Sister Angelica shuddered as once again the perverts hands began to gently explore her naked body. She was young, in her mid-twenties, and had only recently taken her final vows. Her order was one of the few that still required them to wear a full habit, although hers hadn't received much wear lately. It remained neatly folded with her plain white underclothes on the dresser across the room, right where she'd left it two days before. Without her religious garb, the only thing unusual about her was the shortness of her fine black hair. She was of mixed oriental and hispanic ancestry leaving her flawless skin a smooth golden brown, unmarked by tan lines. Her small firm breasts were perfectly proportioned to her slender five foot, four inch frame. Her tiny waist accented the curves of her hard little butt and slim, well muscled legs.

How naïve she'd been two days ago! She'd gone home to visit her parents and arrived too late to catch a city bus from the Greyhound depot. The pay phone in the bus station was vandalized, so she'd parked her bags in a locker, and gone looking for a working phone. She'd seen plenty of working girls in the bombed out neighborhood near the terminal, but no working phones. They'd done a good job of ignoring her, (and vice versa), until she spotted the little girl by the van. The child couldn't have been much more than twelve. She had to stand on the running board to lean into the van and haggle over the price of her shame. They must have reached an agreement, as she was getting into the van when Angelica pulled her away. She'd had her back to the vans open door when the child whore pulled a knife. Backing up in sudden fear and shock, Angelica tumbled into the van just as the pervert took off.

She'd pulled her act together as the van went a couple of blocks, then stopped again. Thinking he intended to let her get out, it caught her totally by surprise when he grabbed her from behind and pulled her into the vans cargo area. Her struggle was over almost before it started as she felt a sharp jab in her shoulder. The drug he injected never fully knocked her out, but it seemed to turn all her muscles to jelly. It was hardly necessary to slap the final strip of duct tape across her mouth, when he was done with her hands and feet. She lost track of how long he drove around, either to confuse her about where he was going, or because he wasn't sure himself. Finally, he parked in a dark alley, and throwing her limp form over his shoulder, entered what looked like the back of an abandoned warehouse. They took a freight elevator up several floors, and he carried her down a hall into a large loft that had been remodeled into a studio appartment.

The drug was wearing off, but she nearly passed out again when he used a cloth soaked in ether to clean the glue from the tape off her face. He laughed as she staggered towards the door when he ordered her to undress, and allowed her to fumble with the lock until it finally dawned on her that a key was needed to open it. She tried to fight him as he led her back to the corner where a bed and night stand waited. When he ordered her again to undress, she slapped him as hard as she could. In her present state, the blow was so weak it amused him more than anything else. She'd led a sheltered middle class existence before entering the convent. So sheltered she didn't even have a clear idea of what he might do to her, but the thought of finding out scared her spitless. He smiled as he reached out and she felt a sudden jolt to her middle. He'd nailed her right in the solar plexus with a tiny stun gun. She lay jerking and gasping on the floor for some endless time, trying desparately to breath. Just as she was having some success, he nailed her again.

She was wavering on the edge of conciousness and knew that if he zapped her again she would surely die. In that moment, Angelica realized just how much she loved life, and that she would do anything, anything at all, to get him to let her live a little longer. Unable to deal with buttons or zippers in her present state, she clutched the skirt of her habit with shaking hands and began pulling it up. He backed off, and by the time her legs were fully exposed, she'd recovered enough to remove her head dress, and pull the habit over her head. When she was down to her bra and panties she stalled for a time by neatly folding the clothes she'd removed. All too soon though, her last scraps of clothing joined the rest and she stood helpless before him, trying futilely to cover herself with her hands. He reached out to cup the back of her neck and forced her to look into his eyes. She felt like a bird facing a snake as he offered her a deal.

