Author's note: This revised version corrects some minor errors in a chapter originally posted well over a year ago. I'm pleased to say that a new chapter is nearly finished and should be published in the next week or so. I apologise sincerely to anyone who has been hanging out to learn more about Ryan's exploits as an unwilling nun. But the wait will soon be over!
THE CONVENT, PART 4
by Zenna Swallows
Ryan hurried down the busy street, as fast as his heels would let him and without doing anything to call attention to himself. Or at least any more attention than would naturally be directed to the sight of an attractive young nun whose elaborate and skilful makeup contrasted vividly with her plain white robe and traditional wimple.
Keeping his eyes downcast to avoid the gazes of any curious passers-by, Ryan was all too aware of being a walking contradiction. At one level, he was completely comfortable with his appearance, with the sensuous feel of the lingerie underneath his habit, even with walking in heels that many women would find awkward.
But he was also terrified of being out in public looking like this, of being seen by other people -- and especially other men -- who might at any moment see through the trappings of femininity.
In other circumstances that contradiction might have paralysed him. But as it was, he was trying, but failing, to suppress a rising tide of elation. Because he had done it! After so much patience and suffering, over so many months -- surely now well over a year, though he couldn't be sure -- he had finally earned his chance at freedom.
At long last, he was out of the convent that had been his home and prison since the fateful night he first went to stay there.
The place where his manhood had been taken away from him. Sometimes in obvious and immediate ways, such as the clothing and makeup he'd been forced to wear, the concealment and chemical suppression of his cock, or the changes to his voice. But also through methods that worked more gradually and insidiously, such as the hormone treatments, injections and corsetry that had gradually given him B-cup breasts, a narrow waist, wide hips and a plump, rounded butt.
Not to say the training that had allowed him to walk, talk and act like the young woman he now appeared to be.
The opportunity for escape had only come because of his relentless discipline and self-control. After initially raging against his capture, he had been given a frightening glimpse of what his future could look like if he openly defied the cruel and well-resourced Order that had seized him. A lifetime spent in servitude, perhaps, or even worse -- being confined to a cage and reduced to something closer to an animal.
As it was, he had gradually earned the trust of the perverted women who held him, even to the point of suffering the indignity of being relentlessly fucked by his former girlfriend Dana -- or Sister Felicity as she was now known. And it had all now paid off.
The chance to get away had come completely out of the blue. It was not the product of any escape plan. He had long since given up on finding a way past the convent's security system, which included a tiny device embedded in his anal passage that would cripple him with pain if he got even a few metres away from the building.
He was outside that system now, and walking around the city in which he used to live and work, purely because he had been brought here.
The first he'd heard of what was mysteriously described as a "field trip" was when he and Agnes, the gorgeous young novice who had become his favourite bedmate, were summoned from breakfast to see Sister Mercy.
His immediate thought was that they must be in some kind of trouble. Not, surely, for what they were getting up to in bed together. It was true that they were routinely now not just kissing and cuddling when rostered to sleep together, but having sex -- or the nearest thing it was possible to have with what was left of their cocks tucked away underneath a prosthesis designed to look like a vulva. But all the novices were doing that to a greater or lesser degree, and had been for months.
Left to his own devices, Ryan would probably have resisted the idea of fingering each other's assholes to trigger the pathetically small discharge that was all their shrivelled balls could now produce. Especially since the release was invariably accompanied by the exquisite frustration of a ruined orgasm.
But he had long since given in to Agnes' insistence that they "take care" of each other in that way each time they were assigned to the same bed. At least it stopped her spending the night wriggling and squirming against him -- most of the time anyway.
Plus, he had to admit, relieving the aching tension that built up every day in his groin and his sensitive, easily excited nipples was often worth the price of the stalled climax. Especially as he got to kiss and fondle the delectable Agnes ...
Every time he thought of her, he marvelled anew at how beautiful she was. He knew, intellectually, that she used to be a man -- or a boy at least (she was still young, and he had no idea how long she'd been at the convent).
Like him, she lacked a pussy. And her breasts were far less developed than his, barely A cups in size. But in every other respect, she was everything he could want in a woman. The large, blue eyes that sparkled with connection and desire every time she spoke to him. The full, pouting lips that seemed ruby red even when she wasn't wearing lipstick. The lithe body. slim but not skinny, athletic but not muscled. The tiny but perfect nipples, which stiffened so readily when he touched them. And the pert buttocks that he so loved to caress, before he parted the cheeks to penetrate her tight asshole with his digits.
She was spectacular, far more enticing than anyone else in the convent, even his ex-girlfriend.
It was odd too, but he found he had no desire to fuck her. Not that he could right now, of course. But for someone who had spent the best part of the last decade relentlessly screwing the women of his choice, he found it strange that his fantasies were not of impaling her on the phallus he used to have.
He dreamed instead of being able to bring her to a proper orgasm -- and of her being able to do the same to him. He wanted to feel her sweet juices pouring into his mouth and down his throat, and of filling her mouth in return as she drove her fingers into him.
