Date: Mon, 11 Jan 2021 11:24:52 +1030
From: Zenna Swallows <zennaswallows@gmail.com>
Subject: The Convent, Part 2 (TG Authoritarian)

THE CONVENT, PART 2
by Zenna Swallows


Ryan mopped the last part of the floor and straightened his aching back.
There was no need to worry about letting a groan escape his lips, because
he couldn't make a sound of any sort. But he was also careful not to
show any discomfort on his face. There were a lot of painful lessons
he'd learnt during the months he'd spent at this godforsaken convent.
But one of the most important was not to present to the world anything
other than what Sister Mercy called an expression of "beatific
acceptance". It was okay not to smile. But any sign of distress, much
less annoyance, was considered "unholy".

If any of the nuns caught him wincing, he would be lucky to get away with
just a spanking.

For the same reason, he had to ignore the discomfort of having a full
bladder. He could still remember that horrible early training session, at
which he'd been forced to drink large quantities of water, then stand
naked with a tray underneath him and try to hold it in. Any grimace or
jiggling of any kind would quickly bring a painful electric shock. But in
addition, any urine that gushed or dribbled out of him was transferred
from the tray to a cup -- and he was forced to reingest it. It took him
several painful and humiliating hours, but he eventually steeled himself
to stand still and expressionless long enough to satisfy his instructors,
while his bladder threatened to explode inside him.

Because that was what the nuns of the Blessed Order of Saint Pilarupta
believed in: complete obedience, allied with iron self-control.

At the end of his shift, he stopped for a moment to recite his prayers.
Then he went to the bathroom, took off and carefully folded his
initiate's robe, pulled down his panties and tights, and sat down on the
toilet. Even there, in the privacy of the cubicle, he did not allow
himself the luxury of showing relief as he emptied his bladder. It was
too dangerous. What he was forced to do in public -- and there were eyes,
not to say cameras, almost everywhere in the convent -- it was vital he
do in private as well. Just so that he didn't slip. There mustn't be
the slightest hint of disobedience, ever.

That was not how he'd started, of course, on the fateful day he'd woken
up in the convent to find that he'd been imprisoned by what seemed to be
a group of insane women He'd kicked and struggled, even if he couldn't
scream because they'd somehow removed his voice. But he'd been weakened
by whatever drugs they'd given him, not to say the ordeal of being
suspended in chains over a bed of spikes -- and being compelled to eat
out his chief tormentor, Sister Mercy, as the price of his release.

So he hadn't been able to do much when two hulking nuns in red robes --
denoting their status as servants, as he later discovered -- had hauled
him off naked to a bathroom, where he was scoured (the word cleaned just
didn't seem adequate), shaved from head to toe, then covered in some
sort of foul-smelling gel that seemed to burn its way into his skin. Left
in a cell, securely trussed, he could only wait until the gel did its
work and the burning subsided to a mere tingling. He wasn't to know it
then, but in the months to follow, the hair that the servants had shaved
off him would not regrow.

His next stop had been some sort of surgery, at which a black-clad nun
had given him a brisk and businesslike medical examination, before
conducting two procedures that both shocked and terrified him. The first
involved his cock and balls -- or what was left of them. They seemed to
have shrivelled to a fraction of their normal size, as a result of
something done to him the night before, while he'd been sleeping off his
erotic encounter with two sexy young novices. He felt what was left of
his balls somehow being pushed back into his pelvis, before a freezing
spray was applied to his shrunken manhood. He would have leapt off the
treatment table, if he hadn't been held so firmly by the two servants.

After that, he could feel very little of what was being done to him and
didn't want to look. It was not until he stood up that he discovered to
his horror that his genitals had completely disappeared. All he saw now
was a mound of what looked and felt like flesh, with a slit in the middle
of what appeared for all the world to be labia. He thought for one
dreadful moment that he'd actually been given a pussy. There was, of
course, no vagina. But the nun explained that a short tube had been
connected to the tip of his buried penis, meaning that he could only now
pee through the slit. As he was to discover, the cunningly designed
prosthesis was glued to his flesh so firmly that he would have to tear
his groin open to remove it.

