Chapter 3

Audrey was right: they did indeed learn prayers and stuff. But the prayers were like no prayers taught in any church they were familiar with. The Sisters called their god Zebul. It was his physical manifestation Audrey and Susan had encountered that fateful night. The Sisters called themselves the Brides of Zebul. Brides they might call themselves but, Audrey and Susan quickly realised with horror, Sex Slaves would be a more apt description. The sole function of the nuns was to sexually service Zebul and his rutting minions and avatars. Their lives were totally and utterly devoted to this single task. And devoted they were. No pop idol or film star had a group of fans who lusted after him as the Sisters did of Zebul. He filled their waking hours and, for all Audrey and Susan knew, their sleeping ones, too.

That day was the lowest point in their lives. They retired to their cell in despair. Audrey's guilt threatened to overwhelm her. The idea that, for the rest of their lives, they were to be slaves, slaves whose sole function was to act as receptacles for the debauched lusts of a corrupt and immoral demon, filled her with mind-numbing dread. She heartily wished Mother Superior had killed them that first day and contemplated killing herself. It was only the thought that this would leave Susan to face the ghastly future all alone that stayed her hand. She wished, as she had done on many previous occasions, that she had remained in the cell that fateful night. She wished she had never agreed to take the car trip. She wished she had never come to this God-forsaken country in the first place. She wished she had never been born. Susan did her best to comfort her friend but she had to bring Audrey to several orgasms before the distraught girl was calm enough to sleep.

For some time after, Audrey was like a sleepwalker or, more precisely, she behaved as if she was dead and was just waiting for her body to realise it. She went about her daily routine mechanically; learning the nun's so-called religion, absorbing the language, toiling in the fields and kitchen. But learn she did, despite her herself for the power of life is strong and, in that isolated place, the power of Zebul even stronger and he had no desire to lose one of his worshippers, however reluctantly she might have come to his service.

For Zebul did have power and dominion over that small corner of the land that contained the nunnery and its grounds. The relationship between him and his adoring servants was more complex than Audrey realised. He kept the ground fertile. Without his power this small oasis in an otherwise barren land would barely have supported one family never mind several dozen nuns. He gave them beauty. It was his power or, more precisely, his sperm that gave the nuns the bodies of porn stars and the faces of angels. Only by becoming the epitome of femaleness could his devotees achieve their true potential as his servants. To match his overwhelming masculinity they needed to be the ultimate in femininity. He gave them lust. Lust was the energy upon which he depended. Without them being constantly on heat, he would wither and die. And finally he gave them long life. Once they reached the age of puberty and tasted his sperm, time slowed and they would have seen the passing of many generations of those of the outside world, assuming they had had any interest in it. Even Mother Superior, herself in the prime of life, had lost count of the number of summers she had seen come and go.

None of this was actually explained to Audrey and Susan for the nuns had no canon; no Bible or Koran or Torah to give shape to their beliefs. They needed no such aids for they had a living god whose presence needed no interpretation, no leap of faith to accept. As children, evidence of their god was all around them. As novices, they learned the liturgy and the prayers and the peons of praise. They knew, without any shadow of doubt that their god existed and that they were born to serve him. The novices accepted it as fact and eagerly anticipated the day they would be fully initiated into the sisterhood and serve their god the way he deserved and they devoutly desired.

So Audrey and Susan learned with their fellow novices,
Oh, great Zebul, your brides adore you,
We hunger for your mighty weapon and life-giving cum,
We live only for you to service.
We live only to serve you.
Do with us what you will.
Our bodies are yours,
All our orifices are yours to possess as you wish.
Our breasts are yours
They are large and firm for your pleasure
Like ripe fruit they await your mouth
Squeeze our breasts,
Our bulging breasts
Our aching breasts.
They ache for your touch.
Bite our nipples;
We offer them for you pleasure.
Oh, mighty Zebul, your brides revere you.
Our cunts are yours.
Fill us with your cum;
Do with us what you will.
Cram your mighty cock in our hungry cunts,
Our willing cunts,
Our open cunts,
Out hot cunts.
Without your powerful phallus we are incomplete,
We are less than worms in the sand.
Your seed makes us complete.
Fill us with your cum,
Your potent cum.
We give you our cunts,
Our eager cunts.
Our thirsty cunts.
Do with us what you will.
Oh, magnificent Zebul, we live only to serve you.
Without your glorious cock inside us we are nothing.
We are less than the dust in the wind.
Your seed makes us complete.

