|
St. Domina A BDSM Story by Harley
Grant Chapter 5: Day of work
I’m certainly one for singing the “I don’t like Monday’s” song, but this was quite different. The two of us got up, hugged and took a shower together again. Back in the room we dressed. I gathered up the gear putting neatly back in the bag. I also tossed in the handcuffs as well. I probably had just enough time to get this back to the Guest office prior to worship. We found ourselves standing, looking at each other. “An ending that is a beginning,” she said. “I have to go back to being just one of the nuns now, you know that this didn’t create a relationship, I won’t be sneaking back to your room tonight.” I nodded. She could tell I was sad. “An ending that is a beginning,” she said again. “One last hug that is the first new hug.” She hugged me, looked into my eyes. “You see, this night, this fucking we did has to end so that both of us can advance on to the next stage. It’s a little death, a loss that has to happen so we can gain. Just as our death at the end of our life is the only way we can gain the great gift of eternal life. So this has to end, but I promise you that what is to come is even better.” She let go of me and backed off, and I knew she’d never hug me like that again. “What could today possibly bring?” “Is it happening too fast? I mean you are doing a lot for being here only two days. It could slow down.” “No, God no. Don’t make me suffer another day of life in that world out there.” I pointed out the window. That world where men drool after women they make crude jokes about, where women use sex as a weapon, where couples make sex meaningless and then fight for months, ripping each other apart. Where sex sells things, but there is no actual sex and the church can’t talk about any of it and can’t claim sex back. “OK, it’s hard on me too, but I promise, today will be even better if you open yourself to it.” And with that she left. I took the bag to the guest office and signed it back in. I went to worship and prayed in thanksgiving for the glorious fucking, for Sister Bodkiss’ ripe body and for her wisdom as well. I gave thanks for warm showers and condoms, and nipples and curves of breasts and wet pussy. After worship, another nun approached me. She had a weather-beaten face that showed her 40-50 years. She told me that after Sunday, the day of rest; it was time for a day of work. If I was willing, I should go out the back door and report to the groundskeeper. When I got to the groundskeeper, she looked me over. “You up for some hard work?” “I’ll try.” “I doubt I’m stronger than some of the nuns - you for instance.” The groundskeeper grinned. She was wearing a modified habit that exposed long arms with swelling biceps and I could tell that her waist was small and her legs firm. She’d be a wrestler and a dangerous one. “Well, I was told to give you the full treatment. So, you go on down that path to the shed. Hang your clothes up, all of them and do what the nice nun says. Off you go. Keep your shoes on though!” The path she indicated led into the part of the grounds that were blank on the map. So, I’d get to see the secret places. The path twisted and turned through some very dense vegetation, dense enough to give total privacy. I found the shed as expected. Outside it was an odd contraption, sort of a wagon with two long poles extending out in front and a bunch of straps around it. I guess I’d find out what that was later. I opened the door of the shed and found a row of pegs against the wall. I took off my clothes and hung them on the peg. I heard some noise from outside and stepped out just in time to see a nun approaching, holding a crop in her gloved hand. Now, we all expect a certain class of lesbians to wear red flannel and lumberjack boots, and this one was in the same work habit of the groundskeeper, but there was no missing that she was a bull dyke. She walked, talked in that way. “Stand between these poles, back to the wagon.” I complied without a word. She took a couple of the straps out of the wagon and started cinching me up. A strap went around my waist and another around my chest. My wrists were cuffed and then attached to the waist strap with a short chain. A collar went on and then a head harness, complete with a leather bit that went between my teeth. This harness also had blinders, little squares of leather on each side of my eyes that limited my sight to more or less straight ahead. She secured me to the wagon poles by several other straps. I felt her get into the wagon and sit down. The crop hit me lightly on the shoulder. “Go ahead, walking pace. Follow the path to your left. So that was my work, to be a work horse for the nuns. Not quite as fun as fucking Sister Bodkiss but the day was young. We normally separate ourselves from nature, all of us do that, I think, not just intellectuals who live in our