The Convent

THE CONVENT, PART 5

by Zenna Swallows

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Ryan could hear the word echoing in his ears, both in Sister Chastity's cutting tone and his own internal voice. Except that where her condemnation was tinged with amusement, his reproofs carried nothing but despair and loss.

He punctuated his self-denunciations by periodically pounding on the hotel bed on which he was lying. But that didn't bring any relief. The mattress was so soft that his fist simply sank into it, absorbing what little energy he was able to muster with his atrophied muscles.

It was strange, he reflected, but throughout the two years he had been trapped at the Convent, he would have killed for the opportunity to sleep in a comfortable bed. Yet so used was he now to his chamber's hard pallet, sinking into the surface of this bed almost felt like slipping under water.

Even if he had felt able to sleep, and bone weary as he might be, he knew that the unfamiliarity of the mattress would have kept him awake.

He briefly considered rolling over and punching the wall instead. But deep as he was in depression, he had not lost his sense of self-preservation.

There might be some temporary relief to be had from the damage he would do, the physical pain somehow easier to endure than the profound mental distress he was experiencing. But there would be no hiding his self-harm.

The nuns of the Blessed Order of Saint Pilarupta, the ones who had taken him into captivity after he had checked into what he thought was just an eccentric old hotel? They saw everything, knew everything.

They could and did inflict pain on him. He had come to know that intimately, especially at the hands and devices of Sister Felicity, the avenging demon who had once been his oppressed girlfriend. But the pain was theirs to administer, and hers above all. If he physically damaged himself, he knew, the retribution would hurt a lot more than bruised and bloodied knuckles -- and last much, much longer.

So all he could do was hurl empty imprecations at his weakness. And try very hard not to think about what a second day of release from the Convent might bring.

Only thirty hours or so earlier, he had embarked on what he was told was a "field trip" to the city in which he had previously lived and worked. He had travelled there with Agnes, the delectable young novice with whom he had become reluctantly but irretrievably infatuated.

Supervised only by the handsome Sister Chastity and sour old Sister Patience, he had envisaged being able to use the crowded streets to escape their clutches, and somehow make contact with his family.

And yet even when he slipped away from his escorts, the control they had over him could not be evaded. Through some means he still didn't understand, but presumably involved a form of hypnosis, he had been conditioned to go where they wanted. And when Sister Chastity allowed him to call his father, he learned a shocking truth.

As far as the world was concerned, Ryan Seldon was a paedophile who'd stolen from his family and disappeared. There was no help to be had from anyone who had previously known him, least of all the man who had been the source of all his wealth and social advantages. The rage Ryan had heard at the mere mention of his name had convinced him of that.

So instead of the Great Escape, the trip to the city became what it was always intended to be -- a chance to heap more humiliation upon him. To teach him more lessons about what the Order believed the superior sex had to endure.

During his enslavement, Ryan had been made to look, talk and act like a woman. And not just any type of woman, but the epitome of beauty and sex appeal. He was no longer Ryan, but Amanda. And the makeup, lingerie and ludicrously high heels that he now habitually wore all had one aim -- to make him an object of male desire.

At the Convent, paradoxically, the sexual abuse he endured in this guise had all come from women. The senior nuns, those who wore the black, had used him unmercifully, just as they had the other male novices, initiates and servants.

Much of the time, that simply meant being called upon to finger or lick the nuns in the way that another woman might -- though the pleasure was never reciprocated.

But for Ryan especially, it could also involve having to suck or be penetrated by huge dildos -- and frequently endure large quantities of fake sperm being pumped down his throat, all over his face, or deep inside his ass. Sister Felicity had delighted in making him experience the treatment he had doled out to her and so many other women during his former life.

In the city, the lessons he had been learning were taken to a whole new level.

It had begun at the strip club to which he and Agnes, dressed in a parody of their usual outfits, had been taken to dance. Before they went on stage, he had been sick with worry. Yet it had been surprisingly easy to perform. Partly because they had been practising at the Convent. But mostly because he had been able to lose himself in the delights of the little blonde's nubile body. Their sex act, far more real than the watching crowd may have suspected, had helped distract and insulate him from the baying men around them.

But he should have known not to relax. Because the price of a successful performance was having to do a series of private shows, for which the men concerned had to bid just to get a booking.

And that's when the fun really started. Or at least what the nuns guiding and profiting from his efforts would have regarded as fun.

The first show was easy enough, for a smitten young man who was satisfied just with being able to watch and gently caress what he clearly thought of as some kind of goddess.

The second man was a different story. He wanted extras. And when Ryan quoted a ridiculously high price for a blowjob, he was willing to pay it. Which was how the captive and sissified young man came to experience, for the first time, a real cock in his mouth.

The huge size of the client's appendage had not disconcerted him. Large as it was, he'd had to wrap his lips round even bigger phalluses. So while getting it in his mouth was difficult, the physical act was manageable. He could even let the organ slide down his throat without gagging too much, to the delight of its owner.

"Fuck yeah Mandy," the man had exclaimed. "Swallow that big dick, all the way down baby!"

Even the inane commentary was somehow not too disturbing. But the feel and taste of what he was sucking was something else altogether.