The fact that the "juices" he wanted would actually be another guy's semen, or that he had come to enjoy having his rear passage stretched and his prostate stimulated (at least by her), were things he tried very hard not to think about ...
Paradoxically, the strength of his attraction to the cute young blonde was also the reason why they saw so little of one other out of bed, other than when brought together by their lessons or chores.
The strategy that had served Ryan so well as an initiate, of keeping strictly to himself, was no longer viable. Not with all the novices being expected to chat incessantly to one other, to practice and reinforce the feminine mannerisms in which they were being so carefully schooled. The stoic demeanour that he cultivated in front of the senior nuns, or out in the corridors, had to be abandoned when conversing with his peers. Whether he felt like doing so or not, he was expected to smile and laugh along with the rest of them.
But even so, Ryan did his best to socialise with anyone bar Agnes. Not because he didn't want to talk to her -- quite the reverse.
He was worried he was getting too preoccupied with her, infatuated even. He had to fight to avoid thinking about her during the periods set aside for meditation and prayer -- or when being tormented by the vengeful Sister Felicity or one of her colleagues. He knew that if he became too attached, it might not just cause him to relax his discipline and get into unnecessary strife, but even weaken his resolve to escape his captivity and reclaim his life.
He could see that Agnes was hurt by the distance he kept from her and his unwillingness to acknowledge, much less try to strengthen, the bond that was forming between them. It was there in the tightness around her eyes as she watched him keep his distance during the day, in the forlorn glances she directed towards him even when apparently preoccupied with someone or something else.
But she never complained, or even sought to question him about his choices. She put no pressure on him at all, other than to give her what little pleasure he could offer in bed. And that somehow made her even more appealing. He knew it was wrong, detested himself for his weakness. But he couldn't hate her for being so attractive.
It was typical then that when on this particular morning they were ordered to Sister Mercy's office, his first thought was not so much of what might happen to him, but whether he had somehow caused a problem for Agnes -- and of what he might be able to do to shield her from any punishment.
As it turned out, he wasn't in trouble at all, and nor was she. To his considerable surprise -- which, characteristically, he refrained from showing -- the two of them wee told there was a car waiting for them outside the front door, though no explanation was provided as to where they might be going.
Outside! Somewhere he hadn't been since that horrible first week at the convent when he'd been walked around the grounds on all fours like a dog.
The experience of not just walking down to the main entrance, but being allowed to pass back into the outside world, was almost surreal. Ryan couldn't stop glancing round, half expecting that someone would stop him. Even as he walked down the small flight of stone steps outside the entrance, he was tensing up, anticipating a blast of pain from the device implanted in him.
Yet all he encountered was brilliant sunshine and the feel of the unaccustomed breeze tugging at his robe. The unfamiliar sensations hit him so hard that he had to choke back a sob. Agnes clearly felt it too. She stumbled and would have fallen if Ryan hadn't shot out a hand to support her.
"Be careful, you stupid little slut!" barked a nearby voice. That was Sister Patience, waiting for them besides a sleek black limousine with tinted windows, and characteristically showing absolutely none of the virtue for which she was named.
It was a pattern with the sisters of the Blessed Order of Saint Pilarupta. Sister Joy never smiled. Sister Mercy never showed any. And those like Ryan who got to spend any time with Sister Felicity learnt all too quickly and painfully that there was no happiness to be found in her company.
"Come on girls, get in," said a less tetchy voice from inside the vehicle. That was Sister Chastity, one of the youngest of the senior nuns.
Her vice was an insatiable lust for the fingers and tongues of the novices, initiates and servants who populated the convent. She would sometimes spend hours on end using them to pleasure her, to the point of utter exhaustion on their part and mild fatigue on hers. But although it was not saying much, she was the nearest thing they had to a kind and friendly mistress.
The journey to the city took a couple of hours. It was almost like getting into a time capsule for Ryan. He had done this drive many a time, back in the old life which had been receding into the mist, but was suddenly now coming back into focus.
As they went through the outer suburbs and then approached the city centre, Ryan could only dimly make out any details through the darkened glass. But what he saw was hauntingly familiar. He still had no idea exactly where they were heading, or why. But he knew from long experience not to ask. He might be physically outside the convent, but its rules surely still applied.
Eventually, the car pulled up close to the central railway station. "There's some sort of parade going on today, so the streets are blocked," said the black-clad man in the driver's seat, turning around to speak to the senior nuns. "You'll have to walk the last few blocks."
Sister Patience muttered a most unholy curse and motioned to the novices that it was time to get out. As they did so, they emerged to find a great tide of humanity flowing past in either direction. Many of them seemed to be wearing masks of some kind, although Ryan had no idea why. Perhaps some kind of pollution problem?
Ryan could see that Agnes was overwhelmed by the press, her eyes darting nervously from side to side. But even though he could feel that same fear, of being exposed as a fake or a pervert, there was also something else. It was a sense of eager anticipation, though as usual he kept it from his face.
Because the crowd was all he could have wanted, all he would surely need. His freedom was so close he could smell it.
