𝗠𝗲𝘁𝗮𝗻𝗼𝗶𝗮 ✟ ⁽ ᴋᴏᴜʀᴀ 𝇁𝇁 ᴏᴜʙʟɪᴇᴛᴛᴇ ⁾

[oubliette]

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[oubliette]

See more James 1:27 KJV "Pure and undefiled religion in the sight of our God and Father is this: to visit orphans and widows in their distress, and to keep oneself unstained by the world."

Wednesday January 8th, 1530 - 7th hour​ The benedictine Monastery of Saint Quintin of Anapausis the Old was founded in the 7th century. The people were especially generous to the priory, having the favor of the archbishop, and it prospered greatly. When the rich would die, they often left some of their money or land to the monastery. Land owned by the Saint Quintin Monastery became a source of vast wealth. Twice a year, the nuns would travel to the villages owned by the priory and collect the rent from their tenants. Another source of income was from the pilgrimage of faithful observers who braved the two-day journey up the unreasonably vertical mountains to glimpse and touch the holy relics left by Saint Quintin. And another, closer to the heart of the long-deceased Saint, were the invaluable manuscripts that came out of Anapausis Monastery, whose nuns spent countless hours crafting with ink and quill. By the end of the 13th century, the small religious house had grown into a spectacular holy church, seated atop some of the most treacherous terrain found for hundreds of miles. Its lofty cathedral stretched high out of the precarious cliffsides, glorious in sight. By the 16th century the Monastery had long verified itself as a reputable communion, servicing prayers for the sinful and songs of worship around the clock, nonstop, while most religious houses remained as small establishments. However, as it saw the Augustinian monasteries come and go, and as the century moved into a forward thinking Christiandom society, the secluded and isolated priory had lost its distinctive sympathy as monastic ideals lost their romanticism. In the year 1528, Simon Fish published and argued that the clergy should spend their money in the relief of the poor and not amass it for Nuns to pray for souls. He claimed that the clergy were 'ravenous wolves' who had 'debauched 100,000 women' and that the Anapausis Monastery of Saint Quintin was 'a great scab' who delayed the Bible from being published in 'your mother tongue'. Today, the establishment housed ten Nuns, twelve Initiates, one Abbess, and one Priest; a far shadow of its former self. Bodin and Bayard had been maneuvering their two donkeys over the narrow foot path for two days now. This trail was the only one that led to the great monastery, coming in and going out. The brothers made this journey once every three months to haul goods and supplies up to the sisterhood from Anapausis village, located at the foot of the mountain, and to exchange their letters and messages back and forth. It was routine, but still not without its challenges. Along the way there were a few spots where one misstep would leave you hurling down a cliff to your death. Their two donkeys were surefooted, but still, Bodin needed to whack the ass of the last with a cane to keep it moving along, while Bayard needed to guide the front donkey by the lead. Each animal would take any opportunity to protest the journey. Bodin always insisted that goats were better, while Bayard didn't have the heart to do away with their stubborn pets. They finally made it to the wall of the church and were relieved to pass under the large, stone archway of the receiving courtyard. Two Nuns were diligently waiting their arrival, sister Mary Claudia Goodin and Mary Zosia Scotts. There was no need for introductions between them, and Bodin immediately got to work unloading the donkeys while Bayard greeted the sisters and managed the business. "Greetings, beloved Sisters in Christ." Claudia smiled and nodded her head, "We thank the Lord for your safe travels, Mister Bayard. We pray day and night for you and your brother's protection, and we are always grateful for your arrival. You are ever punctual and dependable." "Well ma'am, we don't mind if the weather fairs it." Bayard adjusted his cap and blushed, "Surely the Lord has something good in store for us, for the challenging journey. As I see it, we are getting the better end of the arrangement." Bayard's gray eyes glinted with humor. Sister Claudia procured a coin purse and handed it to Bayard. "Our heavenly Father always blesses the sacrifices we make; your treasures are rich in heaven." Claudia was a middle-aged woman with a dutiful smile, "If you do not mind, Father Nathaniel has a letter to send down to Anapausis. It needs to be delivered to the magistrate." The voices of Bayard and Claudia carried gently over the foggy, morning air as they continued their business. Sister Zosia helped Bodin unload the supplies. She rolled a small keg of ale over to the side and stole an anxious glance at Claudia, who seemed wrapped up in Bayard's attention. With the coast clear, the young Nun decided this would be a good moment to get her own bartering done. She placed a donkey between her and the sight of Claudia and pulled a small bundle of cotton out of the folds of her habit. The crude cloth was wrapped tightly into a hand sized ball, protecting something small and precious within. She tapped Bodin on the shoulder, and he stopped what he was doing to address her. Bodin knew exactly what she wanted. He promptly reached towards a leather pocket on the saddle of the donkey and pulled out a small package. He slipped it to her as she traded away her own item. It was an easy exchange; fast and silent. He lingered his gaze upon the austere features of the brown-haired Nun, whose color was known by her thin eyebrows. They reminded him of the eyebrows he once saw in the painting of a young maiden, whose breasts were nearly exposed as she lounged upon the lap of a drunken man. Zosia pocketed away her trade and quickly went back to work, sorting the supplies into piles according to their stations. The sooner they could get this done, the sooner she could tend to her own interests.