heads. So it was a shock to be so gloriously part of nature in this way. Naked, except for shoes, strapped to the cart, valued only for my labor, unspeaking. I felt the wind and morning air on parts of my body that were normally covered with clothes. And it was exciting to be among the nuns that way. A work crew was pruning bushes along their trails. I drew the cart to the crew, stood there while they loaded it, and then was led to the far side of the grounds where the brush was dumped on a pile. Then I was led back for more. Instinctively I knew that I should not talk, not react, just do as I was told, like an obedient horse. As the time went by, I needed to urinate and I wondered if I should ask permission. But a horse doesn’t ask, I reasoned, so one time, by the brush pile, while standing there, I just let it go. The nun leading me looked at my dick, smiled and said nothing herself. And why should she? She would expect no different from a horse. I got tired, and one time sunk down to my knees while waiting. No one commented, I just got a light tap of the crop when it was time to go. From then on I sat down at each end to rest. At about mid morning, I was led to a shady spot and my lead tied off to a branch. A tap of the crop on the back of my knee and the word down led me to sit down. A bucket of water was put on the ground in front of me. Again, I knew what to do and simply leaned forward and put my head in the water and drank. Then it was back to work. All this was exhilarating: the air, the movement, the sheer physicality of my work. To be naked was to be of the earth, of nature. But I was getting tired and when lunch came I was glad to be again taken to the shade and told to sit. This time a feed bag was attached over my mouth with straps running to my head harness. I’d seen horses use one of these. You have to raise your head to let the food run towards your mouth. Too much and you get drowned. I raised my head and discovered some dry cereal had been put in the bag. I munched on this contentedly. After another water break, a tap of the crop got me on my feet and I found that I was being directed to pull the cart back to the shed. Before I could say, ‘what now’, she told me I found myself down at the bottom of a gentle hill, a long, gentle hill, next to a little shed. Again I was naked and this time I was being helped into a black cover-all. And it did cover all: my feet like little booties, long sleeves for my arms ending in sowed on mittens. It went up to my neck. The leathery nun zipped and tugged and tied until the garment was nearly skin tight. “Hands behind your back.” I complied and a few straps from the garment quickly bound my arms together. “Lie down.” She assisted me in gently falling to the earth. More straps bound my legs together at the knees and ankles. She went into the shed and brought out a bowling ball on a short chain. She hooked the chain around my ankles and secured it. “OK, you see the main house up there? The entrance?” I craned my neck and could see the upper half of the door. “Yes.” “Crawl up there. Don’t quit. You can rest as long and as often as you like, but don’t quit or it gets worse.” With that, she turned, shut and locked the shed and started walking away. So this was an ordeal, pure and simple. Drag myself up the hill. The black jumper on a hot day will ensure I get very, very hot. Having no arms and legs to move independently will ensure this takes a long time. So get going. I’d wiggle and huff and pull a few inches, and then a few inches more. I’d do a burst of wiggling, gain a foot or so and stop to catch my breath. Each time I told myself that I had less to go than before. I’d tell myself that I had no timetable, nothing I’d be late for. I did spiritual exercises to observe every sensation and enjoy it. After a very long time, I’d worked my way about three-quarters up to the house. I was looking forward to the final stretch. I was hot and sweaty. I was also getting tired. I was trying to pace myself, to stay even and of even temperament, but I was really getting tired. Out of the corner of my eye I saw two nuns approaching from down the hill. So far the nuns had left me alone, as if it was something they saw everyday, a bound man making his way up the slope, dragging a ball and chain behind him. The two came up to me and positioned themselves one at each end. “Hold up a second.” I stopped moving. They reached down and one picked me up at either end and they proceeded to carry me back down the hill! Nuts, my heart sank, I’d have to climb this again? They put me down halfway down the hill at the foot of the Novice Mistress. I looked at her, more than just a little dispirited. “In life, we plan for the future, we lay it all out. But the truth is that life is full of uncertainty, of disappointment and setbacks. We always think that is not to be expected and we get