lead to further suffering. Finally she heard the chair pushed back once more. As the Elder Sister approached, Lalage wondered how best to beg a visit to the sluice room, but at the sight of the harsh, merciless expression on the tall woman’s face, she found herself unable to speak.
Elder Sister Aspasia ignored Lalage, as before, and as before, she lifted her robe and shift to squat over the pot. The was a brief gush of pee, abruptly over, and then the nun’s anus began to pout. Lalage watched Elder Sister Aspasia defecate in mounting horror.
Finished, Elder Sister Aspasia rose and pushed out her bottom to Lalage, the cheeks held wide. Lalage swallowed hard, but she did not need to be told. Trying desperately not to look disgusted, and to fight down the memory of her reaction to the same act with Lucilla, she pushed her face into the musky crevice. Scared of the cane, she immediately applied her tongue to the newly soiled anus, licking it clean both quickly and thoroughly. Elder Sister Aspasia made no remark, but dropped her robe as Lalage drew back, and turned. Lalage swallowed again, struggling to keep her face serene as she picked up the pot.
‘What are you doing?’ Elder Sister Aspasia demanded.
‘I…’
‘Revolting brat! Go to the sluice room, immediately. Get rid of that, do your own business and be back here with a mop and bucket before the noon bell, or you will get another dose of the cane. Now go.’
As she spoke, Elder Sister Aspasia had reached to unlock the lead. Lalage fled, only realising that she had not asked where the sluice room was when she was on the stairs. Not daring to return, she began a frantic search, running down corridors and along the sides of cloisters, as often as not a way she had already come, until finally she stopped, to burst into tears of frustration and despair. A Sister was approaching along the passage.
‘Pray pardon, Sister,’ Lalage asked, ‘but please could you direct me to the nearest sluice room.’
‘Do you seek to make a mockery of me, child?’ the Sister demanded.
‘No, I…’ Lalage gasped. ‘I…’
‘Then why ask such a question when you stand at the door to the sluice room?’
Lalage babbled her thanks and dashed in at the arch. The sister went her way, leaving Lalage to wash herself and the pot with frantic urgency, expecting the toll of the noon bell at any moment. She was sure she had heard the quarter strike, and that she had no time, and ran from the sluice room still dripping wet, only to realise that she was lost. Panic gripped her, and she dashed towards where a section of arched cloister showed at the end of the passage. On reaching it she realised she had never been there before, but ran across it anyway, to find herself at the entrance to what she was sure was the right corridor. She ran down it, found the spiral stair, dashed up it, taking three steps at a time, only to hear the clang of the bell even as she reached the door. In despair she pushed in to the sitting room, to find Elder Si
ster Aspasia seated by the window, sipping some dark amber liquid from a tiny glass. Defeated, she turned and bent to take hold of her ankles, offering her bottom for the cane.
‘Do stand up,’ Elder Sister Aspasia said. ‘I have no wish to see your dirty cunt. Refill my glass, then run to the senior refectory and tell them I will eat in my rooms today.’
Lalage stood, blushing. Elder Sister Aspasia held out the glass, which Lalage filled with trembling fingers before leaving once more. Now more sure of her way, she found the senior refectory and was given the meal at no cost other than an irritable smack on one thigh from the cook. Returning, she set the tray down on what she hoped was the right table and knelt, waiting for orders.
Elder Sister Aspasia ignored Lalage, rising to eat in a slow, methodical manner, her mind clearly on more important things. The meal was slices of some pale meat served in a rich gravy, along with a side dish of steamed vegetables. After months of gruel, Lalage found her mouth watering at the scent. At last Elder Sister Aspasia finished and looked down at Lalage.
‘You wish to eat?’
‘Please, yes, Elder Sister Aspasia.’
‘Use your mouth alone.’
‘Yes, Elder Sister Aspasia.’
The plate was put down on the floor, beside Lalage. It held only two small pieces of gristle and a smear of gravy, but Lalage felt real gratitude as she knelt down, to take up a morsel in her lips. Watching, Elder Sister Aspasia gave a light laugh, the first evidence of humour she had shown. Lalage took no notice, chewing on the tough gristle and savouring the taste of the gravy. Again she dipped down, to take up the second fragment, and again, to lick at the plate, a gesture which again drew laughter from Elder Sister Aspasia. Finished, but not daring to speak, she rocked back into a kneeling position, waiting. Elder Sister Aspasia looked down at her.
‘You are quite a pretty little thing, aren’t you?’
‘I am sure I don’t know, Elder Sister Aspasia,’ Lalage answered carefully.
Elder Sister Aspasia chuckled.
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