As they got out, Sister Chastity raised her voice to speak to the two novices. "Stay close and try not to get separated. If you do, make for this address -- it's the hotel where we'll be staying." She gave them the location and then, as the car drove away, set off down the street.
Losing her and the others was simplicity itself. It took Ryan less than a minute to lag behind, then dart off down a crowded alley, head down to keep his headdress from showing above the tallest pedestrians around him.
Impassive as usual on the outside, he was seething with tension as he set off for his target. He was heading to the bank where he used to work, and where he hoped to find either his father or his older brother.
He had no great liking for either of them -- but they were blood, and he needed them now as never before. The anticipation of reaching them warred with two very different kinds of fear. That he would somehow be caught before getting to them. And that they would not know him, or refuse to accept his story, even if he made it.
Scant minutes later, his gut clenching, he crossed a busy intersection and was about to enter the bank foyer when he stopped in confusion.
This was not the right building. He looked around, perplexed, wondering for a moment if in the year he'd been away, the old one had been demolished and a new one erected in its place. But that was ridiculous. The one he knew had only been up for a couple of years -- and even for a bank used to getting its way, nothing happened that fast.
It gradually dawned on him that this was a completely different location to the one he had so confidently struck out to find. But if this wasn't the bank, where on earth --
"Ah, there you are Amanda! We wondered where you'd got to!" He whirled around to see Sister Chastity approaching him, a broad smile on her face. A scowling Sister Patience and a nervous Agnes, relief flooding her face as she saw him, were close behind.
"You must have taken a quicker route, yes? Come on then," said Sister Chastity as she swept past and into the building in front of which Ryan had been standing.
Automatically, he followed her in, belatedly registering that this was the very hotel she had named back at the car. But how was it that he had found his way here, the one place in the entire city he wanted to avoid?
His thoughts were still a blur as the two senior nuns checked them in. They were sharing two rooms, with a connecting door between them. As Sister Patience guided Agnes to a lift, Sister Chastity pulled Ryan aside. "I'll be up in a minute sister," she called to the older nun, who jerked her head in irritable acknowledgement.
"Now Amanda," said the younger nun pleasantly, using the name that Ryan so abhorred,
I think we might need to have a quiet chat, don't you?"
She didn't wait for him to answer.
"Because it occurs to me that you might, how can I put it, be tempted to stray from the path of righteousness while you're here in the big city. By, perhaps, paying a visit to a certain bank? Or one of the many other places that someone who looks, walks and talks absolutely nothing like you used to frequent around here?"
Ryan was in a state of confusion, still trying to figure out how he could have taken the wrong route to a place he knew so well. As the nun's words slowly sank in, however, his studied impassivity failed him for once and he gaped at her.
She laughed. "I think we can save you some trouble. Here, why don't you just give Ryan's father a call?" She offered him a phone, which until then he had not realised she was holding.
"Go on," she prompted him, as he stared at the device.
Wonderingly, he took it from her. A touch of the screen brought it to life, revealing a keypad. His finger hovered over it and then stopped. He couldn't think of the number.
"Oh dear," said Sister Chastity, "maybe there's something wrong with your memory? Quick, what's the phone number of the house in which you grew up?"
Without pausing to think, Ryan rattled off the answer -- then closed his eyes in chagrin as the realisation hit him. He'd just recalled a made up number from a fictitious residence -- the one in which Amanda had supposedly lived when she was younger. The fake history the nuns had forced him to develop around his female persona was somehow more real to him now than his actual past.
"That's okay," said the nun soothingly, "I'm sure I can figure it out."
She took the phone from his unresisting hands, tapped in a number with a speed that suggested great familiarity, then handed it back.
As Ryan took it he heard a voice say: "Mr Seldon's office. How may I help you?" The voice was that of his father's long time personal assistant.
Ryan didn't stop to wonder how Sister Chastity could have the number of a direct line available only to selected colleagues and family members. He asked to speak to his father on an urgent personal matter.
If the assistant was at all perturbed by hearing a stranger's voice, she didn't show it. The connection was made and just seconds later Ryan heard the familiar clipped tones of the man for whom she worked, the person to whom Ryan had owed all his former wealth and privileges.
Ryan hesitated, his mouth suddenly dry. He had been rehearsing all day what he would say if he got the chance. Now he was so tempted just to blurt out his identity. But he knew his voice had been changed beyond all recognition. So, willing it not to shake, he said the words he'd practised.
"Sir, I have a very important message from you. It's from your son. From Ryan."
There was a silence on the line. When the response eventually came, it was not spoken, but spat. "You sick fuck!"
All thought of how the conversation might go withered in the face of his father's vehemence. Weakly, he started to protest, but the older man overrode him.
"No, you listen to me! Whether you actually know him or not, you should be ashamed of yourself. And if you do have the mischance to be in touch with that piece of shit, tell him that if he ever shows his despicable face I will personally beat it to a pulp. And then hand him over to the police so they can do the same."
