A trial of sorts

"Sister Chanel, you will submit to inquistion," the standing figure says coldly.

One of the white robed figures steps forward, then unbuttons the neck of her robe and lets it drop to a puddle of cloth around her feet, standing naked for a moment before climbing onto the altar. She lays on her back, her hands clasped on her belly. her ankles together. She looks utterly lovely, her skin tanned and perfect except for small patches of white skin at her breasts and groin. Her breasts are sweet mounds topped with small pink nipples, her belly sleek and flat, her mound decorated with a tuft of fur. She stares up at the ceiling, biting her lip as though to calm her nervousness.

"Sister Chanel, last night you created a disturbance, shouting into the night, speaking of events better not spoken of. That you spoke obliquely only mitigates the matter slightly. What have you to say?"

"Mother Minerva I make no excuse. Save only that I was terrified. I had been **** by someone unknown, and in my stress I spoke of things that should have stayed silent. I ask your pardon Mother. Your pardon and that of all assembled here."

"Pardon must be earned before it is granted Sister Chanel. Will you submit to judgement and punishment, or will you be cast out?"

"I will submit Mother. I am the Sisterhood's to command."

"As you will," the masked figure speaks, looking around at the eight white robed sisters. "What say you sisters? How shall our errant sister make amends? Shall it be the paddle or the phallus? Speak your judgement."