The second procedure involved a small device being inserted deep into his
ass and fastened in place with more of the fake flesh that had been used
to cover his genitals. The nun told him that it had two functions. The
first was to administer a painful and debilitating electric shock, which
could be triggered by any nun nearby, using a button embedded in a signet
ring they each wore. Ryan was given a demonstration that quickly
convinced him she was telling the truth. The second was that the device
operated as an alarm. If he went anywhere he wasn't supposed to,
including outside the building that would be his home for as long as his
training lasted, a security alert would be issued.

After that he was given several injections, then taken to what was
evidently a wardrobe mistress. She began by measuring his head and body,
then gave him a pair of pink panties and matching pink pantyhose to put
on. He hesitated, but an electric jolt in his backside quickly persuaded
him to don them. He was shown how to roll up the nylon of each leg of the
tights, push his foot into them, then unroll them up his leg. They felt
strange against his newly smooth limbs. A pink corset was also fastened
around his torso, the laces drawn so tight that he could scarcely
breathe.

Next came the robe, which was essentially a long-sleeved smock, in a bold
pink whose colour made Ryan wince. He pulled it over his head and
discovered that the skirt reached all the way to the floor. A red cord
helped cinch it around his waist and stop it billowing out with every
move. He was given red leather ankle boots to wear, with raised heels
that initially made walking rather difficult. A headdress, pink with a
white headband, completed the outfit. He was also issued with spare
panties and tights, as well as a frilly pink nightgown in which to sleep.

Walking (or stumbling) out of the surgery, dressed as a nun and holding a
collection of lingerie, Ryan thought his humiliation was complete. But
there was more to come. He was taken to a dressing room, where Alice and
Veronica, the two novices who had delivered such ecstasy the night
before, spent fully half an hour applying makeup to his face. By the end
of it, he could barely recognise himself, especially with nothing now but
his painted face visible. He didn't look like a woman, exactly -- but nor
was he a man either.

The white-clad novices gave him a folder with what seemed to be a huge
amount of information about makeup and instructions on how to apply it,
together with a prayer book and rosary beads. They then escorted him to a
large chamber with around 30 beds. After stowing everything he had been
given in a small cabinet next to one of the beds, he was shown and
allowed to use the bathroom. He had no option but to sit down and pee,
his painted face burning with new humiliation as he was reminded of his
emasculation.

The next stop was a kind of common room, in which he saw various silent
figures in red, white or pink gowns sitting alone, either reading or just
lost in their thoughts. None of them spared him more than a glance. The
novices showed Ryan to a chair, gestured at him that he should stay
there, and left.

After a couple of minutes, Ryan looked around, ascertained that nobody
was paying him any attention, and then quietly walked out of the common
room. After checking the corridor outside was clear, he headed straight
for the window he had marked a little earlier -- the one that looked out
over the grounds of the convent. After unsuccessfully trying to open it,
he shielded his face and drove his elbow through the glass. Quickly
clearing the fragments, he tumbled through the opening and dragged
himself to his feet.

He had taken no more than a couple of steps before a searing pain in his
rear brought him to his knees. He had thought that the warning about the
device implanted in him setting off alarms was just a lie, to fool him
into not trying an escape. It hadn't been.

By the time Sister Mercy reached him, scant moments later, he was curled
up in the grass, howling wordlessly. She stared down at him and
pronounced, in a tone of mild disapproval: "You have forfeited the
privileges of initiate status." Her gaze lingered for a moment, then she
turned and left him where he was. Ryan suffered through another half an
hour of exquisite agony before two servants were sent to drag him inside,
and the pain finally ceased.

The whipping that followed, and left his back and bottom raw, was not,
all things considered, a surprise. But what happened to him next he could
not have anticipated. Thinking back on it now, months on, he still found
it hard to credit. But rather than put it out of his mind, he
deliberately kept the memory fresh, to remind him of what he had to lose
if he didn't play by the Order's rules.

He had been stripped of his clothing and his makeup was cleaned off, and
not gently either. Strange braces were attached to his knees and elbows,
with short chains and struts running between them. By the time they were
all connected, he could not straighten his arms or legs, nor bring his
hands together. He was then dragged down to a cellar and locked in one of
a row of low cages.

