Black Wedding

By Razor7826 (Copyright 2008.)

(This story in no way represents the views and opinions of its creator)

       On the sixth day of the sixth month of the sixth year of the new millennium, a ritual was being prepared.  Beneath the modern architecture of Saint Brian’s Church slept a series of old tombs built long before the surrounding town took shape.  The ancient tunnels bustled with uncharacteristic activity.  Nuns, the faithful servants of God, carried equipment and tools back and forth, cleaning the dust and cobwebs that had filled the catacombs during the year since their last use.  They rushed back and forth, their minds set only on pleasing the deity that had long ago sworn life-long allegiance and faith to.

       However, the God that they served was not our own. 

       -----------

       Lauren Walnut rode her bicycle down the old, cracked sidewalk, appreciating the summer breeze against her long blond hair.  It was warm and dry, exactly as she liked it.  However, her plans for a peaceful day reading were interrupted when she returned home.  A black sedan sat parked in her driveway, tinted windows obscuring the owner’s identity.  She hopped off her bicycle and let it crash onto the front lawn.

       “Hello?” she asked as she huddled closer to the car in vain hopes of seeing through the blackened glass.

       The back window on the driver’s side lowered.  “Hello, Lauren.”

       “Sister Agatha?”

       Lauren immediately recognized the passenger as one of her former teachers.  Just weeks ago, she graduated from Saint Brian’s, a private high school managed by a group of nuns.  Though she didn’t particularly care for the school, she carried no grudges against the faculty or students.

       However, that did not make Agatha’s presence any less surprising or unwelcome.

       “I’m sorry to interrupt your day, Lauren, but do you have a moment to discuss some matters of vital importance?

       Lauren leaned closer and saw that the middle-aged nun was not wearing her usual habit.  Instead, she wore a black suit, a wide brimmed black hat, and black pearls—an unusually grim look for head nun.  “What is it, Sister Agatha?”

       “Please, let us go for a drive.”

       “Let me leave a not for a parents…” said Lauren as she turned towards her home.

       “There is no need for that, Miss Walnut.  It will only be a few minutes.”

       Though the oddity of the situation—of Agatha’s tone, her grim attire, the mysterious chauffeur—struck Lauren as genuinely bizarre, she trusted her teacher.  IF there were any rules at Saint Brian’s, it was to respect your elders.  Always, and without question.

       Agatha slid over to behind the passenger seat to allow Lauren to climb in.  The interior was lush black leather that looked and felt far beyond the pale of a simple ministry.  The car pulled out of the driveway and began driving down the street.

       “Wow, Sister.  This is nice.  I had no idea the church was so well off.”

       “Thank you, Miss Walnut, though this is not the property of Saint Brian’s.

       “Then whose is it?”

       “That of our great benefactor, which brings us to the purpose of today’s meeting.”

       Lauren turned back towards her former teacher.  “Who is this benefactor?”

       “Why are you concerned?  Would you like to meet him?”

       “No, I’m just curious.”

       “Well, he would like to meet you.”

       Lauren’s heart stopped.  “Meet… me?”

       “Yes.  He’s had his eye on your for quit some time.”

       Lauren reached over and tapped the chauffeur on the shoulder.  “Sir, you can drop me off here, please?”

       The driver responded, surprising Lauren with a high, feminine voice.  “Sorry, Miss, but I will only do what Sister Agatha tells me to do.” 

       “Sister Agatha?” asked Lauren, her voice straining in discomfort.

       The nun laughed.  “I’m afraid I can’t let you out here.  You have a date with our master.”

       Lauren pulled her arms against her chest defensively.  “Stop it, Sister.  This isn’t funny anymore.”

       “Funny, Miss Walnut?  It was never meant to be funny.”

       Lauren squirmed in her seat and kneaded the edge of her skirt.  None of it was making sense; her school was poor, consistently begging for money from fundraisers.  How could they afford the limo?  How had she not heard of the benefactor? 

