A Nun Defliled_(0)

A Nun deflowered

The sun shone. Leaves rustled gently in the breeze. The brook babbled noisily. Lambs frolicked and played. I was bored. Two hours to spare. Everyone working hard when they saw me approach, then slacking I was bored frustrated and angry.

I wanted a plump wench, though not a plump wench’s inevitable offspring, or a fine lady, though not a fine lady’s acid tongue. The bordello was an hour hence by horse which would make me late home. The day was not going well.

I spied the Convent in the distance. Built upon my land I maintained the Droit de Signeur over the occupants, though I admit I seldom exercised it. For where is the pleasure in ploughing an unwilling wench? Some may enjoy forcing their member up an unwilling channel but not I. I like a channel agape, moistened, ready and willing.

I rode to the door and secured my steed. I banged the door with the heavy iron knocker.

“Go away,” a woman said.

“Open the door!” I ordered, “Do you not know who I am?”

“Lord Goth, sire to half the orphans in our care,” the woman said harshly, “Go away.”

“I shall not, I shall have you for your insolence if you do not keep a civil tongue,” I insisted as I spoke through the key hole.

The door bolts were withdrawn and the door swung. A nun glowered at me, “What do you want as if I do not know.”

“Why an unsullied wench wherein to exercise my cockstaff,” I explained reasonably, “As is my right.”

“Then you must see the mother superior,” she said, “Wait here.”

The wait was interminable. Then the Mother Superior and aged spinster of some 100 years by the look of her and two assistant Nuns swept in.

“Lord Goth, I understand you wish to exercise your carnal rights?” the Mother Superiors assistant asked sarcastically.

“Indeed,” I agreed, she must have been 60 years if a day, thought fully alert unlike the old crow.

“Dear god why? It is Eighteen Hundred and Two, not the dark ages, we seek to eschew the life of debauchery and yet you defile us.” she railed.

“Sister Martha,” the old crow chided.

“Madam how can you eschew that of which you know nothing?” I asked.

“I have see the pain of childbirth many times,” she said.

“And never known the delight of a good cockstaffing, that is no basis for debate,” I taunted.

“Oh very well, the new novices await you,” she conceded.

I went to their dormitory. It hit me like a fist, they were so young. “Are they of age?” I queried.

“Why yes, it is you who have grown old,” she taunted.

“I am but thirty six,” I insisted.

“And I dare say one or more is your daughter sir,” she spoke barbedly. And probably truly for I had been exercising the right on father’s behalf since my own coming of age.

“One more word and I’ll exercise my right on you,” I threatened.

“Too late, your father forced his evil appendage within me already,” she smirked.

The third Nun looked on, her robes were grey not black, “And you madam?” I asked, “Or have you taken a vow of silence?”

She looked at the floor.

“Sister Cecile is taking a rest cure, she is exhausted from her labours among fallen women in the Metropolis.”

She looked quite comely.

“Fallen women?” I asked.

“Indeed, poor broken women forced into debauchery by evil men such as you,” the grey clad nun answered.

“And paid well for doing what they crave,” I countered.

“Crave, they detest every moment,” she replied.

“And how would you know, had a cockstaff up you have you?” I asked angrily.

“No!” she insisted.

“A bride of Christ as yet unfucked,” I smiled, “Then madam I fear our paths are about to entwine.”

“What?” she asked.

“I am afraid Lord Goth has a right to every maid’s maidenhead,” the older Nun explained.