No matter how realistically sculpted, the dildos to which he was used were completely inert. Even when they spurted cream, there was no sense of life, just motion.

The warm, pulsing flesh in his mouth was completely different. And so was the smell of the man's crotch. The overpowering, musky aroma was unmistakably masculine and far removed from the feminine scents to which he had become accustomed.

The first mouthful was nearly enough to make him throw up. Only his iron self-discipline, honed over what he had learnt only today was at least two years of captivity, prevented him from rearing back in disgust.

As it was, for a moment he thought of admitting to the client that he had made a mistake, of trying to get away with just a handjob. He would just have to accept whatever retribution would follow from the nuns, who were no doubt watching through hidden cameras.

But at this point, he was still committed to finding a way of getting his life back. And if that meant enduring this latest humiliation and continuing to build trust with his captors, while he kept looking for some chink in their defences, some loophole that might lead to freedom, so be it.

Characteristically, he let none of his turmoil show. Instead, he lifted his head to look up at the client and forced a lascivious-looking grin as he ran his tongue over the bulbous purple head. Ignoring the fluid that was already starting to ooze from the tip, he gave an appreciative "Yum!" and started bobbing his head up and down.

As he reflected later, his decision to endure the sensation of sucking another man's cock might well have been a turning point. If he'd rebelled then , he would undoubtedly have been punished, and severely. His life could well have turned out worse, in all kinds of ways.

But maybe he would have been spared at least part of the disturbing sequel to his shift at the club.

As it was, he proved to be surprisingly efficient at giving head. In only a matter of moments, and well before the panting and increasingly vocal client ran out of his allotted time with "Mandy", the throbbing shaft in Ryan's mouth erupted with a positive geyser of spunk.

The quantity of fluid was something the abused novice was well and truly accustomed to ingesting. But the taste was something else.

At the Convent, any fake semen that Ryan was fed was delicious. And so too, more surprisingly, was the real fluid that oozed in depressingly small quantities from the shrivelled remnant of his own cock, or that of the other "girls".

But this was different. It had a salty tang, with a rancid undertone that Ryan somehow knew would linger on his tongue and the back of his throat, even as he gulped it down. Was this what real men's cum was truly like? Or was there something wrong with this particular batch?

The one thing Ryan knew for certain was that he found it disgusting.

After he got rid of the client -- though not before having to remind the man to use a credit card to pay for his extras and listen to an obscene but rhapsodic description of Ryan's cocksucking talents -- he took a bathroom break not to pee, but simply to wash away the aftertaste.

Unfortunately, it was to return soon enough. And he learnt that there was nothing special or different about the first man to blow his load into Ryan's willing mouth. The rest tasted just as bad.

Over the course of the long hours he spent doing private shows during his first shift at the club, he did manage to keep the number of blowjobs to a minimum. Some clients didn't ask about extras at all. With others, he was able to get away with offering just a pricey handjob.

But much as he would have liked to keep it at that, he was sure this would not go down well with either the manager of the club or the nuns who had brought him here to work.

So for those who specifically wanted it, or who insisted he lay out everything he was prepared to do and then chose the most expensive option, there was no escaping the need to open his painted mouth once more and wrap his ruby-red lips round their eager cocks. None of them were as big as that first man's. But they all tasted equally gross.

Ryan did learn one valuable lesson early on, however, which was to maintain a degree of control while he was delivering his oral ministrations.

The second client he serviced in this way, a burly young man in an ill-fitting suit, insisted on standing up and having Ryan kneel before him. Ryan realised his mistake when the client grabbed his head and vigorously fucked his face, before pulling out at the last moment and spraying jizz all over the novice's face and hair.

That led to a frantic clean up that was only partially successful in teasing the gobs of spunk out of Ryan's long raven tresses -- and a determination thereafter to keep the clients firmly seated in their chair.

It was late afternoon by the time Ryan was finally relieved from his work in a room which, despite the air-conditioning, had come to reek of stale sweat and cum. Jaw and neck aching from all the cocksucking he had done, and with a belly uncomfortably full of semen, the last thing he felt like doing was going back on stage to dance.

But after the shortest of respites and a quick chat with an equally shattered Agnes -- or Angel as she was being billed -- it was time for the two of them to perform again. Once again, their act wowed the watching crowd, which had grown considerably from earlier in the day. While the kissing was still real enough, their sex act was entirely faked this time. Not that it seemed to matter to the audience.

Mercifully, they were not sent straight off to do more private shows. They had evidently reached the end of their contracted time, because despite the manager's obvious disappointment, Sister Chastity and Sister Prudence insisted on leading them back to the hotel.

When they returned, however, there was a surprise waiting for them in the room that Ryan and Agnes had been told they would share. A hard-faced young woman rose from one of the chairs as they entered and stared at them suspiciously.

"You the nuns?' She directed the question at Agnes and Ryan, frowning as she took in their shorter than usual habits and high heels. Her own attire was equally striking: a black crop top that left much of her torso exposed, a tight red leather mini-skirt, fishnet tights and ankle boots with platform heels.

"Yes, that's right dear," answered Sister Chastity in a level tone, pushing past Ryan. You must be Kandi, yes?"

