by HAL

Copyright© 2017 by HAL

Sex Story: The 14th Century, what do you do to punish a monk who mortifies his flesh for the love of God anyway? And what to do with the nun who suffers kleptomania when she gets PMT? Just a short story, hope you like it.

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Reluctant   Historical   .

“Ah, Brother Michael, come in, come in.

Let us dispense with formalities; you know why you are here? Yes” The abbot paused “Brother Michael, you are a good monk, a good man -”

“Please my Lord Abbot, I am no better than others, do not build me up with false pride. I pray”

“-of course, yes. I mean you try hard to serve our Lord as well as any monk. How can I say this? You have one flaw ... you tell the truth, unvarnished, to all”

“And that is a flaw my Lord Abbot?”

“It is when the person you spoke to is the son and heir of Earl Winstock. He is our sponsor and benefactor. And he is offended!”

“Should I speak falsely?”

“NO, no, no. Oh this is difficult. You are unworldly. Perhaps you could moderate; season, yes, season your truth with the salt of diplomacy?”

Arthur, Lord Winstock was a weedy, annoying, lying, snide, spoilt, and stupid heir to the Winstock estate. He was not the right person to speak truth to. When he asked the room whether his fashionable and wholly impractical puffle pants were not the best thing any had seen all said “Yes” with one accord, except the monk serving wine (whose opinion was probably not wanted anyway). The “No” was plain to hear. When Arthur demanded to know who spoke, Brother Michael could not lie by staying silent; when he was asked to explain, he did so. Since his explanation included the words ‘ridiculous’, ‘pathetic’, ‘foolish’ and ‘moronic’, it might be understandable why the son of the great Lord Winstock was angry. And when the doted-upon son is angry, so father is angry. And when the father is angry the tower he is paying for at the monastery may not get finished.

“Punish the little turd! Whip him, beat him. Thrash him. Make that bastard piece of rotting meat suffer!”

“I shall, I shall, my Lord. I promise”

“Swear it, on this bible” Winstock knew monks could be slippery.

“I do so swear”, and he had, the Abbot had to make good his promise. He may not be a good man, or even a good monk, but he was still afraid of going to hell and if he broke a solemn promise sworn on the bible he would be heading for fire.

When Michael had joined the order, many had resented him. He was always up first for matins, always last in the queue for food; regularly berated himself with whippings and even once stood for a whole day in winter in the mill pond to mortify his flesh. Slowly the monks realised that his holier than thou attitude was not an attitude. He really was the holiest man any of them knew. He helped feed the sickest, most pestilential beggar, he prayed for his enemies (including Arthur, Lord Winstock). He bore no grudges, forgave all, loved all. He had one flaw, as the Abbot had said, he told the truth as it was. The Abbot once asked if he over-ate in a jest, a voice from the back said “Yes”. The Abbot could forgive that, Michael was not spiteful (and the Abbot knew he did over eat).

But Abbot St John had promised to punish Brother Michael. How could he do this? A whipping would be welcomed by this ascetic. Bread and water? In Lent Brother Michael subsisted on water alone all day and then only crusts at night. What punishment do you give someone who punishes himself even more?

They talked some more, but there was no way to avoid the problem. He had promised to punish and he must “I shall obey you Lord Abbot, whatever you decide” was the brother’s patient reply.

“Leave now, I shall pray for guidance” Which he did, to no result.

“Abbess Hilda, you bless me with your generous welcome”

“Ah, Abbot St John, it is no more than we would offer any traveller, I do assure you.” They both knew that the next homeless beggar that passed by and begged a room would not be given roast suckling pig, mulled mead and honey tarts; but they each maintained the artifice that the welcome was offered to travellers irrespective of standing or wealth. “And how are your monks? Delivering good deeds I hear?” This was true, the monks provided the local health service, some education, and the requirement to furnish labour – to work in the abbey fields – had provided local farmers with some modern ideas on horticulture and animal husbandry. All in all, the cost of maintaining a monastery or nunnery could be balanced by the good they brought, if they were a beneficent establishment.

“Yes, but...”

“My Lord Abbot?”