       She looked towards the door handle, then back to Agatha.  The moment the car stopped at a sign, she pulled and pushed.  The door did not open.  She tried again, but still it did not budge.  As she pulled on it harder and harder, she realized that it was connected to nothing.  It was just a useless piece of metal, attached to nothing, present only to give the impression of freedom.

       “Calm down, Lauren.  I don’t want to have to sedate you.”

       She turned to yell at the nun, but stopped.   Sister Agatha had produced a gun, probably from the tiny black purse she kept on her lap.  “Sister?”  A cold sweat broke on her face.

       Agatha smiled triumphantly.  “That’s better.  Now, just stay calm.  We don’t have much farther to go.”

       Lauren could tell where they were heading.  To meet the benefactor.  To Saint Brian’s. 

       She calmed down and accepted her fate, at least for the moment.  The nun had a gun, and she was known to be a truly harsh disciplinarian.

       They continued in silence.  When the black sedan reached the empty church parking lot, the driver spoke.  “We are here, Madame.  Will you need me for anything else today?”

       “No, this is fine, Rebecca.  As usual, your presence is requested at the ceremony.”

       “Understood.”  The driver exited the car and opened up the driver’s side back door from the outside.  “Come on, Miss.”

       Agatha swashed the gun towards the door, hinting at directions.  Lauren understood their meaning and crawled out, followed moments later by the middle-aged nun.

       For the first time, Lauren got a good glimpse of Agatha’s attire.  It was a funeral dress; a long-sleeved coat, a long skirt, and stockings, all black and topped with a wide brimmed hat.  The only thing lacking was a veil.

       “So what are we here for?” asked Lauren, anger and confusion evident in her voice.

       Agatha raised the gun from her side and pointed it at Lauren.  “You’ll know soon enough.  Now, follow Rebecca and everything will go okay.”

       The chauffer nodded and began walking for the churched.  For the first time, Lauren got a glimpse of the woman to find it wasn’t a woman, but a girl like herself.  It was Rebecca Paulos, a girl in the same class as Lauren and recent graduation of Saint Brian’s.  From their limited interactions with each other, Lauren knew her to be a devoutly religious girl, one that always did what the sisters asked of her.  Perhaps that is what led her to her current job, but perhaps not.

       Lauren felt the muzzle of the gun press into her back and she darted forward to catch up with her guide.  The church was mostly deserted on the weekday afternoon, save for a small scattering of cars near the chapel entrance.

       Inside, the lights were off, leaving tinted natural light scattering through the small stained glass windows that adorned the walls.  Though not nearly as elaborate as those of her previous church, they were nonetheless impressive.  She was scared of what stood in store for her, but it did not prevent her from once again appreciating the detailed artistry that went into their production.

       The panes glass told a story, one with much deeper meaning than Lauren would ever realize.  At first glance it appeared to be the story of Jesus, a robed man painted in profile leading his followers and fighting against guards, but the six windows took a different perspective on the man’s apostles.

       All that he defended, all that he led, were women.  In all the years of mass at the tiny suburban church, not a single parishioner had asked their meaning or what biblical passage it came from.

       It came from a biblical passage, but not of the one we call our own.

       The trio of women walked down the central aisle, the chauffeur leading the prisoner forced by the woman of God.  Countless times Lauren had crossed the church, but never before in fear or uncertainty.

       They entered the rectory to find it filled with all of the church’s nuns, though among their numbers were many she did not recognize, while others she knew but not as sisters.  There was Sisters Maria and Sara, the half-French, half-Spanish twins that taught foreign language. Sister Ann, the youngest and most voluptuous of the teachers.  Sister Henrietta, a mean and bitter red-head in her mid-thirties.

       Then there was Paula Summers, the wife of the town’s wealthiest man.  And Tina Scalding, veteran police officer that always seemed kind, understanding, and cooperative.

       Their dresses were not the simple black and white habit she was accustomed to seeing.  Instead of white trim, it was black, and not just simple black but a deep and shimmering shade.  Lauren could tell that the fabric was something expensive, something far more expensive than the impoverished church could easily afford. 