"Yeah, that's me," said the woman. She seemed nonplussed by the business suit the older woman was wearing, and kept flicking glances at Ryan. "You got a job for me? Some guy in a limo gave me a coupla hundred, said I should come here, there was something special in it for me?"

"There is indeed," answered Sister Chastity with a thin smile. "But it's not the kind of job you might be expecting. You're getting a night off. You can spend it here in a nice comfortable bed, order whatever you like on room service. Relax, put your feet up, watch some movies."

A worried look crossed Kandi's face. "But I can't, it's Steve, right, he'll be expecting --"

"Don't you worry about Steve," interjected the nun smoothly. "We've squared it away with him. Sister Patience here can give you some information about our program, if you like. But for now I suggest you go and have yourself a nice bath. You can take your clothes off here -- just leave them on the chair. You'll find a robe you can wear hanging up in there." She gestured towards the bathroom.

Kandi hesitated, but the look of serene control on the nun's face, combined with the habitual glower her older colleague was sporting, seemed to persuade her that arguing would be futile. With a complete absence of self-consciousness, she stripped off her clothing then stalked away to the bathroom. Ryan noticed that her thin frame was covered in blemishes and scars.

As the door closed behind her, Sister Chastity answered the question that Ryan was far too disciplined to ask aloud.

"The program's called Hooker Care," she said. "We take working girls off the street for a while, give them the chance at a bit of luxury. An opportunity to get off their feet, you might say ... though in a different way to what they're used to. If it seems like they might be up to it, we'll give them the opportunity to get right out of the game, buy out their pimp and start giving them some training in a different career."

Her smile vanished. "Not all of them get there though. Some are just too far gone. Whether it's the drugs, or they're just completely dependent on the men controlling them ... We can only do so much."

She sighed. "We'll see how Kandi fares. It may or may not work out. But because she has ... obligations tonight, we'll need to send someone to do her shift."

She glanced at Ryan and the grin was back. "That's where you come in, Amanda. Put these on please." She gestured at the clothing Kandi had discarded.

Ryan stared at them in shock, his mind whirling. He desperately wanted to protest that he had already done his work for the day, that he had given -- and taken -- all that he possibly could. But he knew that it would do no good, that punishment would surely follow if he resisted.

So instead, as he moved slowly to strip off his outfit, he voiced the other concern that was pressing on him. "What about Angel -- I mean, Agnes? Does she have to do this as well?"

He heard a hiss of disapproval from Sister Patience. He couldn't see Sister Chastity's face as he pulled the habit over his head, but her tone didn't seem to suggest any affront at his question.

"Not tonight. She'll be spelling someone else tomorrow evening. For now, she'll be acting as Kandi's personal maid, to make sure the young woman has whatever she wants. Including in bed, if that's what she's into. You can sleep on our floor tonight instead -- after you get done. Understand?"

"Yes sister," responded Ryan submissively, as he began to pull on Kandi's clothes. They were grubby and stained, and he had to work hard not to wrinkle his nose at the smell. The boots proved to be half a size too small for him, but he crammed his toes into them without complaint.

"Good," pronounced Sister Chastity, as she inspected him. "Only one problem we need to fix. Sister?"

Ryan glanced around to see Sister Patience advancing on him with a large hypodermic needle. He steeled himself not to show the alarm he felt, but from across the room he heard Agnes give a frightened little mew.

"We can't have you going to work Kandi's patch looking like that," explained Sister Chastity conversationally. "You're far too pretty. There'd be a riot. Not the customers, the other girls. Not at all the sort of competition they'd appreciate. They'd be levelling the playing field with a broken bottle, I shouldn't wonder. Or their pimps would."

"Over here," commanded the older nun, grabbing Ryan's unresisting arm and dragging him underneath one of the spotlights set into the ceiling of the hotel room. "Now hold still," she added, positioning the needle just below his right eye. "This won't hurt a bit."

She was good to her word: the injection hurt a lot. The second one, which went in just above the same eye, was even more painful. So was a third, into his left cheekbone.

Characteristically, however, Ryan refrained from even whimpering. He had endured far worse, especially when Sister Felicity was recreating some of the nastier bondage scenes she had found saved on Ryan's phone. Nothing brought home more effectively that he was the author of his own misfortune than being compelled to endure the degrading and painful treatment he had previously enjoyed seeing visited on young women.

He still shuddered at the time when she left him chained up with vibrators running full speed in both his ass and strapped to the only part of his cock that could still be reached under the prosthesis that both restrained and hid what was left of his organ. He had been required to count every failed orgasm that the incessant stimulation produced, over what seemed like hours of torture.

As the sting from the injections faded, his eye began to swell up, and then in turn his cheekbone. Sister Patience peered at him, gave a satisfied smirk and swung him round to face her younger colleague. Sister Chastity nodded and held out a small handbag.

"This has everything you need," she said, "including some fresh lipstick. You can put it on over there." She inclined her head towards a mirror on the wall.

Ryan rummaged in the bag. It held a tube of lubricant, a collection of condoms, some wipes, what looked like a small timer, and a lipstick in perhaps the brightest shade of pink he'd ever seen. As he went to apply the latter, he froze at the sight of his face.