angry and upset when disappointments come. But our spirituality is developed precisely in those moments when we must deal with disappointments.” She had been bending over to talk to me. Now she stood up. “Your goal is the same: reach the house, the first step of the entry. And if you quit before you get there, you will be expelled from the convent.” With that she walked away. OK, I get it. Accept the good with the bad, remain calm and unmoved by praise and by censure. Give thanks to God for blessings and for trials. OK. So I set myself to wriggling back up the hill and tried to have no emotion about it. This time I got within ten feet of the step before I heard two nuns coming for me. They dragged me back down but not as far as before. Neither they nor I said anything. Again, I started wriggling back up. I rested more this time, my face was flushed, my body drenched in sweat inside the black bag. I must have smelled pretty rank by now also. I went ahead and rested often, but as I got closer I had to fight the urge to rush. That would be stupid, it’s not like I could race my way to the step before they could catch me. But those are the emotions that tug at us and we have to fight. I passed the ten foot mark and closed in on five feet. I expected to be pulled back again, and sure enough two nuns approached me. But they stood right over me as I came within three and two feet of the step. Maybe they were there to release me. But, of course, no. I got just about a foot from my destination when they pulled me back only a little way, about ten or twelve feet. “So now you’ve conquered the hill. You can move all the way, the big distance doesn’t scare you. But now you have a different lesson to learn.” She motioned to another nun. That nun came forward holding another, bigger iron ball. She clipped that to my feet. Now I had about three times as much weight to pull as before. OK, I have to go slower. But they weren’t done. “In life we never know when our work is done, or how much is left to go. We think we do, but we don’t know.” She bent down and took a blindfold out of her pocked and fit it over my eyes. I was now totally blind. They tugged me a little further away from the step. “Now you will have to work not knowing how much is left and not being entirely sure if you are going in the right direction.” I heard them walking away. OK, the lessons were getting harder. I set myself to crawling again, but the added weight was a problem and I feared that if I got much more tired I wouldn’t be able to move. I had to pay more attention to leverage and rely less on strength. I took it inch by inch pulling forward. I told myself the day was young, I had all the time in the world, that this was good exercise that I was coming to be more and more a part of the community. I was really exhausted and now even my face was dripping with sweat behind the blindfold. My world contracted down to the sensations and I was floating. It came as quite a shock when my head touched the stone step. Should I quit? But I heard no one coming toward me, so I wriggled one more inch up so I had to bend my neck against the step. Now I heard steps and soon hands were over me, untying my bondage, allowing my arms to move. They helped me to stand and started taking off my black jump suite. But they had not removed the blindfold and I did not try to take it off myself. When I was nude someone spoke. “Do not remove your blindfold. Move and flex your arms and legs.” When I had done a bit of that, the same person said, “Bend over, stretch your back.” I did a few reps. Someone took me by the elbow. “Follow me.” She guided me up the steps to the back of the house. We went inside, the coolness feeling very good. Down a hallway, and then I was carefully guided down a flight of steps. Down the basement hall and turn into a room. I felt the floor turn to gym mats under my feet. We stopped and my blindfold was removed. I was in a gym, mats piled high and various bits of equipment all around. Four nuns in full habit were arrayed around the edge of the mat area. On the mat was a woman. She was almost a foot shorter than me and very lithe. I probably outweighed her by a hundred pounds. She was wearing a pair of bicycle shorts and a sports bra. I was handed a towel and wiped myself off. Then, I was handed a jock strap which I put on. The Novice Mistress was there and she spoke. “Each person has characteristic weaknesses. It’s common for a tall man to feel powerful, more powerful than others. It’s almost inevitable that a man among a group of women comes to feel that he should rule them. This is not to disparage men; women have their arrogances and illusions that are equal in intensity to men’s. However it is you that we are training now. “Sister Mary Elizabeth is one of the smallest women in our convent. You should have no trouble pinning her in a wrestling