She could submit, totally and without reservation, while he used her to play out his kinkiest fantasies, or she could resist. Surrender would allow her to have some voice, albeit a small one, in what was done to her. She might even be able to disuade him from one act, by offering to become an active participant in something she'd find less intolerable. Physically at least, she'd be in fairly good shape when he turned her loose. Resistance would only ensure that he used physical force to get what he wanted. Depending on how much of a fight she put up, she might not live long enough for him to free her, or be so busted up she'd die wherever he dumped her, before she could get to a doctor. His voice softened and she almost thought she saw a flicker of compassion in his eyes as he told her that if she decided to submit, and later found him demanding more from her than she could give, she could always change her mind. If she fought until she was so hurt she was unable or unwilling to resist anymore, submitting wouldn't make her stop hurting.

His hands had been so gentle when he grasped her wrists, that it caught her off guard, like stepping on a top step that wasn't there. She gave a last fleeting thought to struggling with him, but it was only a moment before she gave in, allowing him to move her arms behind her, and obeying his order to lace her fingers together. She'd fooled around a little with the boys she'd dated, but nothing heavy. Now for the first time in her life she stood fully, nakedly, exposed to a man. She dropped her gaze to the floor and began to blush as his eyes drank in the sight of her. She couldn't help clamping her knees tightly together as his hands began to lightly caress her nakedness. She closed her eyes to avoid watching what his hands did to her, and found herself involuntarily focusing on the sensations of being molested. Soon her thighs were cramping from the strain and aching so much she hardly noticed her nipples hardening under his touch. She must have blushed maroon when he quit nibbling her ear long enough to order her to spread her legs, but she soon had her trembling knees nearly a foot apart.

That didn't keep them from clamping closed the moment his fingers brushed her inner thighs. He sighed, and told her that he didn't expect her to throw off a lifetime of training in a matter of minutes, but if she didn't find some way to show him that she was really trying to cooperate, she was going to start hurting. Glancing frantically around, she was struck by an inspiration. Snatching a pillow off of the bed, she rolled it into a thick cylinder, and wedged it between her knees. Now, no matter how hard she clamped down, his fingers could easily reach her privates. As a fingertip lightly parted her lower lips, she recalled that only once had she allowed a boyfriend to touch her there. The strange sensation it had caused frightened her enough to make him stop.

She was in no position to make this man leave her alone, she couldn't fight him, pleading with him was useless. She didn't know that the exquisitely sensitive bud his searching finger touched was called a clitorus. She realized though that was what he was searching for when he felt her jump, and zeroed in on the spot that had caused it. The funny, fluttery feeling that had frightened her before was even stronger now. Along with it was a tension, almost like a physical sort of anticipation, a very eager anticipation. She found she was arching herself towards him, and tried to pull back, only to feel his free hand slide down to her ass. She told herself it was his light slap and threat to spank her, that made her thrust her privates shamelessly towards him, but deep down she knew he'd just given her an excuse to do what she wanted to do anyway.

She'd started out praying to be delivered from this degradation, then shifted to praying for the strength to endure it. Now she was reduced to a steady chorus of "oh God", as sensations she'd never imagined surged through her. The tension finally broke over into a gut wrenching orgasm that left her so wiped out, she was only vaguely aware of him carrying her to the bed. She began to blush again as she watched him undress, embarrassed not so much by his nakedness, as by her hunger for the sight of a naked man. He noticed the way she looked at him, and smiled as he shed his jocky shorts before lying down next to her. He told her that before turning her loose, he intended to have her in every manner imaginable, but there was no hurry. He invited her to look at every inch of him as closely as she liked, to smell, touch, even taste him if she felt like it. He finally made it an order, and began giving her explicit directions.

She'd been involved in back seat grope sessions with boys while still in high school. She'd even given a couple of hand jobs, though it had hardly been necessary. The boy involved had been so turned on he came almost before his fly was unzipped. This was completely different. She could see the effect her hands had on him as she hesitantly followed his instructions. Also, this time she knew that what she was doing was foreplay. His cock was growing stiffly erect under her gentle touch and she knew there was nothing she could do to stop him from forcing it into her virgin muff anytime he chose. Even if she stroked him until he shot his load, she would still get raped, it would just delay the inevitable.