Date: Sat, 24 Sep 2022 00:16:06 +0930 From: Zenna Swallows Subject: The Convent, Part 6 (TG Authoritarian) THE CONVENT, PART 6 by Zenna Swallows The whore wiggled her bottom invitingly. "You can spank me if you like," she purred. The businessman laughed. "What, like this?" he asked, lifting his right hand from the buttocks he had been fondling and spreading to deliver a ringing slap. He trailed his hands down the back of her thighs until he reached the stocking tops. She really did have the most gorgeous legs, accentuated as they were by the elegant hose and diamante-heeled slingbacks that were the only remnants of the outfit she'd worn to dinner. "Or should I use this instead?' he continued, pulling his erect cock up to his belly and then letting it snap back down, first onto one cheek then the other. She gave a throaty laugh. "Oh, I think your big boy wants to be somewhere else, don't you? Somewhere you've been thinking about all evening ..." And it was true, he had. Even by the high standards he'd come to expect from the Heavenly Bodies escort agency, this one was special. And after months stuck at home with nothing but his wife and an occasional hurried blowjob from the maid to keep him occupied, it was time to blow off some steam. He'd intended to draw out their first encounter and go through a little foreplay. Maybe check out her oral skills. But there was the rest of the night to do that. So, when she reached through her legs to moisten her puckered hole and coquettishly asked "Why don't you see how deep you can go?" he only had one answer to give. As the quivering phallus slipped inside her, Amanda let out a well-practised but utterly feigned groan of delight ... She drew no particular pleasure from the act -- or at least none that would last. But in truth, she didn't mind being penetrated. Or she no longer minded, to put it more accurately. The first twenty or thirty times it had happened at the Convent to Ryan, the man she had been, it had hurt -- a great deal. That physical pain had subsided and then for the most part vanished, as Ryan's butthole stretched to accommodate even the largest of dildos, not to say an assortment of objects never intended for such use. But the mental torment had persisted, for a long time -- as it was meant to. Being fucked by the nuns' giant strapons and violated by everything from cucumbers to baseball bats was not just a punishment for the appalling way Ryan had treated the women in his life. It was also intended to break him down, to cause him to lose any sense of masculinity or control, to align his mental image with the body he was being given. The body of a beautiful young woman, with budding breasts, widening hips, a pumped-up rear and a sweet voice. Not to say a shrivelled cock that could no longer be seen, let alone stiffen when aroused. It was a transformation Ryan had fought as fiercely as he knew how. Faced with captors with vastly superior resources and a capacity to inflict debilitating pain through a device implanted inside him, he had quickly learnt that the fight could not be won either physically or quickly. If he continued his overt resistance, he would likely be condemned to a life of servitude with the Order of St Pilarupta. Or, worse, turned into little more than a snarling beast and kept in a pen. So instead, he dedicated himself to his training, not just rising from the rank of initiate to novice, but learning how to perfect the illusion of femininity, in everything from movement to makeup. Scheming all the while for the chance to escape, hoping that he could lull his jailers into the belief that he had surrendered his previous identity. And for a few glorious minutes, he thought he had succeeded, on his first trip away from the Convent. But his time in the city where he used to live and work proved to be a disaster. Not only was he unable to elude the nuns sent to watch over him, but he also discovered that there was no former life to which he could return. The Order had well and truly seen to that. They had not just ruined the reputation of the man he had used to be, but turned him into a fugitive from justice and a pariah to his wealthy family. Far from being able to plot a return to normality, he was put to work, first as a stripper and then as a prostitute. He spent several weeks dancing at a club, including in private for customers who wanted more than he could show or do on stage -- which in practice often meant handjobs or blowjobs. And at night, he became a streetwalker, his beautiful features deliberately disfigured to give his role as a cheap transsexual whore more credence. Worst of all, the one close connection he had forged during his time at the Convent was exposed as the basest of lies. Agnes was a beautiful and apparently fragile young novice who had become his regular bed mate -- and the one person besides himself that he cared about. His feelings for her had become so strong that he volunteered to take her place as a street hooker, rather than see her go through what he had experienced. Only she turned out to be a plant, a skilled actor whose assignment was to deceive and seduce him. And to teach him a lesson, Sister Chastity said. A lesson about the danger of trusting anyone but himself. Humiliated, Ryan