Father Ryan was worried about his niece Claire’s immortal soul.
Claire was a lesbian.
Now, he knew that it wasn’t “just a phase”. He knew that conversion therapy didn’t work. She was going to be a lesbian all her life.
And yet the Bible told him that lesbianism was sinful, and that women were created to serve and please man.
And Claire wasn’t the only lesbian in his flock. He knew because he’d caught Claire kissing that pretty Cassidy Burke girl who worked in the Post Office. And he was pretty sure that their friends Katy and Lyessa were likewise inclined. And Mrs Connor down at the Town Hall had shared her suspicions with him about *her* daughter, Beth.
What was he to do? If these girls satisfied their slutty needs with other girls, they would go to hell. And yet, they would lust after women all their lives. His superiors in the church preached that abstinence was the answer, but he suspected his superiors didn’t really understand young people. All the preaching in the world wasn’t going to stop these little sluts from fucking like bunnies if they had half the chance.
The idea came to him a dream: harm minimisation. Yes, these girls were going to do sinful things with each other – but if they were sufficiently punished for them in this life, might not God have mercy on them in the next one? And if they fulfilled their duties to men as well, might not that weigh in their favour?
And so he created the Young Lesbian’s Soul Protection Network – a fancy name for a weekly meeting of the same-sex-attracted women of his congregation. Some of the girls were happy enough to attend. Others protested that they weren’t lesbians, or didn’t want to attend – but the suggestion that he might talk about their lesbianism in his next sermon, and name names, was more than enough to change their mind.
At each meeting, he gave a sermon – or rather, he had the girls listen to one he had pre-recorded. It required each girl to wear special headphones, and stare at a large video screen. He was grateful that he had studied in neuropsychology as a young man. He had never had a chance to test what he was attempting here, but he was confident it would work.
And it did. As the girls stared at the screen – which showed nothing but flickering high-speed images – and listened to the meaningless assault of high-volume white noise bombarding their eardrums – their eyes became unfocused, and their mouths hung open, and the defences of their brain collapsed, allowing Father Ryan’s subliminal messages in.
Even from that first session, the girls became receptive to Father Ryan’s ideas about the state of their soul, and every week they returned for another dose, letting more and more of his instructions enter their heads. After the second week, he set up a podcast, so they could fall asleep listening to his hypnotic noise and receive quiet instructions in their heads all night long.
The first part of his program was simple enough – community service. He would send the girls around to the houses of certain men in the community to perform chores – cooking, cleaning, washing. The girls would serve the men all day – and this is probably something they would have done if he had just asked them to. They may even have agreed to call the men “sir”, as they unfailingly did. But without his suggestion, they probably would *not* have selected the outfits for themselves that they did – short skirts, tight tops, high heels, and no underwear – or been quite so active in selecting poses or body movements that flashed their naked cunts to the men, or let their unsupported tits bounce out of their shirts.
The girls didn’t even notice that they were doing this, or realise there was anything wrong with their outfits. Nor did they notice when the men – as Father Ryan had encouraged them to – took out their cocks and masturbated as they watched the little sluts go about their work.
They weren’t *supposed* to notice when the men ejaculated on them, either – they were supposed to go home, oblivious, and wash the cum off without ever knowing what had happened. But Father Ryan’s subliminal programming wasn’t perfect, and occasionally a girl would suddenly become aware – usually on her way home – that that was a man’s *sperm* drying on her face, or tits, or hair.
The human brain is a wonderful thing, full of cleverness. It couldn’t remember what had happened, or how the sperm had gotten there – but it was completely able to seize on the girl’s latent guilt about her lesbianism, and general shame towards her sexuality, and construct a narrative for the girl where the sperm was *her fault*, where she had cockteased the man, where he hadn’t wanted to have anything to do with her but she had sluttily *seduced* him into cumming on her….
Father Ryan watched these rationalisations with amazement as the tearful girls made their confessions to him. He told them to repent, to spank their whorish cunts 20 times by way of punishment, and then to go back to the man, apologise to him for being a slut, and offer to kiss his cock to show that they were really sorry.