The phone was slammed down with a noise so loud it echoed through the hotel foyer.
Ryan turned his stricken gaze on the nun standing next to him, who was frowning sympathetically.
"Well, that wasn't very nice, was it? He was clearly upset about something, I wonder what it was?" She retrieved the phone and started tapping away at it.
"Let's see, how about we google the name of Mr Seldon's second son, shall we? Maybe that will tell us something ... Ah, well, yes -- that would be it, I would think." She handed it back to Ryan with a sad smile.
He stared in horror at the search results. One click was all it took to confirm the grisly truth -- or what the internet thought was truth. Ryan Seldon had mysteriously disappeared nearly two years ago, having misappropriated millions of dollars from his father's bank. And that wasn't all -- a warrant was out for his arrest on child pornography charges as well.
"Hmmm, all that money missing, I can see why daddy might be angry," mused Sister Chastity. "Oh no wait, that was us, wasn't it? Whoops!" She raised her hands to her mouth in mock horror.
"And if only we hadn't planted that trail of breadcrumbs to Ryan's hidden server on the dark web. Well, not his, but the people who actually run it are hardly going to come forward to claim it, are they?"
The anger and hurt welled up inside Ryan. His hands balled up into fists -- or as close to fists as he could make with nails as long as they now were. His mouth opened to voice his outrage.
"Don't!"
As quietly as it was spoken, the word hit Ryan like a whiplash. The nun's amiable expression had vanished and the steel in her voice reminded him that, for all she may have seemed the "nice one," she was still very much a member of the organisation that had ruthlessly and efficiently detained and transformed him. And, it seemed, burnt all his bridges behind him as well.
"Before you say or do anything stupid, just remember we can incapacitate you any time we wish." She gave the control on her signet ring a meaningful tap.
"And you can't even begin to know all the ways we can control you. If you don't believe me, try walking out of that door and going anywhere we don't want you to go." She gestured at the hotel entrance, but his eyes remained locked on her compelling gaze."Or try telling someone anything we really don't want you to say."
Her expression softened just a fraction. "Now, are you going to remember your training and keep doing what you're told? Or am I just going to leave you in agony while I decide what the most amusing punishment would be?
Ryan's anger collapsed, as if all the air had been sucked out of a balloon.
"Yes sister," he replied, the quiet and submissive tone making it crystal clear which question he was answering. "I'm sorry sister."
"I'm not," she said bluntly. "This was a lesson you had to learn. And you wouldn't be here, and we wouldn't be having this conversation, if the Order didn't think your training and discipline weren't strong enough. Now, before we go up to our room and get you ready, I'm going to let you in on a little secret."
She leaned in to him and spoke very quietly, even though nobody else was in earshot.
"There are two ways to become a sister of our Order, and they both involve a choice. You can be invited, like Sister Felicity, in which case you choose to say yes -- and you can also choose to leave whenever you like." She flicked her fingers, miming the act of walking away.
"Or you can be trained. In which case there's still a choice, because if the training is too tough, you can decide to serve us in other ways. But our servants are with us for life. Those who rise to the sisterhood through training will, at some point, be allowed to leave -- if they wish. And if they have shown sufficient devotion. Do you think you can be devoted, Amanda?"
He didn't have to think about the answer, it was programmed into him so deeply now that he could no more resist her authority than cut off one of his own limbs.
"Yes sister," he responded meekly, dropping his head to end even the semblance of defiance. Inside, a part of him was still struggling -- hating what had been done to him, plotting the next opportunity to break free. But even that part had decided that now was not the time.
As he followed Sister Chastity into the lift, his thoughts were already turning to what lay ahead. She had said he would have to get ready -- but for what?
Up in the room, two surprises were waiting. One was the sight of a wardrobe full of clothes. They must, he realised have been there already, since the four of them had brought no luggage. The other was the sight of Agnes, clad in black lingerie rather than the white set she had put on at the convent -- and getting ready to don a black robe.
Ryan's gaze swivelled to Sister Patience, who was helping her to dress. The irascible nun wasted no time in answering his unspoken question.
"No, you idiot, she is not being elevated to the sisterhood. And neither are you. This is just a ... costume."
As Agnes put on the robe, he could see that it was different to the ones worn by the two senior nuns. It was made of a much coarser and cheaper material, there was no embroidery on it -- and it had Velcro strips that allowed it to be opened and closed at the front. Plus, it was only just over half the usual length, with a short skirt that left most of Agnes' nylon clad legs visible.
In short order, Ryan was wearing one of his own, with the same lingerie. A sheer black slip that hid virtually nothing of his breasts, a black G-string that left his buttocks bare, and stay up black stockings. They were paired with black shoes with platform soles and even higher heels than the ones he'd been wearing when he arrived.
The headdress was also different. Rather than concealing his hair completely, like the ones he was used to wearing at the convent, this one sat on top, allowing his long, wavy black tresses (which seemed to him to have grown at an artificially fast rate during his time In captivity) to cascade down to his shoulders and frame his artfully painted face.