“Oh, it is nothing to trouble yourself with Abbess Hilda” Hilda wasn’t sorry not to hear, she had troubles of her own, but she knew what would come next “But I will tell you. I have a monk, Brother Michael by name, who has offended our Lord, I mean our earthly Lord. He requested, and I promised, that the monk be punished. My problem, you see, is that this monk is the most godly, most ascetic, most abstemious monk. There is no normal punishment that I can offer that Brother Michael will not regard as a godsend. He would revel in being beaten. If I branded him he would carry the mark with, if not pride, at least humble pleasure. He is not someone one can punish. I even thought of removing his tongue, but he would see that as enabling him to study the Lord’s words in peace from his own prattling. Yet I swore I would punish him”

“The Lord moves in mysterious ways. I have a nun, Sister Michaela but name; who is also giving me great sorrow. Our coming together must be a sign from God that we should find some way to solve this together must it not?

Sister Michaela is a different case, she steals. Every time her time comes”

“Her ... time?”

“Her womanly time. We are not freed from Eve’s curse by being nuns, more’s the pity. She has returned from the village with all sorts; a blacksmith’s hammer, a jug of ale, even “ here she dropped her voice “the prostitute’s ‘equipment’” The Abbot was a man of the world enough to know what that was “It was very embarrassing having to return it to that harlot!

I have tried all punishments, I have beaten her, whipped her, starved her, confined her to her cell except for meals – she stole a pewter plate, nothing stops her repeating the act. And my problem is I cannot confine her for all time, she is a good and loving healer. It is most vexing. I have prayed for an answer and received no reply until now. We must think and pray together for a way to punish Michael and Michaela. There must be something”

Perhaps it was a divine intervention, perhaps it was merely coincidence; whatever the reason, the solution was agreed. It took time, at first they did not wish to bring it up, both hesitated. It was as if they were dancing round a behemoth. Yes, perhaps they were guided by God, they had the same idea, Hilda had a dream, St John just started thinking in reverse. But they were decent, respectable clerics, neither wanted to be first to mention such a solution.

But they came round to it slowly and finally agreed a plan.

“Come Brother Michael, we are nearly there. Do not hang back”

“Sorry, Abbot, it’s just that ... well I...”

“I know, I know. But you can see my problem. Any normal punishment would be entirely no difficulty for you; this is a genuine punishment for you I think? Perhaps it will teach you to mind what you say in future”

“Yes, Abbot, it will. And yes, it is real punishment. Oh my, dear Lord, let me not enjoy it!”

“No no! That is the punishment I lay upon you, since you reject all pleasure, it is my punishment that you MUST enjoy this”

Brother Michael looked down red faced. He had given a vow of obedience to the Abbot and so he would obey; it would be hard, but he would repent long and long after.

“Here we are, the visitors lodge. Ah, and here is Abbess Hilda.”

“Welcome, welcome Abbot and this is Brother Michael? Yes, welcome both of you. I have taken the decision to house you in my Abbess’ house my Lord Abbot, that the lodge might be empty, but for the two miscreants”

“Where will you sleep?”

“Oh, I shall be content to sleep in a nun’s cell and pray for the souls of our two”

“Quite right. You are most commendable” The Abbess gave a little curtsey to the Lord Abbot, her social superior even if he was her ecclesiastical equal.

“Come, come” The three walked in and opened the chamber door, where a nun’s habit was carefully draped over the chair. In the bed, hands held the bedclothes up to the neck of a pretty, young nun’s head, still cloaked in her coif and veil. “Oh, no Sister Michaela, no, no, no. I think I made it quite clear what was required. Remove that now” Reluctantly the nun removed the final symbol of her office and handed them to the Abbess who placed them on the chair.

“Now” the Abbott said “You both know what is required of you. I am sure we do not need to check you both on the Lord’s day to ensure you have fulfilled the punishment?” It was Friday, they had both thought only one night was required, it transpired they were required to reside together for a two nights and a day between. Novices would leave food at the door through that time. There was to be no rising at dawn for prayer, only for ... well leave that. The Abbot and Abbess poured two glasses of wine for the two poor ‘criminals’, both looking so sad at their future time together. St John had no doubt that, if he hadn’t spelled out the requirements, Brother Michael would have spent the days resisting temptation and revelling in it; he was also sure that since the brother had given his word, he would carry out his promise. Abbess was a little less sure of her nun, but had been reassured that Brother Michael had had the requirements spelled out in detail on what was required.