They all turned and stared quietly at the captive Lauren

       “What are you all staring at me for?” asked Lauren, her words slurred by fearful haste.  Nobody responded.  “Anybody?  Please, tell me what this is all about?”

       “You mean she doesn’t know?” asked Sister Ann.  “She’s… one of those?”

       Sister Agatha snapped back quickly.  “Of course she’s one of those.  You know what tonight is, right?”

       Sister Ann looked to the ground.  “I thought he was done with that.”

       Agatha laughed aloud.  “Done?  Please, Ann, your naiveté is making me uncomfortable.  Now get back to work before I have to reassemble the disciplinary committee.”  The rest of the nuns resumed work silently.  “Henrietta, Ann, please come with me.”

       The complied with their heads down, as if submissive to the Sister Agatha.  Together, they continued into the rectory and into a door that Lauren had never before noticed.

       Beyond the door was a metal staircase, lit only by freshly lit candles.  They descended the stairs in succession, the two assistants following behind Sister Agatha.  Lauren accepted that something terrible waited for her in the darkness, but she did not resist.  Her fate had been sealed the moment she accepted Agatha’s offer of a ride, and now she would have to live with the consequences.

       They were hundreds of feet past the landing before Lauren realized where they were. A tomb, older than the town or church itself.  The candlelight flickered against the grey and brown stone that comprised the dented and pocketed walls and defined the stone caskets that filled the countless abscesses along its length.  What was inside?  She did not know, but the thought of hundreds of bodies buried secretly beneath the church of her own baptism filled her with dread. Would she end up in one of those coffins?

       The hallway descended in a slight slope and curled slowly towards the left, eventually emptying into a large stone cavern, what must have been over a hundred feet beneath the forest.  Like the hall, it was lit only with candle light, though dozens of candelabra combined to light the entire cave.  Semi-spherical, fifty feet in diameter, with arched doorways at each cardinal direction.  A large altar sat directly in the middle, covered with black velvet cloth, just as the nun’s that guided Lauren.

       She stopped to gaze at the awesome sight of the cavern.  It was a vision out of a dream—countless lights arranged in a pattern around a mysterious structure, and casting their light on ornate patterns etched into the ceiling.  Though ominous, it was also one of the most marvelous sights she had seen in her life.

       A jab to her sides shattered her awe.  Agatha stared down at Lauren menacingly and pointed the gun for the arch ninety degrees from the entrance.

       “Fine, fine,” muttered Lauren as she surged ahead to catch up with the chauffeur. 

       Beyond the arch was an ornate wooden double-door.  Agatha moved to the front of the parade and pulled a large black key from her purse.  It fit into the keyhole with a scrape, but whatever material had warped with time, be it lock or key, did not prevent the door from opening.

       Behind it was a modern room, lit by long halogen lights built into the ceiling.  It cast pure white across every inch of the room, immediately pulling Lauren’s attention to the object right in the middle of the room.

       A black wedding gown dangled from a hanger, suspended from a hook in the ceiling.  Just looking at it, Lauren could tell that it was her size, the bust perfectly representative of her own despite filled with nothing but air.   Unlike the sheer material popular in recent years, it was ornate lace, with intricate patterns covering every inch of corset-style chest.  So too were the arms detailed, while the skirt was layers and layers of fine mesh fabric.

       “Get her ready,” commanded sister Agatha.  “Only three hours until sunset.”

       “Yes, Mistress Agatha,” answered the servants in unison.  They waited with their hands clenched together until the sister left then immediately went to work.  Ann pulled down the gown while Henrietta entered the door at the other side of the room.

       “Go with Sister Henrietta.  You need to be cleaned before we can dress you.”

       “What are you going to do with me?”

       “You still haven’t figure it out yet?  Tonight is your wedding.”