The injections had not just created bumps that marred the symmetry of his features. They had caused his previously flawless skin to develop blotches that could be seen even through the layers of makeup. What stunned him, however, was his instinctive reaction to the changes.

His transformation at the Convent had been hard to accept. And yet the emphasis on creating an appearance that was not just feminine, but one that fitted the masculine ideals of female beauty, had forced him to invest a lot of time and effort each day in making himself pretty. Plus, as it turned out, he had quite a talent for makeup, and he had come to take pride in not just meeting the nuns' exacting standards, but exceeding them.

Which perhaps explained now why he felt such a sense of consternation. His first thought was: I'm not beautiful anymore! Quickly followed by: I can't go out looking like this!

He pushed those reactions down and got on with painting his mouth. But something must have shown in his expression, even through the disfiguration.

Peering over his shoulder, Sister Patience smirked and said tartly: "Don't worry, you vain little tramp. You'll get back to being the prettiest princess in the kingdom by the time you return from spreading your legs."

She cast a scornful glance sideways at Agnes, whose thoughts about what had been done to her favourite sleeping partner were, as ever, written all over her face. "Or second prettiest anyway."

But Ryan had no time to dwell on Agnes' feelings, or indeed the vanity he had apparently developed over his long period of learning to look and act like a woman.

He was whisked away by Sister Patience and soon enough found himself being driven out to a part of the city that was not far away in distance, but worlds removed in terms of affluence and security from those he had inhabited during his time as a spoiled young man.

The driver who took him to what could only be described as a disreputable junction in a derelict and run-down part of town was the same man who'd ferried him from the Convent earlier in the day. But the limo was gone. In its place was a battered hatchback more appropriate to the surroundings. Ryan wondered if it was the driver's own vehicle.

Pulling up outside a row of what looked like derelict houses, the driver pointed out a large figure, half-hidden in a doorway. "That's the man in charge," he said. "Name's Steve. You do what he tells you -- exactly what he says, understand? Do the wrong thing round here, and you might lose something. Like, you know, a finger. Or an eye. Or the right to breathe."

Ryan nodded and got out of the car. He glanced at Sister Chastity, who was sitting in the backseat and, he noticed, staying out of sight. But she simply inclined her head in the direction the driver had pointed.

Tottering nervously across the uneven ground in his platform heels, and conscious of his thumping heart, Ryan approached what he assumed to be Kandi's pimp. His tattooed face was not a comforting sight. Nor was the large knife he was tossing idly from hand to hand.

"Fuck you want, bitch?" he growled. It was impossible to say how old he was. He could have been anywhere from his teens to late 30s. All that could safely be assumed was that he had seen (and probably done) a lot of bad things.

Ryan swallowed. "I'm ... I'm Mandi, s-sir" he squeaked, shivering despite the warm evening air. "The n-n-nuns sent me?"

"Uh-huh," grunted Steve, then peered down at Ryan. "You one of their ladyboys, right?"

"Y-yes sir."

The man's face twisted into what might either have been a grimace or a smile. In the dim light it was hard to be sure. "Well you look like a fucking girl anyway. What was the name again?"

"Mandy, sir. It's Mandy. Or Amanda. You know, whatever --"

"Mandy will do. Now shut the fuck up and listen. See that corner there, where Suri and Loretta are?"

He pointed to a nearby pool of streetlight, where two listless looking women were standing. Ryan nodded.

"Get your skinny fucking ass over there, and see if you can get any takers. Anyone asks, you only do anal, a hundred for twenty minutes, two for an hour. Pay in advance, cash only. You can use the front room of the house behind me. Or you can get in their car. But if you do that, you get them to park in the driveway here and give me the keys. And don't get in until they've done that. Got all that?"

"Yes sir."

"Any questions?"

There were many that Ryan wanted to ask, but none of them seemed any more pressing than the others. So he shook his head.

"Right, well fuck off then."

Ryan hesitated and then trudged off. The car in which he had been brought had disappeared, he noticed. So he was on his own. He thought about saying hello to the other two streetwalkers, who like him wore the shortest of skirts and the skimpiest of tops. But the frosty glares he received when he joined them put an end to any such thought.

Moving a few metres away, but staying within the patch of light cast by the lamp against which one of the women was leaning, he picked a spot to stand and looked around.

He had honestly not known that street hookers still plied their trade. He himself had hired prostitutes before, but they were high-end escorts -- that, or strippers who he had successfully turned into whores simply by offering them enough money. The idea that there were still women who stood on street corners, rather than work in licensed and presumably much safer brothels, was quite a shock. Though nowhere near as shocking as actually being one himself.

Looking around, which he tried to do as unobtrusively as he could, he could see other hookers working either side of the street he was on. The area was far from busy, but cars drove along the street regularly enough, often quickly, but sometimes at a slow pace that hinted at the area's main attraction -- if that's what it could be called.

There was also a steady stream of pedestrians heading up or down a side street that Ryan thought might lead to a nearby strip of restaurants and nightclubs.