The senior clerics left, and the two junior clerics looked at each other. It would be hard to say who was most scared. Michaela knew that her virgin purity, was about to be besmirched as a final punishment; she would have to restart her novitiate, if she stole again she would be expelled. As an impure person, she would have no chance of marriage, she would end up doing this for ever. She knew she had to stop her stealing if she humanly could. Michael was aware that he was about to break his vow of celibacy, he would have to starve and punish himself thoroughly after. But he had been given a list of things he was expected to do with this nun, and he had been told to enjoy it.

He sat on the bed and drank the wine, the girl moved up a little. Holding the sheet with one hand, she too drank the wine. “When should we begin do you think?” she asked, hoping he would suggest ‘tomorrow’ or ‘never’.

“I think we must start now, before dinner. My Lord Abbot suggested I should, ahh, well that I should ... well that”

“Yes, yes, what!”

“Twice tonight at least. I do not know how long it takes to recover”

“Twice! Oh my! I must submit to your invasion twice!”

“And eight times tomorrow, with other activities between”

“I shall be worn away! Oh, may we not tell a falsehood, that we have committed the sin?”

“No! Never! I gave my word and I must fulfil my promise” With that, like a man finally steeling himself to jump into the ice cold sea, he lifted his cassock over his head, kicked off his sandals, took the wine goblet from her hand – the first time he or she had drunk from a metal goblet rather than a wooden tankard – and pulled the bedclothes up to see her body.

His flaccid and godly penis became rapidly the broadsword it was meant to be. Neither had much idea what the process was, only that he should enter her. This he did with gusto, thinking that was the right way to show he liked her. She screamed. “AHHH!!!! You are tearing me apart!”

But it was too late, he had broken through the thin veil and was deep within her virgin body. She gurgled as he rose and fell, rose and fell. His technique was bad, most of his movement was up and down rather than in and out; but, if he needed practice, he was most willing to do his duty. He gasped as he ejaculated for the first time in his life; a life of willing, patient, and spiritual celibacy was broken. And, because he had promised, he was not yet allowed the pleasure of regret; he had to grunt and enjoy. He pulled himself out and – as suggested by the Abbot’s assistant, a man who had come to the church later than most – wiped his receding cock on her hairy garden. She said nothing. She had no idea if that was normal, so she assumed it was.

She leaked blood and spunk onto the bed. She wanted to get up and wash, but her Abbess had told her she had to remain entirely naked for the whole time, and she did not wish to display herself. She lay on and leaked on, the naked, sweaty monk beside her. Then she felt his fingers between her legs. “I have to know what you taste of” he said and scooped up some of the leaking goo from her. She jumped as his fingers touched her sensitive body. “Sorry, did that hurt?”

“No. That is, not really. It is as if it wants to be touched. I am, I was a virgin, I joined the church when I was five. My father gave me away because he said girls cost too much, I have no idea what to do. I do know that what is leaking out, is what you put in, plus blood from my torn and broken virginal veil”

He stopped, his fingers in his mouth. He wasn’t tasting her, he was tasting his own spunk! Wasn’t eating a man’s spunk forbidden? Oh, no, that was if it was another man’s. She reached up and pulled his fingers out of his mouth. “Would you just stroke me? It helps the hurt you inflicted”

The result was inevitable for both of them, she slowly found the stroking pleasurable, then exciting, then erotic, then unbearably delightful and gave another scream, this time of enjoyment. He found that stroking a woman’s sticky, woolly, place and hearing her pleasure gave him another erection. He would have stuck her again, be she grabbed it before it entered and asked that he wait. Holding his penis, fully, strongly erect in her hand, she stroked it to give it some relaxation; which of course was the opposite of what it did. She reached to herself with her other hand, she could feel she was leaking more copiously now, this was her. She scooped her own juice up and gave him some from her fingers, which naturally made the innocent monk come all over her hand.

Appalled, she leaped from the bed to wash her hand clean, forgetting for a moment how naked she was; and he watched, fascinated as the first naked woman he had seen jiggled and vibrated and wobbled in wonderful ways. Her breasts bounced up and down as she bounded to the basin and jug of water, her bottom jiggled up and down and her hips sinuated side to side as she walked. He had seen ladies of note walk in the town, elegant and delicate, but none, he thought, walked with such beauty as the nude Eve in front of him.