spent the rest of his time in the city honing his abilities as a sex worker and doing what he could to recover his old determination. In the process, he discovered just how well he could please clients, finding a grim satisfaction in his ability to make them come in his ass, or his mouth, or all over his boobs, which now comfortably filled his B-cups. Thanks to one enterprising request at the strip club, he even learnt that he could use his feet to tease a throbbing cock to orgasm. Although the sticky mess left on his stockings taught him to be more careful in future about where he directed the resulting ejaculation. What those experiences also produced, however, was an intense dislike for the men he was servicing . That was most obviously true of the ones who mistreated him. But it extended beyond them. He was never seriously hurt. But he had to endure customers slapping his face with their cocks, mauling his sensitive tits, or reaching between his legs to try and find his missing genitals, despite his entreaties to leave them alone. He was called a slut, a whore, a sissy or a bitch. Some customers deliberately removed their condoms, so as to be able to deposit cum inside him or all over his face. And there were those who wanted to fuck him in the most demeaning way possible, such as standing up against an alley wall in full view of anyone walking by. Not everyone was like that. Many of the clients at the club in particular were gentle, even kind. But after initially enjoying some of the attention and compliments they lavished on him, Ryan gradually found his attitude changing. Devastated by the lingering effects of Agnes' betrayal and ground down by the physical and mental toll of being a street hooker, his feelings for even the most considerate of customers soured. Eventually, all he could see was the way these men treated him as an object of lust. And their failure to recognise his distress. Their failure to rescue him. The fact that his self-control prevented him from showing just badly he was hurting, and indeed allowed him to put on an entirely convincing display of enjoyment, didn't excuse them. Nor did it matter that he could have asked to be rescued -- thrown himself on their mercy and risked punishment for the chance to get the aid he desperately needed. As he saw it, he was the victim. And these uncaring men were piling on his punishment, doing the very things which had got him into this predicament in the first place. All while admiring and celebrating a beauty he did not want. How could he think better of them for doing that? By the end then, quite perversely, it was the anal sex that he came to find least offensive, especially when he was being taken from behind and didn't have to show any semblance of pleasure or appreciation, beyond some well practised moaning. Each time he was fucked, the stimulation of his prostate brought him to the edge of orgasm, only for it to slip frustratingly away as the Order's cunning chemical blocks did their work. But those ruined climaxes were themselves a reminder of how little he could trust his sexual partners, regardless of how well or badly they behaved. He was dimly aware that there were holes in his logic. But he had been manipulated and conditioned to a point where even as he fought to maintain his rebellion against what was happening to him, he was beginning to think in exactly the ways the Order wanted. The nuns overseeing his transformation weren't aiming for mindless compliance. They valued his resilience and self-reliance, tolerated his attempts at resistance, futile as they might be. Even if the destination to which he was heading was one they had chosen, they wanted him to find his own way to that place. The real turning point came when Ryan returned to the Convent and settled back into the rhythms of life there. In comparison to what he had endured while he had been away, performing his daily chores and rituals seemed far less challenging, soothing even. But even as he welcomed that familiarity, he could not help but notice that some things had changed. One, of course, was the departure of Agnes, now no doubt gone to work her wiles on some other poor fool, at one of the Order's other facilities. Her place in his bed was taken by a succession of other novices. All of them were good-looking, some as demanding as she had been that he satisfy their urge for anal stimulation. But none were quite as pretty or came anywhere close to eliciting any genuine affection from him. The more significant absence, however, turned out to be that of Sister Felicity. He had no idea where the avenging demon who had once been his girlfriend might have gone, and he knew well enough not to ask any of the other sisters. But her disappearance, and with it the cessation of her relentless, creative and ferocious assaults on his body and spirit, brought about a remarkable improvement in the quality of his daily life. There were still trials to endure, of course. While Sister Mercy rarely called on his services, her collection of strapons was deployed as ferociously as ever when he did visit her chamber. Sister Chastity was much gentler, but her insatiable appetite for cunnilingus never failed to leave his tongue leathery and his jaw aching. In his first