For the period that followed, he was forced to live as nothing less than
a dog. His food and water were given to him in bowls, which he could not
pick up. Eating and drinking meant lowering his head into the bowls and
doing the best he could with his mouth and tongue. Twice a day, a lead
was attached to a collar around his neck and he was taken for a walk in
the garden -- on all fours, naturally. While outside, he was not allowed
to relieve himself -- that had to be done inside his cage. He was forced
to live with the stink until both he and the cage were hosed down, which
happened only once a day.

All that was bad enough, not to mention the crippling pains in the limbs
he was unable to straighten. But the worst thing of all was the occupants
of the cages either side of him.

They were men -- of a sort. Like his, their bodies were hairless and bore
the marks of frequent beatings. But they had no braces or restraining
chains, and yet held themselves and moved as if born on all fours. And
they could growl, a horrible and menacing noise that kept Ryan awake for
long hours each night, as he sought to stay in the middle of his cage and
out of the reach of the hands periodically clawing at him through the
bars. Not, he thought, that they wanted to hurt him, The huge erections
that obscenely rose from their groins every time they looked at him for
any length of time suggested that they had quite different plans ...

After an exhausting and terrifying week, Sister Mercy came to see him.
She didn't beat about the bush. "You have a choice. Either you can do
what you're told, and go through your training as an initiate. Or you
can share a cage with these two." She jerked a thumb at the creatures in
the adjoining cages, who were watching the nun with a wariness that
suggested they knew not to make any trouble in front of her. "I do
believe it's breeding season. Perhaps you'll give them the litter they
want. Or perhaps not."

Ryan opted to cooperate.

So here he was now, months on, and settled into a routine. He would spend
part of each day on menial chores, and most of the rest in prayer or at
lessons, with a small amount of free time for either reading or
meditation.

The prayers, which he had to learn by heart and recite with his lips
moving, invoked the Great Goddess, who would deliver women from the evil
of men. He was also given a variety of catechisms to work through, while
holding his rosary beads.

As for his lessons, they had a single subject: The Feminine. He learnt
not only how to dress and move as a woman, but about the superiority of
that gender. He was taught about what famous women had done to aid and
advance humanity -- and about the many more whose achievements had been
blocked or obscured by the tyranny of men.

To aid his understanding of the subjugation of women, he was forced to
conform to what his lessons told him was an archetype of female beauty,
as conceived by male oppressors. Hence the lingerie and in particular the
makeup, on which he was forced to spend at least half an hour each day.
Nobody ever told him as much, but he became extremely adept, not just at
applying the products he was given, but designing different looks. He
figured that if any of what he had come to think of as the senior nuns
disliked his colour schemes, such as the purple, gold and turquoise
combination he was sporting today, they would have shown their
displeasure -- probably though a good thrashing.

But it was not just his superficial appearance that had been feminised.
His body was being changed as well, in response to the pills and
injections he was regularly given. Some of the alterations were slow and
subtle enough that they might be attributed to imagination, especially
with no photos to look back on for comparison. Maybe his bottom wasn't
plumper than it had been, or his hips wider. Perhaps the narrowness of
his waist was just a product of the corset he invariably now wore. Maybe
his general loss of muscle mass was caused by his spartan diet. But there
could be no mistaking the breasts that were now swelling on his chest ...

Then there were the periods. He had panicked the first time he had
started bleeding out of his anus, especially after a couple of days of
stomach cramps. But the doctor had smirked when he went to see her, using
pantomime to explain his symptoms. She told him that he should get used
to the bleeding and pain, as they were being used to simulate what
menstruating women had to put up with. They had become a familiar if
unwelcome part of his life at the convent, especially since they did not
arrive in any kind of consistent pattern.

Those pseudo periods aside, the only thing that ever really disrupted his
routine, or that of the other initiates and servants with whom he lived,
ate, studied and slept, were the senior nuns. The white-clad novices
weren't seen that much, and when they were around they didn't cause any
trouble. But the women who wore black robes, the only ones whose voices
ever punctured the eerie quiet around the convent, were another matter
entirely.

At their whim, they might administer spot checks or tests on initiates
such as Ryan, examining their appearance or asking them questions to
assess what they had learnt, either through simple yes/no questions or
answers written on slates.

