THE MYSTERIES OF A CONVENT
When I returned home I found my father as gloomy and austere as ever. He welcomed me with a cold kiss and asked me a few questions as to the progress I had made in my studies. My replies did not appear to satisfy him and I had not been home a week before he declared his intention to send me to school again. I was by no means sorry to hear of this resolve, for my brother was finishing his education in New York, and the house was insufferably dull. I was at once dispatched to Mount de Sales, a convent near Baltimore. The inmates of the convent consisted of pupils and nuns—the latter acting as instructresses to the former, assisted by two or three priests.
I had been in the convent a year when we received a new pupil named Margaret Maitland, the daughter of a distinguished lawyer, residing in Baltimore. Margaret was a beautiful girl about my own age. She was rather tall, her eyes and hair were black, while her skin was of a whiteness ravishing to behold.
She was exceedingly religious and spent a great portion of her time in prayer, fasting and vigils. I noticed that she confessed to a Father Clark very frequently and always appeared very happy and contented when she left the confessional. I felt satisfied that there was something going on which partook more of the flesh than the spirit, and I determined to watch.
Father Clark's apartment was situated at the eastern extremity of the convent. It contained a large closet, and one day I concealed myself in it at the time I knew his penitent would visit him. I had been there but a few minutes before the priest entered. He was about forty years of age, stoutly built and rather handsome. He did not wait long before Margaret made her appearance. She looked positively beautiful. Her eyes sparkled, her cheeks were flushed, and her bosom rose and fell, showing that she was laboring under some excitement. To my extreme surprise, the moment she entered the room she ran up to Father Clark, and throwing her white arms round his neck kissed him passionately on the lips. He returned her embraces and drew her on his knee. This sight was entirely novel to me, and my cheeks burned while my eyes almost started from their sockets watching what would be their next proceeding. I had not long to wait, for I saw the priest's officious fingers unbutton Margaret's dress in front and deliberately pull it off her ivory shoulders, thus exposing two globes of snow, round, firm, exquisitely formed, and surmounted by two strawberry nipples, which stood out stiff. He pressed and kissed her breasts, absolutely burying his manly face between the soft cushions. He was, however, soon not satisfied with this, but canting her slightly up in his lap, he put his hand up her clothes, and invaded the most secret recesses of her body. This action raised her petticoats in such a manner that it exposed, to my gaze, one of her ivory thighs, which was large, well developed and beautifully rounded. I could see that he was moving his hand rapidly while Margaret seemed on the point of dying with delight. After amusing himself a short time in this manner, he suddenly desisted and, slipping her off his lap, placed her on her hands and knees on the floor. He then went to a cupboard and took from it a bunch of rods. Margaret remained in the position which he had placed her without making the slightest movement. Father Clark now walked up to her and, raising her petticoats, threw them over her head, thus exposing, in a moment, all her hidden charms to my excited eyes. It was a delicious sight, sufficient to have seduced the most rigid anchorite. I could see Margaret's white buttocks, admirably formed, her two beautiful thighs, and exquisitely formed legs; all was naked from her waist down. Situated at the lower portion of her white bottom, between her lovely thighs, I could discern the pouting lips of her bijou, with a line of coral marking the spot where they met.
Father Clark raised the rod and brought it down gently on her broad, white buttocks—their hue was immediately changed to a blushing red, while Margaret twisted and turned under the flagellation, every movement revealing more of her exquisite Mon Veneris. While the priest plied the rod, he appeared to be experiencing the most delicious sensations. Margaret's bottom was soon as red as a cherry, but she did not appear to mind the flogging which she was receiving the least bit.
