A BDSM Story by Harley Grant
© 2004 Harley Grant. Do not copy without permission.

Chapter 1: The first visit

                        I’d been looking forward to this visit to the convent, and I wasn’t concerned about some of the rumors I’d heard.  Still, I found myself being very careful to keep to the speed limits, read any signs about rules and watch out for pedestrians as I drove into the grounds.  Finding a place to park at the far end of the front lot, I got out, picked up my bag and briefcase from the trunk and went to register.
           
            I’d heard the place offered a very peaceful retreat and was a place where arguing and conflict were banished.  That sounded good after the crap I put up with at work day after day.  So what if some guys said the nuns were ball-busters, that was most likely to be jerk-offs who hadn’t gotten into the spirit of things.

            I registered, got my room assignment and key from the rather attractive young nun at the guest office and went to unload my things.  As I walked through the building to my room, I noticed nuns here and there.  Dressed in traditional habit, there was nonetheless a certain air about them.  They seemed self-confident, assured.  Not noisy or rude, just projecting a quiet self-assurance.

            I found my room on the second floor, and I was pleased by the arrangements.  It was called a cell, not a room; all convents and monasteries used that term.  It was simple, plain, but clean and neat as a pin.  A single bed against the wall next to the window.  A small writing desk, chair and lamp.  No dresser, but a deep bookcase to put my things on.  Decently lit with a linoleum floor and a small throw rug.  A small sink in the corner, but no bath.  This was a deliberately basic nunnery, so the wash room was a communal one at the end of the hall.  But I had come Saturday afternoon, taking a week of vacation for this visit and few visitors came during the week.  I’d heard they were full on the weekends, though.

            I spent the afternoon reading by the open window, enjoying the wind, the silence and the gift of time.  A bell sounded the call for worship and I went to the chapel and found a seat on a hardwood pew about two thirds back.  The nuns gathered on either side of the altar up front.  There were only a few other guests, mostly women, but a few men.  One big guy in particular caught my eye as he was sitting with arm thrown over the pew, looking around, frankly eyeing two of the more attractive female guests and staring at some of the younger nuns.

            I was certainly noticing all the attractive women, of course, but trying to be more discrete about it, not catching their eyes, not looking directly.  The homily was given by an elderly nun.  She spoke of many things but made a comment about enduring pain as a gift to God and invited us to kneel on the hard floor.  After thinking about it for a second I did so.  I noticed that the other male guests did not do so.  When I looked up, once I noticed a couple of the older nuns looking at me.  I quickly looked away.

After service was dinner, done in the monastic tradition with reading by one of the nuns from a book of spiritual advice.  The dinning area was divided into two sections, one for the nuns, one for the guests.  I noticed that the tables and chairs for the guests were nicer than those for the nuns, an impressive example of hospitality, I thought.

The reading caught my interest for it was a long discussion of the virtue of enduring physical punishment as a form of purification and it went into rather explicit detail about the relative merits of flogging, strapping with a belt, and other forms of enduring punishment.  I had a hard time hearing, for that same man was making noise with his spoon and tray, asking questions and scraping his chair on the floor.  I got up and moved closer to the dividing line between the sections.  Again, I noticed an older nun eyeing my move, and I was afraid that I might have been disruptive.

Once settled, I found myself listening attentively, my eyes riveted on the nun who was reading.  The talk of flogging, strapping and its effect on the skin and the psyche was arousing.  Again, I noticed that one of the older nuns was observing me.  I quickly dropped my eyes.  But in a second I was riveted to the reader again.

            After dinner, I carefully wiped my table and bussed my dishes.  I noticed that the man who had been making noise had carelessly left his dishes on his table, so I picked them up and bussed them as well as an offering to the convent.

            Finished with that, I moved toward the door, only to be intercepted by one of the older nuns, it was the one who had been watching me during dinner.  In addition to the habit of long black skirt and gray blouse under a gray robe, she had an amulet on a chain around her neck, indicating some badge of office, or so I supposed.  I hoped she would not complement me on bussing the other man’s table, for then it might seem I’d done it to receive praise, thus canceling the virtue of the act.

            I stopped, as respectfully as I could, and waited for her to speak.  She said, “We are having a lecture this evening that will go further into the subjects addressed by the dinner reading.  If you are interested, please come to room 045 in the basement at 7:30 pm.”  I thanked her and she turned and left.

