Seduced by a Nun
A sad case of mistaken identity
“Ah there is a Nun to see you my lord,” Carruthers my butler intoned one morning while I was reading quietly in my library.
“A Nun Carruthers, A Nun?” I queried.
“Quite so sir, dressed in a black habit as is their habit, with a white surplice,” he elaborated.
“I know what a Nun looks like, sort of an elongated Penguin with longer legs, but what does she want with me?” I enquired.
“A delicate matter she informs me, my lord.” he explained.
“Well give her a guinea and send her hence,” I suggested.
He went away and shortly there was a cry from without, a sound of a slap and directly my door flew open.
“How dare you!” a rather un holy Nun exclaimed, “A guinea indeed!”
I looked at her, she was rather comely, do you know, “Ah Bunty Barnsworth sent you,” I declared as I recognised her for a whore from the local tavern, “He always gets my birthday wrong.”
“Who in the Lord’s name is Bunty Barnsworth?” the Nun demanded.
“One of his lordships less reputable friends, generally regarded as a half wit, something of a buffoon,” Carruthers opined.
“Yes very well Carruthers, perhaps you should keep your low opinions of your betters to yourself,” I retorted.
“His lordship obviously believes you are what is known as a stripping gram,” Carruthers correctly deduced, “A message delivered by a ‘Lady’ who is nothing but a whore who after delivering th missive duly disrobes and fornicates with the intended recipient.”
“All right Carruthers,” I insisted and turning to the maid I asked, “Is he correct?”
“No you fool you ravished me!” she insisted.
“Ravished you, why we have not even been formally introduced!” I insisted, “I never forget a face.”
“When you came to collect on your endowment,” she said, “At the Convent.”
“What is she blethering on about?” I demanded.
“The Convent to which you pay a yearly sum,” Carruthers suggested.
“Oh that one,” I agreed.
“And for which you get to sample any unsullied new maids,” the Nun answered.
“And have you come to offer yourself on that basis?” I enquired.
“No, you idiot,” she snapped, “You had me and now I am with child!”
“I had you?” I asked incredulously, “Are you sure?”
“Yes my dear, are you sure, did you see hs face clearly?” Carruthers asked.
“Of coure she did you bloody fool,” I retorted, “Unless of course I sodomised her in the dark.”
“No, I had my habit over my head but Reverend Mother said it was you.” she explained.
“What is this about Carruthers?” I asked, “Convents, buggering Nuns, it really is most odd.”
Carruthers went a strange shade of red.
“His Lordship the third Baron had an arrangement with the Convent,” Carruthers explained, “In exchange for a small consideration the Convent made available every unsullied novice for his Lordship to sample.” That was your grand father my lord.”
“And what have I to do with this?” I asked.
“Well my lord when your father became incapable he asked me to srvice the wenches in his place.” Carruthers explained.
“So it was you!” the Nun squealed, “The servant!”
“Indeed,” Carruthers agreed, “I am sorry my lord but when his lordship deceased I am afraid I neglected to inform the mother superior and continued to serve in your place.”
“Good lord,” I opined, “Buggery with a gal, I know some of my chums bugger the footmen but never thought of buggering a gal.”
“He didn’t, he took my womb,” she explained.
“Took her womb?” I queried.
“Shafted her from behind in her vagina,” Carruthers explained.
“What?” I demanded uncomprehending.
“Fucked her pussy from behind,” Carruthers explained.
“What has her cat to do with this?” I queried as my mind raced.
“Nothing Lord,” Carruthers insisted, “Tis a slang name for her cut.”.
“What?” I demanded as still I struggled to comprehend.
“Dear god,” The Nun exploded, “They made me bend over the end of the bed, threw my habit over my head so I shouldn’t see who was abusing me and you fornicated with me.”
“Up the tradesmen’s?” I asked, “The back passage?”
“No the front,” they spoke in unison.
“Oh dear god,” I cursed, “When was this I own I don’t remember a thing.”
“Carruthers just said he did it!” the Nun insisted.
“Then you must marry the Nun,” I insisted.
“Oh forget it,” the Nun sighed, “I thought if it was his Lordship he might do his duty and make me an offer.”
“How much were you asking,” I enquired, “Only I don’t generally go wenching before luncheon?”
“Marriage my Lord,” Carruthers explained. “She was seeking marriage on account of her being with child some months now.”
“Is his Lordship really that dim?” the Nun asked.
“This is actually quite a lucid phase madam,” he explained.
“I say hang on old chap,” I replied, “I went to Eton I’ll have you know.”
“I rest my case madam,” Carruthers added, “It seems you have had a wasted trip madam.”
“No not necesarily, my pecker is somewhat roused, I don’t mind if I do have a guinea’s worth,” I explained.
“My lord the Lady is a Nun not a whore,” Carruthers explained as I dropped my breeches.
