Chapter Text
Buckinghamshire, England
Spring, 1414 A.D.
The rain poured down from the thick grey clouds above, making the ground soft and muddy. Her boots made a squelching sound as she moved, and at times she had to work to pull them free as she walked. It had been a long and tiring journey, but at last they were nearly there.
As they crested the hill, and the single-story stone structure of Burnham Abbey came into view, the man at her side nodded sagely. “This is the place, my lady,” said Sir Graham, the gruff old knight seemingly unperturbed by the rain streaming down his face and plastering his thick hair to his skin.
“So it seems,” said Lady Margery de Tosny, though she felt less like a lady with every passing second. Even her guardian’s use of the title stung. She was just minutes away from entering the Abbey and joining the Order of Augustinian Canonesses, and being a nun would be the effective end of her time among the nobility. Still, she was resigned to her fate. Given all that had happened, she had convinced herself that it was for the best.
They walked up to the entrance, a dark oaken door with a brass crucifix upon it. Sir Graham knocked firmly, and moments later it was opened. The nun who answered was a tall woman with immaculate posture. Her regally beautiful face was that of someone in her thirties, but she could have been older. She peered at them with cool blue eyes, and for a split second she seemed stern, almost frightening, but then her whole demeanour changed as she smiled warmly. “Ah, Lady de Tosny! So glad you’ve made it at last!”
“Sister Eleanor,” said Margery with a slight bow. They had met before, when Eleanor, the Abbess of the nunnery, had visited her family. Her father, Baron de Tosny, had explicitly requested the Abbess’ help in dealing with Margery’s… issues. Her problems were so eerily similar to the ones that had driven her mother to take her own life, that her father had been desperate for a solution. When the Abbess’ only suggestion was for Margery to join the nunnery herself, the Baron had reluctantly agreed.
“Please,” said the Abbess, suddenly concerned, “come in out of the rain! You must be soaked!”
“Thank you,” said Margery, stepping into the warm hallway. However, when Sir Graham moved to follow, Sister Eleanor barred his path.
“Apologies, Sir Knight, but this house of God is only for those who have taken or are about to take their vows,” she told him firmly.
Sir Graham hesitated, his faith and respect for the Church conflicting with his loyalty to his liege, the Baron de Tosny. Eventually he said, “My lady, are you okay?”
Margery hesitated, and like him was caught between two conflicting feelings. On one hand, she had her desire to enter the nunnery and deal with the problems that had afflicted her for years. But there was also her desire to return to the only home she had ever known. Maybe, just maybe, if she begged Sir Graham he would take her back to De Tosny Manor? No, she dismissed that idea at once. He would never disobey her father, even for her. “You may take your leave, Sir Graham. Tell my father that I have arrived at the convent. You have done your duty.”
The gruff old warrior accepted this, and with a bow turned and departed. Without a backwards glance, he began walking back towards the nearby village, from where he could get a horse home. There were no big goodbyes, no tearful farewells, despite the years that he had known Margery and served as her guardian. She was not surprised. Sir Graham was loyal and stalwart, but they had never been close. Protecting Margery was little more than a job for him. He was not her friend. Truth was, she had no friends.
Sister Eleanor shut the door against the chill and rain, and took Margery’s soaked travelling cloak. Meekly, Margery looked around. The long corridor before her had fully half a dozen doors, spaced out with wall hangings full of Bible quotes and paintings of the Virgin Mary. Candles flickered in sconces, and the place certainly seemed cosy.
“Come this way,” said Eleanor gently, leading her down the hallway. They turned left at a T-junction at the end, and pressed on past a narrow stairwell. Margery had not thought the abbey so big from the outside, but it evidently went further back than was visible from the pathway.
Eventually they paused at a non-descript door, which Sister Eleanor pushed gently open. Beyond was a tiny, barren room, more aptly described as a cell. A hard-looking bed completely filled one side of the room, and the only other furniture was a chest of drawers and a small bedside table. Flickering light was provided by a single candle upon the chest, and somewhat predictably, there was a wooden crucifix and rosary beads upon the table.
“My room?” asked Margery, her voice flat. She was hardly surprised, but it was still painful to behold her new home.
“Not what a Lady is used to, I know,” said Eleanor. “Trust me, this will be enough for your new life.”
“My new life,” mused the young noblewoman thoughtfully. “Sister, please, tell me truthfully. If I accept this new life… and give myself to God as you have suggested… then will the nightmares truly stop?”