            I returned to my room, flattered by the invitation, but also curious.  She had not gone up to anyone else that I could see.  I remembered the worries some had about the place, was this a trick?  I had to laugh at myself.  Nothing was going to happen.

            It took a long time for 7:30 to come; I was impatient.  Giving myself enough time to get there I left my room and went down the stairs to the main level.  I turned at the landing to go down farther and encountered a door where the stairs to the basement should be.  This door proved to be locked.  I stopped, looking at it.  Maybe there was another stairway?  I looked around and realized that I was being watched by the nun from the guest office.  I went over to her and explained about the lecture.

            “Who invited you and when did this happen?”  It seemed like a bit of a rude question, but I was a guest and guests do not set the rules, so I explained, mentioning the amulet worn by the nun who had invited me.  She smiled, “Ah, very good, I’ll unlock the door for you.  And be assured it only locks from this side.  No problems getting back out.”  She smiled again and it was warm and inviting.  “Just go over there and I’ll buzz the door open.”
           
            I did so, heard a buzz from the door.  It opened easily this time and I stepped through, going down a flight of stairs.  The door closed behind me with a soft but definite click.  The stair way had more of a concrete look to it.

            I went down, turned at the landing and went on down to the basement level.  The corridor only went about half the length of the building before ending in a blank wall.  Something else was under the other half of the building.  I looked at the numbers over the doors and found that room 045 was close to the stairs.  I opened the door and went into a classroom.  There were several rows of chairs facing a raised dais that was backed by a blue drape.  On the dais was a fairly large wooden cross, painted black.  The cross was planted in a very large and firm-looking stand, also painted black.  The cross was perhaps six feet high or more.

            Three nuns were sitting in the front row and they turned and eyed me as I came in.  I smiled and they giggled at me and turned to each other and started whispering.  Ah, back in high school and the girls were laughing at me again.

            I sat down in the third row and waited.  Eventually the older nun who had invited me came in followed by a younger nun carrying a long black case.  The younger nun placed the case on the dais and sat down next to the three nuns.  The older woman ascended the dais.  It was just me and the nuns.  I felt I was intruding, even though my invitation had been clear.

            The older woman began. She welcomed me and the three younger nuns who apparently were novices and were also here for the lecture.  She repeated some of what was said at dinner.  But she began to go farther.  She spoke of the whole concept of submitting.  How ultimately one submits to God, but that you must practice that by submitting to various authorities in the world.  Such submission must be a gift, being forced to submit is only an evil.  It is true that a mature adept can turn forced suffering into accepted suffering, but that is for later in the spiritual journey.  As a student, one must practice submission as a gift.  By studying the effect of pain, one can prepare to endure more pain and this world is a world of pain.

            I had heard some of this before; in one way or another it was a key concept of much spiritual writing.  There was a different edge here; something suggesting that this might be more than a lecture of words only.  Eventually it began to take a different turn.

            “There are submissions that are voluntary which are also in payment for debt, and those which are exemplary.  The two categories are distinguished by merit.  Thus, for example, our three novice sisters here did not exhibit proper hospitality to our guest.  They failed to greet him, failed to welcome him.  They also failed to walk in his shoes and understand that as a male guest in a female institution that he finds himself in situations that he may give offence without intending and must exercise more vigilance and more restraint, leading to him suffering embarrassment at the hands of rude novices.”

            My face was burning, this had been what had happened, but I didn’t want to get anyone in trouble.  The three nuns had their heads cast down.

            “So it would be good of our novices to voluntarily request punishment for their offenses.  Even though this would be in payment of a debt, it would still be voluntary and meritorious as the normal punishment for this offence would only be a verbal reprimand.”  She stopped.

            The three looked at each other.  One got up, came near the dais and knelt.  “Abbess, queen of our convent, please punish me for my offenses, sparing me not, but inflicting seven fold for my offense.”  The other two also approached, knelt and in turn said the same sentence which was obviously part of some ritual expression.

            The Abbess looked down at them.  “I grant your request, and you Sister Virginia, shall be first.”  She indicated the first nun to speak.  The first nun got up and walked up to the cross. 

            The nun who had brought the case now went up to it, opened it and took out some rope.  She began to tie the nun to the face first to the cross, arms, chest and legs.