match.” I did not want to seem disobedient, but I did not like any assumption that I was an arrogant fool. “I am very tired, and she may be a trained wrester. I would not assume anything.” The Novice Mistress smiled and offered me a little nod. “Still, would you really like to have four women watch you loose to such a small, petite woman? What if some of your male friends saw this? Wouldn’t you feel humiliated?” I had to think quickly. I don’t give a shit what some dumbass man thinks, but that doesn’t mean I’d want some ignorant collection of women to laugh at me and to assume I was a prideful man being humiliated. “In life we are always being humiliated. Someone is always smarter or faster or stronger.” Well, that wasn’t exactly a great plea that I was Sensitive Guy, but the best I could come up with on the spur of the moment. The Novice Mistress spoke again. “Perhaps more women changes the dynamic.” She clapped her hands and the door opened and several more women came in. I recognized the groundskeeper and others who I had worked with today as well as some I had not seen yet. I understood. Part of my training was to suffer humiliation, public humiliation in front of the entire convent. Even if only a fraction of the nuns were here, there were enough, this was now a public event, and word would circulate quickly that a big strong man had been humiliated by loosing to a tiny women. I was sure that was the plan. I was totally exhausted and wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep. The woman in front of me was small but she appeared to be toned. Likely she had compensated for her small size by training her entire life. I had a good idea what was coming. I looked around the room, taking in each of the nuns. I nodded in acceptance. I showed no emotion on my face. To the Novice Mistress I said, “what are the terms of the match?” “Two out of three falls. Submission only. Wrestling only, no punching, gouging or hair pulling. The winner can select a punishment for the looser from those offered by me.” She clapped her hands. “Begin!” We approached, wary, she in a wrestlers stance, my faking it. I’ve wrestled, but nothing serious. And I was weary. So when she leaped at me, I couldn’t dodge. She wrapped herself around me, we fell to the floor, and I could feel her working for an armbar which I barely avoided. She was fast, probably faster than me even if I was at full strength. I was taller and longer, and clearly stronger in an absolute sense. I’m sure that rested I could lift more weight than her. But what good is that against training in how to apply holds? A confusing serious of moves followed with me on the defensive most of the time. She got a full nelson on me, but I was so much bigger that she couldn’t do much with it. I was able to roll over her and put my weight on her. I started to get loose. In a flash she rotated around, whipped her leg over my head and this time there was no escaping the pain of an arm bar. I submitted quickly and she let go. We stood up and I rested my arms on my thighs until the Novice Mistress clapped for us to begin round two. I wanted to give a good account of myself. She dived for my ankle and I half jumped out of the way. But she wrapped herself around my ankle and was trying to twist my foot off. I kept twisting around to relieve pressure, blocked from working on her because she kept pushing my foot sideways. Finally, I simply shoved her off me with my other leg. The force of doing so caused me to fall backwards and she rolled over and jumped to her feet. For a second I was worried I’d hurt her, then I realized how stupid that concern was. She came at me again, and we fell to the floor and rolled around. I couldn’t pace myself or anything, I had to give it all on each fall. You’ve heard this story before, I now win a fall to force the deciding third fall. No such luck. She whipped her thighs around my head, put a monster head scissors on me and while I was reacting to that, had my arm in a twist that was rapidly becoming painful. “Submit,” I called, more in sadness than frustration. I was really sad. I didn’t spend 5,000 years beating up women, I never claimed they were my property, I never called one a cunt behind her back, why do I have to take this? But, there was no choice now. I lay on the mat, grateful for the rest. My opponent rolled me on to my back and mounded my chest. She looked up expectantly at the Novice Mistress. The Novice Mistress seemed to be considering something. She raised her head and spoke to the room. “This concludes your observation. Thank you for coming, you may leave.” Slowly the nuns filed out, did I imagine a little ruffle of surprise. Once they were gone, the Novice Mistress spoke again. “Sister Pearl, get the small rope.” She jumped up, and soon returned with several lengths of what appeared to be twine or very thin rope. “In view of