 

[Koura]

James 2:18 KJV "But someone will say, “You have faith, and I have works.” Show me your faith without your works, and I will show you my faith by my works.."

Wednesday January 8th, 1530 - 7th hour​ ather Nathaniel leaned against the windowsill, his dark eyes focused on the two nuns in the courtyard. He could recognize both women even if he couldn't see their faces. He had served at the Monastery of Saint Quintin of Anapausis the Old for a better part of twelve years, having been assigned to the position after the previous priest had died of old age. Father Matteo had been almost eighty when God had called him home. The mother church could not allow a covenant to operate without a priest. Having an abbess to manage the meager finances of the monastery was out of the question, no matter how talented the old woman might have been. No woman could ever be allowed to lead without a man's supervision. He had been asked to take Matteo's place, his assignment to the monastery a promotion, at least on paper. Saint Quintin Monastery had been once wealthy and prosperous. Once such an assignment would have been an honor. These days, few priests serving at the monastery would ever leave its halls. Shaking his head, Nathaniel recalled the journey he had taken so many years ago, braving the windswept trail that led to the monastery. He could recall how they had had to seek shelter in the woods, a sudden downpour turning the narrow path into a quagmire. The next day one of the donkeys had broken a leg, further waylaying the small party as the guides gutted and skinned the poor animal. He could still remember the dark blood that had mixed with the puddles on the ground. It had felt oddly fitting, even if the delay had left him fuming. He had had little desire to huddle in the cold rain, not when he should have been sitting by the fireplace with a cup of mulled in his hand. Not that he had much choice on the matter. Bishop Henry had been rather adamant that he make the journey before the first snow fell. He had made it evident he did not trust the old Abbess nor any other woman. Nathaniel had been warned to keep a close eye on his small flock. Nathaniel turned his attention to Claudia, frowning. He had chastised her two days ago, pulling her on his lap and spanking her rear. She had squirmed and whimpered, insisting that she was a good, God-fearing woman. The damp spot on her undergarments had told him she was lying, Claudia grunting with pleasure by the time he had sank his fingers in her drenched pussy. He enjoyed her company a fair bit. She was barren and so he could spill his seed into her without a worry. He knew that Claudia enjoyed their wicked little games a fair bit, even if she couldn't quite bring herself to admit it. He could tell she grew anxious and irritable whenever he saw to the needs of the others, spiritual or otherwise. She craved his touch like a sinner craved for salvation. The thought brought a smile to Nathaniel's lips. Allowing his gaze to drift on the sundial built on the wall, Nathaniel made a mental note to check on Miriam. He had chained the woman on a cross the night before as a punishment for being late to the mass. The young woman had tried to explain that she had been busy folding laundry and had not noticed the passage of time. Nathaniel cared little for her excuses. The little tardy bitch needed to learn her lesson. He hoped that a night spent in prayer in the small chapel would set her right for the time being. Miriam had been trouble the day she had entered the covenant. Reading Matteo's journal, Nathaniel had discovered how the young woman had struggled to find her place in the small community. She had argued with the others, displeased with the tasks that had been given to her. She had been caught sneaking into the kitchens when she should have been sleeping in her chambers. Matteo had tried to help the young woman to feel more at home at the monastery. Nathaniel was certain that the old priest had been too lenient with her. Matteo had been too smitten with Eve's brood. Too weak to see what he should have done. Walking to the coat rack, Nathaniel wrapped a warm cloak around his shoulders. He murmured a short prayer under his breath as he picked up his rattan walking stick, pausing to look around for a moment before stepping out of his room. Nathaniel couldn't leave Miriam chained for much longer. He was rather certain that she ached to use the privy seeing how he had chosen to leave her without a chamber pot. {tr}{td=border:0|bcolor:#e9e6cc|700pxx@}

 

[oubliette]

