Wages of Sin by Kate Benedict Page B

like the hiss of a snake.
    Fear settled on Jane like an icy blanket. ‘Wh-what do you want?’ she stammered.
    Mother Ursula laughed coldly. ‘Did you think you had escaped your punishment? No one defies me and gets away with it. Oh no, my dear. You must learn your lesson - and we are here to teach you.’
    Cold hands grasped Jane and tore her from the safety of the cot. The bare stones struck cold on her feet as she was dragged along the corridors, the candles streaming in the draught and casting monstrous shadows on the walls. The only sounds were their footsteps and Jane’s desperate panting as she struggled to break free. Her thoughts raced as they stopped before a carved wooden door. It was the chapel. What were they doing here? The door swung open and she was thrust through. For a moment her mind refused to grasp what it was seeing.
    The roof soared away into nothingness, and the chapel itself was a mass of shifting pools of blackness, apart from the altar, which was surrounded by hundreds of candles. But this was no celebration of Christianity. This was something older and darker. A scarlet cloth embroidered with gold covered the altar and at its head - Jane swallowed - lay thin ropes, coiled and waiting like poisonous serpents.
    She whimpered and tried to back away, her bare feet slipping on the polished floor. It was useless. Like a sacrificial lamb she was dragged towards the waiting table. Flickers of light illuminated the faces of the holy statues, which seemed to peer down at her in pity.
    All too soon she stood before the altar. ‘Strip her and bind her,’ ordered Mother Ursula. Eager hands pulled the ragged shift from her body, using this as an excuse to fondle the shrinking flesh beneath. Her russet hair spilled down her back as the rough linen binding was tugged off, emphasising her pale beauty, then she was pushed face down on the altar and her hands were seized and bound above her head. She moaned as she was hauled into position and the coarse embroidery rubbed against her tender breasts.
    Mother Ursula smiled down at the smooth white body that lay stretched out before her like an offering, the proud globes of Jane’s buttocks quivering in the candlelight.
    She withdrew her hands from the concealing robes and there was a greedy intake of breath at the sight of the thin leather whip she held. Jane twisted her head and gasped. She closed her eyes and waited for her punishment to begin.
    She didn’t have to wait long. Mother Ursula raised her arm and the lash whistled through the chilled air to cut into Jane’s tender bottom, leaving a thin red line against the milk-white skin. She stiffened as a wave of agony gripped her. She bit back a scream, determined not to give in - but Ursula had only just begun.
    The whip rose and fell, rose and fell again, until Jane was sobbing helplessly, her bottom scarlet and glowing. Eventually it was over and she sagged with relief... but it was short-lived.
    â€˜Turn her over,’ ordered Mother Ursula. Willing hands seized Jane again and she whimpered as her bruised flesh met the rough cloth beneath her. She gazed up with frightened eyes and gasped as Mother Ursula ran the whip gently over her breasts, teasing the soft flesh of her nipples until they rose into tight pink buds. Smiling, her tormentor trailed the lash down her body and over the curve of her stomach to the secret place hidden by her clenched thighs. Jane’s muscles tightened convulsively as she tried to protect herself. ‘Why don’t you beg?’ said Mother Ursula softly. ‘I would like to hear you beg.’
    Jane stared at her defiantly. ‘Never!’ she spat.
    â€˜Dear, oh dear.’ Mother Ursula sighed, shaking her head with mock regret. ‘So young and yet so sinful. Perhaps Sister Michael can teach you better than I can.’ She nodded and the woman stepped forward, smiling evilly. Jane shuddered as she slipped off her habit to