They could also mete our sanctions for slackness, inattention, disrespect
or "lack of devotion", a catch-all category that might cover anything
from showing fatigue to choosing the wrong shade of lipstick. If they
felt so inclined, they could ask one initiate or servant to spank
another, or administer corporal punishment themselves, or have the
miscreant hung in chains. But as often as not, they simply touched their
ring and delivered an anal zap. And if another device-wearer just
happened to be in the radius of the control signal ... well, that was
just too bad.

They were also entitled to demand sexual gratification from those they
held in captivity, at any time and in any location. Most often they would
drag an initiate, or less commonly a servant, into a separate room for
this purpose. But a few, of whom Sister Mercy was a leading example,
preferred to take their pleasure in full sight of others. Those called
upon to satisfy a senior nun in this way were sometimes asked to use
their hands. But more commonly they would be required to set their mouths
to the task.

Hardly a day went by without Ryan walking past a senior nun leaning
against a corridor wall, her legs spread and her gown drawn back, while a
young initiate knelt before her and lapped away at the older woman's
naked quim. Assuming, of course, that Ryan himself was not the one whose
skills as a cunnilinguist had been requisitioned ...

As Ryan made his way from the bathroom to the dining room, he saw two of
the senior nuns coming towards him and wondered if today might once again
be his turn to assume the position and deliver the required oral
pleasure. But although the sight of him prompted one of them to whisper
something to the other, who stared at him and then laughed, they
acknowledged his respectful nod and allowed him to pass. He automatically
stifled the relief that might otherwise have shown on his face and
entered the dining room.

There were a smattering of others inside in red and pink robes, but he
paid no attention to them and headed straight for the food. Early on
during his stay at the convent, he had wondered how the others in pink,
and the generally older ones who worked as servants, had come to be
trapped here. Had they volunteered, or been coerced or blackmailed as he
had? He had also thought about trying to find a way to communicate with
them, to see what they could tell him about the convent, and possibly to
plot a way out.

But after his horrific experience in the cage, he had decided fairly
quickly to stifle any curiosity and keep himself to himself. He knew
literally nothing about his fellow inmates, not even whether they were
men or women -- and didn't care. They weren't his concern. He suspected
that some of them had developed forms of sign language to speak to one
another. But he considered it far too risky to try that. If he was going
to escape, he'd decided, it would be through playing along and lulling
his captors into a false sense of security. Once he saw a real chance to
get out, he would take it.

The strange thing though was that he had also found a kind of peace at
the convent. Oh, he missed some things from his former life: the fine
food and wine for one, not to mention the chance to fuck beautiful women
(including his girlfriend, if he didn't have any better alternatives
available). But even sex was becoming a fading memory, especially with no
physical arousal to remind him of how it felt.

As for the rest of his pampered life, which had always been a product of
his family's accomplishments, never his own -- well, he didn't miss all
the fake friends, the backbiting, the petty ambitions, or the tedium of
the job he pretended to do at the bank. There was something more honest
in cleaning floors. At least you could see what you'd achieved ...

He was lost in thought, sitting alone at a table eating, when the tap
came on his shoulder. He looked up to see two novices that he'd never
seen before. As with everyone of their rank, their beautiful faces were
impeccably made up. One of them beckoned him to follow them and he stood
up obediently, not making any attempt to question what was happening.
After all, he couldn't ask them anything, and they couldn't answer.

They led him down several corridors and up flights of stairs to a part of
the convent in which he'd never been before. He was ushered into a well
appointed study, with a carpet on the floor -- the first he'd seen at
the convent. Sister Mercy was sitting behind a desk, to which a computer
console was attached at a right angle. She swung around to face him,
motioned the novices to leave, and then stared at Ryan.

There were chairs nearby, but Ryan made no move to sit on them. Nor did
he hold the older woman's gaze, but instead dropped his head
respectfully and looked at the floor. After a moment or so, she cleared
her throat.

"So, initiate 652" -- that had been his only name, since his training
began -- "what do we make of you?" She didn't wait for him to respond
-- not that he could have, even if he hadn't recognised the question as
purely rhetorical. "You come here with an appalling attitude, get caged
on your first day -- and since then, you're the model trainee? Studious,
obedient, disciplined, brilliant at makeup, as I can see for myself ...
so how does that happen?"