       Lauren’s heart dropped.  Her wedding?  What?  It wasn’t possible, not there at Saint Brian’s.  Could the nuns she grew up with and trusted really be forcing her into marriage? And with whom?  All she had seen since her abduction over an hour ago were nuns.

       The mere thought of consummation sent a chill down her spine.  Only nineteen, she had never lost her virginity.  The very notion of sex terrified. She instinctively drew her hands to her crotch and backed away. 

       “Come girl,” beckoned Ann, “Unless you want us to get violent.”

       Lauren took them at their words and followed the young nun into the back.

       It was a bathroom, with a curtained shower, a simple toilet, a sink, and a medicine cabinet.  Like the preceding room, it gleamed flawlessly in the white light, not a spec of dirt, dust, or grime, marring its perfect image.

       “Now, take of your clothes.”

       Lauren stood motionless except for a slight tremble of fear.  She knew she had to comply, but could not bring herself to expose herself.

       “Do it now, or else.”

       Still, she hesitated. 

Within seconds, Ann had her right hand clenched around Lauren’s neck.  “Do not defy me, you fucking bitch,” she hissed as she dug her nails into Lauren’s skin.  “Unless you want me to tear out your throat right here.”

       Lauren nodded meekly, hesitated for a brief second, then began disrobing.  First to go was her simple green t-shirt.  It was supposed to be retro, with a symbol of her favorite eighties cartoon show, but it was clearly much newer.  She grabbed the shirt by its red hem and lifted it above her head and dropped it to the floor. 

       Next was her ankle length red and orange skirt.  Even though it appeared to be made out of retired curtains, she liked its look.  She unfastened the button, slid down the fly, and worked the jeans down her hairless legs. 

       Then, her simple white bra.  It was a smooth cotton fabric chosen for comfort over appearance, and her tits swayed to her sides once freed from their supportive cups.

       And, last were her panties.   They covered more than was necessary, but the loved the feeling of them against her skin.

       And then she was naked.

       “Good, good.  Now, into the shower.  And be thorough.”

       Lauren followed her orders.  She turned the dial to a steamy hot temperature, grabbed the nearby rag and soap, and began to scrub herself thoroughly.  However, she did not foresee the nun joining her.

       “You’re doing it wrong,” said sister as she pressed up against Lauren’s back.  “Let me do it.”  The nun snatched the rag with her right and pulled Lauren in tighter with her left, then began vigorously scrubbing Lauren’s defenseless body.

       “Hey, hey!” she yelled.

       “Silence.  If you can’t do it yourself, I’ll have to do it for you.”  Ann rubbed down Lauren’s body, harder and fiercer than she had ever been cleaned before.  First her legs, then her feet, her waist, belly, tits, arms, neck, and head, all while Ann held her close.

       Finally, Ann turned to Lauren’s privates.  She soaped up the rag and pressed hard and deep against Lauren’s snatch.

       “Stop!” yelled Lauren.  She rubbed her thighs together to try to ward of the intrusive hands.

       “Silence, girl.  You must be clean for the ceremony, else Master will have our heads.” Ann pressed harder, but did not break the girl’s hymen.

       The nun scrubbed hard, not only removing dirt, grime, and sweat, but also layers of skin.  Finally, after every inch of her body had been forcefully purged of dirt, Ann loosened her grasp.  “There.  Now, dry yourself.”  Ann dropped the washcloth to the bottom of the stall and left Lauren to finish the job.

       Lauren waited for Ann to dry herself and leave the bathroom, then exited onto the onto the tile floor.  Water dripped and flowed to a small drain in the center.  She grabbed towels from the wall and dried herself, then dropped the towels to the floor and wandered naked back into the office.

       “Come, girl,” said Ann, gesturing towards the middle of the office.

       Lauren nodded meagerly and stumbled towards the center.  Her body trembled lightly, still shaken from her violation in the shower.

       “Hurry up, you dumb bitch!” yelled the nun that readied the dress.  “The time approaches.”

       “Calm down, Henrietta.  I’m told this one is to be special.”