With some adjustments to his makeup, including a much bolder shade of red on his lips (a suggestion by Sister Chastity that he had to agree went better with the new outfit) and an even brighter coating for his fingernails, he was ready to go.
He had to admit, admiring his reflection in the wardrobe mirror, that he had never looked sexier. Not, he added to himself with a quick mental qualification, that he wanted to look sexy. But if that was what it took to make the senior nuns happy, and preserve his chances of getting away from them, then he would try his best.
To his surprise, he and Agnes, who was looking even more stunning than usual, especially with her blonde ringlets on display, were forced to wait while the other nuns changed into street clothes -- the first time he seen any of the senior members of the Order in anything but habits or whatever underwear they favoured.
They both put on dark business wear, leaving nothing to show of their religious affiliations, but also calling little attention to themselves -- with the possible exception of Sister Chastity's long, shapely legs, admirably displayed by the cut of her skirt, and accentuated by the elegance of her shoes. Ryan realised for perhaps the first time that she was a very attractive woman, as good looking in her way as his former girlfriend.
He was more than a little worried about the prospect about being seen on the streets in his current outfit, especially without the thrill of possible freedom to insulate him from his anxieties. But instead of going out onto the busy thoroughfare at the front of the hotel, the two nuns led Agnes and him out into a quiet back alley.
Just a few minutes later, they were outside a nondescript door at the back of an older building which had the air of a disused warehouse. The contrast with the gleaming architecture of the high class hotel they had just left was striking.
Sister Chastity, who was quite clearly the leader of the expedition, nodded to her older colleague. Sister Patience glowered at her but dutifully pressed a button besides the door. She waited five seconds then pressed it again, repeatedly. The door eventually opened to reveal a towering figure, a man with a battered countenance in a tuxedo that barely covered his hulking frame. He had security written all over him.
"All right, all right," he grumbled. His eyes slid past the two women and then alighted with a gleam on Agnes and Ryan. He snickered as their eyes dropped rather than meet his, then spoke in a low rumble.
"Boss is waiting for you. He said the crowd's getting nicely warmed up. Your girls had better be able to dance."
He ran an appreciative eye over the "girls" in question and grinned. "Not that I reckon they need to, myself. Not looking like that."
"The girls," said Sister Chastity coldly, "will do just fine. Now show us where we need to go, please."
As they followed the bouncer down a series of dimly lit corridors, Ryan was oblivious to his surroundings -- and only his rigid self-discipline kept him from trying to run screaming in the opposite direction.
Because he knew now exactly what he was going to have to do. And if he had glanced at Agnes, he would have seen that she did too. The only difference was that her apprehension was written all over her face, while Ryan's features were as wooden as ever.
Clearly, they would be performing in front of a crowd. And it was not hard to work out what kind of "dancing" would be expected -- because they had been forced to practise it at the convent for the past few weeks.
Ryan had thought that having the novices do striptease routines and learn how to gyrate next to and around a pole was just one more unsubtle way of ramming home the Order's core philosophy. That to fully appreciate the subjugation of women, the least deserving men -- and he had long since accepted he fell into that category -- must truly experience life as a woman.
And not just as any woman, but as the male ideal of female beauty, complete with makeup, lingerie and impossibly high heels. All while being subjected to sexual abuse by those holding power over them.
But now, the practices took on a very different character. As did the way the novices had been forced to dance in pairs, grind their bodies together and fondle one another. It was not just another form of demeaning treatment, but a rehearsal. For something they would actually have to do in front of a room full of people. A room full of men, he was almost certain.
And it could be no coincidence that he and Agnes had been by far the most accomplished performers -- and the ones most often asked to reprise their displays for the private amusement of the senior nuns.
At the thought of what he was about to do, panic welled up inside Ryan. He stopped suddenly and, as the others turned round to look at him, said the first thing that came into his head. "Bathroom!" Sister Chastity narrowed her eyes. "I, um, I need to ... to take a break."
"Me too," chipped in Agnes quickly. Sister Patience gave an exasperated snort, but her colleague nodded her acquiescence.
The bouncer said: "There's one just here -- if you don't mind using the men's. Otherwise there's one in the dressing room, but that's generally pretty busy, what with the other girls and all."
"This one's fine," said Sister Chastity. "But quickly please, ladies."
Agnes nodded, grabbed Ryan's hand and pulled him into the toilet, which was old, cracked and with a smell that mixed stale urine and used condoms. It was truly disgusting. But Agnes paid it no heed. "What's up Mandy?" she asked anxiously. "You look terrible!"
Her use of the diminutive, which she only ever called him when they were alone, was usually something he found simultaneously cute and infuriating. It was a mark of his distress that he didn't even notice it.
"I don't think I can do it," he replied, trying to stop his voice from cracking, sensing that he was just seconds from bursting into sobs. "Dance, I mean. Not in front of ... them."
To his surprise, she actually scoffed.
"You -- not be able to do something? No, that can't be right! You're the strong one, the one who never cracks. The one who's best at everything. Makeup, walking, dancing. Even ..." -- she gave a shy smile -- "making me cum."