            While this was going on the Abbess looked at me and began speaking to me more personally.  “As you may have guessed, this lecture is part of our novice training program.  You seemed to have a real interest in such things and we have noted your attitude of respect to the nuns.  Please be assured that these three, like most novices, have plenty to be punished for, you are not the sole cause of their flogging.”  She turned to regard the novice, now tied, fully clothed, to the cross and smiled gently.

            The assistant held out a riding crop to the Abbess.   She set to work flogging the tied nun.  Working her back and rump with medium strokes, warming her up.  The nun sagged into the cross and began to mew so attractively I found myself getting hard again.

            The flogging was only for a few minutes and not very hard.  And she had been wearing those long robes.  I found myself wishing to see her flogged nude.  But I should not complain.  Was I ever going to have something to masturbate about when I got back to my cell.

            The first novice was untied and the second tied in her place.  She was also flogged and it was harder on her, she gritted her teeth and resisted every step of the way, holding herself rigid.  Ah, that just makes it hurt worse, my dear.  The first novice had sat back down and was bent over in prayer.

            This flogging also finished and the third nun was tied to the cross.  She practically had an orgasm and it was clear she liked being flogged.  Not much of a punishment this was for her.  She also did her time on the cross and was untied.

            The Abbess turned to the three, now very contrite novices who were all kneeling on the floor.  She gave them her blessing, told them to stand, gave each a brief hug, whispering something quietly in their ear.  And then they were dismissed and left, each dropping a quick bow in my direction.

            The Abbess looked at me, and this time her voice was personal and direct.  “Are you offended by what you have seen?  Does it trouble you?”  This was said calmly, but with directness and authority.  I doubted that anyone lied to the Abbess.

            “No Abbess, I am not offended,” I began.  “I have many questions; I can hardly believe that I am seeing such things or allowed to see them.  It is a gift.  I am very fascinated by the theory behind all of this.”  Oops, don’t babble.  “But I am not offended.  Nor would I tell of this to outsiders without permission.”  Now why did I say that?  But it seemed to please the Abbess.

            “And what you have seen, it is not something completely foreign to what you have thought about, is it?”  She had a half smile, a knowing smile on her face.

            “No, Abbess, it is not completely a new thought.”  I looked directly at her, returning her smile, and then bowed my head a bit.

     It was just the Abbess, her assistant, and I.  But the Abbess again began to lecture as if there was a crowd of a hundred.  “As I said, there is both submission which are payment for debt and those which are exemplary.  The novices deserved punishment and they requested and received it.  This is to their credit.  Novice mistress Mary Elizabeth has not committed any offense that deserves punishment. Yet, she has indicated that she wishes to be punished, is that correct?  If not, speak freely and there will be no punishment.”

            The novice mistress arose, also came before the Abbess and knelt, but initially she said nothing except she cast a swift glance at me, her eyes wide and then put her head down to the shoes of the Abbess. 

            The Abbess stepped back from the novice mistress.  “Speak, if you have words to say.”

            The novice mistress raised her head and said, “Oh Abbess, Mistress of the convent, I beg you discipline me, not as I deserve, but as I request, not for punishment, but for submission.  This I beg you.”

            “I grant your wish.  Prepare yourself.”  The Abbess turned her back on the novice mistress and went to get the rope.

            I though I knew what was coming.  She’d get flogged, maybe more harshly, maybe less.  But I was stunned to see what happened next.  She undid the clasp of her rope at her neck, untied the rope around her waist and removed her robe.  She was wearing a simple gray blouse and black slacks.  She started unbuttoning her blouse, deliberately, eyes cast down.  She stepped out of her shoes, undid her pants dropping them to the floor as well.  She stood there, in bra and panties, a lean woman, muscle tone showing in her back.  She turned and looked at me, then at the Abbess.  The Abbess nodded.  The novice mistress turned her back to me and undid her bra, letting it slide off her to the floor.  She also stepped out of her panties, standing nude, her back to me. 

I had stopped breathing.  Her lean muscles rippled in the soft light, I admired the long gentle curves of her arms and legs, the gentle nipped in waist, the small perfectly rounded ass.

The Abbess spoke.  “I am hoping that we have not misplaced our trust; but one of the best ways to see if someone can be trusted is to actually entrust them with something and observe what occurs.”

There was a reason this woman was in charge.  Her words were gentle, open, but the tone of firmness and her gaze made them a warning to me, a terrifying warning.  I had no idea how to respond, so I bowed my head again.