Some of the arrivals, especially those who clustered in boisterous groups, were plainly just interested in sneaking a peek at the trade going on -- or indeed the scantily clad women on display. If they got too close, burly figures -- Steve's equivalents, no doubt -- would quickly emerge from the nearby shadows to move them on. But there were also single men who trudged past, most keeping their heads down until directing what they clearly hoped were covert glances at the human merchandise.

Several went past Ryan, before one hesitated, then asked him in a low voice: "How much?" Trying his best to keep his voice steady. Ryan answered as he had been instructed. It prompted an almost imperceptible shake of the head, before the man moved on. The same thing happened with the next few men to ask, along with the drivers of two cars who stopped at his corner.

After nearly an hour, Ryan was beginning to wonder what he was doing wrong. Both the other hookers near him had found customers, though he could hear they were quoting much cheaper prices. He wondered if he should somehow change his pitch. Perhaps smile, or even be cheerful?

But unlike the club, where he had found it relatively easy to play up to the customers, the depressing surroundings made it hard to be anything more than grimly serious. Certainly the other women had been strictly businesslike in their interactions. Maybe it would be easier to smile if the potential clients did first, he thought. Not, so far at any rate, that there seemed much chance of that.

As it happened though, and before he could bring himself to do anything different, he found a taker. A grey-haired man, perhaps in his fifties and wearing a coat despite the warmth of the evening, nodded his assent and asked: "Where?"

With a mixture of both relief and dread coursing through him, Ryan led the customer towards the dilapidated house that Steve had indicated earlier. Glancing at the pimp as he walked past, Ryan saw a flickering sneer that, once again, could have meant anything.

He was just starting to push open the door to what he assumed was the bedroom when he became aware of a grunting noise within. Peering around the doorframe, he had a quick glimpse of one of the women (Suri?) straddling a man who was flat on his back on a mattress that seemed to be the room's only item of furniture. She had her back to him and neither she nor her client gave any sign they had noticed the brief intrusion.

Ryan crossed to another open door across the hallway. There was nothing inside except a table. Ryan hesitated. A set of rickety stairs ran up to another level, but he didn't want to risk them -- and all the other doors off the hall were not only shut, but had rubbish piled in front of them.

For a moment he thought about going outside to ask Steve what to do. But that really didn't seem like a good idea.

To his surprise, however, the grey-haired man walked past him into the room with the table, then looked expectantly at Ryan. The novice streetwalker blinked, then followed him in and closed the door. He had been in here before, it seemed.

"What's your name sweetie?" asked the man. He had a cultured voice that belied his rumpled appearance.

"Uh, Mandy ... sir."

The client gave a thin smile. "Your first time at this Mandy?" he asked, undoing his belt and simultaneously pointing to the floor in front of him.

Ryan knelt down obediently, pondering as he did so what to say in response. "Um, yes, kind of?"

He watched as the man dropped his pants and drew out a smallish cock that was already semi-hard, but stiffened appreciably as Ryan reached up to hold it. "Lucky me," said the client, his grin broadening as the city's newest street hooker started fondling and kissing his equipment.

Ryan was just about to open his mouth to engulf the now fully erect shaft when a thought that had been nagging away at him managed to garner his attention. Hesitating, he reached down to his purse and pulled out a condom.

He had not asked any of the clients at the club to protect themselves (or him), before giving them blowjobs. The first man had indeed insisted that Ryan not wear one, as part of the return for the outrageously high price he was being charged. After that, Ryan had forgotten even to look to see whether there were any condoms he could ask his clients to put on.

On reflection, however, it had occurred to him that he was being unnecessarily cavalier with both his own health and that of the men he was so intimately servicing. He wasn't sure whether the sick feeling in his stomach stemmed from anxiety, the weight of so much ingested sperm, or the onset of some illness. Whatever the explanation, it didn't seem like a good idea to keep taking a chance, especially when he'd been supplied with the necessary prophylactics.

Fortunately, the grey-haired man didn't seem at all put out by the idea of having to use a condom. Ryan briefly thought of trying to roll it on with his mouth, the way he'd seen some escorts do, but realised that was something he'd need to practise first to get right. So he put it on as swiftly and efficiently as he could and then got on with the more familiar job of fellating his customer.

The lubricant on the condom turned out to have some kind of fruit flavour, which almost but not quite masked the chemical taste of the rubber. Ryan had now had enough different types of phallus in his mouth not to be disconcerted by yet another new texture -- a dispiriting discovery, if ever there was one. But he pressed on and was rewarded by a series of appreciative groans from above him.

It was only after he had been sucking away for several minutes that he remembered he was supposed to be on a clock. Shit, the timer! He had totally forgotten to use it. But Steve, he was pretty sure, would be keeping track of the time that had passed since he entered the house.

Relinquishing the swollen organ in his mouth he clambered to his feet and looked at the client. "Where do you want me?" he forced himself to ask. "Up against the wall or ... ?"

"Over the table," panted the man, as he kicked off the pants that had been around his ankles. All trace of a smile was gone now. He was sweaty and lust-ridden.

