The Passion of Agnes Part 2 - Sex Stories

The Passion of Agnes Part 2

... Monsieur beautiful children if only my Cordelia might be spared. One night I was awakened by a familiar voice. It was my father opening the door of my cell. News of my calamity had reached our village and my father, doubtless feeling guilty, had hurried here to save me and succeeded in bribing a guard. Monsieur was trumping up charges of witchcraft, using my tribadism as evidence to convince the elders of the town to burn me. This was my only chance at life. I would be hidden away in a nunnery, to live a life of fasting prayer and devotion. On no account could I ever see Cordelia again. We rode all night, my father and I. I could see that he had not believed the charges against me at first but my reaction to the news of having lost her, my one true wife in the eyes of the Lord, my misery, made plain to him the dire news of my sin. Only penitence and mortification, a lifetimes worth, could expiate the crime of our love. Soon the Order of the Sacred Heart came into view. I wept to consider my fate within its walls. At first it was difficult, but I soon learned to welcome the convent life and its oppressive boredom. A nun is expected to live her life inwardly in communion with the Holy Spirit. Ostensibly this was so with all of us but none knows the depths of the human soul and where it seeks its real communion. As for me, I brooded over my Cordelia and all my prayers were for her. I fasted, I prayed, I listened to the Scriptures, I chanted. But pious at heart I was not. Under ...

... my coarse habit I felt my warm body glow, desiring more life, more pleasure, not less. Most of the sisters were and are, dull nondescript devout types. Types whose personalities disappear beneath their habits. They are the real nuns and are necessary for an order like ours which deviates from the norm somewhat. The real leaders consist of a small coterie. Our leader, abbess Clarissa, a tall voluptuous redhead of a fierce and proud demeanor. Square-jawed and forceful, almost masculine in her beauty. Sister Genevieve, her right hand, the first Negress I had ever known or seen. From Sierra Leone, she was mistress to a Portuguese trader who brought her here after her parents had been captured for the slave trade. Strikingly beautiful with a fierce angular face and the lean hard body of a born warrior. She never smiled and she never left the side of the Abbess. The dull white of her habit could never diminish her proud, even regal beauty. The Abbess trusted her implicitly. Sister Gwendolyn, meek submissive of fair skin and dark hair like myself. Every order the Abbess gave she seemed to take a special delight in executing, no matter how bizarre or irrational. Sister Mary, meek as Gwendolyn, quiet and passive. Without a single desire but to fulfill the wishes of Abbess Clarissa. It was only in my imagination at first that Cordelia would visit me. I would invent scenarios, fantasies of how she might sneak into my cell. Particularly in the wee hours of the night when all was quiet, ...