“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 | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine
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Not long after the lessons of Masture, the blue-haired girl called Whisper tried to escape the convent, and that was how Felicia learned about the monster in the basement.
Whisper’s name felt like something of a joke, because she was anything but quiet. She was always the first to complain about the treatment the girls experienced from the monks, and to urge other girls to resist and disobey their captors-slash-educators. She had been punished multiple times – with an ass spanking, a tit whipping, and multiple sessions of rape – but she remained rebellious, bratty and difficult.
Some of the girls said it was because of her blue hair. The hair of women didn’t naturally come in that vivid blue shade – not even for bitches born close to the border of the Forest, as Whisper had been. They said it was the product of an Attitude Dye, made from forbidden fruits from the Forest Depths, which changed a girl’s personality along with her hair colour – although why anyone would want to make a girl more bratty and difficult than she already was, none of the girls could say.
The final straw for Whisper came when she entered “personal preparation”. She had been at the Convent longer than many of the other girls, and the prospect of being finally shipped home was beginning to loom in her future, so she had been taken for one-on-one sessions with some of the senior monks to prepare her for what her new life at home would look like.
Felicia, curious, had lingered outside the room for one such session to overheard what was discussed. Such eavesdropping was not against the rules, as such – although she knew if a monk found her there, she would be ushered back to the dormitory.
Whisper was bound, naked, in a kneeling position on the floor, and Father Heldin was speaking to her.
“Your father has arranged for you to be bred to the owner of the neighbouring farm,” Father Heldin said. “Your neighbour requires three sons to assist him and carry on his land in his elder years, and you will provide them. I am informed the neighbour prefers to fuck girls who are crying, so you will be given sensitivity drugs to make it easier to cause pain in your udders and rapehole. You will be fucked twice daily until you are inseminated, and after birthing, the process will repeat until you have given him three sons.”
“No!” spat Whisper. “Fuck you. I won’t do it.”
Father Heldin went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “Your father and brothers are quite looking forward to using you as a fucktoy. Once you have been inseminated, this will be your primary purpose. Your father informs me that he has no need for you to be able to speak, so starting tomorrow we will begin using a shock collar to train you out of making human sounds.”
Whisper screamed, and wrestled against her bonds. “I’ll run away the second I get home,” she swore. “My girlfriend Lea is waiting for me. I love her. I hate men.”
“Your fuck-partner Lea has already been sold to the Goblins of Nibrahig to use as human cattle,” said Heldin. “She will be a pleasure slave to their beasts, and produce milk to feed their young. Her parents could not afford the cost of re-educating her at the Convent, you see.”
Whisper screamed, and cried – until Father Heldin grew bored of her protestations, and took off his belt, and began using it to whip her exposed tits.
Felicia drew away at this point, scurrying down the corridor back to the dorms. Her mind was a mix of loud, conflicting thoughts – horror for Whisper’s fate, terror at what it might mean for her own future after the Convent… and a strange, urgent wetness in her pussy, as her body responded to seeing a lesbian being treated as she increasingly understood that *all* lesbians should be treated.
She began to rub her pussy, without realising she was doing it, rewarding herself for her slutty arousal, even as the presence of the Worm inside her prevented her from orgasming without male approval.
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That night, Whisper made her escape attempt. A storm was gathering overhead as she somehow made her way up to the roof of the convent – six storeys above the rocky ground below – and began to scale down the outside of the building, fully naked, on a rope of knotted bedsheets. Thunder began rolling as she started her climb, and rain was lashing her against the wall before she was a quarter of the way down.
Felicia never learned how Whisper planned to make her way back to her home, with no clothes, food, or money, but it didn’t matter. Her escape was too slow, and too obvious, and the monks were already waiting for her at the foot of the wall by the time she completed her descent. A crack of thunder boomed through the sky as her feet touched the ground, and a moment later lightning illuminated the furious faces of the monks as Father Duradel slapped her hard across the face, and Father Heldin pulled her hands behind her back to strap them into cuffs.
