The bell tolled, and I opened my eyes. Another day had begun at Saint Benedict’s. I pushed the coarse blanket off me and stood. I used the toilet in the corner of my cell and then poured a bowl of cool water. I soaked the flannel, rubbed it with coal soap, and washed myself. Finally cleaned, I prepared to dress.

I have three bras: one to wear, one to wash, and one to rest. This was the standard three-bra rule at St Benedict’s; it made our bras last longer and so saved funds for more important things. I put on my ‘one to wear’ bra, a simple white sports-style bra. It only had one job: give me support for my DD-sized bosom.

Knickers were next, white cotton that covered everything that needed covering and captured any drips that may fall; no one wants to leave a trail of drips. I took my tunic from its hanger on the clothes rail, like my bras, in fact, all my clothes. I had three tunics, all black and all reaching to the floor.

With my tunic on, it was time for my scapular, veil, and cincture. I hung my cross around my neck, and now it was five o’clock. I wound my clock up so that the time would be correct for another day, opened my door, and went for morning prayers to the Office of Prayers.

After Holy Mass, it was time for breakfast. Breakfast was simple porridge, glasses of water, and then some quiet reading from the Bible. That took me to eight thirty. I had time to go and wash my clothes and put them to dry before Father George came for his morning visit. I was not sure if I would get time alone with him or not.

By the time I had finished washing my clothes, it was nine fifteen. I went into the Great Hall, and Father George was sitting quietly; there was no one with him.

“Father,” I said quietly from behind him.

“Sister Mica,” he answered, raising his head and looking at me.

“I need to speak with you, if I may.”

“Yes, of course you may. We can go into my office if you would prefer.”

“I would.”

He got up, and I followed him to the office that he had been allocated. He came to the convent most days, and Mother Superior had given him use of an office off the main corridor that leads to the Great Hall. He went in first, and I followed, shutting the door behind me. I turned the key in the lock, as slowly as I could, shuffling my feet to try and mask the sound of the tumblers turning.

“How can I help you, Sister?” he asked.

Sister Victoria had told me two days ago that he had touched her, touched her where no man should touch her, and he told her that it was a direction from God. Blasphemer; that was no more from God than I was the Virgin Mother. He had lifted her habit and pushed her knickers to one side.

Sister Victoria had been a virgin, a true virgin nun, and Father George had taken that from her. He had made her lean over a table, and he had thrust his dick into her untouched fanny, hard and deep. She had gasped, unsure at first of what he was doing and unsure of the feelings of pain and then pleasure. She had gasped as he thrust; she had stayed bent over as he took his pleasure. She had said nothing when it was over. Father George had simply withdrawn and left.