He got out, suddenly desperate to piss. The lack of privacy dawned on him, and then on her as she heard his plashing flow at the side of the bed. In a day and two nights, much would be seen and done that these denizens of single sex establishments had never been embarrassed by before.

Now he approached the basin too, his cock was still a little drippy, but it was also sticky and uncomfortable. She looked up, she had been bending over and wiping herself dry; she took the wet rag, dipped it in the water and washed him. This was not something she had been told to do by the Abbess – who after all only knew the theory of sex herself – it felt like a service she should do.

As she dried him, there was a knock and then a scurry of feet. The novices had brought their evening repast. And what a repast! Instead of luke warm soup and old bread, the normal fare for the evening at both monastery and nunnery, there was a flagon of hot beef soup, fresh rolls, honeyed biscuits, mead (they hadn’t finished the jug of wine yet!) and a paste with a note from the Abbot. ‘This is toad slime and nettle blended with tadpoles and bird lime. The apothecary swears that it will keep you active as long as you desire. Rub it on well’ It was a greeny-grey ointment that did not look attractive. They agreed they would only use it if they had to.

She, still naked, and he with a cloth across his parts, sat on the rug by the fire and ate. This was decadence indeed! The Abbot was piling on the punishment! Sitting on a sheep fleece instead of the hard stone stool of his cell, warmed by the log fire; he would need months of penance to wash away such luxury.

She was less concerned with the penances and the like and more concerned that the cloth over his loins was beginning to rise. She had been told to accept each and every advance from him; she wasn’t sure if she’d already broken that promise by holding his cock and, unexpectedly, causing him to fire into her hand. If he wanted to mount her again, she’d have to let him. It would hurt, she was sore from the earlier assault, but at least she could rub herself and get lubricated. She had much to learn. As he rose to full stretch, he wasn’t sure how to ask, but she did it for him, simply saying did he wish to have her again, and could she rub herself first.

Watching her rub herself was exciting to him, he wasn’t sure why, and did nothing for her since she could only think of the intrusion she had to accept soon. In addition she was rubbing like she was a magic lamp, not a person needing persuasion. After ten minutes, she gave up. She started to rise to return to the bed, but his ardour was hot and he pulled her to himself, down onto the rug and rammed himself in again. He had promised to give way to the evil desire of lust, and so he had. She found this no less unpleasant than the first; he found it no less pleasant than the first.

After it he was tired and lay on her for a moment, then she shouted “I must make water, quick!”. She had been aware of her growing need to piss, trying to resist, to ignore it. But a man pounding up and down on your bladder makes the need hard to ignore and she grabbed the pot, realising immediately that, unclothed, there was nothing to hide her. She farted as she crouched down and the water started to flow before she reached the pot. He saw this and looked away, but not before he found himself charged with lust again. He had no physical ability to fuck again, but still had the mental need to touch her. When she returned, he found pieces of sweetmeat to feed her, and stroked her shining breasts, breast smeared with fat from the food and sweat from the woman, and then mead from the bottle. He licked it off and she realised there were many more things in sex than simple shoving his dick inside and fucking her.

He sucked her nipples, poured on more mead and sucked again, and as he did so, she learned to stroke her cunny gently. First to easy the ache, then to make it stronger. He was still sucking her nipples, first one, then then other, when she came.

They cleared up the food, put it out of the door for collection (but kept the wine and mead) and slept the sleep of the sexually sated for the first time in their lives.

A 3am they woke as usual, their bodies were tuned to wake for prayers; both briefly forgot where they were, and were confused more by the comfortable bed, the nice sheets and the warm room than by the naked person beside them. Then they remembered, and fell asleep again; feeling guilty at the pleasure they took in lying on in bed. At 6am their bodies once more woke for prayers, the sun was coming up, Brother Michael got out of bed and pissed, then went to the fire to bank fresh logs on the red ashes. He did that and then was surprised at how easy it had become to accept a warm room and a fire instead of his cold room and open window. He turned to see Sister Michaela sitting on the side of the bed, directing pee into the same bowl as his. He turned away to give her privacy and yet found the sight excited him, as did the knowledge that her female pee was mixing with his male piss.

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