She reached up and stroked his face, her expression turning sombre once again. "Look, I'm not sure I can get through this without you. Please?"
For just a second, he felt tears brimming. But instead of letting them flow, he took a deep breath, then bent his head to kiss the beautiful blonde novice, gently so that their lipstick would not smudge.
As he lifted his mouth from hers, he nodded and said: "We'll get through it together, okay?" She squeezed his hand in response.
"All right," he continued, "we'd better go and face the music. Or maybe turn our back on it." She giggled at that and he forced himself to smile back. "But first, I really do need to pee ..."
A few minutes later, the four nuns were shown into an office. A well-dressed man in perhaps his forties rose from behind a desk to greet them. "Sisters!" he said expansively. "Good to see you again."
His smile was that of a shark. A dangerous man, Ryan thought, one he would have run a mile to avoid even in his former life. He couldn't repress an involuntary shiver as the man's gaze fell on him and then Agnes. Their appearance prompted an appreciative whistle. "Wow, these are the best yet."
"That's why our fee has gone up," said Sister Chastity coolly. "And If your patrons are as satisfied as I expect them to be, we'll be wanting a bonus."
The man's eyebrows raised, but the smile didn't budge.
"Is that so? Well, we'll have to see. Jacob?" This was to the bouncer. "Please escort these lovely ladies to the dressing room. Amber will let them know what to do. Oh wait though, we'll need their names."
He cocked his head in Agnes' direction. "What's yours, honey?"
She answered him in a small voice. He shook his head dismissively. "No, that won't do. You can be ... Angel. Suits you, yeah? And how about you?"
Ryan swallowed. "I'm A-- ... I mean, Mandy."
He wasn't sure why he chose to use that name and he was careful not to look at Sister Chastity to see her reaction, though he heard Sister Patience give a snort of disapproval.
But the club owner, or whoever he was, clearly felt differently. "Mandy, huh? Yeah, we can work with that. Okay then, off you go."
Ryan and Agnes were taken to a dressing room crowded with scantily dressed women and introduced to Amber, who turned out to be a busty redhead in a skimpy gold bikini.
"Well now," she drawled, "aren't you just the cuties? You done this shit before?" She jerked a thumb towards one end of the room, where a open doorway led to a flight of stairs. Through the entrance came the sound of pumping music and a chorus of cheers and catcalls.
"Um, yes," said Ryan hesitantly. "Or at least, we know how to dance and get our clothes off. In front of people too. But not ..."
He made an effort to pull himself together. "So what kind of crowd do you get here?"
"Businessmen mostly," replied Amber. "They're not too bad, especially lunchtimes like this. It can get a lot more feral at night. Anyway, you can go up and watch for a while if you like. When it's your turn, you get three songs, right? Say about fifteen minutes all up. Everything comes off except your panties. And if you're up to touching each other, do it, yeah? Cos they really love that ..."
It proved to be far less daunting than Ryan had feared. Part of that was the lights, which were so bright they made it hard to see much of the crowd, who seemed to be mainly a bunch of men in suits. Unlike the crowds through which Ryan had moved earlier, nobody seemed to be masked.
The volume of the music helped too, allowing him to focus on what he and Agnes were doing and tuning out the cries and comments from the audience. The height of the stage also meant too he was in no danger of being touched, especially with bouncers stationed on either side. It was easier than he thought to discard the robe and then the slip, baring his breasts to wild applause.
Most of all, he found that he could just concentrate on enjoying the sight of Agnes (or Angel as she had been announced) as she too disrobed, and the feel of her body as he danced with her.
There was no way he could tune out the reaction of the crowd when he first fondled her budding breasts and then ran his tongue over them, all while still grinding to the throbbing beat. The cheer was so loud that he thought the roof was going to lift off. But he could still revel in the immediate sensation of her nipples hardening under his tongue, sense her gasps of delight and enjoy the feel of her crotch as she ground it against his.
Best of all was sensing the moment when the trembling he had felt in her from the moment they took the stage started to change from fear to arousal.
At the convent, they had always been aware of their audience. It hadn't stopped them from getting turned on when they danced together, but they had chosen to ignore it -- or at least not to do anything too overt about it. But here, isolated from the baying crowd by the glare and the pounding music, they somehow felt more free to express their feelings.
It wasn't a surprise then when Ryan felt Agnes grab his hand, guide it around to her bottom, and then pull aside the thin strip of fabric that was all that lay between his fingers and her asshole. He lifted his busy mouth away from her breasts, brought it to her ear, and half-asked, half-shouted: "How many fingers do you want?"
Her head whipped around. The smile she had been mechanically displaying for the benefit of the audience had become the nearest to a wolfish grin he had ever seen her give. "As many as you can fit!" she called, fighting to be heard.
That did startle him, but as always, he refused to let it show. He simply nodded his acquiescence and added: "Okay, but I want it too, so be sure to leave time, yeah?"
Her answer was to give him a lingering kiss, prompting another surge in the decibel level, and then squat down, pulling him with her.