With a covert sigh, which he took care to conceal, Ryan pulled down his g-string, lifted up his short skirt and folded forward over the laminated table top. Reaching round behind him, he made sure the convenient hole in the back of his fishnets was positioned correctly, then smeared some lube onto and inside his exposed asshole.

He tried to bring himself to urge the man to fuck him, but simply couldn't do it. The words were stuck in his throat. So instead he just wiggled his butt as invitingly as he could . The man needed no further invitation. Squeezing up against Ryan, he pushed his cock inside the sissy's puckered entrance.

The feeling of being penetrated was nothing new. Ryan had been fucked so often, not least by his former girlfriend, that he had almost come to regard it as normal to have his back passage filled and plundered.

And it wasn't as if the phallus that was now inside him was anything like as big as the monster dildos he'd had to endure. If it wasn't for the treatment he was regularly given at the Convent to strengthen and tighten his sphincter muscles, and to help his abused rectum to close up again after being violated for hours on end, his anus would have gaped so wide that the old man's cock wouldn't even have touched the sides.

And yet this was different. Because it was live flesh that was being injected into his ass, not plastic or rubber or whatever else the nuns chose to put in their strapons. And it wasn't a woman who was fucking him now, but a man.

Did it feel the same? Physically, yes, more or less. But psychologically, it was far removed from anything he'd previously experienced. For the second time that day, he was forced to confront the reality that he was having sex with someone who he still thought of as being the same gender.

In theory, oral sex should have been worse, because it was so much more intimate to take a cock in his mouth. And yet at least he had the sense that he was somehow in control when giving a blowjob. In his current position, by contrast, he was bent over a table with his rump in the air, the client's weight pressing down on him as the man began to thrust his eager cock into the greased hole that seemed so eager to accept it. All Ryan could do was lie there and let himself be fucked.

Except that wasn't quite true, was it? Because he could still play his part. He could be the whore that both the nuns and the pimp outside wanted him to be. That the man filling his rear with engorged flesh expected him to be.

And so rather than just passively accepting what was being done to him, Ryan started to push his butt back a little, endeavouring to meet each thrust so that the client's groin slapped a little harder against his plump buttocks, forcing the plunging dick a little deeper into him. He was doing it to speed up the sex act , he told himself. Anything to make it end sooner. Yet he also knew that he was programmed to behave this way.

His efforts were rewarded with a groan of appreciation from the man on top of him. And suddenly too, Ryan found his voice. Shakily at first, but then with growing confidence, even as he quailed inside at what he was saying, he began to urge the client to fuck him, to fill up his ass, to get deep inside him, to take him hard. Because he wanted the man's cum, needed it, was begging for it.

As the man increased his assault, Ryan felt a familiar feeling begin to grow. The stimulation of his prostate was causing him to get aroused. But he knew he could not reach an orgasm. Indeed he had not enjoyed true sexual release since his very first night at the Convent, when two gorgeous novices had twice made him explode with delight. All he could do now, after the diabolical treatment that had shrunken his male parts, was get to the brink of climax and then have it taken away.

For just a moment he thought of rebelling. Because this was insult piled on injury. To have to give pleasure to a man and not even have some of his own as compensation.

Yet he had come too far, committed too much, to give in to that impulse. So he accepted the feeling, rode with it, used it to fuel his demands for the old man to fuck him harder.

And as the moment came for his orgasm to stall and fade away, as he felt the familiar and pathetically small leakage of semen from his trapped and shrivelled organ, his groan of disappointment was drowned out by the client's ecstatic release. Although Ryan couldn't feel it, he knew that with each emphatic thrust the man was spurting inside him.

And just for a moment, there was a bizarre sense of satisfaction. That he had not just been able to cope with the experience, but had succeeded in giving the man the pleasure for which he was paying. Ryan had held up his end of the bargain, with the client, with Steve, with the Order. And having done it once, he could do it again ...

And he did, seven more times to be exact. Or eight if he counted the pair of guys who paid him more than double for a spit roast, then went to great care to time their orgasms so that one came in his ass mere seconds after the other had exploded in his mouth.

After very nearly allowing his first client to leave without paying -- he broke out in a cold sweat every time he thought of what Steve might have done to him if he hadn't remembered just in time -- he was more careful for the rest of his long night's shift.

But even so, not everything went right. The enthusiastic spit roaster who had finished off behind him, after taking a turn at fucking his mouth, had at some point lost his condom -- or more likely slipped it off while Ryan was preoccupied with sucking his friend's cock.

The first Ryan knew about it was when he clambered wearily to his feet and felt the warm sperm running down his thighs. He had run out of wipes, so he used his discarded panties to stem the flow and then dry the wet spots on his fishnets and the mattress he had been using. Though in truth they were both already so stained that it was hard to see any improvement.

After ushering out the two raucous but apparently satisfied customers, he went back to his allotted spot on the street. It was only when a warm gust of breeze briefly lifted his skirt that he realised he had left his g-string in the derelict house. And he couldn't go look for it because Loretta had already headed there with another client.

By the time he was next able to check, with what turned out to be his last taker for the night, the panties had vanished. But in truth, he had already been feeling exposed and vulnerable with them on. Walking around without them didn't add appreciably to his anxiety.

