“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 | Ten | Eleven


Felicia had become docile. She had been domesticated.

Her days at the Convent were a never-ending alternation of abuse and education. She no longer tried to resist. She certainly didn’t dream of escape. She couldn’t prevent the monks from violating her body, or reprogramming her mind, but she *was* in control of whether she received the extra discomfort of resisting – and so she chose not to resist. To be brainwashed and sexually exploited was one thing, but to have it happen while acting like she didn’t want it was so much worse.

The autumn equinox came, and the girls were invited to put on performances for the monks to celebrate what they had learned. Felicia enacted the fable of “Slutt raping her sisters”, with aid from Kyra and another of the convent girls. She glowed with happiness as the monks expressed their approval and enjoyment of her behaviour. The men loved that she was humping Kyra’s face with her cunt while spanking Kyra’s pussy, and they loved it even more when she slapped the other girl across the face and pulled her around the stage by her tits.

She felt odd when she looked at Kyra. She remembered that Kyra had been her girlfriend. She remembered thinking she loved Kyra. But now when she looked at her former lover, all she saw was an object, designed for sexual gratification, no different from a dildo. It didn’t matter whether Kyra was happy or crying. The noises she made were irrelevant to her primary function as a cocksleeve for men, and her secondary function as a cunt-licker for Felicia.

As the days grew colder, and the end of the year drew near, a day came when Kyra and Felicia were summoned to a room by Father Duradel.

“Sluts,” he began. “I wish to ask a series of questions of you. They are about things you would like to see done to your former so-called girlfriend. I am going to propose an action, and you are going to raise your hand if you would like to see it done to the other bitch in this room. There is no penalty or punishment for not raising your hand. There are absolutely no consequences if you do not raise your hand at any point. Do you understand?”

Felicia didn’t really, but then she didn’t feel like she understood much of anything these days. Girls were stupid, she knew, so that was probably normal. She nodded. 

So did Kyra.

“Good,” said Father Duradel. “Now – who would like to see the other bitch in this room kicked in the cunt?”

Both Felicia and Kyra immediately raised their hands.

Father Duradel nodded, and another monk – one whose name the girls did not know – stepped forward and kicked each of the girls between the legs. Felicia felt her eyes water at the pain – but also felt her cunt wettening from the abuse.

“Who would like to see the other bitch punched in the tits?” asked Father Duradel.

Both girls raised their hands. Both girls were punched hard in the breasts.

“Who would like to see the other bitch get raped?” asked Father Duradel.

Both girls raised their hands. The unnamed monk grabbed Kyra, and pushed his cock into her unwilling (but soppingly wet) cunt. Felicia began eagerly masturbating, until a moment later Father Duradel grabbed her and used his cock to violate her pussy, too.

The two girls looked at each other with blank, horny stares, as they watched each other being fucked by the monks.

The questions continued – some during their rape, some after.

“Who wants to see the other girl’s tits slapped?”

“Who wants to the see the other girl receive an electric shock to her cunt?”

“Who wants to see the other girl have a tight clamp put on her clitoris?”

Every time, both girls raised their hands.

Despite her training and arousal, Felicia was crying by the time the last, treacherous question came, and so was Kyra. She barely heard it when Father Duradel said it.

“Who wants to tell the other bitch that they love her?”

Felicia just looked at Father Duradel blankly, not understanding the question.

But Kyra’s hand twitched, ever so slightly, as if she might raise it. Her eyes were wide and she was looking at Felicia with a desperate, confused stare.

Father Duradel nodded. “Take her away,” he said, and the unnamed monk grabbed Kyra, and dragged her from the room.

Felicia shifted nervously, cum still dripping from her bruised cunt. “Have I pleased you, sir?” she asked anxiously.

Father Duradel nodded. “You have consistently learned better, and faster, than your cunt of a girlfriend. Soon it will be time for both of you to return home to Cadeland, and so we must talk about what your life will be like when you leave here.” He paused, and then said, “We have decided to allow you to determine what should happen to both you and Kyra.”

Felicia didn’t know what to think. Going home? A life outside the Convent seemed almost unthinkable. The idea of sunlight, of her family, of living in a busy city – it all seemed distant and strange. 

“Come here, slut,” said Father Duradel. 

Felicia, who was kneeling, crawled across the floor to the monk’s feet. Once she was there, Father Duradel held out his palm. It contained a large, red pill. 

“Eat,” he commanded, and Felicia licked the pill off his palm obediently, and swallowed it.

“The pill creates a direct link to your subconscious,” said Father Duradel. “It is made of an extract from the Forest, and will force you to say only what you deeply believe and know to be true. We will use it to test if you are truly ready to be released.”