week back, he also had a familiar encounter with vindictive old Sister Beatrice, who had always loved using Ryan as a human toilet. When she pulled him aside and forced him to swallow what seemed like a never-ending stream of golden pee, he wondered how many litres she had drunk in preparation and how long she had crossed her legs, just waiting for him to walk by. Yet after that one episode, she seemed to content to leave him alone, or pick on some of the other novices. In that and other ways, life at the Convent seemed notably less painful and humiliating than it had previously been. He could now go whole days with nothing more challenging than the requirement to engage in girlish chatter with the other novices, in between bouts of housework and silent prayer. After six or seven weeks of this, however, a new challenge presented itself: a weekly assignation as an escort. In his previous life, he had occasionally used the services of Heavenly Bodies, though only ever to purchase some very expensive time with a woman, never a transsexual -- or at least not that he could definitely recall. Although there had been at least one beautiful creature who he remembered offering oral and anal sex only ... so maybe he was wrong about that. It would have blown his mind back then to discover that the escort agency was run by a group of nuns. Now, however, he could only describe it as mildly surprising. >From what he had seen and learnt during his ill-fated trip to the city, the Order was a much bigger organisation than he had previously thought. He now suspected that the Convent might be only one of many facilities they owned. If they could supply girls to a strip club and run a hooker welfare program, who knew what other irons they might have in the fire? His task each week was a simple one. He was not on call or required to travel between jobs. He was hired out to a single client, for what might be anywhere from a few hours to the best part of a day. How and where that time was spent was entirely a matter for the client. Most commonly, he was taken out for dinner, then back to a hotel for a night that might involve a lot of sleep, or very little. The amount of rest was generally proportionate to the client's age and inversely related to their stamina. But there were many variations. Over the ensuing months he visited country mansions, spent time on a yacht, and even went up to high altitude to experience, if only very briefly, what it felt like to be fucked while in weightless freefall. There was even a night in a dungeon, which was far from comfortable or enjoyable, although Ryan's intimate acquaintance with bondage and discipline, nurtured over many sessions at the Convent, helped him endure the client's enthusiastic attention. In all this, and even for the dungeon master, he was expected to provide not just sex, but companionship. The conditions of hire, which were generally respected by the men using his services, relieved him of any obligation to talk about himself. But otherwise, he was encouraged to be charming, friendly and open. The clients were assured that they could talk to and in front of him with complete discretion, and some of them were more than willing to share secrets about their personal lives, business affairs or political machinations, especially after he had drained them once or twice. And he was completely faithful to the Order's promise, never breathing a word of what he had heard. The tiny but very efficient microphones hidden in his earrings, however, were another matter entirely. It was only after a few weeks of wondering why he was always required to wear the same jewellery and then return it to the Convent's safe that it occurred to him to take a closer look at the items in question. But it was a discovery he kept to himself. He found it surprisingly easy to set aside his distaste for the men he was servicing and be a good companion. After being taught to play the role of the submissive and obedient servant at the Convent, the only challenge now was to perform with more sparkle and a smile. And even that was something that he had learnt to do in chatting and joking with the novices. There were certain upsides to his newfound role. The food and drink, for one thing. What he ate at the Convent tended to be nutritious rather than tasty. So, the chance to sample fine foods and wine again was very much a plus -- though he found that both a diminished appetite and his strong desire to remain in control kept his consumption in check. His biggest challenge was a two-year gap in his knowledge of current affairs, not to say music, television and other forms of popular culture. But even that he found a way to play in his favour, by making a big joke of it -- and volunteering the information that he had been `out of circulation' when transitioning to being a woman. Which of course was perfectly true. The scary aspect was that he really had started to make that transition, mentally now as well as physically. After the first few outings, he found himself beginning to think of himself as Amanda. It was Amanda who was working for Heavenly Bodies, Amanda who was playing the vibrant and flirtatious companion, Amanda who was sharing her body as often and for as long as she was asked. Each