       “Special?  Don’t make me laugh.  They say the same thing every year.”

       “This time master means it.  The date is important.”

       Henrietta grunted in dissatisfaction and continued with her job.

       Together, the two nuns grabbed and bent Lauren’s arms, legs, and body as they fit it into the black lace dress.  The fabric felt nice against her skin, though the pleasure was only temporary.  Behind her, Ann struggled to tie the corset tighter and tighter, compressing Lauren’s shape and forcing her bust above the cups.

       They fitted her feet into thin black heels and her arms into long silk gloves.  However, there was one addition she did not see coming—a thick black bit gag that they slipped into her mouth and fastened tightly behind her head.        

       They pulled a mirror from against the wall and set it up in front of Lauren.  What she saw simply repulsed her.   The top of smooth and ample breasts spilled from the ornate black cups, while the corset squeezed her frame into a completely foreign hourglass figure.  Her skirt puffed out over three feet in diameter, and appeared to be made of hundreds of layers of a fine black mesh.  Though the fabric hid her thighs and waist for the mirrored sight, she knew that her unshaven pussy could be seen from up her skirt.

       The thick black bit gag terrified her.  Its bulk in her mouth and stress against her face felt like nothing she had ever worn before.  In the mirror, it only served to accentuate the contrast between her pale white skin and the dark bridal gown and bondage that covered the rest of her body.

       Finally, with the bride cleaned, groomed, and clothed, the nuns put the finishing touch upon her head—a simple black veil that hung down just below chin.  The bride was complete.

       “Does everything look alright, Miss?” asked Ann.

       I think so, she muttered into the gag.

       “Good, good.  Now, let’s hurry.” She grabbed Lauren’s arm wrist and pulled her towards the door.

       They returned to the cavern to find a large congregation of nuns surrounding the central altar.  All stood with their heads down, and Lauren could see nothing except that they wore sheer black, just as the ones in the upstairs office.  More candles were lit than earlier and placed on countless candelabras, illuminating the dome. She was awestruck at the sight.  It was distinctly manmade and engraved with hundreds of pictograms that looked to tell a story.  Lauren recognized some of the basic religious imagery, but not the rest.

       “Up on the altar,” prompted Ann.

       Lauren turned her eyes to eye, confused at the demand.

       “I said get up there, unless you want us to force you.”  She waited a few moments, and continued, “Fine.  Samantha, help her up.”

       Samantha grabbed Lauren in a hold from behind and lifted her up off the ground, allowing Ann to grab her ankles.  Together, the two nuns carried Lauren across the altar and laid her down on the satin cover.  They spread her arms and limbs to each corner and tied her down by her wrists and ankles with soft silk ropes.

       The altar itself was soft, too.  Something was undoubtedly tucked beneath it; a mattress, perhaps, or just some cushioning?  She did not know, and she doubted she would ever get a chance to find, for her situation was looking more dire by the minute.

       Though she was told her future held a wedding, the signs were far more ominous that that.  The nuns, though formally Christians in their public life, looked like some part of a darkness worshipping satanic cult.  Combined with the altar, Lauren could think of no other purpose but a single word.

       Sacrifice.  She would be sacrificed to whatever God these heathens worshipped.

       With those thoughts consuming her mind, she took to panic.  She pulled and thrashed, but the silk bindings held.  Despite her failure, she continued.

       The spectators said nothing of the girl’s plight, and prayed in silence.

       Footsteps approached from the darkness.  Lauren turned to find the source, but her position prevented her.  The steps drew closer and closer, until the climbed the steps behind Lauren’s head.

       It was Father McClintough, the one priest at Saint Brian’s parish.  He wore his traditional suit, except the wrap around his neck was one she had never seen before.  It was a solid shade crimson.

       The priest walked around Lauren to her legs, and placed the old and decrepit tome beneath her legs.  He looked to each side and nodded, then opened the book to the designated page and began to speak in a loud and full voice that carried across the giant cavern.