Ryan kept his gaze firmly fixed on the carpet. After a moment's silence,
in which he could hear papers being shuffled, Sister Mercy asked: "Do
you think you have what it takes to be a sister in our Blessed Order?"

This time he did look up. Doing everything in his power to conceal the
sudden leap of hope, he gave a respectful nod. The nun locked at him
steadily, then sighed and closed a file. "Very well", she said. "Take
off your habit."

If Ryan was surprised by the instruction, he didn't show it. Without
hesitating, he removed his wimple and tunic, and stood before the nun in
his pink underwear. "The rest can go too", she added. Without a word,
Ryan stepped out of his boots and then removed the tights, panties and
corset. At a gesture from Sister Mercy, he put all his clothes in a bin,
along with the shoes.

"You won't be wearing pink again", she informed him. "Either you pass
the test and dress in white, or it's a servant's role for you -- either
here or somewhere else." So, he thought, he was to be given the chance
of becoming a novice. But what was to be the test?

The door to the study opened, perhaps at some unseen signal, and the two
novices entered. "Get her ready" was the senior nun's terse
instruction. They escorted Ryan to a spacious and comfortable bedroom,
with a large dressing table and an ensuite bathroom. The decor, again,
was nothing like the other parts of the convent. But he worked hard not
to gawp, concentrating instead on following the novices' instructions.

Not that he had to do very much. They started by rubbing a
sweetly-scented oil into his skin. As their hands ranged all over his
body, it occurred to him that it was not all that long since he would
have paid a lot of money to have such beautiful young women pampering him
in this way. But he did his best to block that thought. Even when one of
them seemed to pay extra close attention to his budding breasts, pinching
and stroking the nipples until they stiffened and sent tingles into his
otherwise quiescent groin, he kept his face impassive.

Once they were satisfied he was fully perfumed, they dressed him in a
white corset with attachments at the bottom to which they fastened white
fishnet stockings. He had not worn stockings before, as opposed to
tights, but they felt surprisingly comfortable. The corset also had cups
at the top, which helped both support and accentuate his little boobs. He
caught a glimpse of them in a mirror and was shocked by how prominent
they were becoming.

The next item was more of a challenge -- white shoes with heels at least
a couple of inches higher than any he'd previously tried. But the
novices gave him a couple of minutes to practise and despite the deep
pile of the expensive-looking carpet on (or through) which he was forced
to walk, he got the hang of them soon enough.

Finally, there was a white headdress to put on. But no robe, and also no
panties. At a gesture from the novices, Ryan knelt down on the bedroom
floor, facing the king-size bed in the centre of the room. He heard the
door close behind him and then ... nothing.

An hour and a half later, he was still in the same position. It would
have been so easy to get up and see what was happening, or even just to
look around. But all his newly acquired and carefully honed survival
instincts were telling him to stay put. This was a test, after all --
he'd been told that. And even if he hadn't, it would still have been a
test -- just like everything else in this awful place.

So even when the door finally opened, he still didn't look round.
"Well, don't you look the part?" came Sister Mercy's sardonic voice.
She walked past him and then turned round. She was dressed in just the
same way as he was -- only in black. And her heavy breasts were not
contained in the slightest by her corset, but spilled out invitingly.

Plus there was one other crucial difference. He wasn't wearing a
gigantic strapon dildo.

He kept his face as composed and expressionless as he could. But he could
not help staring at the huge black dong jutting from her groin. The nun
smiled as she saw the direction of his gaze, and the way his eyes nearly
crossed as she positioned herself in front of him and pushed the rubber
phallus into his face. "Suck it", she ordered.

Ryan felt a sick feeling in his stomach. He had known as soon as he saw
the dildo what it was likely to be for -- and he was pretty sure there
was worse to come. But his instincts for self-preservation were still
holding. Opening his mouth, he engulfed the tip, which was shaped like
the engorged head of a penis.