It took him a moment to figure out what she had in mind, but when he did, he knelt down behind her, knees splayed wide. As Agnes started raising and lowering her bottom, he began thrusting his pelvis up and down in time with her rhythm, grabbing her to steady himself.
To the audience, it looked like he was pretending to fuck her. But what they couldn't see was that the fingers of the hand that was grabbing her bottom were sliding into her tight hole.
It wasn't easy without proper lubrication. But he used a combination of the sweat on their smooth, hairless bodies and some discreetly harvested saliva to moisten his digits and get them inside her tight hole. He had never put more than two inside her before, but he found it easier than he would have expected to slip a third one in.
In no time at all, she was impaling herself on his hand. He was just beginning to wonder if he should attempt a fourth fingers when his stimulation did its work and she came -- or at least got as close as the Order's physical and chemical restraints would allow. Despite how it must have felt, she went to great trouble to fake a more satisfying orgasm for the benefit of the watching men.
Then it was his turn, as they swapped places. The third song was already halfway through as he felt her hands open him up. Her fingers were greasy and it took him a moment to wonder how. Then, with a thrill, he realised that she must have coated her hand in the small amount of spunk that had leaked into her panties when she reached her "climax."
The thought of having her juices inside of him was such a turn-on that he reached his own frustrated orgasm in under a minute, before he had time to wonder whether she might try to slip her whole fist into an asshole loosened by months of being fucked by huge strapons.
When the song ended, they exited to huge applause. Amber, who had been watching from backstage, was clearly impressed. "Wow," she said, "you girls really got it on! Told you they'd like it. That wasn't an act though, am I right?"
Ryan looked at Agnes, who giggled. "Well, we do sleep together ..."
Amber gave a nod. "Yeah, thought so. I'm kinda the same, always put a lot more effort in with the ones I'm already fucking. Plus the ones I want to fuck, of course ... Oh wow, now look at that!"
This last comment was directed to something on the screen of the iPad she was holding. "You two sure are popular."
"How do you mean?" asked Ryan, who was in the process of putting the discarded parts of his costume back on.
"I mean," said Amber, "that you girls are about to be very busy indeed." When neither Ryan or Agnes showed any signs of comprehension, she added: "The private shows? Wait, didn't they tell you about those?" The two novices shook their heads.
"Huh. Well, it's not complicated. Any guy who wants to can ask for a private show -- you put on a performance just for him, in a private room. Or any woman, but we don't get a lot of those. Fun when it happens though ..." She gave a dreamy smile.
"So ordinarily, you'd do what us regulars do -- go out and have a drink in the bar, wait for them to ask you. But there's also a booking system -- and it's just lit up like a Christmas tree. You've got so many requests the system has had to start an auction to figure out who gets a piece of your precious time."
"An auction," repeated Agnes incredulously. "You mean they're bidding on us?"
"Yep," grinned Amber. "And the price is skyrocketing. You won't see any of that, of course, that'll go to the club. But you can still make plenty of money on extras."
"Extras?"
"Sure. The customers are paying for you to dance for them. Just dance. No touching -- well maybe a little, you can sit on their lap and maybe grind a bit, but they keep their hands off. That's the deal. Unless ... you want to go a bit further."
"How much further?" asked Ryan slowly, his brain reeling as he tried to process what they were being asked to do.
Amber shrugged. "Up to you, doll. We get a few girls in here, they'll go all the way. But most stop at handjobs. The guys we get here, they'll pay plenty for that. Here, let me show you my price list, you're welcome to use it as a guide."
She tapped again on the screen of her device and then showed it to the novices, whose jaws dropped open as they read what was displayed. "But as I say, up to you. Depends how much you want to make."
Ryan shook his head. "I don't know, I think we're going to have to go and talk --"
"No time," said Amber firmly. "Come on, your first customers are already waiting. I' just had a message from Vince to get you down there right away." She strode to the door of the dressing room and then looked at them expectantly.
Agnes and Ryan looked at one another. "What do you think?" asked the little blonde. "I think," said Ryan with a sigh, "that Sister Chastity would say to do as we're told. Right?"
"Yes," answered Agnes with a tone of resignation mixed with worry. The two of them reluctantly followed Amber out. Ryan was concerned that they might have to walk through the club itself, but they took what was presumably a back way, because they didn't see any clients.
"Okay, here we are," announced the redhead, pointing to a row of doors. "Mandy, you're in number 3, Angel in 4. Come in here to Mandy's room, I'll show you both how the system works."
The rooms held a comfortable reclining chair on which the customer would sit, with space for the dancer to move around it. There was a screen that showed the waiting list and some further controls. Amber demonstrated how to start a session, and some music and mood lighting with it.
"When you hit this button, that other door automatically opens to let the customer in. They've got 20 minutes of your time -- and that's what you've got to make them happy. Or as happy as you feel like making them!" She gave a wicked grin.