The Abbess smiled and laid a soothing hand on the other woman’s shoulder. “Through God, all things are possible. Now, please take some time to settle in. You brought no possessions?”
Margery shook her head.
“Good,” said Eleanor. “You need a clean break from your old life. Strip out of those wet clothes, and you will find more appropriate attire in the drawers. You can meet your new Sisters tomorrow, but tonight I want you to rest. I shall be sending along Sister Jeanette with some food soon, and she will lead you in some evening prayers.”
“I… I understand,” said Margery.
“Relax,” said the Abbess with a soothing smile. “In this place, I promise that your life will finally make sense.”
The younger woman nodded, and said nothing else as she watched Sister Eleanor depart. When the door closed behind her, Margery sank down on the bed, finding it as harsh and unyielding as she had expected. Looking around at the bare four walls, she hugged herself tight and tried not to cry.
This was not the life she wanted.
-----
Margery lost track of time, just sitting there lost in thought and feeling sorry for herself. Eventually she found herself looking down at her travelling attire, and she remembered the Abbess’ request to change.
Thick and warm (at least when dry), her clothes were well-tailored and made, even if they lacked the ornamentation that some of her fancier attire possessed. Even though it prized functionality over fashion, however, the clothes did represent the wealth and status of the upper class. To remove them, Margery knew, was to never don them again, and thus sever her final tie to the life she had left behind.
Still, she was wet, she was cold, and she needed to act. Slowly, conceding to the inevitable, the former noblewoman began unbuttoning her clothes. Layer by layer, she peeled off her outer clothes and then her underclothes, tossing them aside. As each item came off, Margery felt like she was taking another step away from her old life. Perhaps that should have felt exhilarating and liberating, but it felt more like walking into a prison.
Finally, Margery de Tosny stood naked in her cell. With a sigh, she walked over to the chest of drawers, and pulled the top one open. Within were several neatly-folded one-piece robes. Each was a bland creamy colour, the attire of a novice who had not yet taken their vows as a full nun. Margery felt underwhelmed and bored just looking at it.
Reluctantly, she lifted one of them and found some small clothes waiting underneath. She put them on first, and then shrugged the robe on over her head. It settled upon her body awkwardly, not so much a case of ill-fitting, but rather that the designers never intended it to fit properly in the first place. Even the material felt coarse and itchy.
Margery just stood there, looking down at herself, feeling like a peasant. There was not even a mirror with which to properly take in her new appearance, and that thought only exacerbated how under-furnished her room felt.
Just then, a sudden knock at the door startled her, drawing Margery’s attention to the here and now. Nervously, she asked, “yes? Who is it?”
“Bonsoir!” came a high-pitched female voice on the other side of the door in sing-song French. “Excusez moi, but the Abbess asked me stop by. I am Sister Jeanette.”
“Um, yes, right,” said Margery. “Please, come in.”
The door opened, and a diminutive nun with a small face entered. Her sparkling brown eyes were bright and attentive, but also innocent and kind. With her hair hidden by her white and black veil, her hair colour was impossible to tell, but from the freckles on her cheeks, Margery suspected her to be a red-head. Margery liked ginger hair, and oft regretted that her own was nothing more than a dull black.
In her hands, Jeanette was carrying a wooden tray, and she set it down on the table as she spoke. “This is your dinner,” she explained, gesturing to a bowl of hot and steaming porridge upon the tray, beside which was a glass of milk. “And I also brought some incense for evening prayer,” she added, pointing to the short, wide candles beside the food. Turning back to face Margery, she said, “it’s a pleasure to meet you,” with her thick French accent.
“A pleasure to meet you too,” said the other woman politely. As she spoke, Margery’s eyes flicked to the bowl of food, and only now did she realise how hungry she was. She took a half-step towards it, reaching out, but the French woman interjected.
“Madame, please,” said Jeanette. “Prayer first, then dinner.”
“Of course,” said Margery, trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice. Why bring the porridge hot if not to eat it immediately?
Sister Jeanette grabbed the candles and produced a tinder from the folds of her habit. Lighting the two candles and placing them on the table, she dropped to her knees and placed her hands together. “Please, join me,” she offered, gesturing beside her as if offering Margery a chair, rather than a cold spot on the floor.