What he most feared, he came to realise, was not the sex, nor even the potential violence that exuded from Steve like a wave, and which he also sensed in a couple of the clients.

Nor was it the ruined orgasms that accompanied every invasion of his accommodating ass, tough as they were to take. He wasn't sure if he'd been given something to make him more sensitive that day. It was impossible to know anyway, given all the hormones, vitamins and other pills that had become part of his daily routine. But he had certainly felt more turned on, something that made his hooker act simultaneously easier and more ignominious.

What really worried him was the prospect of being recognised by someone who knew him from his former life. He could tell himself that his former colleagues and acquaintances were no more likely to frequent this part of town than he himself had been. That the longer hair, the hormones and the collagen injections had changed him beyond all recognition -- even before what had been done to him today to mar his feminine beauty.

But standing on a street corner, dressed and made up as he was, panties or no panties, he couldn't stop thinking about what even the most unlikely of encounters might mean. With every new passer-by, with each car that drove past, he felt a chill. Would this be the moment of discovery?

Strangely, it was not a feeling he'd experienced at the strip club, even though it seemed far more likely he could be recognised there. He could only put that down to the distraction of performing with Agnes, of doing what he could (after a serious wobble of his own beforehand) to stay as calm as possible and help her through the terrifying transition from nun in training to exotic dancer.

Still, that didn't explain why, when the two of them separated to do their private shows, Ryan had not felt the same horror of discovery each time the door opened to admit a new client. There was clearly something about being out in the open that ramped up his anxiety.

He had dreamed for so long about the chance to escape the Convent. Now it almost seemed like a haven. Whatever terrible things were done to him there, whatever laughter, vitriol or abuse was directed at him, at least he knew where he stood. He hadn't realised how secure he had come to be in his new identity as a feminised novice, until it was challenged by the ghosts of his past. Or at least the fear of those ghosts appearing.

So when the driver and Sister Patience finally returnred in the small hours of the morning to pick him up, the relief Ryan felt was not so much about being spared more humiliating sex acts, as important as that was. It was that he was now safe, at least for a time, from the threat of being exposed.

When they got back to the hotel, all he wanted to do was to fall into Agnes' welcoming arms. But she was sleeping with Kandi -- or maybe keeping the liberated hooker happy in other ways.

Instead, Sister Patience ushered Ryan into a much more spacious apartment, her acerbic whisper warning him not to wake the sleeping Sister Chastity. To his relief, he was allowed to shower and wash away the dirt and stickiness he'd acquired from his day and night's work, then don a clean negligee.

As he looked at the discarded clothing he had inherited from Kandi, he wondered if she would ask about the missing panties. For a mercy, Sister Patience hadn't noticed he wasn't wearing any on the ride back, or perhaps had chosen to ignore it.

But that was a problem for the morrow. For now, he was happy to lie down on the floor with a pillow and blanket. He quickly fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

By the time he woke up, it was late morning and the apartment was empty. After reciting his morning prayers and then dressing in his usual robes and lingerie, which had been left out for him on a chair, he sat down on a stiff-backed chair to wait. He could have relaxed in an armchair, or even gone exploring, but the memory of how he had so easily been reined in the day before was still fresh.

Maybe there could still be a chance to escape the Order. But now didn't seem to be it. Especially as he couldn't even begin to think about what freedom would truly look like.

After forty minutes or so, the door opened to admit the two nuns, with Agnes in tow. Sister Chastity put a plate of fresh fruit down on a table and then nodded to indicate it was for Ryan. As he sat down and began to eat his first sustenance (sperm aside) for more than a day, he had to work hard not to show how ravenously hungry he was.

"So Amanda," asked Sister Chastity brightly, "how was your night on the streets?"

There was no easy way of answering that question, as Ryan was sure the nun knew full well. So after taking the time to swallow a mouthful of melon, he opted for saying in as neutral a tone as he could muster: "It was ... educational, sister."

"Educational, hmm?" she responded, giving no more away about what she really thought than he had done. "I imagine it was. And how many times did you try to come when you were being fucked by all those nasty men?"

Ryan felt the blood course into his cheeks, but kept his tone light. "Every time, sister."

That prompted a snort from Sister Patience, and an aside to her colleague that Ryan couldn't quite hear, apart from the word "slut". But he was already launching into the question that had been on his mind since the minute he had woken up.

"Sisters, I don't suppose ... that I could go out again tonight? In- ... instead of Agnes I mean?"

All last night he had been worried about his own safety. But today, it was the little blonde's that was uppermost in his mind. He was much tougher than her, he knew. So if he had struggled with the physical and emotional challenge of standing in the street and being offered up for anal sex with strange men, how on earth could she possibly cope?

He had no expectation of the nuns agreeing to his request. But he had to ask. He couldn't live with himself if he didn't even try to protect her.

There was a short silence following his plaintive inquiry. It was broken by a triumphant laugh. "Hah! You hear that? I told you, didn't I? I told you that's what she'd do!"

Bewildered, Ryan's neck snapped around to find Agnes. But she wasn't looking at him. Her beautiful face bore a wide, knowing grin that was completely out of character for the shy novice he'd come to know. Her attention was entirely directed at Sister Chastity.

