How did you spend Palm Sunday?

Warning: This contains blasphemy and sexual situations. Do not read if you are sensitive to either.

Sunday morning, Palm Sunday to be exact. As a young and naïve girl, I sat in the front with the other soon-to-be sisters, rubbing the cross that hung around my neck as a symbol of faith. The pads of my fingers caressing the fine gold, pressing hard into the figure that rested on the cross. Some would say this was blasphemy to wear a symbol that represented the death of Christ, but as a young novitiate, I knew my calling was more important than the views of nonbelievers. God placed me in the arms of Jesus because I would be a faithful wife for his only son, but would I be the best choice for a man such as Jesus Christ? Until recently, I would have responded to that with a yes. I will still take my vows with an open mind and heart, but inside of me, there is a fire that burns hotter than the pits of hell—an awakening.

“Bow your head for prayer,” he said. The Archbishop giving the service this morning, I could listen to his voice forever. In a soothing tone, he always could take me to a new level of peace. If my body were fighting a war, he would wave the white flag with his words. God works in mysterious ways, and this man was a disciple of the Lord. Why was my heart pounding, though? I never fear the commitment or the words, but right now, he spoke of Resurrection Sunday. That is the day I will marry for the first and last time. The day that Jesus places on my finger his ring of everlasting love and dedication. Heaven help me. Why was my heart beating so hard?

“You will be asked if you take your vows of commitment, chastity, and poverty? Can each one of you with an open heart respond to that question with truth and honesty?” he asked.

I felt his eyes on me, or was that a play by the Devil to pull me back from the altar? A sudden warmth flooding my body, my veins pouring molten lust into my heart as I remember the night before. God help me. I remembered it so vividly.

Alone in my room, or what would be my room for one more week, the walls seemed so bare. Only a crucifix over the bed, I missed my bedroom in my parent’s home. Colorful and full of life, the walls adorned with paintings and family portraits. It was so unlike this room. As my eyes closed, my mind came alive with thoughts that should never enter the mind of a Nun. A feeling of warmth beneath the thin white blanket that covered my body, I was not alone. Something, someone, crept from under the bed, his body slithered like a serpent between my slender thighs. All that I could think was, “I can’t look. I can’t do it.”

“Please stop. Please,” I whispered, not wanting to wake the others. Though I have my own room, the walls are as thin as a sheet of paper. Even if someone rolls over in their bed, everyone can hear the squeak.

“Shhh, be still, child. I won’t hurt you,” he said in a low whisper. He? Who was he? Was this Jesus? Or was this, God help me now. His heavy breathing sent waves of warmth through the room.

Tongue to the flesh, his lips moved up my inner thigh, stopping only to rip the thin white panties baring his way to the core of my heat. Long slithering laps of his skilled oral muscle against my chaste pink lips, the warmth of his breath kissed over the pathway to a tiny bundle of sin. A swirl around the flesh, he avoided that button that he knew would send my voice ringing through the corridor. Instead, his mouth fell to the sealed barrier that kept my innocents intact. Only the outer lips tasted. I nourished his thirst with the sweetest nectar known to man. Pure honey dripping down my ass in a thin line, not a drop wasted. He collected it all on the tip of his tongue, sliding up my body to feed me straight from the hive. He hovered over my mouth, dribbling the cream upon my lips. Though I tried not to taste it, my self-control failed me once again.

“Mmm, feed me more,” I whispered.

“Sister, are you paying attention,” Mother Superior demanded. As the older woman stood there, her eyes knew the truth.

“Yes, Ma’am. I am sorry, Ma’am. I slept poorly last night,” I whispered.

Shaking her head, “We all know. We heard the nightmare that came from your bedroom.”

As I sat in disbelief, I prayed not for my sins but that he would come again and quench my newfound thirst.

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