A Paladin's Quest

Come and see me after communion.

It was of course a whisper, but Vulga thought she had felt it in her soul rather than heard it, from behind her, through her glossy wimple.

She never turned to look from whence the voice came. It was, of course, Paladin Etha, the Sister Superior of the Novices, and secretly the High Paladin of the Order of the Sluts of Christ, behind her in the procession. Vulga kept her palms together before her lips and her eyes downcast toward the bare concrete floor as she walked up the aisle.

Eucharist was to be taken in solemnity and nudity before Christ. Vulga and the other nuns in the procession were bare, save for their wimples, elbow length gloves, thigh- high heeled boots, and whatever trinkets they preferred around their necks, or wedged up their holes.

Sister Vulga was so attired. Her jet black hair was under her plain, neck-length wimple. A single black Gothic cross etched under her ash-shaded eyes brought out the stark contrast of black and white from her snow white skin. Her full lips were colored black as night as well, and an obsidian rosary hung around her lithe neck, the cross nestled in her bare and considerable cleavage.

Her breasts bounced before her weightlessly as she walked. Colorless like the rest of her skin, they reached their zenith with two ghostly nipples pointed upward toward the vaulted ceiling of the chapel and the ancient effigy of Christ crucified there. A hollow black sunburst, tattooed all in black, wreathed her navel, and a second cross, this one tall and tipped with swords, decorated the slender mound where her pubic hair might have been.

Shortly below the gentle curvature of her hips and the thick but lean muscles that sculpted them, her tall black boots began. They ended far below, after a seemingly endless rail of laces, in tall pointed heels that barely clicked against the floor. The choir above them in the mezzanine was all the sisters could hear as they advanced toward their communion. In all, she was a stunning example of the holiest of nuns- slender, lean, stacked, and enchantingly beautiful.

When she arrived at the altar, she met the priest and his Eucharistic ministers. Vulga did not lift her eyes yet to see him, but if she had she would have found him head to toe in black, his face shrouded under a deep hood. Only his cock could be seen. It hovered and bounced before his lap like some leviathan emerging from the inky depths, ravenous for victims. The fat, veiny monster seemed to ripple with muscle. It was circumcised, like in ancient times, and the pulsing purple cockhead gleamed in the candle light with the luster of glass. A juicy, creamy dewdrop of precum glistened upon the tip. Surging veins zig-zagged down the upward curving length to where the base of his cock flesh was strangled by rosary beads.

Two Eucharistic altar novices knelt on either side of him. They held the reigns of the monster each in one little hand, a great heavy testicle in the other. They were aspirants to the convent. Golden chokers hugged their little throats and connected their supplicant necks to the altar. Both were naked save for their black blindfolds. Their bodies were totally shaved, even their heads. On either side of that massive throbbing organ, they looked waifish and tiny. Of course they were; eighteen and offered up to the convent by their families in the ravaged countryside to assuage the poverty and starvation there. After a year serving at the altar, they would be ready to begin their studies in earnest.

Vulga knelt obediently in the shadow of the pulsing and sputtering cock before her. Slowly and deliberately, she stretched out her tongue. Wide and long, it extended past her chin. Then, she cast her icy hazel eyes upward. “Body of Christ,” said the priest.

The two novices each let up gently, ever so gently, on their rosary beads. Father Ash had taken a year’s long vow of perpetual orgasm. Free only slightly from the constriction of the beads, a lance of thick, syrupy cum launched out and draped over Vulga’s head and face. It dangled behind her wimple and crossed diagonally across her big eager tongue, down over her neck, and ended with a drizzling finish on her cleavage. It was soon joined by another. This one wasn’t just struggling past a **** point, it was born in the sorely flexing muscle of Ash’s prostate and fired through its girthy, **** flesh launcher at the raven beauty’s mouth.

It splashed against her forehead in a torrential spurt, glued her right eye closed, and continued until it reached her open mouth. Quickly filling it, Vulga’s breath came out in big, greasy cum bubbles that frothed and popped around her full black lips. Finally reaching the end of its surge, the cum rope made a sticky lake in her cleavage, big tits bridged together with webs of thick spunk. The novices let one more escape, or rather, most of one, before cinching their rosary beads tight once more. That left Vulga with a goopy rope draped perfectly over her tongue like so much laundry, lazily drooling down both sides to drizzle over her tits.

“Amen,” she gargled through the viscous cream. The word bubbled and drooled from her mouth and she swallowed, a tremendous and sloppy mouthful, and rose. There she left the gasping trio of Priest and two novices to administer the sacrament to Paladin Etha, whose words still haunted her expectations.

Another mission? She wondered, as she walked piously, dripping with spent spunk, to the chambers of the Mistress of Novices to wait for her.