“You could have kept your bitchy little personality, if only you’d been willing to submit to men,” hissed Heldin. “But now we will burn out every part of you that is not an animal fit to be bred and milked.”
The monks woke the other girls as they marched Whisper through the Convent, and soon a line of naked girls were following the monks down, descending a long, twisting stairway into a basement they had never previously seen.
The stairs ended at a kind of arena, with rows of tiered seats in a circular pattern overlooking a round pit. The monks threw Whisper roughly into the pit, and then descended carefully to join her. Father Heldin pulled Whisper over to a contraption in the middle of the arena, which was a kind of complicated stocks, designed to put a woman in a position where she was bending forward at the waist with her ass pointed upwards at a 45 degree angle.
Whisper’s head and wrists went into holes in the stocks, and were locked in place. Then her tits were placed in another contraption – a kind of vice, which Father Duradel wound down tightly across Whisper’s breasts until they were almost flattened, and Whisper was squealing with pain. They connected a heavy bell to Whisper’s clitoris via a clamp and chain, so it hung between her legs, swaying and ringing slightly, and trapped her ankles in cuffs attached to the floor to keep her legs spread.
Lastly, Father Duradel took out his cock and pissed into an old piece of ragged cloth, then pushed the pissy cloth into Whisper’s mouth as a gag.
With all this done, the monks exited the pit, leaving Whisper trapped there.
Once they were out, a metal portcullis on one side of the pit began to raise, and the girls heard the sound of something moving beyond it – something large, and bestial.
“Sluts,” said Father Duradel, “you are about to witness a great and ancient beast of the Forest – an avatar of Ess-Kali, the Leash-Holder. It is called a Father, both for its age, and for the effect it has on women – for you may find the creature reminds you at a primal level of your own fathers. It is surpassingly rare to see them outside the Forest itself, but our forefathers used certain arts to entrap this one long ago, that we might better attune sluts to their true purpose.”
A form appeared in the dark archway of the portcullis. At first Felicia thought it was an elk or deer, for it walked on four legs and had huge, spreading antlers growing from its head. But then it stepped out into the light, and Felicia saw it was altogether more monstrous.
Where an elk might have had hooves, it had scaled, leathery hands – four fingers and a thumb, like a human, though demonic in appearance. Its head was not that of an elk, but rather of a wolf, canine and slavering, crowned by the antlers Felicia had first seen. A mane of thick pale-blue hair ran around its neck, and the rest of it was covered in a shorter, softer, darker-blue fur. Its tail was long and thin, like that of a rat, and it coiled back and forth energetically behind it as it moved like a whip.
But none of these were the two most dramatic features of the beast. Those were reserved for – first – the nimbus of sparking, coursing blue electricity that surrounded the beast, sparking from its antlers, to its fur, to its “hooves”, in a restless, random, unceasing tapestry that echoed the storm raging in the heavens above the convent…
.. and second, its long, thick, monstrous cock that hung beneath it, easily a foot in length and thicker than Felicia’s wrist, the tip of which appeared to be a focal point for the beast’s electrical field, so much so that the tip glowed blue with lambent energy.
“Behold Araghi the Lightning Lord,” intoned Father Duradel. “The Conditioner of Pets, the Rewriter of Thoughts, the Breaker of Rebels. It will be your honour, Whisper, to be raped by him this night.”
Whisper couldn’t see the beast approaching her – she was facing the wrong way – but she could smell its musky scent, and hear the sound of its feet on the floor, and feel her hair stand on end as its electrical field approached, and at Father Duradel’s words she went wild, bucking and straining against her fetters. But the stocks were well-made, and there was no escape.
Felicia realised the other girls in the audience were masturbating, and she began to do the same. Rubbing her pussy helped her deal with her fear and horror. Rubbing her pussy turned it into just another sexy thing happening to a lesbian bitch who deserved it. It helped her brain turn off, and so it was good.