Margery supressed a sigh and joined the other woman on her knees. Not only did she hail from a devout Catholic family, but like many nobles, Margery had been educated in Latin. As such, the words of the prayer came to her lips easily. Even if not an enthusiastic nun, Margery figured that she would at least make a competent one.
The litany of prayers and hail Marys went on for what seemed like forever, and Margery was only giving her words limited attention. She tried to match the beatific face of Jeanette but failed, and found herself distracted by the candles. Clearly laced with a strong fragrance, the sweet aroma filled the room, growing stronger all the time. Margery breathed deep, taking it in, and felt her head grow light. That felt nice! Before she even noticed what she was doing, she took another lungful and swooned slightly.
Before too long, Margery was breathing deeply, taking in as much of the delightful aroma as she could. Her Latin slurred slightly as her thoughts became pleasantly muddy, but Jeanette said nothing.
“Amen,” said the French woman at last, lowering her hands and rising from her knees. “Feels good to praise the Lord, doesn’t it?”
Slowly, woozy more from the incense than the time on her knees, Margery carefully stood up. “Yes,” she said dreamily.
“Eh bien, I shall leave you to eat and rest,” said the Sister. “Do you want me to take the incense?” she asked.
“Uh, no,” said Margery, hoping that the candles would prove soothing enough to help her sleep. “Leave them, please.”
“As you wish,” said Jeanette with a smile. She made at once for the door, and paused before departing. Turning, she said, “bonne nuit! And welcome to Burnham Abbey!” And then she was gone.
With a sigh, oddly exhausted by the endless praying and the toll it had taken on her knees, Margery rose and looked down at the rough but suddenly inviting bed. She dropped down upon it at once, sitting cross-legged, then quickly grabbed her ‘dinner’ from the table nearby. Fighting the urge to simply fall asleep, she managed to wolf the meal down. Somehow filled by the now-cold porridge, Margery’s thoughts returned at once to rest.
Rising, she threw off her robe and undergarments, then tossed them aside while looking for bedclothes. Finding some in a lower drawer, she donned them and fell back down on the bed. Swiftly she buried herself in the rough though admittedly thick and warm blankets. Taking another deep breath, she drank in more of the sweet-smelling incense, and let herself drift off to sleep.
-----
Groggily, half awake, Margery rolled over, and found not a harsh mattress beneath her, but firm and unyielding ground. At once her eyes snapped open, and with a rush of fear she took in her surroundings. No, no, NO! Not again! Why was she back here again!?
Rising, visceral terror gripping her heart, Margery took in the details of this latest nightmare. As it had been countless times before, she was stunned by how detailed and real her dark and twisted surroundings felt. Pulsing mounds of flesh-like plants glowed red, green and white in various parts of the irregularly-shaped cavern she was in. Shiny black vines grew in clumps nearby, and both the floor and walls were curved and irregular, lumpy or possessed of rib-like ridges. They too were black and slick, seemingly made of a smooth synthesis of stone and flesh. At times, when the cave’s dim lighting caught the walls just right, she had the strangest sensation of them moving.
Margery felt her skin crawl at the surroundings, and only as she made the sign of the crucifix did she touch her own body and notice her nudity. She was not surprised, as these fevered nightmares often involved her bare. Although the exact details were different, the dream was as intense as previous times. The horrific sense of the reality of it all was what caused her to speak of it to her father, and that had led her in turn to Abbess Eleanor and to the Order of Augustinian Canonesses.
“You were meant to protect me from these visions of Hell,” whispered Margery softly, feeling helpless. Moving to a house of God was meant to shield her from these Satan-sent glimpses of the infernal!
Margery looked around, noting several twisted tunnels leading off from the cave, but discarded the idea of heading down any of them. Truth was, these visions tended to end eventually, and it had served her well in the past to just hunker down and let them play out. Naked and alone, scared out of her mind, what madness would persuade her to explore?
The answer came at once. She heard a scream, a high-pitched screech that sounded like no animal on God’s green Earth. The cry rent the stark silence of the cave, physically shaking Margery with its intensity. A surge of renewed terror surged through her in response, a primal part of her mind recognising the call of a predator when she heard it. Margery did not even notice herself begin to run, fleeing before she realised it, bolting for the tunnel furthest from the one where the cry had originated.
Her bare feet slapped on the uneven ground as she ran, splashing in the odd pools of (what she hoped was) murky water that dotted the terrain. Plunging into the tunnel, it curved around and twisted in a strangely flowing design, and Margery had to adjust her direction every few seconds. A single misstep on the uneven ground would trip her, but the fear in her gut convinced Margery that whatever had screamed in the dark was hot on her trail, even as her rational mind pointed out that no evidence existed to support that idea.