time that Amanda returned to the Convent, it was Ryan who donned the familiar robes and went back to his chores and prayers. Even if it was a woman's face who stared back at him from the mirror, a woman's voice he heard, a woman's lingerie he wore every day, Ryan could still connect himself with the man who had been imprisoned and forced into a habit. But when it was time to go out into the world, dressed in whatever fashionable and elegant outfit that had been chosen from the Convent's extensive and hitherto hidden array of clothing stocks, it was no longer Ryan who went to work. Unmoored from the Convent and any personal history, it was Amanda who spread her wings. The disconnection was not complete. Amanda still had Ryan's determination to look for escape, for instance. But even though there was never a nun anywhere in sight, nor any visible sign of the Order tracking her, Amanda knew that she could not assume she was free to leave. On a couple of occasions, she tried to head somewhere other than where she'd been told to go to meet the client -- but she ended up there anyway, just as Ryan had when he made his break for freedom in the city. She also tried to tell a couple of the clients that she was a nun, and that she was being held against her will and forced into sexual servitude. But the words literally would not come out of her mouth. There were mental blocks at work then, conditioning she'd been given that cemented the Order's hold on her. So, for now at least, all she could do was to perform her job as well as she could. And watch, listen, learn and pray for a break. And now, several months into her time as an escort, something had happened. This latest job was different. For one thing, she'd been given specific instructions that had nothing to do with her usual duties. And for another, the client was someone she already knew. Someone she used to work with. On a normal job, she was given a special phone that gave her directions and allowed her to call for a pickup when she was done. It could also be used to pay for anything she needed along the way. Usually, the device gave her the client's name and photo, plus background information she could study while being driven to the meeting point. But today there had been nothing. She'd asked the driver, but all he knew was where to take her. She understood as soon as she entered the lobby of the hotel and saw who was waiting for her. It was Dean Brandeis, Ryan's former boss. Not his immediate boss. Dean was the chief executive of the business at which Ryan had been employed and there had been several rungs on the managerial hierarchy between them. But as the man who ran one of the companies in the empire built by Ryan's father, Dean was a frequent visitor to the family's various houses and indeed often stayed over as a guest during his holidays, along with his elegant but frosty wife. Dean and Ryan had got on well, which was surprising not so much because of the age difference as their very different attitudes to hard work. Ryan was never sure whether the older man had any idea how little Ryan actually did at the company. Perhaps he knew full well, but chose to ignore it because he had no expectation that his superior's son was there to do anything useful in the first place. Whatever the story, Dean had always seemed to enjoy the younger man's company, especially as a drinking partner. On one memorably dissolute occasion, while away at a business conference, they had even enjoyed a foursome with a pair of identical twins, whose favourite trick was to swap places without warning and then dare their partners to figure out who had been fucking whom. There were two things that Dean didn't know about Ryan. One was that before disappearing in disgrace, his gregarious young friend had occasionally shared his wife's bed, not out of any desperate desire for her company but simply because of the entertainment it afforded. The other was that Ryan had no compunction about sharing with Mrs Brandeis what he knew about Dean's various infidelities -- a breach of confidence that would eventually lead to a very expensive divorce, although Ryan only found this out much later. Those important exceptions aside, however, Dean had known Ryan pretty well. But the question now was whether he would recognise Amanda ... At her first sight of the mystery client, Amanda stopped dead in her tracks. Yet even as she felt the blood drain out of her face, all the training and self-control she had learnt at the Convent prevented her from betraying the shock she felt. After just a few seconds of frozen immobility, she rearranged her face into a warm smile. Striding confidently across the lobby, her insides churning, she greeted her mark. "Hello-" She stopped, conscious that she had been about to call him Mr Brandeis. She knew from previous experiences that some clients used their real name, others a pseudonym -- and this was one time that she hadn't been given any information. "Hello sir," she said, amending her greeting. "I believe you're waiting on a special delivery from HB?" This was the standard code for any meeting in public. "Indeed," he replied smoothly, running an admiring eye over her. "Very special, I'd say!" "Thank you sir," said Amanda brightly. "I'm sure