The Red Belt of Saint Ethelburga

The second part, from Uniform Girls 14

The well-oiled lock of the oak door of St Martha’s Retreat opening smoothly to Father James’s key. Opening and then closing again behind the monk and his young postulant companion. The equally well-oiled bolt sliding into place. No interruptions were wanted while this beauteous young woman was at her devotions. Not half-an-hour ago Father James had been in here with the girl’s visitor, one of the infrequent visits the nuns were allowed. And by some quirk of chance her knickers, removed in an earlier devotion, had been carelessly left lying on the sofa. For the Reverend Father to snatch up quick-wittedly before they caught the visitor’s eye. That was the reason, or the excuse, that she was here again: that error — though it had not been her doing but that of the other monk, Brother Oswald.

Not that knickers being taken off was in any way rare or unusual at the Priory of St Ethelberga. A new entrant learnt that on her very first day. It was that which gave the fresh postulant her pink belt, after perhaps no more than an hour with the white one which she wore at her initiation ceremony. The white signifying virginity in all its aspects. The pink denoting that she was no longer a virgin in respect of the cane or strap.

Father James himself had been the first and in this very room, St Martha’s Retreat, a cosily furnished one-roomed building which had begun life as a Temple of Venus. In some ways that could still be appropriate. But after Father James there had quickly been Brother Oswald, Organist and Choir Master, and Brother Gregory, Sacristan. And Brother Bernard and Brother Simon… Repeating and repeating. Alison’s two weeks here had been very full. With devotions. Devotions with her flimsy brief white knickers off. Devotions which were conducted with such enthusiasm by those so dedicated monks. Father James had gone to close the heavy blue drapes at the windows. A young nun did not want to be observed at her devotions, nor indeed did the Reverend Father wish to be observed as he instructed the girl. Chastisement of soft and sinful female flesh. He smiled at the trembling girl.

‘At least, my dear, your undergarment is already off, we do not need to remove it.’ Alison’s knickers were still in the pocket of Father James’ robe. His hand reached out to take hold of her full breasts through the thin wool material. Unbrassiered breasts naturally but notwithstanding their fullness they were high and firm. The nipples stiffening. Young women’s bodies were notably sinful. The lusts of the flesh ever present. Scourging was the answer but it needed frequent repetition.

‘Unfasten your robe, my child.’

Alison’s hands went obediently up, to the shoulders of the white cassock where it was fastened by buttons. Sometimes she had to simply raise it, lift the skirts high, but at other times, as now, the order was to remove it entirely. Father James tended mostly to require this latter.

Buttons unfastened, the white garment slid to the floor. Alison not quite nude but effectively so. Her hat still on and as well there were dark stockings and a suspender belt. Also wedge-heeled shoes. But that was all: otherwise nude. Pale, almost luminous flesh, ripe pink-nippled breasts, ripe flaring buttocks, a slim waist. At the front, at the top of the rounded thighs, a mossy nest of brown hair. She stood with her hands at her sides, pulse beginning to race, her black shoes several inches apart. One of the first lessons, to stand with legs apart. Nothing must be hidden or kept private in the Order of St Ethelberga.

Father James’s hand sliding over the firm nude breasts, then he went round behind. To her bottom. Here the pale flesh was criss-crossed with dark red, the marks of a very recent caning. Father James’s hand tested, causing a sharp intake of breath. It was no doubt still hurting. Brother Oswald’s handiwork, delivered in the half-hour before choir practice.

A light slap, jiggling the full cheek. ‘Still painful, my child?’

The quivering girl nodded. ‘Yes Father.’

‘But that is good, is it not? It is through pain that we gain enlightenment. Through pain the flesh is cleansed of its sinful urgings, if only for a limited period. We must welcome the pain, Alison.’

Father James’ hand came in between the young postulant’s legs again. By actually encouraging the sinful urgings the Devil could be brought out from wherever he was lurking and then when the cane or strap sliced in would be caught unawares.

Alison squirming her hips, and groaning. She couldn’t help it, although she knew that shortly there would be the knifing cut of Father James’ cane.

Yes… that seemed enough. He removed his hand and led the shaking girl to the side of the sofa. To lie her along its back with her ripe rump at the end, her thighs splayed. Father James’ eyes feasting on the spread-open sinful parts. Oh yes; she was ready for it now. ‘Let me hear you, my child.’

Alison began a frantic chant, as she had been taught. A chanted plea for forgiveness from her sins, for release from the sins of the flesh. As the cane splatted down. The chants punctuated with desperate yelps and howls. Nuns were not supposed to cry out but this edict could be treated with latitude, especially with a young, inexperienced girl. Father James anyway found pleasure in the sharp screams: the Devil crying out.