Father Duradel was right. The beast *did* somehow remind Felicia of her father. It felt in some way like it was her own father about to rape Whisper. She remembered her father telling her that “she’d always been a cocktease”, and using her as a “cum-target” in the carriage on the way to the Convent, and shuddered with shame and trauma, even as she dug her fingers deeper into her fuckhole and fingered herself more urgently.
The beast – Araghi – approached Whisper now, and as it did so, it rose up on its hind legs. It couldn’t quite stand upright by itself – but it could with support, which it did now by placing its hands on Whisper’s back. Whisper shrieked into her pissy gag and bucked as it touched her, to no avail. One of its hands moved to Whisper’s head, and its menacingly humanoid hands tightened around a handful of her hair.
Then it shuffled to bring its groin into line with Whisper’s, and slowly slid its monstrous penis into her cunt.
It took work. Whisper’s cunt was slow to dilate to accommodate the huge, thick monster cock, and she whimpered as it pushed against her, but Araghi was patient, and inch by inch the beast’s phallus sank into Whisper’s fuckhole. It stopped briefly, six inches in – presumably because it had hit her cervix.
Then there was a loud, audible *crack*, and Whisper screamed louder than she had before, despite her gag, and her body spasmed wildly.
Araghi had just delivered a potent electric shock to the inside of Whisper’s cunt, using its cock.
“The Lord of Lightning will repeatedly electro-shock Whisper’s fuckhole during intercourse,” said Father Duradel, by way of explanation. “I understand it is quite agonising. But these are not just random shocks. Our brains – and particularly the brains of women, which are driven by their cunts – are made up in large part of electrical pathways and connections. With each shock, the Lightning Lord will override and rewrite the pathways of Whisper’s brain, to make her a more compliant fuckdoll. These early shocks will most likely cause her to associate pain in her cunt with sexual pleasure.”
And indeed, as traumatised and scared as Whisper looked, she was also beginning to show signs of arousal. Her face and neck were flushing, her nipples becoming perky, and her breathing coming quicker.
Araghi made a grunting, sighing noise, and leaned down closer to Whisper, his fur brushing against her back. And, as they watched, his cock sunk another two inches into Whisper’s pussy.
“Arousal causes a woman’s uterus and cervix to move upwards, allowing the upper parts of the vagina to lengthen and accommodate a longer penetrating object,” intoned Duradel. “In this way the body of a slut facilitates her own rape.”
Felicia felt a hand in her hair, and she looked up to see Father Yolande pulling her up from her seat. She allowed herself to be led to the balcony overlooking the pit, and bent at the waist, much like Whisper. She still had a good view of Whisper’s rape, and a moment later she felt Father Yolande’s cock sliding into her pussy, as he began to fuck her while watching the beast have its way with the blue-haired girl in the pit.
Felicia felt a shudder of revulsion as the cock entered her. Despite everything, she was still a lesbian, and on some level intercourse with a man remained repellent. And yet she had learned that it didn’t matter what she wanted, and she was very lucky to be bringing sexual pleasure to a man. Her cunt got wet for the invading penis despite her deep-seated horror at the violation – a violation she knew that she deserved – and she began to buck her hips against his cock, eager to help him rape her, hopeful of having him use her slutty fuckhole to reach orgasm.
“It is possible for a slut to fuck the Lord of Lightning and leave unchanged,” said Duradel. “She may even find it a pleasurable experience – provided that the only thoughts in her head are submission to her male masters and eagerness to be a good cum-receptacle. Great Araghi only seeks to burn out those thoughts that are incompatible with a slut’s Nine Impure Natures. Those that comply with her true purpose are safe from his blessed lightning.”
