The Competition
1. I entered the Abbey Noviate of my own free will. Well, not exactly. In fact it was my only alternative to condemnation by my Master for alleged satanic indulgences and a probable burning at the stake in the town square. He had found me, you see, in bed one morning performing a carnal act with his daughter and wanted to be rid of me ... the blasphemous dark-haired servant girl whose continued presence threatened to sully the saintly reputation of his good name and household, not to mention his daughter.
But, before he could bring charges against me, I got myself off to the refuge of a House of God. The old Abbey stood on a hill outside the little town of St. Cruxton; it's massive red sandstone walls and vaultings giving it a dark brooding appearance, considerably enhanced by the misty bleakness of the surrounding moors.
Quietly, I entered the Abbey church through the portal in its great west doors. After adjusting my eyes to the dusky interior lighting, I approached one of several sisters kneeling in silent prayer before the altar and meekly asked if I might have an audience with the Abbess. She looked at me for what seemed a very long time, then rose, and beckoned for me to follow.
Ushered into a back room, I was left to wait. After a while I grew restless. I could hear chanting coming from a nearby chapel and, at intervals, a female voice crying out in anguish or pain. I decided to investigate. So, I got up and tip-toed across the room to poke my head around door to the chapel, which was slightly ajar.
The room was filled with nuns, attired in heavy dark habits with white coifs framing their very serious-looking countenances. They were chanting what I thought was an eerily unholy rhythmic cadence.
At the front of the chapel, facing the nuns, was a young woman, dressed in the plain brown woolen shift of a novice, except that she was stripped to the waist with her arms outstretched and shackled with wrist irons to posts on either side of her. Her long fair hair was tied up high on her head so as to not interfere with the intense flogging she was receiving by a long leather whip wielded by a heavy-set old nun, who was also topless.
I watched transfixed as the girl cried out each time a lash was meted out, her blue eyes filled with tears and her lovely breasts bouncing and jiggling in response to each stroke. The old nun doing the flogging was covered with the sweat of exertion, causing her skin to glisten in the flickering candlelight. Her large pale-white sagging breasts swayed wildly as she delivered each lash. As the young novice twisted and turned under the lash, I could see that her back was crisscrossed with dozens of angry red lines highlighted by minute flecks of blood.
Having seen more than enough and already seriously reconsidering my decision to seek refuge in a Godly life, I began to back away only to be startled by a sharp poke in the back.
I spun around, gasping, my hand over my mouth, to confront the wrinkled old face and oddly piercing eyes of a woman peering intently at me from beneath the wide wing-shaped brim of her habit. A heavy golden pectoral cross, hanging from a dark velvet ribbon, adorned the front of her tunic.
"I am the Abbess," she announced, in a croaky high-pitched voice, "I was told you wished to see me. How can I be of service?"
"Ummm, I was thinking of joining the Order ... as a novice I mean," I stammered, "but now I am not so sure."
"Your reputation precedes you, my dear Barbara," she replied with raised eyebrows and a rather grim half-smile, "in fact, I think you have little choice in the matter."
TO BE CONTINUED
1. I entered the Abbey Noviate of my own free will. Well, not exactly. In fact it was my only alternative to condemnation by my Master for alleged satanic indulgences and a probable burning at the stake in the town square. He had found me, you see, in bed one morning performing a carnal act with his daughter and wanted to be rid of me ... the blasphemous dark-haired servant girl whose continued presence threatened to sully the saintly reputation of his good name and household, not to mention his daughter.
But, before he could bring charges against me, I got myself off to the refuge of a House of God. The old Abbey stood on a hill outside the little town of St. Cruxton; it's massive red sandstone walls and vaultings giving it a dark brooding appearance, considerably enhanced by the misty bleakness of the surrounding moors.
Quietly, I entered the Abbey church through the portal in its great west doors. After adjusting my eyes to the dusky interior lighting, I approached one of several sisters kneeling in silent prayer before the altar and meekly asked if I might have an audience with the Abbess. She looked at me for what seemed a very long time, then rose, and beckoned for me to follow.
Ushered into a back room, I was left to wait. After a while I grew restless. I could hear chanting coming from a nearby chapel and, at intervals, a female voice crying out in anguish or pain. I decided to investigate. So, I got up and tip-toed across the room to poke my head around door to the chapel, which was slightly ajar.
The room was filled with nuns, attired in heavy dark habits with white coifs framing their very serious-looking countenances. They were chanting what I thought was an eerily unholy rhythmic cadence.
At the front of the chapel, facing the nuns, was a young woman, dressed in the plain brown woolen shift of a novice, except that she was stripped to the waist with her arms outstretched and shackled with wrist irons to posts on either side of her. Her long fair hair was tied up high on her head so as to not interfere with the intense flogging she was receiving by a long leather whip wielded by a heavy-set old nun, who was also topless.
I watched transfixed as the girl cried out each time a lash was meted out, her blue eyes filled with tears and her lovely breasts bouncing and jiggling in response to each stroke. The old nun doing the flogging was covered with the sweat of exertion, causing her skin to glisten in the flickering candlelight. Her large pale-white sagging breasts swayed wildly as she delivered each lash. As the young novice twisted and turned under the lash, I could see that her back was crisscrossed with dozens of angry red lines highlighted by minute flecks of blood.
Having seen more than enough and already seriously reconsidering my decision to seek refuge in a Godly life, I began to back away only to be startled by a sharp poke in the back.
I spun around, gasping, my hand over my mouth, to confront the wrinkled old face and oddly piercing eyes of a woman peering intently at me from beneath the wide wing-shaped brim of her habit. A heavy golden pectoral cross, hanging from a dark velvet ribbon, adorned the front of her tunic.
"I am the Abbess," she announced, in a croaky high-pitched voice, "I was told you wished to see me. How can I be of service?"
"Ummm, I was thinking of joining the Order ... as a novice I mean," I stammered, "but now I am not so sure."
"Your reputation precedes you, my dear Barbara," she replied with raised eyebrows and a rather grim half-smile, "in fact, I think you have little choice in the matter."
TO BE CONTINUED
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