As she dutifully chanted the words along with the others, Audrey's inner self rebelled at the idea that her existence had been reduced to worshipping a demon's cock. She had been raised as a Catholic but had rejected the hypocrisy of its teachings as soon as she reasonably could and, thereafter, maintained a healthy cynicism about any claims that had to be taken on faith, whether it be of eternal salvation or a get-rich-quick scheme. The young are impressionable, however, and, despite her rejection of the Catholic credo, deep in her unconscious lay the idea that God was an old man with white hair who lived in heaven and watched sparrows dying. That her reason for existence should be reduced to living only for the chance to be penetrated by the outsized prick of a demon was offensive to both her rational and subconscious minds and humiliating beyond belief. Yet her life depended on learning these obscene rites for she had a fair idea of what the initiation ceremony involved and, if she was right, Mother Superior had stated no more than the plain truth when she had said that, if she was not properly prepared, it would kill her. So she did her best to suppress her natural rebelliousness and cynicism and persuade herself that she genuinely believed the words she was saying.

As humiliating as the words she was learning was the method of instruction. Sister Moriah was as stern as she was beautiful. Her slightly hawkish features were leavened by flashing dark eyes and a mane of raven hair. Her breasts, from the points of which her blue habit hung in soft folds, rivalled those of Mother Superior and both Audrey and Susan found themselves dreaming guiltily of what it would be like to be naked in Sister Moriah's arms and suckle on these fabulous points.

For all her lust-inducing beauty, Sister Moriah was a martinet. The Novices learned or were punished; and punishment was swift, severe and embarrassing. Audrey and Susan were appalled when Jemima, a girl who appeared to be no more than fourteen or fifteen, answered a question incorrectly and was summoned to the front of the class. There, she was made to lift her habit and bend over, exposing her bare bottom to the class while Sister Moriah inflicted on it a number of blows with a thin, flexible cane. The girl returned to her seat with tears in her eyes and had some trouble sitting still for the remainder of the morning.

Audrey and Susan received special attention. They were newcomers, behind the others and on a limited time. Sister Moriah pushed them hard as Susan found out when she made a slight error on a simple catechism. Trembling like a leaf and with her face red with embarrassment, she took her place at the front. She didn't know which was worse, the idea that her genitals were exposed for all to see or the anticipation of the first blow. The cane whistled as it descended and she discovered that the reality was even worse than either of these as ribbons of pain lanced through her body. She tried to control her reaction but was unable to prevent herself half straightening. For that she received three extra blows. She was barely able to concentrate when she returned to her seat but knew she must at all costs for Sister Moriah made no allowances for stinging bottoms and hard wooden seats. Thereafter, rarely a day went by without one or other of them having to bare their bottoms and receive at least a couple of chastising strokes.

While prayers and invocations and chants were important, they were not the only way in which the Sisters paid homage to their god. They danced: not a quick-shuffle-and-a-hop sort of dance or a gospel-style swaying and stamping of feet. The dances the nuns performed would have made a veteran lap-dancer blush. Their purpose was to show that the dancer's body was a suitable receptacle for the God's seed. Each dancer's aim was to entice her god to choose her instead of the person next to her; to show that she was the most worthy receptacle for his semen. Not that they were free-for-all competitions. Each move, each posture, each gesture was stylised and ritualised and carefully choreographed. Audrey was reminded of a Bollywood movie she had once seen except, of course, that the censor would have heart failure if dances such as these should be captured on film.

Audrey and Susan found the dancing the extremely difficult. Before they could gain proficiency they had to first slough off the inhibitions imposed by their cultural background which regards the sexual exhibition of the body as taboo. And the dances were not designed so much to exhibit their bodies as blatantly flaunt them. They had years of inhibition to overcome. Their introduction was a demonstration by one of their fellow novices. She whirled and gyrated, thrusting out her cunt as she swivelled her hips, cupping her budding breasts, offering her anal opening. If she had done this in front of a group of men, they would all have cum in their pants without laying a finger on her. As it was, both Audrey and Susan ended up with stiff nipples, decidedly damp cunts and a desire to spirit the girl away and fuck her senseless. Learning to dance was not just difficult and humiliating but painful. They were required to dance in the nude and Sister Bethel possessed a long whip like a buggy whip which she applied liberally to any handy part of the dancer's anatomy in the correct belief that this would stimulate them greater efforts. Once they had learned the basic movements, Audrey and Susan discovered that the way to success was to stop thinking about what they were doing and let their bodies move almost instinctively.

The most bizarre part of their education, however, involved dildos. Every morning they were required to insert a smooth hollow cylinder with a slight taper into their cunts and keep it in place until nightfall. Initially the cylinders were small but still it was hard to keep them in place. The cylinders became wet and, being smooth, began to slip out. For the first few days, they were continually having to stop and lift their habits to push the slippery cylinders back home, much to the amusement of their fellow Novices. What made it worse was that the cylinders jiggled around as they moved and they both came more then once, making the business of keeping the cylinders in place even more difficult. The muscles of their inner thighs, buttocks and abdomen ached all the time.