“Novice Mistress has authority, and with authority comes responsibility.  She is cloaked with authority and so it is to her benefit to be stripped of that cloak as a spiritual discipline.”

            The novice mistress approached the cross, leaning against it, raising her arms to the crosspieces.  The Abbess began to tie her, wrists, upper arms, ankles, upper legs, securing her to the cross.  It was a ritual, done carefully, without wasted motion or words; the worship had begun.

            Once her victim was secured, the Abbess picked up a flogger and began warming up her up, working up and down her back and nicely rounded ass.  After a few of these, she began putting her back into it and the nubile naked novice mistress began moaning and jumping with every whack. 

            Abruptly the Abbess stopped.  On cue, the tied sister said, “Please, Abbess, flog me some more, punish me, please.”

            The Abbess did two hard strokes and stopped again.

            “Please,” there was a note of real pleading, desperation in Sister Mary Elizabeth’s voice.  “Punish me, more, I need it.”

            I was getting a hard-on I confess, feeling flushed.  The Abbess turned and looked straight at me.  “Come here and punish her yourself.”  I jumped like I’d been shocked.  I stood up immediately, but then stopped, staring wide-eyed at the Abbess.  Had I heard her correctly?

            “Come here.”  This was said with a slight edge to it, and I quickly started up to the dais.  I looked at the novice mistress.  Approaching her from the side, I could see her breasts, straddling the cross, her chest heaving in and out, sweat on her face.  She looked at me, blushing furiously.  She was being humiliated by my seeing her nudity and by what was to come.  She held a position, an office in the convent.  And now she was on total display for a visitor.

            I came up to the Abbess, and she handed me the flogger.  I had little experience with this, being more likely to be on the receiving end than giving out punishment.  But I knew what it was for and how to use it.

            I took my place, did a couple of practice swings to gage the weight and began flogging the convent official.  Gentle at first, I soon started in with more force.  I looked at the Abbess for confirmation; she nodded and said, “harder.”

            I started laying into the novice mistress, making the cross vibrate with each blow.  It was thrilling to have this thoroughbred creature of the long limbs and raven black hair under my punishment.  I did make sure not to hit near the kidneys nor high on the collarbone.  After a few more strokes, I looked again at the Abbess.

            “Give her five of the hardest you can give, right on her upper back.  As hard as you can.   And my dear,” she said, looking to the nude girl, “call them out.”

            “Yes, Abbess,” she grunted.  “Oh, executioner of my submission, give me number one.”

            I did, hard.

            “Please give me number two.”

            I did, even harder.

            “Please give me number three.”

            I backed up and swung with all my force.

            There was a moment of hesitation.  “Please.  Please give me number four and please make it hurt more.”

            This was a challenge.  I backed up again, took the measure of the momentum of the flogger and followed through with a thunderous stroke.  She cried out, sagging against the cross.

            “Please, o executioner of my submission, give me the final stroke and do not spare me, not even slightly.  Punish me!”  This last was a scream, coming from deep inside her.

            Boy, did I have anything left after number four?  I transferred the flogger to my other hand, and stretched my work arm a couple of times.  Took back the flogger, wound up, put my back into it, got emotional and slammed her with it.  Thought the cross would tip over, but it was heavy.  I stopped.  The novice mistress was breathing heavy.

            I offered the flogger to the Abbess.  She took it.  “You have done this before.”

            “Not often, and not with one as beautiful as this.  Or,” I said, turning to the Abbess, “in such a meaningful way as this.”  I bowed my head again.

            “I will cool her down,” the Abbess said, “while you consider if this lecture has one more chapter to it.” 

            I backed off a bit while the Abbess began a pattern of lighter strokes, alternating with touching the novice mistress gently on the shoulders.  One more chapter?  What could that be?  There were only two people in this room who hadn’t been flogged and I strongly suspected the Abbess would not be the one offering to take it.

            That left me.  I had not often gone from giving to getting in one session, yet there was no way I could turn down such an invitation.  I looked at the Abbess again.  She had stopped and was untying the novice mistress.  Free, she slumped to the ground, her nude body curling around the legs of the Abbess.  Softly she kissed the shoes of her superior. 

            The two of them looked at me, their eyes a question.

[ On to Chapter 2 ]