Slave to Faith: The Sinful Nun 1

"Slave to Faith" is the first story in the series "The Sinful Nun". This excerpt is from chapter 3. You can find the rest of the story on Amazon.

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“Nervous?” Grace asked as we walked across the courtyard.

I could hear the rush of blood in my ears. “Yes. A little.”

“No need to lie, Sophie.” Grace chuckled. “The initiation is a sacred ritual, a huge step into the unknown. We have not told you about it for reasons that will soon be clear to you. Do you want to stay here?”

I had thought about that exact question all day. “I do. I think this is what I need.”

“I believe you are right.” She turned and looked at me. “I have to ask that you do not speak at all when we enter; your questions will have to wait. Only speak when spoken to – there are nuns in deep prayer that should not be disturbed.”

Grace opened a small door at the end of the main castle building. Damp, chill air hit my face as we walked down a set of slippery stone stairs, worn after centuries of use. Orange, dimmed lights lit the way to a wide, arched hallway with low ceilings; the old castle dungeons.

What on Earth is this?

I was shocked to see that some of the ancient cells were occupied. A young woman, likely a fellow nun, was kneeling behind the steel bars of a narrow, miserable prison cell. Her hands were folded in prayer, but it was the crude, heavy shackles locked around her wrists that sent a cold, paralyzing shiver down my spine. She looked up at me… and smiled.

Every instinct yelled at me to run. To turn and flee, to try and make sense of what I was seeing far from here. I felt a warm, kind hand in mine and looked at Grace, who nodded knowingly.

My mind continued to panic, but my body pressed on, guided by Grace’s calming presence. I could not tell if every step led me closer to the abyss or farther from it.

The hallway and the cells soon disappeared, replaced by a large room. The arched ceiling was higher, held up by thick pillars, and the bare, stone walls illuminated by dozens of candles. The sight of numerous old instruments of torture increased my state of panic; racks, pillories, and other diabolical contraptions lined the walls, mixed with chains and shackles. Some of them looked to be ancient, while others seemed new.

“Welcome, my child,” a pleasant voice sounded. Father Owen, who I had only seen from afar, stood in the middle of the room, greeting me with open arms. His smile was warm, a contrast to the menacing surroundings. “Kneel before me and prepare for the Initiation.”

He was not alone. Father Nicolas, the handsome priest that had arrived the day before, stood next to Owen. Our eyes met, and though he seemed uncomfortable with the situation, his presence helped mute the voices in my head that still begged me to leave. His brow was furrowed and his arms crossed, but he still managed to send me a comforting smile. I was so distracted by Nicolas that I barely noticed the naked woman behind the two priests.

Fleur?

The lights danced on her pristine, dark skin, stretched between two pillars by chains shackled to her wrists. A shiny steel collar adorned her graceful neck, and her long, curly hair fell like waves onto her shoulders. She was beautiful, vulnerable, as she stood there before me, her back straight with pride and an assuring smile on her face.

“Take your clothes off and kneel, Sophie,” Grace whispered. “It’s alright.”

I did as instructed. I have since wondered why I did not object, why no part of my rebellious nature managed to surface in the cellar that evening, but I felt like it was the only way forward.

The cold air made the hairs on my neck stand up as I took off my clothes.

“I understand your trepidation,” Father Owen said. “You are free to leave if you swear never to tell a soul of what you have seen. But you have already traveled far, carrying your demons with you. We will help you conquer them. Submit to the faith, to the Lord, allow us to help you purify your soul through both pain and pleasure. Together, we will praise Him.” His face shone with an enviable, inner peace. Every word echoed in my body with power and presence. “Do you wish to submit to the Higher Faith, Sophie?”

My mouth felt dry. I looked at Fleur; she nodded with a smile.

“I… I do.”

“Then receive your collar as a symbol of your commitment.”

Grace walked in front of me, carrying a collar similar to Fleur’s. It was a seamless, unbroken ring with no visible locking mechanism, only a small ring broke the shiny surface. It was wide; I had a hard time breathing just by looking at it.

“The weight of this collar will remind you of your sins, of your weakness,” she said. “Should you ever wish to leave, to rid yourself of this burden, the resident priest and head nun must agree to release you. Do you understand?”

I nodded.

“Then we welcome you as one of us.”

The cold steel snapped shut around my neck with a click that sounded louder in my heart than in my ears. Tears started streaming down my face, though I could not tell which of the numerous feelings tearing through my body had caused them.

“As part of your initiation, you will witness your sister demonstrate the submission that is expected of you,” Grace said as she locked a chain to my collar, pulled me to my feet, and locked the other end of the chain to one of the pillars.

I was still reeling from the impact of the decision I had just made when Father Owen took off his clothes and stepped in front of Fleur.

“Do you submit to the Faith, Fleur?”

“I do, Father.”

“Do you give your body and your mind to me, so that I may heal it?”

“I do, Father.”

“In His name.”

“In His name.”

The absurdity of the situation was overshadowed by the calm, ceremonious timbre in their voices. They looked at each other with affection as Owen gagged Fleur with a large ballgag and started to whip her with a leather flogger. I was mesmerized by the display, barely aware of the fact that I was a prisoner myself at this moment, chained to a pillar with no hope of escape. Fleur’s groans filled the room as her body shook with every strike.

I stole a glance at Nicolas, who was standing to the side, wincing whenever one of Fleur’s muffled cries echoed underneath the vaulted ceiling. Grace stood next to him, seemingly explaining the meaning behind the ritual, but I could not make out the words.

After a while, Father Owen bid Fleur kneel, which only stretched her arms further, but she obeyed without question. He removed the gag and presented his impressive cock. Fleur had come off timid and devoted when I had met her earlier that day, but she did not hesitate a second before taking Father Owen into her mouth with a pleased moan. Her arms were strained against the shackles as she struggled to gratify the priest, but she did not flinch or show any sign of pain.

She is not in pain. She is loving it.

I was overwhelmed by conflicting emotions as I witnessed Father Owen bend Fleur over and ram his swollen, saliva-dripping cock into her exposed pussy. To my surprise, I felt a tingle in my loins, a small ember of desire, but it felt misplaced, wrong, sinful in a place like this. The nauseating feeling of displacement was not helped when Father Owen came inside Fleur with a pleased groan.

“Bless you, child,” he said.

“Thank you, Father.”

This is a blessing?

The priest unlocked Fleur’s restraints and proceeded to put a blanket over her shoulders before hugging her. And thus ended my initiation into the Convent of the Higher Faith.

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