"Ah yes, you're very clever aren't you, you little minx," responded the nun coolly. "That's going to earn you quite the beating, you know."

Ryan dragged his incredulous eyes off Agnes and swung back to look at the nun. Her expression was reproving, but a smile twitched at the comer of her mouth.

"You can spank me as much as you like," retorted Agnes. "You know I love it. But you'll have to let me come. Properly I mean."

"Oh, you'll get your orgasms dear," replied Sister Chastity. "You've earned them all right."

She glanced at Ryan, her smile widening at his stricken expression.

"Oh dear, I'm afraid poor Amanda is all confused. She still thinks our little Angel here is a poor, scared little novice. But appearances can be deceptive, can't they Agnes?"

"They can indeed sister," responded the petite blonde, her face still suffused with what could only be described as malicious glee.

"Oh don't worry Mandy," she said to Ryan, whose jaw was still hanging open in disbelief. "It wasn't all pretend. I really did enjoy having your fingers in my ass. And you're very easy on the eye too. But seriously, it is hard work getting you to loosen up. You're always so fucking serious about things!"

She narrowed her eyes. "I knew you were into me. Knew it from the first night we slept together. But you had to keep hiding it, didn't you? Not letting on to anyone, maybe not even yourself, right? But I told Sister that if she put us to work, you wouldn't be able to help it. Just the thought of poor defenceless Agnes all alone on the street, being preyed on by those nasty fuckers? That would be it, you'd have to step up, wouldn't you? Be my knight in shining armour ... Or shining fishnets, I should say."

She glanced at the nuns, who were not bothering to hide their enjoyment of Ryan's discomfort. "She made it difficult though. I've had some hard nuts to crack before." She nodded towards Ryan. "But she was definitely the toughest."

"And yet crack she did ... " said Sister Chastity. "So then, well done Agnes, you've earned your time off. Sister Patience will give you what you need. Just make sure you're back at the Convent in a week's time. Oh, and if you were having fun with Kandi, feel free to keep her for another night. On us."

The blonde shook her head. "Nah, not my type ... but thanks all the same. Well, goodbye gorgeous, see ya when I see ya, yeah?" This was to Ryan, who was still completely bemused by the sudden turn of events. Even her voice was different, much coarser than her previous tone. "Look after yourself and have fun with all those lovely cocks!"

She swept out, followed by Sister Patience, whose surly expression suggested she was not ready just yet to join the Agnes fan club.

Ryan stared at the door, then slowly turned back to Sister Chastity. "What ... ?" It was all he could produce.

"What just happened?" asked the nun rhetorically, her eyebrow raised. "What happened is that we set out to test you. And you didn't just fail. You fucked up. It's one thing to fall for our scheming princess. Her charms are ... well, let's just say we haven't found anyone yet who can resist her. We're just lucky that she's such a little masochist that she's happy to keep going back into training over and over again. And she's a lot older than she looks too, so she's learnt all the tricks."

She shook her head in wonder, smiling as she did so. "But you didn't just develop `feelings' for her." She crooked her fingers to make air quotes, not trying to hide the sarcasm.

"You chose to put her interests ahead of yours. That was stupid, Amanda. Stupid. Even if she hadn't been playing you, it was a stupid thing to do."

She stepped in close to Ryan and her smile faded as she put two hands on his shoulders.

"I think you have what it takes to become a Sister in the Order. In fact I don't think, I know you do. As do most of my sisters. You have a remarkable degree of tenacity and self-control for someone who showed nothing of the sort when you were wasting your life as a man. I also know that you have no intention of completing your training, and that you'll keep looking for any way to escape."

She put a finger over his lips to forestall his instinctive denial. "But you'll come round. And if you don't? Well, your loss. For now though, learn your lesson. Always look out for yourself, because that's the only way a strong woman survives in this cesspit of a world. And never ever trust anyone with a dick -- even if it's one as tiny and useless as our little blonde angel's."

She dropped her hands. "Now go and get some more sleep, if you can. You'll need it before tonight's shift out on the streets. And yes, of course we're going to hold you to your idiotic offer. That's part of the lesson too." She indicated one of the internal doors with her head. "You can use my bedroom."

Ryan stared at her for a few seconds, but if there was any defiance in him, it was well and truly hiding. He dropped his eyes submissively, said "Yes sister" in as steady a voice as he could manage, and forced his leaden legs to take him into the bedroom.

As he lay there, he knew he should have been angry with the Order, with Sister Chastity and her overbearing manner and infuriating confidence, and above all with the little piece of trash who'd deceived him. And he was, of course.

Yet rather than dwell on those feelings, or lament what he had lost, a connection that he had thought as strong and pure as any he'd experienced, he was angry with himself. Because he knew Sister Chastity was right. He had been stupid.

If he was ever going to escape the Order, he would have to be smarter. And if that meant learning not to trust even the fairest seeming friend, so be it.

But first, he had to go out again and get fucked some more. He sighed, got under the covers of the far too comfortable bed, closed his eyes and tried not to think about how much more practice he was likely to get at selling his body. Or how quickly he was already starting to accept his new role ...

To be continued

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