The gong woke Mewsy at dawn. She had been dreaming of something long-forgotten, and she could still feel it inside her. (The dream, I mean.)

Gazing out across snow-capped peaks, she heard the milky rustle of the Sisters’ robes in the corridor. How lovely it was here. How pure.

How much time had passed since she’d left her husband behind at Fung’s, leaving with him a life of enslavement to the whims of her own box?

Time had no meaning here. There was only the glorious eternal duty of being on one’s knees before Him, begging Him to enter one more deeply.

Mewsy had never known a more profound ecstasy than the joy given her by His masterful Hand. And yet…

 

There was a tap at her door. It was Sister Mumcu delivering the morning candle. She said, “Cloisterations, Sister Stone,” and passed on.

Mewsy held the wax column firmly. How it reminded her of something – something unspeakably wonderful. She felt a twinge where she oughtn’t.

An ancient yearning seized her. The taper found its way underneath her muslin and… Oh my! She would do extra penance for this at matins.

 

“Sorry Sister, I forgot to… SISTER?” It was Sister Mumcu, who entered without knocking. Mewsy exclaimed, “It’s not what it seems, Sister!”

Sister Mumcu came in and closed the door. “Really?” she said. “Because it SEEMS like you’re sticking a devotional candle up your narthex.”

“Oh, Sister, I’m weak!” Mewsy sputtered. But Sister Mumcu neared, saying, “It is only unclean thoughts and a man’s touch we foreswear here.”

She laid her sisterly hand on Mewsy. “He has given us our bodies in order that we might know His suffering AND His joy, Sister.”

“Our LORD was piercèd for us at the end of His great suffering; should not we who live for Him alone honour His life on Earth in this way?”

She took up the still-warm candleshaft (it had squirted across the room) and held it to her nose. “The scent of your divinity,” she sighed.

 

Even nunned to the hilt, Mewsy could smell a sexening a mile off. “Sister Mumcu – Muriel -” she said [that was her name], “I need guidance.”

“We all need it, Sister,” Muriel intoned, approaching. “Let the LORD speak into your ear through my lips. May His hand touch you with mine.”

She knelt by the hiked-up habit. “Even now, you feel the Grace of our Gawd has not filled you. Is this so?” “Oh!” Mewsy mewed, “Oh, yes!”

Muriel pressed the paraffin pillar against Sister Stone’s gurgling mound. “Our own flesh is the image of the Divine Sacrament,” she chanted.

 

Muriel Mumcu had always been a bad girl.

 

Freshman year at Sixteen Ambassadors, Muriel was the first to smoke a marijuana cig. She was also the first to smoke a cock. Naughty Muriel!

A shrink might say she rebelled because she didn’t belong. What she really needed, you see, was to get some clitoriz all up in her face.

And not just any clit! The bean she ached to tickle was that of the silkiest, most lickable filly at Sixteen Ambassadors: Regatta Caption.

Muriel was lez for her, as only a wet-mouthed virginal jailbait schoolgirl in white panties can be for another braless giggling teen co-ed.

To her, Regatta was perfect. Divine, even. She had to have her. So she did what any barely-legal busty babe might do: she had a sleepover.

 

On a sweaty summer night, two nude, supple cuties might allow hands to wander between nubile legs. But things change by the light of day.

Regatta had a boyfriend: a musclebound number with a double-barrelled name. And she wasn’t really “like that,” you know. Muriel had failed.

Having had victory within her reach only served to inflame Muriel’s female erexion. She shadowed Regatta from afar. Obsession consumed her.

 

But disaster struck. Regatta disappeared from Ambassadors, replaced on the arm of her jocky beau by a ginger tart who stank of subterfuge.

What had this witch done to Muriel’s goddess? Rumours abounded: she’d framed her for a crime. She’d blackmailed her, or given her a disease!

One thing was certain: this Jezebel had to burn. Muriel swore revenge for Regatta. It was in this way that she began her war on Mewsy Stone.

 

And now: satisfaction twitched in Muriel’s nostril. “Oh, Sister!” the imposter squeed. And Muriel cooed, “That’s it, dear Sister. Lie back.”

 

NEXT CHAPTER!