The Nun gasped, “Any donation to Convent funds would be very welcome,” she explained.
Now what I had missed was my mother and her chum “Beryl” Beril the Peril I called her, walking down the garden path, together with Mr Morley, who I referred to as mother’s gigolo.
So with the Nun raising her habits and showing me her womanly charms I was wantonly seduced into ravishing her. I was surprised to find her entirely bare below her habit and under – habit. Her parts had fur which would not have disgraced any self respecting Badger.
Her mounds what I could see of them were shapely but her belly was just the slightest part rotund. She deported herself on the chaise longue, then tried resting on the piano-forte with one leg raised before deciding upon bending forward over the aforesaid piano – forte.
I duly advanced dong in hand and skewered her in the woman’s parts. It was like trying to open an oyster with ones bug toe. She was not in the least roused.
“Carruthers, the Napoleon Brandy,” I ordered, “She is still sober, till well known wenches will only fornicate when well oiled.”
“They fornicate willingly enough when they wish to, whether sober or inebriated, My Lord,” Carruthers interjected.
I tried a finger on her parts. She was as dry as a teetotallers wine cellar.
“Oh damn you to hell and back!” I snapped, “If you won’t fornicate in that hole you can take me in the next!”
I grabbed her firmly and rammed my member at her brown hole. It was sealed as tight as the tower of London and my member threatened to burst under the onslaught.
“Oh damn you again,” I wailed, “You will regret this.”
“Bertie!” a distressed voice exclaimed, “What on earth?”
Mother had arrived.
The Nun moved slightly and reached for my member. She guided it unerringly into her now mysteriously wet womb orifice. It was remarkably pleasant.
“Bertie!” Mother snapped, “Why are you fornicating with a Nun in the Library?”
“Because the Dining Table is set for Lunch,” I replied flippantly.
“Put her down this instant,” Mother cried.
“Have a care mother, one can’t have people put down for fornicating,” I advised.
“I mean desist you fool!” she countered, “What on earth has got into you?”
“I rather think his Lordship has got into her!” Carruthers explained.
“Very funny Carruthers, bring a pail of water and subdue their ardour would you?” Mother suggested.
“I fear it may damage the piano – forte,” Carruthers replied.
“Bloody energetic that son of yours,” Mr Morley chipped in.
“I have never seen anything like it!” Beryl added.
“What about Pinky Pinkerton’s do last autumn,” Mr Morley suggested, “When Carruthers skewered, ah.” He had said too much. Mother blushed, Beryl blushed and Carruthers merely smirked.
“What say you girl?” Mother asked the Nun. “Are you really a Nun?”
“Oh, that’s the spot, press harder,” the Nun replied, “Oh sorry, yes I am a Nun and someone claiming to be your son ravished me at the Convent.”
“Carruthers, I told you to desist.” Mother insisted. “Come and see me if you need relief.”
“But Madam the Orphanage will be full of half wits if his Lordship takes up the duty,” Carruthers insisted, “I own it is no inconvenience for me to continue.”
“So what is to be done,” I asked.
“Let nature take its course and we will reconvene in the kitchen,” Mother advised.
They left us alone, the Nun and I. My hands explored her breasts, her teats. I nibbled her ear and kissed her neck and I released my seed quite joyously within her.
“Now shall you make me an offer?” the Nun asked.
“Hold hard, we agreed a guinea,” I protested.
“An offer of marriage,” she countered, “I have had enough of Convent life, five o’clock starts and constant tedious prayers and being sick every morning, its hardly my fault I had no dowry and had to go for a life of prayer. I need a husband!”
“Why me?” I asked.
“Because you are stupid and feckless and your mother thinks we would make an ideal team,” She explained.
“I say steady on,” I countered, “Do I have no say in any of this?”
“No, not unless you wish to go to jail for ravishment, I have witnesses?” she suggested.
“Oh very well, will you marry me?” I asked.
“Gladly,” she sighed, “Now let us find your mother and impart the good news.”
We went forth kitchen wards. The Nun removed her hood to reveal soft golden hair and a happy if small toothed smile. She was quite comely. Comely indeed.
Our exertions had finished prematurely by Mother’s calculations as both she and Beryl were bent over the kitchen table with Carruthers and Mr Morley standing behind them with their breeches around their ankles while fully sheathed in their woman’s parts.
“Mother what is the meaning!” I demanded.
“Oh hush, move up a bit Beryl, let them in for a six some. Mother suggested
”“No we shall not!” the Nun insisted, “I don’t want splinters in my unmentionables, let us find a bed.”
“I’m in charge,” I insisted, “Bend over.”
“Best obey him till the ring’s on your finger dear,” Beryl advised, “Come lay by me so we can have a little chat while the gentlemen sate themselves.”
To be continued?