See more James 1:14-15 KJV "But every man is tempted, when he is drawn away of his own lust, and enticed. Then when lust hath conceived, it bringeth forth sin"

Wednesday January 8th, 1530 - 7th hour​ ife as a dedicated vessel of God was very much about routine, and at Saint Quintin Monastery it was no less the same. As decreed, there were rules to follow, such as praying eight times a day, eating twice a day, attending Mass three times a day, working only with your hands, and not spending your time talking to each other. By the time Morning Mass happened on the 9th hour, the sisters had already prayed twice and had completed a morning chore. For sister Mary Miriam Prichett, laundry was her morning duty and would continue to carry out the responsibilities for another few months. She shared this with one of the priory's Initiates, who were women in the training phase of becoming devout Nuns. Miriam had never been able to adjust to structure. It seemed to just disagree with her very personality. It was the sole reason she had been surrendered to the monastic lifestyle by her parents when she was a young girl, and it was a personal victory she had made it this far in the Nunnery. But she still struggled to grasp the seriousness of being punctual. And when Miriam had sent the Initiate away to rest, for the girl had not been feeling well, Miriam had lost track of the time while engrossed in folding clothes. She panicked, and did her best to sneak into the Chapel to take her spot amongst everyone else as devotions underwent. But she had been noticed. Father Nathaniel had been cracking down on her. He was not like their previous Priest, Father Matteo, who worked her over with grace and patience. Nathaniel made sure that Miriam's penalties were felt deeper, and harder to forget. And they were just increasing in the severity of their punishment as each one occurred. But this time, …this time had been the worst of all. After evening Worship, he had chained her to the giant wooden cross in the chapel and left her there all night long. Miriam wasn't one to reflect deep and hard, but this time Nathaniel had cracked open a new level of determination in her willingness to get it right next time. She hated this punishment. It was terrible, and embarrassing, and difficult to bear all night long. He had her shun the traditional habit of a Nun down to her undergarment, which was a sleeveless white gown suitable for sleeping in, and had chained her to the cross much like how Jesus had been crucified. Miriam had always been a thin girl, with a small frame and red hair. As a kid, the others would jest and say that the wind would bend her over like a reed if it had the mind to blow hard enough. She had at least one freckle on every square inch of her body, and breasts that sloped to a pecked peek with perfect little nipples. The shape of those nubs could be seen through her thin gown like hardened buttons. It was cold through the night in the Chapel, and she had occasionally shivered, and now every muscle in her body ached from being kept in the forced poise. Poor Miriam couldn't even feel her fingers anymore and she needed to relieve herself so very badly. She started crying at first sight of Nathaniel who had finally returned to her in the morning hours. This had not been the first time she had wept and cried, and the big tears rolling down her cheeks revitalized the path of previous ones. She was partly relieved that his return meant this ordeal was almost over. Her legs pressed tightly together in an effort to hold back her desperate need to use the privy. Anxiously her fingers twitched, and her brown eyes pleaded while they held Nathaniel's gaze. "Please forgive me Father, please. I promise to always be on time, it will not happen again. I have prayed all night long asking for God's saving grace." Miriam's voice trembled. "Please forgive my sins." She wouldn't mention how urgently she needed to relieve herself, but it was a demand from her body held front and foremost. Wednesday January 8th, 1530 - 11th hour​ He sung of God—the mighty source Of all things—the stupendous force On which all strength depends; From Whose right arm, beneath Whose eyes, All period, pow'r, and enterprise Commences, reigns, and ends.​ When up to heav'n his thoughts he pil'd From fervent lips fair Quintin smil'd, As blush to blush he stood; And chose himself the servant, and gave His utmost from his heart, "so brave, And plays his hymns so good.​ ary Elaine Lorence, for the hundredth time, felt like she couldn't breathe in the silence of the room. Secretly, her big toe was a mad appendage, tapping fervently inside her shoe. She stared at the poem, but never really saw it at all. These Study hours had turned into dreadful periods of longing for the sun to hurry up and pass on by the time. Sometimes she would steal glances at the other two companions sitting alongside her at the round table, just to see if they were showing any signs of visible distress like that which plagued her. But they always seemed at peace, like doves cooing in the afternoon light. Their minds and hands hard at work transcribing the material laid out before them. The rule to keep talking to a minimum was strictly observed during this time, and it only smothered Elaine, making her restless and unsettled. She couldn't concentrate during times like this. She dipped the quill into the bottle of ink to refresh the calamus of the feather, but honestly, it really didn't need it. Her task was to copy the poem into a decorative manuscript with illuminated letters and illustrations. The priory was famous for the quality of written material that came out of its holy walls, distributed amongst the world below. But right now, all she could think about was her long-lost brother, whom she hadn't seen since her days in the orphanage. Elaine was now nineteen years