“The Convent of Lesba” is set in the world of Arth-Keros, a high-fantasy realm of institutionalised female degradation. Paid ATR members gain access to additional information about Arth-Keros.
Previous parts:
One | Two | Three | Four | Five
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Felicia came to learn that the girl she had raped was named Melys, and using the girl to make herself cum had apparently graduated Felicia to a new stage of her education at the Convent of Lesba.
For one thing, she no longer slept alone in a cell. Instead, she slept in a dormitory with seven other girls, including both Kyra and Melys.
She felt a wave of guilt when she saw Kyra for the first time. She remembered kicking Kyra in the tits and the cunt, and humping her face to orgasm. She also remembered Kyra returning the favour by punching her breasts and spitting in her mouth. They had been girlfriends – they had loved each other – but the Convent had forced them to be cruel to each other, and turned their love into a degrading game of rape.
She might have said something to her girlfriend, to bridge the gap – but she couldn’t. Because of the Worm.
The monks called it the Lesba Worm, and it came from the dark, distant depths of the Forest, home to the dark primal powers that men said ruled over the nature of women. It was a thick, fat, grey creature, roughly six inches long and as thick as a man’s cock. Felicia screamed when she saw it – still alive, and wiggling in Father Duradel’s hand, because she knew it boded only misery for her.
And she was right. Father Duradel forced her jaw open, and the disgusting bug slithered down her throat, vanishing into her stomach. She could feel it wiggling inside her, until it eventually settled into its new home.
The Worm would live inside a woman for around six months, explained Father Duradel, after which it would pass harmlessly from her system. She wouldn’t feel its presence, and it would cause her no direct discomfort from its symbiotic relationship with her.
But while it dwelt within a women, it changed her in certain ways. It was a creature of Lesba, the primal urge that dictated that a woman’s relationships with other women existed only for the pleasure of men, and it brought with it a magical aura that brought the woman under Lesba’s sway.
In particular, the Worm could sense whether men were looking at its host, and whether those men were aroused.
If Felicia – or any host of the Worm – tried to touch another woman, or communicate with a woman in any way, when a man was not watching her, she would feel excruciating pain, localised around her groin.
At nights she lay in her assigned bunk, feeling the presence of other women around her – naked women, for they were not allowed clothes – but lying silently, avoiding eye contact, acting as if the people she shared the room with were nothing more than objects.
However, when a man *was* looking at Felicia, everything was different. She could sense the presence of that gaze as a low, arousing throb in her pussy. It felt good to be looked at by a man. She knew it was the Worm, that the Worm was *training* her – and yet, it still felt good.
In this state, not only was she allowed to touch a woman, but it was intensely pleasurable to do so. On her first day with the Worm, Father Duradel made her kneel face-to-face with Kyra. Felicia stared into her girlfriend’s eyes, trying to squelch the confused feelings the Convent had given her, trying to forget the rape and cruelty they had subjected each other to, and instead convey a look of pure love.
She thought Kyra might be trying to do the same. She wasn’t sure. She wanted to kiss her girlfriend – but at the same time, her mind automatically began to imagine how fun it might be to slap Kyra, to spit on her face, to punch her in the tits…
“Put your hands on her fuckbags,” Father Duradel said abruptly, and Felicia did as she was told. Immediately, she gasped. The moment she touched Kyra sexually, her pussy *squeezed*. She felt a gush of arousal between her legs, and a surge of endorphins in her brain. She looked up at Father Duradel. He was watching her, smiling – and his cock was hard.
The Worm gave a woman pleasure when she performed sexual activities with another girl when a man was watching. And when the man was aroused, it gave the woman additional pleasure proportional to his arousal.
The girls couldn’t help themselves. They began kissing and fondling each other. They fell to the floor, their legs intertwining, each girl humping her wet cunt against the other’s thigh. They made love with increasing passion, and the sluttier they became, the more aroused they made Father Duradel, and the more pleasure the girls experienced.
But the Worm had another surprise for them. It stopped them from orgasming, or finding release of any kind. Their passion and lust kept building and building.
There was only one way that a girl hosting a Worm could orgasm – and that was by making a man who was watching her orgasm.
Father Duradel let the girls fuck for nearly two hours, watching their frustration increase as they were unable to cum no matter what they did. Then, finally, in a commanding voice, he called out, “Stop!”
They did. They may have been lost in lust, but the idea of disobeying a command – and what punishment might follow – was more than enough to bring them to attention.
“Kneel before me,” he told them, and the two girls – red-faced, erect-nippled and very wet-cunted – moved to kneel obediently before the monk.
Then he took out his cock, pointed it at their faces, and masturbated to orgasm.
The blast of pleasure they felt as his sperm struck them in the face told them everything they needed to know about how the Worm worked. They understood immediately that their own orgasms were now linked to pleasing men.
From then on, twice a day, mornings and afternoons, the girls in the dormitory would pair up to lez off under the gaze of a male monk. The pairings were random, and Felicia never even learned the names of many of the girls she now lived with. “Women are interchangeable,” declared Father Duradel on one occasion, and encouraged the girls to take that thought to heart.
The girls needed no encouragement to fuck. The pleasure they experienced in making out with a woman while a man watched was addictive. Most of the girls had been lesbians anyway – they already had an appreciation for attractive women – but the extra throbbing of their cunt when a man was watching drove them wild.
They were prohibited from touching their male audience – they were performing for the men, not fucking them – and yet they were eager to make the men cum, to experience their own orgasm. The girls learned to watch what the men enjoyed, and play to their tastes.
Father Gorgnes liked girls to put on a show, and Felicia learned to take any opportunity to spread her pussy for his gaze, and to cup her tits and look into his eyes as her partner licked her pussy.
Father Yolande liked to see a girl’s tits hurt, and Felicia discovered that repeatedly punching her partner in the fuckballoons while riding her face was a great way to make him take out his cock and ejaculate over both girls.
Father Heldin would only cum once he could see one of the girls was crying, and these were the cruellest sessions of all, as both girls would compete to drive the other to tears as they fucked and humped and kissed. Felicia had a particular knack for abusing her partners, she discovered. The key was not just to hurt a girl, but to insult her while she did it. “It’s a good thing I’m here,” she whispered in a blonde girl’s ear as she pinched the girl’s clitoris, “because no man would be turned on by an ugly cow like you.”
To another, she said, “If you weren’t so pathetic, maybe your father would have kept you at home and fucked you rather than sending you to a monastery where he wouldn’t have to look at you.” And she punched the girl in the tits, and was rewarded by seeing tears well in her eyes.
And every time she made a girl cry, Father Heldin would become wildly aroused, which in turn delivered a surge of sexual pleasure to Felicia. Pleasing the men was addictive – and because what pleased the men also pleased Felicia, over time Felicia found her own sexuality slowly warping to conform with the kinks and fetishes of the monks.
At night, she would lay awake, her cunt still wet, and tears would trickle slowly down her cheeks, because she knew the training of the Convent was changing her – transforming her into someone she didn’t recognise.
She desperately wanted to go to Kyra – who was in the very next bed over – and curl up against her, and find comfort in the softness of her girlfriend.
But no man was watching. And increasingly, with every passing day, the thought of touching another girl when there was no man to entertain made Felicia feel anxious and sick.
And so instead she would lie there, and let her hands drift down to her wet cunt, and quietly finger herself, while imagining raping Kyra in front of an appreciative audience of men, and dream of tomorrow, when she might be allowed to orgasm from doing it for real.
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