you'll enjoy it. Is there somewhere we can go to discuss the arrangements?" To her vast relief, he showed no sign of recognising her as he led her to a lift and then used a special code to access the top floor of the hotel. That wasn't so surprising, she reflected. After all, she looked vastly different. The various treatments and cosmetic surgery at the Convent had not just given her boobs, wider hips, a plumper bottom and much higher voice. Her face had been reshaped as well, and with makeup on even she struggled sometimes to see what was left of the man she had once been. As they rode up in the elevator, she leaned in conspiratorially and whispered: "So, what would you like me to call you, honey? Sir? Master? Maybe ... Daddy?" He scoffed at that, though there was no hint of reproof. "Dean will do," he said firmly. Amanda gave a silent sigh of relief. Now she didn't have to worry about inadvertently calling her new client by a name she couldn't have known. The day went more or less as expected. She was driven in an expensive, open-topped sports car out to a delightful spot on the peninsula, where they walked on a beach before having a fabulous seafood meal. Unlike some other clients, Dean said nothing whatsoever about his work, but they still seemed to find plenty to chat about. They were now back in the hotel. And it was time for her to really earn her money ... or the Order's money, at any rate. As he entered her for the first time, she called out: "Oh god, your cock feels so good inside me. Now fuck me with it, fuck that sweet ass! That's it, yes, like that ... only harder! Come on baby, make me cum for you ..." From Ryan's previous sexcapades with the man, she knew that he loved women who talked dirty: the sluttier and more demanding the better, in fact. So, she kept up an obscene commentary as he tore into her ass, alternately cajoling and demanding. For whatever reason, her first ruined orgasm was fairly quick to arrive. But rather than fake the rest of the climax, as she had become very adept at doing, she opted to hold off until Dean was ready to pour his seed into her. Only when she judged that he was ready to pop did she elevate her moans and demands to shrieks of ecstasy. That was enough to send him over the edge and he came very noisily inside her. After he had withdrawn, he collapsed onto the bed. Unbidden, she turned him over, then began to noisily lick and suck his twitching organ until it was completely free of his spunk. As always, Amanda had kept her rectal passage scrupulously clean, and Dean himself was freshly showered, so all she could taste was the lubricant and the pearly white residue of his pleasure. Cleaning up a man who had been inside her was not always so palatable, but given what she sometimes had to put up with at the Convent, she had learnt not to be too fastidious. Settling down with her head on his generous, hairy belly, she popped his softening cock into her mouth and just let it rest there. It was a trick she'd learnt that seemed to speed up the process of recovery for a second bout. And sure enough, after just ten minutes it started to grow again, a process Amanda encouraged by fondling Dean's heavy balls. Once his shaft was fully hard again, she slid it out from her throat and resumed her ribald exhortations, in between lapping at the swollen, purple head and working the ball sack into her mouth. She knew from previous observation how much he loved having his cock sucked. So, it was no surprise when he was content to let her work away at him with his mouth, until eventually he was pouring another burst of creamy goo down her gullet. As always, she had to ignore the horrible taste. Before being trapped and feminised, Ryan had never previously tasted spunk, not even his own (his sexual curiosity had manifested in many ways, but never that one). So, Amanda couldn't say for sure that it wasn't like that for everyone. But she suspected that, as with so much of her body chemistry, her taste buds had been altered by the Order. It surely couldn't be an accident that there was such a contrast between what she experienced when sampling a man's seed, and the utterly delicious taste of the pitifully small quantities of cum that oozed out of her own shrunken member and those of the other novices. She had hoped that a second orgasm might satisfy Dean, at least for a while. But when he showed no sign of wanting to settle down to sleep, she opted to rouse him again by talking about what a gorgeous cock he had and how she would love to feel it from a host of different angles. From the speed with which he got hard again and the fact that it stayed that way through the dizzying series of positions they tried out over the next hour, she suspected that he had taken something to enhance his performance. But eventually the kneeling wheelbarrow did the trick. Within five minutes of erupting for a third time and flooding Amanda's now thoroughly greased ass with his hot cum, Dean was snoring gently alongside her. She waited a good twenty minutes until she was certain he was asleep, before cautiously getting out of bed. Moving as quietly as she could, she retrieved Dean's phone from the drawer in which she had seen him place it, then took it into the bathroom with her