After a series of twists and turns, the tunnel began to slope steeply upwards, and Margery caught a glimpse of stars at the end. Once again basic survival instincts kicked in, and she recognised at once that if she could get outside then there would be more space in which she could flee and evade her pursuer.
Scrambling up towards the exit, at times using her hands to secure her purchase on the slick ground, Margery burst out of the warped warren of tunnels and found herself beneath a stunningly starry sky. She gasped in awe as she beheld the multitude of lights in the heavens (or whatever the sky of Hell was called), more densely packed and brighter than anything she had ever seen. The undeniable glory of it all loomed large over an insane landscape covered with a forest of massive tentacle-like plants, writhing with life. The dangerous-looking flora was interspersed with colossal stone ruins, each intricately carved with patterns of artwork that defied human understanding. The vista of beautiful chaos stretched off into the distance, promising an endless wilderness of nightmares.
Terrified, heart hammering in her bare chest, Margery still found herself perversely captivated by the sight. “Magnificent,” she breathed.
Another monstrous scream echoed up from the tunnel behind her, startling Margery into action. The inhuman voice seemed more distant than before, daring her to believe that perhaps she was succeeding in giving the… whatever it was, the slip. Deciding not to stop now, she rushed onwards, following a roughly hewn path into a cluster of stone pillars. Jumping behind a large stone block carved with elegantly curved sides, Margery hunkered down. Wrapping her arms around her legs, curling into a ball on reflex, she forced herself to wait. Her instincts screamed at her to run, but a woman of the nobility was hardly used to sprinting, and already her body was aching from her brief but frenzied exertion. “It won’t find me…” she whimpered softly, trying to convince herself. “It’s lost me…”
Time passed. Seconds that felt like fear-filled eternities ticked by. Margery had no idea how long she sat there, but eventually she noticed that her breathing had returned to normal and her legs no longer felt so exhausted. In all that time she had heard no more screams. Slowly, tentatively, she unfurled herself and stood up. Peeking around her stone shield she looked back at the entrance to the tunnels, and saw nothing. Safe was always a relative thing when roaming her Hell-spawned nightmares, but for now Margery dared believe she was no longer in imminent danger.
Taking the chance to think clearly again, Margery decided to return to her earlier plan of just staying put and waiting till she woke up. She was just about to sit down again in the block’s shadow, when she happened to glance past it. Nearby were more ruins, stone pillars and arches which straddled the line between looking natural and looking artificially shaped and placed. Taking a few steps forward, she noticed that the stones were spread out in a rough semi-circle, bordering a large space with a carved pattern floor. And in the centre of it, upon a smooth deep-black pedestal, was a strange-looking sphere.
The object, black and silver, seemed to fill her attention. Margery felt herself staring at it, inexplicitly curious. Even at a distance she could somehow feel how important the sphere was. It was almost as if it was calling to her…
Again, Margery found herself in motion without consciously willing it, her bare feet moving of their own accord as the object drew her in. Dimly the naked woman was aware that she was leaving the shadow of the stone pillars and standing out in the open, but it suddenly seemed far more important that she approach the pedestal. Her fear and hesitation faded as she got closer, until finally she was standing beside it, looking down at the sphere. Up close it was not much to look at, a fist-sized lump of black stone with silver markings. Margery frowned, momentarily confused at her own behaviour, and then acted. Reaching out, she grabbed the sphere and drew it close to inspect it.
The artefact responded to her touch, a single silver glyph on its surface suddenly glowing bright blue-white. The blazing light filled Margery’s gaze, entrancing her, and she savoured it a moment before she continued her inspection. Turning the sphere around she found another glyph that again lit up upon discovery, and then a third. As she located and stared at the fourth strange symbol, the sphere glowed even brighter, and Margery gasped as its knowledge flooded forth into her mind!
“lauv’abrarc!” she gasped, as the word seared itself into her thoughts. At first the intrusion was painful, a sharp stab of raw data in an unknown language that her mind could not process. But as the stream of information adapted, reshaping itself into English, the pain eased, and she began to understand small fragments. “Lustful God…” she whispered, “master of Lusst’ghaa…”
The information was jumbled, chaotic, and she only got tiny glimpses of understanding. At first she resisted even that minimal knowledge, her Christian instinct being to reject the tainted words of the Devil. This did not last long, however. The secrets of the sphere writhed in her mind, begging to be unravelled, and what little she could comprehend was a revelation. She could not resist the temptation to press for more, intensely curious as she continued to stare blankly into the light of the sphere and learn.