old, and counting up the years, it had been five years since she had been embraced by him. Life in the orphanage had been hard and Elaine's shy and demure nature made her an easy target for the brazen boys. Her brother had always kept her safe from trouble and harm, beating up anyone who looked twice at her. And at night they slept together in the same bed, where her older brother would hug and embrace her. She was too young to be aware of most things about her body, but the way he touched and rubbed her pussy always made her feel so very relaxed and so very good. These days, now that her body was in high tide of sexual need, all she could ever fantasize about was her brother. He occupied all her fantasies at night – the perfect lover. And right now, he was occupying her Study hour. Elaine writhed in her seat ever so slightly, just enough to rock her hips and press the heat of her sex firmly into the chair. She wanted to touch herself so badly right now. It was driving her crazy. Finally the hour had spent itself, and everyone rose up from their tables and desks to clear everything away and carry on with the next duty on their itinerary. Elaine was the slowest, who was ever the diligently careful child of God, and so by the time she had dried the ink on her manuscript, gathered the leather-bound books, and capped the ink bottle, she ended up being the last one lingering about the room, alone. With a stack of books in her two hands she walked over to the back of the room to store them in a closet that had always been quite satisfying for its size. This closet had a blanket hanging in the doorway like a curtain, serving as a barrier. Elaine disappeared into this closet and balanced upon tip toes to slide the books onto a high shelf where they belonged. As she recovered herself from this long stretch her elbow knocked a candle off and it landed with a waxy thud onto the floor. She swiftly retrieved it to return it back, but suddenly stopped and froze. Somehow, the candle in her hand made her sex muscles twitch, and her mind ran with a devious thought. It was about two in a half inch wide and five inches long and seemed perfect for a deprived cunt who would be happy with just about anything right now. She bit her bottom lip thinking hard, thinking twice, …and thinking about her brother. Elaine hiked the dark clothing of her habitual robe up to her hips, along with her chemise, revealing her milky legs covered in thigh-high stockings. Her cunt felt the rush of cool air, and she lifted her right leg to hook the toe of her shoe onto the lip of a drawer, to spread and part herself so nicely. She felt a surge of urgency pump through her veins, terrified at the thought of getting caught, and she skipped all foreplay just to get into the business of things. Besides, she had just now already sat through an entire hour of foreplay while copying a poem and dreaming about her brother, she was so ready to feel the weight of this candle slide into her cunt. She pushed it in and a Mmmmmphff carried across her breath along with a satisfied hiss of love. The way it filled her cunt made her body shiver with stress-releasing trembles. She moved it up and down slowly, pumping her cunt and enjoying every second. Elaine closed her eyes and greedily moaned, still trying to be sneaky and quiet. Who ever knew that candles had such a use? She smiled, thrusting the waxy rod about. It slipped so easily inside of her… she could think of her brother doing this to her… she bet he would do it just like this if she ever saw him again…. "Elaine!"… "Elaine, you dirty little thing!"… Thud!! The candle dropped to the floor. Elaine shot her eyes open to see Zosia in the doorway of the closet. She had one hand on the curtain, holding it aside. "Z..Zosia!" She stammered in surprise. "Wha..what are you doing here?" Heat burst into Elaine's face as she felt utterly mortified and embarrassed. Oh God oh God oh God… Elaine dropped her leg from where it had been propped and swooped her robe back down into place. "Um…" Oh Jesus Oh Jesus! Zosia scowled at Elaine. Something bumped into Elaine's shoe, and she looked down to see the candle. Ohhh, Jesus save me! Elaine quickly bent over and picked the candle up, and then returned it back onto the shelf. Gods what am I doing? Her fingers trembled as she released it. For some reason it didn't feel right to return it…being soiled as it were, but Elaine had bigger problems. "Ohhh Zosia, please don't tell anyone." Zosia now sucked a gasp of air into her lungs, seemingly offended, "I must! You would have me abide in sin keeping secrets such as this?" Elaine visibly trembled at the thought of everyone knowing what she had done. It wasn't like she did this all the time. This was her first time doing something like this. "No, no that is not wh… Sister Zosia wait!" Elaine reached out and grabbed part of Zosia's sleeve to keep her from leaving. "Please let's talk about this. Please." "What is going on? What are you two doing in here?" Both girls jumped in startled surprise, hearing the voice of Sister Claudia. Zosia turned around to face Claudia, and Elaine timidly stepped forward. They both stood silent, not knowing how to answer the older Nun. Zosia clenched her jaw and Elaine dropped her eyes to the floor. "Where should you be right now?" Claudia continued poking with new questions… "I was helping Elaine clean up after Study hour, please forgive. Some books fell from the shelf, and we were returning them to their places." Zosia grabbed Elaine's hand and started to guide her along. Zosia was the same age as Elaine, and both girls swiftly headed for the door. "We are finished, and we will hurry along, thank you ma'dam." The two girls pushed out into the hall, escaping from Claudia, and picked up pace down the hallway. Zosia squeezed Elaine's hand and strictly whispered to her, "This is not over."