purse. Ignoring the steady stream of spunk that was dripping from her still gaping asshole, she plugged Dean's phone into her own, using a cable that she took from a concealed compartment in the base of her bag. After keying in a combination that opened a hidden app, she put the phones down and finally turned to cleaning up both herself and the little puddle of cream on the tiled floor. Looking anxiously at the display on her phone, she waited until it showed that the transfer was complete, then unhooked the two devices. Her heart was hammering as she went back into the bedroom and returned Dean's phone to the drawer, careful to put it back exactly where she had found it. All the while she kept listening for any sound that he was stirring. It was only when she slipped back into bed and snuggled up against his warm body that she could finally start to breathe freely again. After all her exertions, sleep should have come fairly easily. But the strain of what she had been asked to do kept her awake, as did the inevitable speculation of just what the Order either wanted or intended to do with whatever secrets were to be found on Dean's phone. In the result, Amanda had a few fitful hours of slumber at best before being woken by the feel of Dean's tongue on her sensitive nipples. Soon enough, she was once again begging him to fuck her, and using her well-developed muscles to squeeze his shaft as tightly as she could as it slid inside her. The previous night's exertions had plainly taken their toll on him, and it took some particularly vigorous squatting on her part to coax another and this time more modest eruption from his straining cock. Her own legs were more than a little rubbery by the time she joined him in the shower. Over a fine breakfast, for which he showed a voracious appetite, Dean showered Amanda with compliments and even asked if she'd consider what he called an "exclusive arrangement." "I could make it worth your while, you know," he said, stroking her hand as he sipped his coffee. "Place of your own, good income to live on, plenty of opportunity for travel. I'd even pay for you to study, if you wanted to set yourself up for a career. For, well, after ..." For after I've lost my looks and you've found a younger fuck-toy, you mean, thought Amanda. But she simply smiled sweetly and brought his hand up to her lips to kiss it gently. "That's very sweet of you," she replied, "but I'm afraid I'm not allowed to take on other commitments right now." Dean's face crinkled into a frown. "Not allowed? What do you mean? All you have to do is tell the agency you want to move on, right?" No, I really can't. But Amanda couldn't say that, of course. Cursing her slip, she hastened to explain. "Well, I could, only they've really helped make me what I am today." That was certainly true. "And I'm still in the process of ... getting things done. So I'm kind of on a promise to keep working for them until, well, the transition is complete." Dean smiled. "Well, if you're thinking about getting yourself a pussy, I can tell you you don't need it, sweetheart. That ass of yours is as good as anything I've had ... But okay. Still, if you change your mind, you let me know, you hear?" She agreed and took his phone number, reflecting as she did so that she had already taken a lot more than that ... When she returned to the Convent later that morning, a surprise was in store for her. She was taken straight to Sister Mercy's office, only to find it occupied by an older nun, wearing a habit that was not black, but a dark purple. It was not a colour Amanda had seen before on any nun of the Order. "My name is Reverend Mother Harmony," said the nun. She indicated a chair. "Sit down please Amanda." Her voice was pleasant, but the overtones of command were unmistakable. She had a plump, unremarkable face, although the eyes behind the thick, horn-rimmed glasses hinted at the steel that had to lie inside. This was the most senior nun Amanda had encountered in the Order so far. She was positive that nobody could ascend within that organisation on the basis of decency and kindness. "Your phone please dear," instructed the older woman. Wordlessly, Amanda handed it over. Mother Harmony glanced at the device and then tucked it away in a hidden pocket in her robes. "I take it you did as you were asked?" "Yes mother," answered the novice. "There weren't any problems. Or none that I know about at any rate." "Good." The purple-clad nun gave Amanda a searching look. "But I imagine you'd like to know what's going on? Why we sent you to service one of your father's most trusted associates?" Amanda's hesitation was barely perceptible. "It's not my position to ask, mother." Her superior gave a thin smile. "No indeed. But I'm going to tell you anyway. Or some of it." She shifted in her comfortable leather chair before continuing. "The part I'm sure you've already guessed is that we wanted to see whether you could get through an encounter with someone you used to know, without giving yourself away. Or someone Ryan used to know, I should say." Amanda nodded. That part of it was obvious enough. What surprised her though was that the older nun's correction seemed so appropriate. After the initial shock, she had found it surprisingly easy to