It felt really awkward, especially as he was trying hard not to touch it
with his teeth. Something told him that Sister Mercy would not take
kindly to any bite marks on her toy. He also had to work hard to tell
himself that this was not really a man's cock, and that sucking it was
just the simulation of an act he would never willingly perform. This was
just pretend. He repeated that mantra as he began moving his head along
the shaft, his head bobbing in exactly the same way his girlfriend
Dana's had done when sucking him off ... No, he told himself, not like
that at all. That was totally different.

"Well, aren't you the little slut?" commented the nun maliciously.
"Done this before, have you? The bigger, the better, I'm guessing."
Ryan's bland expression didn't waver as he continued to work his mouth
on the dildo. But he couldn't stop the flush that spread upwards from
his neck, visible even through the powder and lotions that coated his
face. "Well, let's give you what you clearly want, shall we?"

Without warning, she grabbed his head and thrust the mock phallus deep
into his mouth and down his gullet. Ryan gagged, making gurgling noises
as his throat bulged. Reflexively, he sought to pull his head back, but
Sister Mercy held him fast. His hands fluttered helplessly, wanting to
try and break her grip, yet somehow restrained by the instinct of
obedience. For long seconds, she held her position, then released him.
Ryan coughed and choked helplessly, his face contorted and saliva
drooling from his gaping mouth.

The nun watched him impassively as he fought to recover. When the choking
had subsided, she uttered a single word. "Again."

Ryan's eyes flicked upwards. The nun's expression was implacable. He
held her gaze for a few seconds, as they both waited to see what he would
do. Because this was the real test, he was sure. Composing his face once
more into the neutral expression he had been cultivating for months, he
took the dildo into his mouth and gradually pushed his head forward.

He couldn't stop himself from gagging again as the toy breached his
throat -- the reflex was just too strong. And he wasn't sure he could
force himself to keep going forward. So instead he reached behind the
nun, grabbed her fleshy behind, and pulled her towards him.

He heard a grunt of surprise from above him, but ignored it. With a
convulsive tug he pulled her artificial cock deep into his throat, not
stopping until his nose was pressed against the harness strapped around
her pelvis. And then he did the hardest thing he'd ever done in his
life: he held it there, ignoring the desperate desire to expel the
intruder from his throat.

He could not last long, but he held out as best he could until blind
panic at the prospect of choking forced him to release his hold and
regurgitate the dildo. This time the retching went on for considerably
longer. Yet when he had recovered sufficiently to open his eyes, he once
again located the head of the toy and resumed his fellatio.

"My, my, you do like to suck cock, don't you?" chuckled the nun. And
yet it seemed to Ryan that there was just a hint of approval there as
well. "But I think we should get more comfortable, don't you? Or I
should anyway."

Pulling the phallus out of Ryan's mouth, its shaft dripping with his
spittle, she climbed up on the bed, lay back, then beckoned him to
follow. At her insistence, Ryan got on hands and knees between her
splayed legs, then bent his head down to once more engulf the dildo.

"Keep sucking", she warned him. With his head down, he didn't see her
nod to the person who had entered the room behind him. The first thing he
knew of the other presence was when a cool gel was smeared in the crack
between his buttocks. He gave a jerk of surprise and would have turned
around, but a ringing slap on his behind from whoever was applying the
gel and a warning growl from Sister Mercy dissuaded him.

Something pressed against his butt. Once again, he fought the instinct to
shy away, holding himself still as the object probed against the puckered
entrance to his rear passage. With his mouth still slavering on Sister
Mercy's dildo, he managed to work his head sideways just long enough to
take a brief glance in the mirrored wardrobe door adjoining the bed. He
caught a glimpse of what he more or less expected to see: another nun,
like her sister wearing a black wimple and black lingerie, her huge
strapon poised to invade his virgin asshole.

He had known since that first sight of Sister Mercy's rubber phallus
that he was going at some point to be fucked -- known it, but done his
best not to think about it. And even now, with the second nun about to
penetrate him, he willed his face to be blank and kept slurping away at
the toy in his mouth as if he didn't have a care.

But then it happened. And all of a sudden he could not keep the shock and
chagrin from his expression, could not prevent himself from turning round
to look at the nun about to plunder his ass. As she said, in a tone so
matter-of-fact it could only have been practised: "Hold still sweetie.
Unless you want it to hurt a lot more than it's already going to."

It was Dana, his girlfriend.

To be continued

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