When the priest had continued this exercise a few minutes, he threw down the rod, and kneeling on the ground behind her, he unbuttoned his pantaloons, and out leaped his staff of love, stiff, firm and with its ruby head uncovered. He nestled it for a moment between her buttocks, and then gently driving the vermilion lips of her coral sheath with his fingers, he brought his instrument to bear on the luscious opening, and seizing her by the hips, in another moment he was plunged to the very hilt in her beautiful body. When Margaret felt that the conjunction was complete she uttered a faint exclamation of joy and wiggled her buttocks from side to side as if to prevent her prisoner from escaping her. The priest now began to move himself in and out of her—and as he did so, I could distinctly see his staff appear and disappear in its warm nest. Every time he withdrew, her vagina clasped his instrument so tightly that he drew out the interior lips, and each time that he plunged it into her palpitating body, they were carried in with it. You can imagine my sensations, dear reader, when I saw all this. I instinctively raised my clothes and carried my hand to my own moss-covered retreat, and forcing a finger between the lips, I found it tightly grasped by my vagina, and I imitated all their motions, thrusting it in and out, my eyes being all the time fixed on the amorous couple. The priest was evidently in the seventh heaven of enjoyment, his hands wandered from one beauty to another as if at a loss to know which to take possession of. At one moment it would be her snowy globes which still remained uncovered; at another it would be her white belly, and then again it was the top of her Mount of Venus. Suddenly his motions grew quicker, his staff entered in and out of the coral retreat so rapidly that I could no longer detect the motion. The crisis came, and with a smothered exclamation of joy they both discharged. At the same moment the exciting scene I had witnessed drew from me my tribute to the god of sexual desire.
I cultivated Margaret's friendship after this, and when I was intimate enough with her I told her all I had seen. She blushed at first, but when she saw that I could be discreet, she confessed the whole truth to me. I found her an able instructress, and was soon even more perfectly au fait in all the mysteries of love, except the actual experience of sexual intercourse with the other sex. She made me a witness of many scenes between herself and Father Clark, and I soon found they were both perfectly adept in the art of procuring sexual enjoyment.
One day I discovered further evidence of the great morality pervading in Mount de Sales. The Lady Abbess was a handsome, fine-looking woman of about forty years of age. She was very strict with all the boarders of the convent, except with two sisters named Emily and Fannie Dawson. These two girls were her pets and were always with her. They were both beautiful girls, with flashing dark eyes and beautiful complexions. On the day I refer to, Margaret Maitland came to me and whispered in my ear that if I would come with her she would show me a pretty sight. I followed and she led me to the Lady Abbess's room and told me to peep through the keyhole. I did so and saw a very strange scene which I will endeavor to describe to you.
Seated on a low chair near a large sofa was Father Price. His pantaloons were down and the lower portion of his body all uncovered; his instrument of love stood stiff and erect. Seated sideways towards him on the sofa I have just referred to, was the Lady Abbess. Her dress was off her shoulders, revealing her well-developed bust. The lower portion of her body was entirely naked; one of her feet rested on an ottoman, the other on the ground; by this means one of her thighs was elevated. Father Price had one finger in her lustful slit, while she had grasped his staff in her hand. He was slowly pushing his finger in and out of her warm nest, and every now and then kissing her broad white buttocks which were entirely at his command. But this was not all; Emily and Fannie Dawson were also there, acting their parts. Emily stood on the sofa with her petticoats raised above her naval, thus revealing her delicious thighs, her white belly and the moss-covered domain of Venus. She was exquisitely made. The Lady Abbess was titillating her clitoris with her unoccupied hand, while Emily's excited face, the tip of her tongue slightly protruding from her coral lips and the heaves of her alabaster buttocks rising to meet the Abbess's deflowering finger, sufficiently showed the intense delights she was enjoying. Fannie was at the other end of the sofa. She had her back turned towards Father Price; she knelt on the sofa with one knee, while the other leg rested on the ground; her skirts were thrown over her head, and her head was buried in the sofa, thus elevating her white bottom in the air. Between her ivory thighs we could see the panting lips of her luscious bijou. She was rubbing the top of her slit with one finger, and by the quivering of her buttocks, I guessed she was enjoying herself to her heart's content.