think of Dean as somebody else's acquaintance, not hers. "But the little bit of espionage we asked you to undertake? That runs a little deeper. When we first liberated Sister Felicity and decided to improve the world by, ah, re-educating her appalling boyfriend, we didn't know whose son he was, or much about his father. Oh, we'd heard about Alan Seldon, but we'd had no reason to pay him much attention." She gave a grimace. "When we did some digging, however, we didn't like what we found. It's one thing to support a financial and political system that marginalises women. Most businesses do that. It's something else to profit from the sale and sexual exploitation of women and young girls, as your father has effectively done. He knew full well whose money his companies were laundering." The thin smile was back. "And yes, I do understand the irony of helping to run an organisation that's not above enslaving men and forcing them to sell their bodies. Our methods can be regrettable, even immoral. But we're fighting a war against overwhelming odds and sometimes ... there are casualties." She gave Amanda a pointed look. "Some innocent, some not so much." Mother Harmony leant back in her chair. "Anyway, back to your father. We might have settled just for making him think one of his sons was a criminal. Not that he's missing him that much, mind. And he cares a lot more about the money he thinks Ryan stole than the sex scandal we manufactured." Her mouth twitched with disgust. "But what we couldn't ignore was all the sexual violence. The things he did himself, the disgusting behaviour he didn't just tolerate from the men around him, but positively encouraged. The man you were ... Ryan was an unpleasant bully who needed to be taught a lesson. But he didn't know the half of what was going on." She sighed. "So, we're going to take him down. And this" -- she tapped the pocket that contained Amanda's phone -- "should help a great deal." Amanda listened with mounting astonishment. Not about the much larger game that the Order seemed to be playing, or the crusade they seemed to have taken up against her father. Nor even the suggestions of darker patterns of female mistreatment than the casual misogyny Ryan had both witnessed and perpetrated. No, what really shocked her was how little she cared. Ryan had never liked his father, but he would have defended the man's choices and accepted the harm done to others as the price of doing business successfully. Ryan strongly believed in a system that gave him wealth and privileges. Amanda, by contrast, cared nothing for that system, or the men who profited from it. Or any men for that matter. She had no love for the Order either. But she did at least respect the strength and commitment of the women who ran it. And perhaps even recognised the justice of what had been done to her, even as she struggled to resist it. Whether what they were now planning to do to Ryan's father was defensible or appropriate was simply irrelevant. All that mattered was whether they had the power and the will. Her money, if she had any, would have been on the Order. So, when Mother Harmony asked whether she was at all concerned about what she had heard, or wanted to know more, she simply shook her head and said: "No mother." The nun held Amanda's gaze for a moment, then nodded. "Good. Now, that brings us to the question of what we do with you. I think it's time you moved out of this convent, don't you?" Amanda blinked, then said slowly. "I'm not sure mother. It depends on ... where you want to send me." And that was nothing less than the truth. For all her (or at least Ryan's) desperation to escape, she had come to feel secure in the Convent's routines. As she now was, she didn't know what kind of life she could manage if she had to fend for herself. "Fair enough," conceded Mother Harmony. "We're planning to send you to work at one of our special schools. It will give you a new perspective on our work. And if you make a success of it, you may have the opportunity to ascend to the sisterhood." Amanda nodded. "And the ... escort work?" "Oh, that will continue, at least while you remain a novice. You're too valuable an asset to keep locked away. Why, do you enjoy it?" Amanda thought about the question. "I ... I think I enjoy being good at it, mother." And that, for a wonder, was the simple truth. The senior nun gave a bark of laughter. "Yes, I imagine you do. Anyway, you'll be transferring today. So don't bother to change. Just go straight to the surgery. And well done on this latest job. You did both yourself and the Order proud." Once again, Amanda had to work hard not to let her surprise show. That might well have been the first outright compliment she'd received in all the time she'd been at the Convent. But she simply thanked the reverend mother, curtsied and took herself off to the surgery, as instructed. There she was inspected, given a number of injections, and had the prosthetic that hid what was left of her genitals cleaned and replaced. Something felt a little different about it afterwards, though she couldn't say what exactly. From there she was not sent back to her chamber to pack up her meagre belongings, as she would have expected. Instead, she was directed to Sister Chastity's