"It's okay to take breaks, but keep them as short as possible or you'll have Vince down to complain. The more shows you do, the more he makes -- and the same for you, if you want. Oh, and you can take it that these rooms are completely private and it would be totally illegal -- and unethical -- for there to be any hidden cameras in here. Understood?"
She winked as she said this last and Ryan nodded. He understood all too well. The idea of doing something sexual while others watched was one he'd had to get used to at the convent.
Not that this was widely discussed. But the nuns there always seemed to have far too good an idea of who had been doing what to whom for it to be a product of gossip alone. What was scary was that they didn't try to hide the fact that they could spy on their captives any time they liked. Their control was so extensive that it was simply taken for granted.
The problem now, he mused, as Amber led Agnes out of his room and into her own, was that he had to assume the senior nuns would be watching his private shows. Would they expect him to offer any "extras"? The answer was surely yes. But how far would they want him to go? And how far was he willing?
After a brief reflection, he decided there was only one way to find out -- and standing around worrying was a guaranteed way of attracting punishment. So before he felt at all ready, he hit the Start button on the screen and turned to face the door with a mixture of expectation and dread.
His first client turned out to be a diffident young man who was clearly just as nervous and unprepared as Ryan. He was clearly smitten by Ryan's looks (or Mandy's, of course) and was content just to sit very stiffly, keep his hands to himself, and watch every move as Ryan shed his slutty outfit and danced around.
Feeling strangely buoyed by his customer's evident enjoyment, Ryan even felt confident enough to sit on the man's lap and grind what he was forced to admit was becoming a bubble butt into the guy's crotch.
When he felt the unmistakable hardness of an erect cock not just pressed against his bottom, but wildly twitching, he instantly regretted what he had done and his stomach lurched in revulsion. But he tried his best not to dwell on the sensation and focused instead on looking as deeply as he could into the man's eyes.
He was aware that the earlier smiles he had forced while stripping down to his panties, stockings and wimple had vanished. He could only hope that the intensity of his look would come over as sexy rather than unsettling.
When the man softly spoke, he took Ryan by surprise, "You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen," he breathed.
With a delight that astonished him, Ryan responded with a dazzling smile. It was the most genuine display of pleasure he could recall in a long time. "Why thank you sweetie," he said -- and for a wonder, he meant it.
"Are you sure though?" he went on playfully, still wiggling his tush as he gently ran his fingers down the young man's cheek. "I mean, what about Ag-- ... I mean Angel?"
The man shook his head. "Oh no, she doesn't have your lovely long legs. Or your ... you know." He gestured at Ryan's bare breasts.
Ryan laughed. "Would you like to touch them?" he asked coquettishly, wondering as he did so why on earth he was acting this way. He understood that he was playing a part. But he was doing so a little too well for his own liking right now.
"May I?" asked the breathless customer. Ryan badly wanted to say no. But as it was, he just nodded.
As the man's hesitant hands gently cupped Ryan's boobs and caressed his sensitive nipples with a surprising degree of tenderness, he felt a bizarre mix of nausea and arousal. He had never been touched in this way by a man before -- or at least someone who looked like a man. The very idea sickened him. And yet his body was betraying him, registering an excitement that he found perplexing. It was all he could do not to let out a moan of desire.
He somehow got through the rest of the show without any further embarrassment. The customer exited with a happy smile, a bulging crotch, and a considerably lighter wallet, after leaving what Ryan considered to be a ridiculously generous tip. He also gave Ryan a very sweet kiss on the cheek, which the sissy nun felt obliged to reciprocate.
He was followed by another man of about the same age but a very different demeanour. He was far more confident and also took a few liberties, grabbing the stripper's bottom and stroking Ryan's stocking-clad legs as he danced around the chair.
Ryan wondered about saying something, but decided he could live with it. He was just trying to muster up the courage to raise the subject of extras when the man asked what other services might be on offer.
Forcing himself to smile, and all too aware of his gut churning, Ryan temporised. "Depends," he said archly, "what are you after?"
The customer didn't hesitate. "How about a blow job?" he asked, with a smile as lazy as it was lascivious.
The refusal sprang to Ryan's lips, but then died there. He couldn't be sure the nuns were watching, but there was a fair chance they were. And if so, a refusal at this point might be very dangerous indeed. Doing his best not to panic, he quoted a price that was three times what Amber was apparently charging. He was already wondering how he could get out of this without having to touch the man's cock.
But the ploy failed. The customer merely lifted his eyebrows at the amount, laughed, and then said: "Okay. But it better be good. And no condoms or anything, you hear? For that money, you'd better drink every drop, okay?
Again, Ryan wanted to turn and walk out. But somehow he found it in him to nod his acquiescence.
It was with a blend of horror and anticipation that, still gyrating around the chair, he watched the man unbutton his pants and take out the biggest male organ he had ever seen outside of a porn video. It was semi-erect right now, but at its full size it might rival some of the gigantic dildos that had been used on him at the convent.
Ryan stared at it in appalled fascination. Slowly, reluctantly, and yet with a rising sense of excitement that he found utterly baffling, he reached down his hand ...
To be continued
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