The cane continued to slice down on the writhing buttocks, the jerking thighs, of the near-nude girl. Her hat had fallen off now to expose a full head of blonde curls as she clung desperately to the back of the sofa. The soft damask fabric wetted by her tears against her cheek was all too familiar now. Father James always had her on the back of the sofa for a devotion. Brother Gregory mostly favoured the same position. Brother Oswald more frequently made her lie on the low table on her back with her legs held high in the air…

Between her screams the chanted pleading for forgiveness still burbled from the slack lips but it was now a mere gibberish, the words unrecognisable. Father James did not really mind that either. She was producing some sort of sound, a desperate gabble, as had been drilled into her. And he was a reasonable man, perfect enunciation was not demanded under the circumstances. What was important was the cane was flaying the flesh, putting its bright angry stripes on top of the now duller ones left by Brother Oswald. And indeed marks left by other recent devotions. (There had been another earlier this same day from Brother Gregory). Yes the girl was doing very well, a pure joy to chastise. Father James passed a hand over his damp brow. It was hot in the former Temple of Venus and he was exerting himself. He was also fairly aroused.

The Devil of course. Ever present. Young women’s bodies were the work of the Great Creator but at some stage the Devil had got in on the act. Father James’ eyes as he caned were riveted on the frenzied thighs and what lay between them. The Devil must surely have created that beckoning thing. That furry split-open peach now so blatantly revealed. Father James’ member was stiffly swollen under his robes. Stiff and eager for the girl. The Devil at work and at times he could not be thwarted.

At times there was no alternative but to give him his head. Let him obtain lustful satisfaction and then of course hope for forgiveness. There would be understanding: the hard life of monks whose great desire to praise him led them into the perilous path of training young women. Where temptation was at times impossible to resist.

He at last ceased caning. The Devil had been mightily scourged. The chants of the devastated young woman lying across the sofa’s back were now more sobs than anything else. Yes the Devil had been dealt with. Unfortunately, though, he was in some respects as rampant as ever, even more so than earlier in fact. It was the same continuing problem for Father James and his brother monks. And when it got too pressing… it had to be dealt with.

And as it happened Alison had now been here for 14 days. Fourteen days with each evening, before bed, going like all the other nuns to Brother Simon. Brother Simon who in his little dispensary could deal with any physical ailment, who could apply salve if the smart in soft female flesh had become too unbearable. Brother Simon who every night saw that each nun took her pill.

They were to control the Devil and his nocturnal urgings, Brother Simon said. So that all girls would get a perfect night’s sleep, not bothered by cravings of the flesh. Alison obediently took her pill with a glass of water though she herself had never felt any strong urge towards masturbation — although here at St Ethelberga’s there were times when any release would be a blessing. But did the pill in fact control those urgings? There were certainly after dark writhings and moanings from other beds. Girls still in torment from a devotion? Or in spite of their pill giving themselves manual solace? Alison always tried to close her ears. But she obediently swallowed that little pill every night, like all the others. Fourteen days now.

Fourteen days was of course just about long enough. Father James, helping the distraught girl off of the sofa, feeling a heady, almost overwhelming, hotness. As if that thing under his cassock, turgid and swollen almost beyond measure it seemed, knew it was 14 days and knew that 14 days was enough. With stilted steps and somewhat dry of mouth he went over to the cupboard. A bottle of white wine and two glasses. The fruit of the vine, God’s gift. Nuns were not routinely allowed to imbibe but this was a special occasion. Nothing less than a girl progressing from pink belt to red.

Alison did not at this moment know this. She did not in fact know what distinguished a red belt wearer from one in pink. Another girl, Rosemary, had attained her red belt a week ago. Presumably she had passed some test, reached a prescribed level of humility or obedience or something. Alison didn’t know and of course it was a sin to chatter and gossip.

Rosemary’s change of status had come after 14 days at St Ethelberga’s. Probably if you asked any red or blue belt nun she would say the same — but of course you must not gossip.

Alison, still wanting to cry out from the pain in her bottom and still virtually nude, was greatly surprised to have a glass of wine put in her hand. She drank, half-choking: she was not used to wine and her present state made it worse. Father James refilled the glass. She drank again, with more coughing. Father James was looking hot, animated. Alison of course still unclothed and with a strong urge to cover herself. That though was not right, a sinful false modesty. The wine was going quickly to her head.

Father James talking now. About sin — as usual. A nun once she had reached a certain stage could take a more active role with sin. She could help her instructors rid themselves of sin. She could help Father James himself. A simple and basic act and, although in certain circumstances it was a very sinful act, it was not if performed for the purpose of releasing sinful lust. It was then a devotion.

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The grounds of the Priory of St Ethelberga green and golden on this sunny May afternoon. Along the path leading from the Temple of Venus comes the Abbot, Father James, and a comely young companion. Alison. She is wearing now the red belt of the Order and in her blue eyes a look of… well, disbelief. The Abbot’s face bears an expression of tranquillity. All fierce lusts have for the moment left his body. Regretfully the Devil has had his way but it is only a temporary thing and Father James has prayed for forgiveness.

No doubt, though, the Devil will be resurgent again, as he always is. No doubt he will be very quickly resurgent when the brother monks of St Ethelberga see that this young girl is now a wearer of the red belt. Devotions for Alison in the next few days are likely to be most strenuous and virtually never ceasing. It is always so for a new wearer of the red belt.