       “Welcome, my Sisters, to this joyous occasion.  Tonight, we shall welcome another into our family.   Young, yes, but I’ve been reassured that she was a perfect fit for the job.  However, this one is special.  Today is an ominous day, as you are all aware. But there is hope for us yet.  Destiny is on our side, but we must reaffirm our role as the chosen people.”  He picked up the book and began to read from it, in a reinvigorated voice filled with command.”

       “Is there a soul in our presence that can tame this wild and unclean woman?”

       “Yes,” answered a voice from the edge of the room.

       “Is there a soul in our presence that can show her the darkness, and all the potential it holds?”

       “Yes,” answered the same voice, from a different position along the perimeter.

       “Is there a soul in our presence that can draw out her true potential, both as a woman and a sister?”

       “Yes.”  Once again, the voice came from another position, revealing that the speaker was walking around the circular chamber at a slow, methodical, and calculated speed.

       “Is there a soul in our presence that can chide her when she errs?”

       “Yes.”

       “Is there a soul in our presence that can handle the burden of leadership?”

       “Yes.”

       “Is there a soul in our presence that can embolden each and everyone of us to live to our true potential?”

       “Is there a soul in our presence that is one with the darkness?”

       “I am here!” shouted the man, his position signifying a full loop around the dome.

       “Then please, step forward.”

       His boots clapped on the stone floor as he approached.  The nuns and priest remained completely silent as he walked across the cavern and up the steps towards the altar.  He stopped just beside Lauren’s waist.

       “Yes.  I am here.”  He was tall muscled, and clean.  His suit looked tailored, and he wore black leather gloves and an eye patch over his left eye.  “I am here, and I demand what is mine”

       “Good.  Then you may collar the bride.”

       What? Lauren yelled into the gag.  A collar?  She did not understand its significance, only that she was being lowered to the status of a dog. 

The benefactor spared no time in claiming his prize.  He walked to the head of the altar and stood before Lauren’s veiled face.  With both hands, he grabbed the trim and lifted it, exposing her neckline to the spectators.

The clap of high heels filled the dome.  Lauren could tell the owner was approaching the central altar.  It proved to be Sister Agatha, carrying a tiny purple pillow gently in her hands.

“Thank you, Agatha.”  He reached out with both hands and lifted a thick black collar.  It was encircled with large diamonds, spaced every inch.

“Anything for you, Master,” responded the head nun.

The benefactor carried it over to Lauren, placed the collar firmly against her neck, and latched it into place. 

Lauren squirmed underneath its weight and pressure, completely unused to the feeling.  Though eighteen years old, she had only ever worn a necklace once or twice, and on both occasions it was a light chain with only a tiny cross dangling from its edge.  Now, the collar pressed and dragged down on her neck, making her feel as if she were going to choke.

No, that was just panicked delusions.  She would be fine—at least from the collar.

The benefactor encircled the altar, keeping his eyes on Lauren’s body the entire time.  He looked so familiar, but Lauren could not place his face.

The benefactor slowly and gracefully began to strip.  His knot of his tie slipped loose in one smooth motion, then slide around his neck and fell to the floor.  Then his black coat, button by button.  Same with his red silk undershirt

       He climbed into the pedestal, his cock already bulging menacingly.  At that moment, as he rolled up Lauren’s skirt to claim his prize, she realized where he had seen her before.

       Exit interviews.  Each graduating senior of Saint Brian’s was forced to endure a panel interview with father McClintough, Sister Agatha, and several of the other nuns.  Though the stated purpose was to help the students organize their future plans and offer guidance, Lauren’s revelation revealed a more sinister purpose.

       In the corner, behind the panelists, sat the benefactor.  He stared at Lauren the entire time with his one eye.

       It was a screening process, for the perverted school to analyze each of the graduating girls and determine which should be taken for the dark ceremony.

       Why did the pick Lauren?  She did not know why, nor could she ever understand their reasoning.  No, the entire cult was too detached from the reality she knew to make any sense.

