RAPE OF THE NUN - A Flash Dystopian Fiction 500
The Catechist had sprung to his feet, his dark athletic body cast shady silhouettes on the bath curtains. His vice-like toes fastened to the slippery bath tub. Stooping, what seemed like a long charred wood rose to pat the curtain, his head jerking forward into the gap. Light.
The nun sat, she felt the cold shiny beads in her fingers and started to mumble something. Her eyelids twitched open, she thought she had heard something. The clatter again. The silhouette on the curtain turned her blood to ice. The radio began to shriek, her neck jolted towards the stereo set in shock.
She tugged at her scapula and her veil flailed in the ominous wind that was now sweeping forcefully across the room. A loud click sent a chill down her spine. The door. Terror billowed in her eyes.
Her impulse willed her towards the bath. As she got closer to the plastic curtain, the vague outline hardened into a definite shape. Her feet wobbled.
The Catechist had now risen to his full frame and awaited the revelation ;of light, of a blood-curdling shock,and a scream. The nun stopped dead, stooped and picked the Salette cross that laid toppled over on the cold marble,made to lay it on the bed but decided against it.
She clinched it tightly in her sweaty palm, the crucified body lingered in her eyes. She wedged it and took another wobbly step, the cross high above her head, ready to plunge down on heathen skull. Or flesh.
The Catechist poised, his vain intent rose to his throat and hardened his face into a beastly snarl. The curtain tore apart, the nun arched forward and her head lumbered into the gap. Midway, she froze and let out a prolonged yell of horror, the eerie silence shattered into a million bits and her countenance with it.
The sight of the pulsating rock-hard manhood sent her reeling backward in shock. The Catechist was stark naked. His arm tore at her scapula and ripped it off her neck. Her veil had come off, her long hair twirled in the chaos. They both wheeled and landed on the floor with a heavy thud.
The nun kicked and shrieked. Her arms flailed about. The Catechist gripped her neck and squeezed hard, the scream abated. He was quick. He pinned her to the floor with overwhelming powerful thighs,sitting directly on her pubic region.
Only the black tunic now stood between his enraged member and her privates. His hand was working in her mouth, the whole length of the scapula had disappeared into the open cavity,almost choking her. She tried to scream but her larynx threatened to burst.
In a split second, strong muscular arms were clawing the tunic into shreds. Lace underwears came into view. The pulsating member grew harder. He went for the brazier, two supple mounds of yellow flesh bobbed into existence.
The nun had grown weaker with the prolonged struggle, tears blinded her eyes. Deep within, she tried to to will death into existence. She no longer cared if she made it to the beautiful gate or not, she just longed for that dark peace.
As the Catechist spiraled down below her navel, renewed energy surged into her veins and she kicked like a horse about to be guillotined. Her reverential facade had come entirely off, revealing a bitter, desperate creature.
One powerful arm gripped her two wrists and the other one landed successively on her face. A streak of blood snaked down her nose, mixing with the tears.
Her pulse reached a breaking limit when short stubby fingers dug into her and stripped her last shred of dignity away. She laid there in the light, squirming at her own nakedness, unable to even take her own life and end the torture.
The Catechist raised one knee, and another, forcing her thighs apart with the hard cap bones. She was now bared to him, face to face with his rod-like manhood. With her last ounce of strength, she struggled, but the weight that rested on her felt like lead sunk into the ocean, dragging her to oblivion. He was too strong, his toned body glistened with sweat.
He edged forward and with one forceful plunge ripped through her.
A new sound, mingled with pain and bitterness formed in the nun's bowels, rose in her throat and died just above her larynx. Words had failed her.
For only her teary eyes could paint the pain she now felt, a strange agony. Like a child learning how to walk, she grappled with this new feeling, blood tickling down her groin.
The catechist continued ramming himself into her. Grinding his waist into her pelvic like a bolt down a screw hole. Pain. Sharp throbbing sensations, warm blood and a blissful darkness. The nun's groans had ground to a slow painful halt.
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