There was another sharp ZAP from inside Whisper’s cunt, and the blue-haired girl began to cry, as Araghi began to slowly fuck her, sliding its cock in and out of her cunt with excruciating slowness. Drool was dripping from Araghi’s monstrous jaws, splattering on Whisper’s back, and the bell hanging from Whisper’s clit began to jingle quietly with each slow thrust of Araghi’s hips.
“But you can’t help it, can you, slut?” said Duradel. “You can’t help but be rebellious. You are thinking of insults you will fling at us – and because you are thinking of those words, the Rewriter of Thoughts will take those words from your brain forever. Maybe *all* your words. A good slut has little need of speech.”
There was another ZAP from Whisper’s cunt. The sight of a lesbian in such pain and degradation made Felicia’s cunt pulse with wet, slutty desire, and she made a mewling, purring sound as she pushed back against Father Yolande to let his cock penetrate deeper inside her.
“You will think about your slutty little girlfriend back at home – and Araghi will make you forget her forever,” said Duradel. “You will think about escaping, or fighting back – and you will no longer be able to formulate such thoughts ever again.”
ZAP went Whisper’s cunt. And ZAP. And ZAP.
Araghi was fucking her harder, now, and faster. He was moving her body back and forth with such force that it was pulling on her tits, trapped in the vice, causing her additional agony.
“You will forget that there is anything wrong with being a fucktoy for your father and brothers,” said Duradel. “You will forget that it is not perfectly right and desirable for women to be tortured and raped for the pleasure and entertainment of other men and women. You will forget that you had a name. You will forget that you thought you were human. You may even forget how to walk on two feet rather than crawl.”
ZAP. ZAP. ZAP.
On the third zap, they all saw Whisper visibly orgasm. Was it Araghi rewriting her brain, or was she just a slut who got off on being turned into a mindless fucktoy? Probably the latter, though Felicia. All women were sluts, especially lesbians. Nothing made lesbians orgasm faster than being raped by a cock.
She wanted to prove the truth of her own thoughts by orgasming on Father Yolande’s cock, but the Worm inside her wouldn’t let her – not until Father Yolande himself orgasmed. She began bucking faster, eager to help him to ejaculate into her womb.
Araghi was raping Whisper in a frenzy now, fucking its monstrous cock in and out of her obscenely-dilated pussy. It still couldn’t go balls-deep in her – it was simply too large – but it was zapping her on every thrust – ZAP, ZAP, ZAP – and each and every such discharge of electricity seemed to make Whisper cum, harder and wilder than the one before.
Finally, Araghi threw back his head and roared – a deafening, thunderous, echoing sound. Lighting arced from his antlers to the roof, racing across the stonework in skittery, spidery patterns, and a final sharp ZAP came from within Whisper. The girls saw Whisper’s eyes roll back in her head – and then close.
“She lives,” reassured Father Duradel. “The Fathers make pets, not corpses.”
Felicia felt Father Yolande shudder, and cum, and ejaculate inside her, and in response she felt her body deliver its own blessed, satisfying orgasm.
Araghi pulled itself backwards off Whisper. Its cock slipped out of her pussy, and a flood of what Felicia assumed was semen began dripping out of the girl’s twat. It was thick and sticky, like cum – but it was a pale blue, instead of white.
The monster made a growling, satisfied sound – and then looked around the arena, its eyes catching each girl in turn, as if to say, “This will be you, some day.”
And just like that, the arousal went out of Felicia, and the reality flooded in. She realised how *painful* the repeated shocks to her pussy must have been for Whisper, and how traumatic to be fucked by something that her mind was repeatedly telling her was *her own father*. She realised that the Whisper who had started the night was gone – the rebellious thoughts that had defined her simply erased by the monster’s cock – and that what the monks would release from the stocks would be little more than a mindless, obedient fuckpet.
And as Araghi turned, and walked slowly back through the raised portcullis, into whatever tunnel beneath the Convent it laired in, Felicia came to a realisation.
She would do anything – ANYTHING – to avoid meeting the same fate as Whisper.
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