Felicia felt funny. She could feel a kind of cloud lifting from some parts of her brain – even as other parts felt like they were switching off. She gazed up at the monk, like a good girl, and waited for instructions.

“Tell me, Felicia,” said Father Duradel. “How do you feel about the person you were before coming to the monastery?”

Felicia moaned. She felt the truth welling up inside her, unstoppable. “Guilty,” she said. “I was such a cocktease – to men, to my father, to everyone. I thought I was more than just a cum-receptacle. And then…” – she had to pause, and swallow hard, at the sheer horror of remembering what she had done – “… I had a lesbian relationship with Kyra, without permission of men, and I kept it secret and didn’t let men watch.”

She knew now that relationship had been a horrible blasphemy against her true purpose as a cum-toilet and sexual decoration.

“And how do you feel about Kyra?” prompted Father Duradel.

“I hate her,” said Felicia immediately. “This is all her fault. All the pain and violation I’ve received was because she was a little lesbian slut who lezzed off with me in secret, and wouldn’t let men watch, and wouldn’t let men cum on us while we licked each other’s cunts. And she’s still a lesbian. I want to see her raped while crying every day of her life. I want to make that happen to her. I want it so much.”

It was confusing, saying what she was saying. Part of it was true – it was what she really believed. But also she was saying it because it would get her approval from Father Duradel, and whatever a man wanted to hear *was* Felicia’s truth. The words she was saying made her feel funny, but they also made her pussy wet.

“And what should your life be like when you go home?” asked Father Duradel.

“My father said I was a cocktease,” said Felicia, remembering. “He wants to rape me. And he wants to rape Kyra. He wants to watch us rape each other. And Kyra’s father probably wants that too. So we need to make that happen.”

She paused to think. “I think we should get pregnant,” she went on. “It’s our natural destiny, and we’ll be easier for men to control if we’re pregnant, and also our tits will make milk and be more sensitive and easier to hurt. Maybe Kyra’s father should impregnate me, and my father should impregnate Kyra. Then we can be pregnant together, and give birth to each other’s sisters.”

“And how would you actually live, back at home?” asked Father Duradel.

“Well, we don’t ever need to wear clothes again, unless a man thinks it would make us a better sex-decoration,” said Felicia. “And we don’t need real bedrooms. My father has a large cupboard in the kitchen, and Kyra and I could probably sleep on the bottom shelf. And I think Kyra’s father has some dog cages, and we could probably sleep in one of those when we’re visiting him.”

“And would you be happy like that?” asked the monk.

“Oh, no,” said Felicia at once. “We’re lesbians, so we don’t deserve to be happy ever again. I imagine men will beat our tits and pussies on a daily basis so they can fuck us while we cry.” She paused. “But the idea of being miserable kind of *does* make me happy, because I know it’s what I deserve. Is that a sin, to be happy like that?”

“Yes, it is,” said Father Duradel, “but you can’t help it, because you’re a stupid little lesbian slut. Your menfolk will just have to beat your udders extra hard.”

Felicia nodded, satisfied with that answer.

And Father Duradel appeared to be satisfied too, because he asked no further questions.


In due course, both Felicia and Kyra *were* sent home. Felicia was given the privilege of going unchained (although still completely nude). Kyra had her hands bound, and painful clamps on her nipples and clit, and a ring gag and collar, and Felicia was allowed to hold her leash, and have Kyra lick her pussy as they rode the carriage home. When she got bored of cumming against Kyra’s face, she spent her time slapping idly at Kyra’s tits, enjoying the squeals of her former lover and the jingling of the bells attached to Kyra’s nipple clamps.

When they got home, both girls *did* fuck their fathers – and a wide range of family friends – and, as Felicia had hoped, both girls got pregnant by the other’s father. They spent their days lezzing off and abusing each other in front of whatever men they could find, and stimulating each other’s milk production, so their tits would grow swollen and sensitive.

They no longer worked in their parents’ businesses. Instead, their fathers whored them out, and it turned out people would pay well to fuck a pregnant lesbian slut who had been trained by the famous Convent of Lesba. 

And in time, they gave birth to baby girls, and as she looked at her daughter, Felicia felt a shameful pleasure. 

Because she knew that when her daughter turned 18, she would train her to be an obedient lesbian cocksleeve, just like herself. And she couldn’t wait for that day to come.


This was the final chapter of The Convent of Lesba. If you enjoyed this story, please support its creation through the purchase of an e-book or membership at AllTheseRoadworks.com! (Click here to view the store.)


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