rooms. She found the nun in a characteristic posture -- sitting on a chair with her legs splayed and her black robe lifted to reveal her hairless cunt. She smiled at Amanda and nodded to a spot on the floor in front of her. Amanda reflected that she must have some special skills as a cunnilinguist, to be summoned for one last bout of oral sex before she departed from the Convent. There were definitely worse things to do than pleasure the good looking and sensual nun. If only, Amanda thought as she knelt down and brought her tongue to bear on a pussy that quickly moistened under her attentions, the woman could stop at just one orgasm. Or even four or five. It was a surprise then when, after a typically noisy climax, Sister Chastity did not instruct Amanda to keep going. Instead, she led the sissy novice into her bedroom, told her to strip off down to her stockings and then made her lie down on her back on the bed. Amanda complied, wondering what the nun had in mind and half expecting to see chains brought out to shackle her to the bedposts. The last thing she was expecting was for Sister Chastity to strip off her robes, join her on the bed and bring her soft lips down on Amanda's. As she returned the kiss, first hesitantly and then with increasing enthusiasm as the nun's tongue probed her mouth, Amanda was dimly aware that this was the first time she had kissed a woman since, well, before Ryan had been taken captive. That was not counting any of the novices of course; and since Agnes' betrayal, it seemed only right to treat them as the treacherous men they really were. As for the nuns, she could not recall any of them showing affection in this way before. The surprises kept coming when Sister Chastity transferred her mouth to Amanda's firm boobs. As her nipples were teased to stiffness, Amanda felt a familiar heat begin to rise in her groin. Moving almost of their own volition, she felt her hands reach for the soft warm body that was now laying across her. One found the nape of the nun's neck and stroked it, while the other sought out one of the older woman's heavy breasts and started fondling it. The two of them moaned, almost simultaneously. But the biggest shock was still to come. After a couple of minutes of industrious work on Amanda's ripe and succulent tits, Sister Chastity broke the embrace and positioned herself between the novice's stocking-clad legs. Amanda propped herself up on her elbows and watched in amazement as the nun brought her head down to her younger colleague's artificial slit. With a smile, Sister Chastity said softly: "Think of this as a going away present." Then she slid her tongue inside the new prosthesis. Since that terrible first day at the Convent, on which Ryan had his male parts sealed away, they had been both inert and unreachable. All that could be felt inside the fake labia that concealed them was the nozzle of the tube that allowed both urine and very small quantities of spunk to emerge. But now, the head of what used to be Ryan's cock had been made accessible. And as Sister Chastity's questing tongue found it, waves of pleasure began to surge through Amanda's abdomen. The feeling was like nothing she had previously experienced. There was no swelling, no feel of blood rushing to an engorged helmet. It was more akin to the sensation that came from the sensitive spot inside her rectal passage being stimulated. Yet where that was localised, this felt much more general. On a hunch, she gently rubbed one of her nipples ... and let out a groan of animal pleasure as the touch amplified the effect of what was being done between her legs. Oh my god, thought Amanda, have they given me ... a clitoris? Without surgery, the answer was surely no. And yet as the pleasure intensified, she could not imagine what else could feel this good. And then rational thought seemed to slip away. Or at least, it made no sense to do anything but lose herself in the feelings rippling through her body. All except that one part of her brain that kept waiting for the impending orgasm to slip away, as so many had done over the years of her subjugation. But as Sister Chastity worked away, her saliva soaking Amanda's gash and her probing tongue snaking over the tip of the glans beneath, a pressure built within Amanda that was far more intense than she -- or Ryan, the man she had once been and might never be again -- had ever felt. Amanda dimly felt her head collapse back onto the bed. Both hands now were on her boobs, pawing at nipples that should have been sore beyond endurance, yet kept firing sparks of pleasure downwards to meet the currents of electricity rising from below. Her back arched as she thrust her pelvis upwards to meet the nun's stabbing tongue. The wave crested higher inside Amanda, until she felt she was drowning in the new sensations flooding her body. For a few seconds she thought she must explode, or let the feelings drain away. Until the dam wall broke. And for the first time in her life, Amanda came. The orgasm went on for a long time. So did the others that followed. [To be continued] If you have any comments, please email me at zennaswallows@gmail.com. And do please consider donating money to help keep this wonderful site alive, by going to http://donate.nifty.org/.