The artefact was not just imparting information, however. With every small fact she discovered about the land of Lusst’ghaa and its God came a stream of impulse and emotion. Words like ‘lust’ and ‘ecstasy’ reverberated around Margery’s thoughts, along with images of strange beings engaged in fiercely passionate sexual congress. Margery, a chaste Christian virgin, recoiled at first, but the raw pleasure that came with the visions was too intense to ignore. Drawn in, swept along with the wave of delight, Margery slowly but inevitably ceased fighting it.
“Oh!” she gasped, as another pulse of pleasure swept through her. “Oh yes…” she swooned as it happened again.
As she clasped and stared at the sphere with her right hand, her left hand was moving of its own accord. It slipped down her naked body, brushing her left breast and sending a tingle through her as it grazed her nipple. This only made Margery more excited, as her hand progressed down, reaching her thigh and then turning inwards. She found her forbidden spot, hot and wet in a way the young woman had never felt before. As the stream of images continued to bombard her mind, Margery acted on impulse and felt compelled to touch herself.
Her eyes went wide as she began to pleasure herself, feeling the delight that her Catholic upbringing had always told her to deny. She gasped with shock at the intensity, the exclamation becoming a soft sigh as she continued. As if guided by some unseen expert, she was soon gently masturbating. Margery sank to her knees, mouth agape as she moaned, mindlessly touching herself as she stared at the wonderful light and the seductive secrets it was imparting.
Stare… learn… feel pleasure…. Stare… learn… feel pleasure…
Everything fell away as Margery sank into a masturbatory trance, unable to do anything other than gaze into the light and play with herself. The pleasure inside her was building, urged on and amplified by the stream of ecstatic feelings emanating from the sphere.
Her breathing was hot and heavy, and Margery’s moans grew while her body began to writhe and gyrate as she worked her… her vagina. Just thinking the word made her feel dirty, but that did not seem to matter now, as the word joined the rest of the stream of dirty thoughts that now dominated her mind. A string of filthy words, unbecoming a noble lady, now came to her, and the sphere seized on the vocabulary.
Fuck! The word cried out in her mind, yelling it into her consciousness, willing her to accept it. Fuck yourself! Fuck others! Get fucked! Just like the depraved, orgiastic monsters of Lusst’ghaa! lauv’abrarc demands pleasure and you will offer it to him!
“I will…” Margery whispered, “I will offer pleasure…” she said again, louder. As she did so, she sped up her masturbation, plunging her fingers into her soaking wet vagina as she pushed for ever greater sensation. Touching herself ever faster, she spoke again even louder. “Pleasure! Pleasure… for the Lustful God….”
And then, as her masturbation and the images of Lusst’ghaa in the sphere reached a crescendo, Margery de Tosny had the first orgasm of her denial-filled Catholic life. “lauv’abrarc!” she screamed out as every nerve ending in her body exploded with ecstatic pleasure. The god’s name became a sustained wail of climax, echoing around the alien landscape of Lusst’ghaa about her…
-----
Sisters Jeanette and Eleanor stood in the doorway of the cell, watching as Margery writhed upon her bed. The incense had ensured that she would sleep too deeply to notice their intrusion, but she had tossed and turned so violently that her blankets had fallen off, revealing the beautiful woman beneath. A sweaty mess, her bedclothes had come lose in places, revealing tantalising hints of what she looked like naked.
The two nuns had just watched as Margery had cried out “lauv’abrarc!” in her sleep and wailed with evident orgasm. Only now was she settling into a softer, more quiet sleep, her soul’s visit to Lusst’ghaa evidently over.
“It is just as we had hoped,” said Eleanor with a smile. “She is perfect.”
“Oui, madame,” said Jeanette, brown eyes roaming with evident appreciation over the sleeping novice nearby. “I cannot wait for her to join us in our sacred rites to the Lustful God.”
“All in good time,” promised the Abbess. “It is one thing to surrender to lauv’abrarc in her dreams, it is another to make those dreams a reality. We have to take this one step at a time. And when she is ready, she will become our bridge to Lusst’ghaa, and all the pleasures that lie within…”