       The benefactor leaned forward and supported himself with his hands against the altar.  In a single motion, he rammed his cock into Lauren’s cunt, robbing her of the virginity she had protected for so long.

       She screamed into the gag, but nobody came to help.  Her tits jostled within their cups in rhythm with his thrusts.  Though she knew little about penis sizes, his felt huge, filling her vault and slamming painfully against its back with each violent slam of his body.  It hurt her more deeply than anything in her life, but no matter how much she struggled she was forced to endure the trauma.

The friction between them warmed her body.  However, it was not the only source of heat that surged her body.  Deep inside, no matter how little she admitted it, there was pleasure.  Not just from the feeling of a cock inside her, but of everything. 

The betrayal.   The bondage.  The dark ceremony.  The forced marriage.  Everything about it was horrific, but it was also erotic.

The benefactor continued his assault.  His grunts grew louder and more frequent as did his pace, until he collapsed atop Lauren’s body as his penis dumped its juices inside her.  It was finally over.

Lauren reflected on day.  From her willing abduction to her utter defilement, she had never experienced anything like it.  Would she be free to go home, to see the smiles of her parents?

She quickly realized her reflections were too soon.  Sister Agatha ascended the steps, holding a wide rimmed chalice with both hands.  “Are you ready for a drink, Master?”

The benefactor smiled.  “Indeed I am, Agatha.”  He leaned back onto his knees, revealing his wet and limp cock.  He grabbed the chalice and sipped from it lightly, then tilted it further and further back until he was gulping the entire thing in one giant swig.  The turquoise liquid dribbled from his mouth, which he wiped away with his hairy forearms.  “Thank you, Agatha.”

She took the chalice back, once again with both hands, and replied “Anything for you, Master.”

       Nobody made a sound except for him.  His deep breaths becoming faster and louder with each gasp.  Lauren stared at his cock, paralyzed in fear as it re-hardened, growing longer and thicker than it had been minutes ago.  He grinned before diving back in to his feast.

       That assault was harder and more violent than the first, as would be the six subsequent rapes throughout the evening.  By the time he gulped his third drink, Lauren noticed something amiss from the crowd surrounding.  They were making noises—moans of pleasure.  Whether it was the nuns pleasuring themselves or each other, she couldn’t tell, but something about her own defilement turned them on.

       During those long hours, Lauren stared at the ornate ceiling.  It did not take long to realize the similarities to the stained glass windows that encircled Saint Brian’s Church.  It looked much like the traditional Christian tales of a savior and his followers, but with one distinct difference.

       The disciples were almost all women, but for a single elderly man that acted as their messiah’s herald.  The mural portrayed dozens of scenes from throughout his life.  Lauren could see some similarities to specific Christian tales.  However, they took even more drastic deviations in their portrayal of sex.  Fellatio, hand jobs, group sex, all of the sexual perversions imaginable thousands of years ago.  That was the reality behind the ritual.  Just as traditional nuns were considered the brides of Jesus, these nuns were brides of their own leader.

       Lauren would become one of them.

       Throughout the entire crisis, the benefactor kept a calm and businesslike demeanor, as if the violent rape of a teenager was nothing unusual.  When he was finally exhausted, either physically, mentally, or sexually, he collapsed.  Then, with the last of his strength, he leaned up to Lauren’s face and kissed her gently on the cheek.  “Goodnight, my bride.”

       She soon fell asleep with her clothes drenched in sweat.

       

“Come.  Let’s get you cleaned,” said Sister Ann as she shook Lauren awake.  The gag had been removed.

       “Where are you taking me?”

       “Home, dear.”

       They unfastened her bindings and helped her to her feet.  Then, they exited back through the same tunnels they had entered from, eventually exiting into what seemed to be an old medieval prison.  It was dark and dusty, and she wondered when was the last time it had been used.

       “I thought you said you were going to take me home?” asked Lauren.

       “This is your home, Sister Lauren.  Welcome to the habit.”