Thus he ensured that his lesbians fulfilled their God-given duty to serve men.
As to their lesbianism, he gave them other suggestions.
The idea was that every act of lesbianism should inherently punish them, by hurting, humiliating or degrading them.
As the girls’ slutty cleaning service to men continued, the girls began to offer a new service to the men. They proposed it as if it were perfectly normal, not seeing anything strange in it.
“Please, sir, can I collect your piss?” they would ask. And they would pout and flutter their eyes (and progressively remove more of their clothes) until the man said yes. And from that point on they would start and end every cleaning visit by holding out a large bottle and funnel for the man to piss into. They would kneel, holding it, and kiss the outside of the bottle as the man slowly filled it with his hot piss. And at the end of the day, they would cap it and take it home with them.
The piss was important, because it let them kiss other girls. One of the hardest compulsions of their hypnotic programming was that they couldn’t kiss the lips of another girl unless they could taste a man’s sperm or piss. The lesbians, eager to make out with each other, would heat up some of their stored urine, pour a little into each of their mouths, and then begin to passionately tongue-kiss, pushing the piss back and forth between them with their tongues, eventually swallowing it and pouring themselves some more if they wished to continue.
Father Ryan had dimly thought that the idea of having to drink piss in order to kiss a girl might dissuade them from doing it altogether, but their lust won out over their humiliation. The girls, of course, thought that this new compulsion was all their own idea. They thought they were perverted piss-drinking whores. They tried to stop, to kiss normally, and they couldn’t. They begged him in tears to help them.
He told them that for a perversion of this nature, disciplining themselves would not be enough. He had them remove their skirts and panties, and lie spread legged on the church altar, and he dutifully did his duty as their moral guardian and whipped their whorish cunts with his leather belt.
Further, they found that if they wanted to get undressed with another girl, they felt a need to have a man present. Blushing, the girls would ask the men they were cleaning for if they could make out in front of him (completely unaware that he was already masturbating, and would eventually ejaculate over their oblivious faces as they rubbed each other’s tits and passed his piss back and forth in their mouths). Or they would come to Father Ryan and ask him to supervise their slutty intimacy, with a round of cunt-whippings at the end for good measure.
If they wanted to lick each other’s pussies, not only did it have to be in front of a man, but they would find themselves compelled to piss into the mouth of any girl licking their cunt. Even this didn’t dissuade them from blushingly 69ing in front of Father Ryan at the church.
And finally, if they wanted another girl to penetrate their pussy, there had to be a man’s cum in it first.
Desperate for lesbian sex (and with their inhibitions lowered a little by Father Ryan’s program) the girls would go to their male patrons and beg to be allowed to masturbate the men to ejaculation (unaware the men had been giving them this present for free all along). Sometimes the men just said yes – but sometimes they wanted to see the girls nude, or sample the girl’s mouth, or even push their cock into her pussy a few times before allowing her to masturbate them into a condom. And the girls, sluts that they were, said yes.
And then they would take that cum, and push it up each other’s cunts, before fucking each other – not with dildos, because Father Ryan allowed nothing so simple, but with spiky hairbrushes, or objects of food, or toilet brushes, the girls moaning in pain and lust as the men’s cum was pushed into their womb by degrading household objects.
The lesbians all fell pregnant very quickly, of course, and Father Ryan was very satisfied, because he was sure God would take mercy on a lesbian who was at least willing to *breed*.
And because, of course, with all the sperm that his nice Claire had pushed up her cute little twat over the last few months of slutty lesbian activity, she wouldn’t have any suspicion at all that her baby might come from the twice weekly fuckings by her uncle, Father Ryan, that she had been receiving in the back room of the church – fuckings that the programming had helped her to forget were even happening, but which were *very* satisfying to her uncle’s cock. He had saved the girl’s soul after all, and that deserved a *little* reward….
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