the special circumstances of your attitude, I will select the punishment. Sister Pearl will tie you.” My jock strap was pulled down, sister Pearl sat on my chest again, this time facing my cock. She began to use the thin rope to tie up my cock. She was pretty good at this and she was tying things pretty tight. Soon she rolled me over on my back and began to do up my wrists and elbows. She then had me sit up. She looped another thin rope around my big toe and tied it to the base of the cock rope. She did the same with the other big toe. I could sit, but had to keep my legs curled up close to my dick. The Novice Mistress squatted effortlessly down to our level. “Yes, we are aware that you are not a prideful, angry man who hates women.” “Thank you,” I interrupted and then cursed myself as tears rose to my eyes. “But, you are right, that dealing with humiliation, understanding that it cannot take away who we really are, is essential. You saw me humiliated the first night you were here, and now it is your time.” Well, she had a point there. “You are correct to guess that Sister Pearl’s diminutive stature is part of the point. Few men believe they could be beaten by her, even after she has beaten them. Few men believe a tiny cord like this can hold them, even when, like you now, it has rendered them helpless.” She stood up and I had to raise my head to peer at her. “I am going to prepare for dinner. Sister Pearl has a few more humiliations in store for you, but only she will see them.” And she left. Pearl stood, hands on hips until Novice Mistress left and had shut the door. I look at my opponent. “You’re funny,” she said. “I don’t feel like laughing.” She looked impatient. “Some men bluster and make excuses after I beat them. Other men bluster and then cry like babies when I beat them. You’re not doing either.” “I’m closer to crying.” She knelt down and plucked one of the cords holding my toe close to my dick. I groaned. “Oh, and some men are submissives and just want me to beat them up, but that doesn’t seem to be you either.” “I do submit, but generally when I choose to.” “Safe, sane and consensual.” “It’s not a bad thing.” She continued to look at me. “So, what humiliations were you planning?” “Sit on your face, rub it in, both physically and mentally, but ... Look, I’m lesbian so sex games for humiliation with you are no fun if you’re actually a decent guy.” I looked at her. That was a different way of looking at things. Finally she decided. She turned around to her gym bag and pulled out a scissors. She tossed it halfway across the room. “I’m going to work out. You crawl over there, pick up the scissors and cut yourself free.” She spun around and sprinted over past where she had tossed the scissors. From across the room she called, “I’m going to work out. Get all hot and sweaty. And ...” She pulled her sports bra over her head to stand topless. “I’ll let you see what you’ll never get. How about that for a humilation?” I gave a little thought to how I was going to get there. More crawling. I guess I can scoot on my but. Stretch my legs just a bit and then pull my ass. Eventually I figured out it was better to push than pull. With my hand behind my back I couldn’t do a hands and knees thing. I was so tired that my technique left a lot to be desired and frequently I pulled my dick. So much fun. She was working with a jump rope and then did some curls. Topless. Sometimes she stuck her tongue out at me. Mostly she just glistened and worked that lean body. I’ll spare you the details. Finally I got to the scissors, picked it up with my fingers, got one blade under the cord. And worked it, worked it slowly until they started to part. The scissors was sharp. Once my hands were free, then obviously I could untie myself. I stood up. “Do you know where my clothes are?” She turned around. “In your room. That’s the last humiliation.” I had a little pride left and I didn’t howl or protest. I just walked, slowly, out the door. I realized that I was inside the nun’s part of the building and that by walking to the end of the hall I could go upstairs without entering the public area. Of course, I’d pass a few nuns. Probably some just hanging around to see me. But, I refused to grovel. Bear all things with evenness. Know how to prosper and how to be abased. This was part of the spiritual journey and so accept it and embrace it. As I ascended the stairway I did pass a few nuns. They smiled, trying, or so I thought, to suppress a smirk. I tried to keep my face even. My dick was still sore from the tying so I wasn’t at risk of having an erection. For a while. At the floor and down the hallway to my cell. Pass another pair of nuns. Did they look startled? Everyone must know of how I’d spent today. Finally to my cell. I looked at my watch on the desk. I had a bit of time before dinner. Time for a hot shower. A very hot shower. |