 

[Koura]

Proverbs 10:16-17 KJV "The wage of the righteous leads to life, the gain of the wicked to sin. Whoever heeds instruction is on the path to life, but he who rejects reproof leads others astray. "

Wednesday January 8th, 1530 - 7th hour​ ighing, Nathaniel walked down a flight of old stone stairs, the steps uneven. The stone was smooth beneath his feet, the slabs of stone worn by centuries of footsteps. Generations of nuns and priests had lived and died in the hallowed halls of Saint Quintin of Anapausis. Sometimes Nathaniel could feel their presence. Not in any real sense. He didn't quite believe in ghosts. But seeing the names of his predecessors chiseled on the chapel wall certainly left him feeling uneasy. Each man who had served at the monastery before him had been buried beneath the ancient chapel. If he could not figure a way out, one day his bones would join those of his predecessors. If Nathaniel could not escape his fate, he would at least make sure he enjoyed his time at the remote monastery. He knew he could always pour his frustrations into the nuns he was responsible for. There was precious little the women could do to avoid him. Feeling a little peckish and figuring that Miriam could wait a little longer, Nathaniel decided to make a little detour. He headed towards the large kitchens that fed the small congregation. Centuries ago, the monastery had had dedicated kitchen staff. Nowadays, one nun could prepare meals for everyone living in the monastery. Pulling a heavy door open, he slipped into the warm room, waving his hand to greet Sister Tabitha before picking up a loaf of freshly baked bread. "Good morning, Sister," he greeted the young woman, Tabitha blushing as she moved to stir a large put sitting on a stove. "God be with you," Nathaniel quipped before stepping out into the hallway, Tabitha exhaling with relief. Her plump rear still bore the welts from the caning she had received less than a week ago. The abbess had caught Tabitha in her room resting when she should have been tidying the kitchen. Incensed, the old woman had dragged her to Nathaniel. Insisting Tabitha to be chastised. The abbess had remained in the room, watching Nathaniel cane the poor woman with a smile on her lips. Nathaniel bit down on the small loaf, happily chewing the soft and warm bread as he made his way toward the chapel, his walking stick clacking against the paved floor. Miriam could hear his footsteps well before he could see the tall priest, the young woman having all the right to believe that her misery was about to come to an end. "Child, calm down." Nathaniel chided the distraught nun, taking a bite from the bread as he walked to her. "You know what you did, don't you?" They had had a similar discussion the night before. He had made certain that Miriam knew why he had her chained to the cross. She would know that God demanded her submission. Her desires would only lead her astray. Nathaniel had told her as much. "Have you learned your lesson?" he asked her, lifting his cane and jabbing it into her belly, smiling as he did so. "Have you confessed your sins before the God, child?" The wooden cane dug into her belly once more, Nathaniel quite enjoying himself as he tormented the weary and desperate nun. He drank deep of her discomfort. "You tardy little cunt," Nathaniel shook his head, his voice brimming with resentment. Close as he was, chances were that Miriam could smell the bread he held in his hand. He was not done with her. Dropping what remained of the half-eaten bread on the floor, he stepped closer to Miriam and wrapped his fingers around her curls. Tugging hard, he forced the young nun to meet his gaze, ire gleaming in his eyes. "I should have had you flogged, you useless little shit," he hissed. "But I took pity on you. Letting you seek penance like a decent human being." Nathaniel did not bother to explain how being chained to a large cross was somehow more humane than corporal punishment. He tugged her hair again, making sure to hurt the young woman. He wanted her to understand that he would allow no tardiness. Sighing, he let go of Miriam's hair, scowling as he pressed his face close to hers. Nathaniel wanted her to fear him. Fear always begot obedience, he knew. "Maybe I made a mistake? Maybe I should have had you flogged instead?" The tall priest snarled, prodding her belly with his cane once more. He allowed the poor woman no mercy or respite. It was his duty to make sure she feared God.