Our Daily Bred

  Scarlett Skyes

  Published by Scarlett Skyes at Smashwords

  Copyright 2012 Scarlett Skyes

  Discover other titles by Scarlett Skyes at Scarlett Skyes' Smashwords Profile

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Author's note: All characters depicted in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.

  Learning how to be a nun was nothing like I expected it to be. Everything had happened in a blur ever since Father Hanson and his small group of nuns had toured several Catholic schools in my area on a recruitment drive earlier in the year. I’ll never forget the day they came to our school and set up a desk in a spare office for girls to sign up to their preparatory course for nuns.

  Their visit was announced in the middle of lots of other notices first thing in the morning. Most of the other girls didn’t seem to pay any attention to our teacher at all but I knew I’d be going to that office and signing up at the first opportunity. I was raised in a strictly religious home and I’d only ever dreamed of doing two things with my life. My secret ambition, the one my parents wouldn’t approve of, was to swim competitively. I was good at it, some of my friends had even remarked that I seemed to spend as much time in the water as I did on dry land. My other dream was to become a nun and do anything the Lord wished of me.

  Despite my enthusiasm I almost missed them completely, I had a really busy day and it was only during my swim that I realised they would be leaving soon. I cut my swim short and raced through getting changed. In my haste I dropped my bra in a big puddle of water in the changing room and was faced with a dilemma. No bra, or wet bra? Before panic set in I decided to go with no bra as the material of our shirts was reasonably thick, but would probably be see-through if wet. The day was almost over anyway so if I was careful after visiting Father Hanson nobody would notice.

  I ran through the hallways of our school, praying that they hadn’t left yet. Having no bra on meant my larger than average breasts bounced and swayed with every step. Looking over my shoulder and from side to side as I ran I saw nobody and so supported my chest with my hands, I remember being surprised at just how difficult it was to run at pace without a bra on.

  Coming around a corner at speed I ran directly into Mr. Murdax, my math teacher. I bounced off him and fell to the ground, sliding across the polished floor. I noticed his eyes dip down between my legs as my skirt flew up and my legs parted in my vain attempts to regain some semblance of balance. I thanked God that it had been my bra and not my panties that had fallen in the puddle back in the changing rooms.

  I quickly closed my legs and regained my feet.

  “Just what do you think you’re doing, Miss. Callaghan?” he asked, his voice betraying the fact that he was still getting over the shock of being careered into and the view of my pristine white panties between my toned legs.

  “Sorry Mr. Murdax, I just realised I was running out of time to speak with Father Hanson before he leaves.”

  Mr. Murdax gave a mysteriously knowing smile and let me go without any further delay or punishment. It was quite confusing, both I and several other girls had received detentions from him for much less than that but I wasn’t about to question his uncharacteristic leniency. I thanked him and continued as fast as I could without having to resort to giving myself a hand-bra again.

  At last I was outside the office, which had a piece of paper stuck to it confirming I had the right room. I took a moment to catch my breath and smooth down my skirt, I wanted to make sure I gave the right impression when they met me. I’m not sure exactly what I was expecting from Father Hanson but I had certainly been anticipating an old priest. Don’t get me wrong, he was old like about thirty, but I’d definitely thought he would be really old like Mr. Murdax, in his fifties or something.

  I answered all their questions to the best of my ability, though I must admit I was somewhat distracted by Father Hanson’s warm smile, which made him look even younger than he was. He was one of the most handsome men I’d ever seen, I wasn’t sure whether I was seeing him through rose coloured glasses because of him being a man of God, that’s just how I felt.

  It was only when I left the room and looked down at myself that I noticed not one but two buttons of my shirt were undone. I flushed a deep red, wondering if they’d come undone during my collision with Mr. Murdax, or if I hadn’t done them up properly when I was rushing to get dressed in the first place. Either way I was absolutely devastated, no doubt they were going to report me to the principal and then it was only a matter of time until they contacted my parents. I was almost ready to die of shame as I hurriedly fastened the buttons and walked to my last class of the day.

  I had been planning on telling my parents about Father Hanson and the preparatory course that very night but as I was convinced I’d accidentally flashed him and the two nuns present I didn’t say anything for several weeks. I was expecting the sword of Damocles to drop at any moment, even though I prayed for forgiveness, so it was a nice surprise to receive a letter of acceptance and some forms to fill out in the mail near the end of the school year. I guessed that my shirt must not have gaped open noticeably, or they were all so holy and pure that they only looked at my face. Thank God!

  So that’s how I found myself in Father Hanson’s preparatory course for nuns, an intensive two years of living away from home at a special boarding school learning everything needed to commit yourself to the Lord forever. Much of it was exactly as you would imagine, lots of bible study, lots of lessons about the problems nuns had come up against in the past and the best way of tackling these problems within the faith, things like that.

  Every Sunday we all listened with rapt attention to Father Hanson’s amazing sermons. I’d never heard any other priest explain things so well and so movingly, I often found myself carried away by the power of his words and sometimes missed the cues to kneel or respond. Though none of my fellow hopeful-nuns noticed, I knew God would and prayed for his forgiveness.

  All that was pretty normal but what wasn’t normal was the school itself. My old school was a peasant’s hovel compared to this. It had everything including, to my joy, a full sized swimming pool, saunas, health spas and plenty of things to do for entertainment. I really thought things would be somewhat more Spartan given that there were no fees for the course and the life of a nun isn’t often associated with luxury and abundance but neither I nor anybody else seemed to openly question it, so I got used to it after a while.

  Another thing that wasn’t normal was the small community that seemed to be attached to the school. Obviously boarding schools have staff for cooking, cleaning, keeping the grounds and so on but there were a huge number of young kids on the expansive property. I’m not entirely sure where they all slept but they didn’t seem to keep to any school schedule. When they weren’t standing straight and still listening to something Father Hanson was telling them they were running around almost wild.

  It was a really strange sight when Father Hanson was addressing a group of them. They stood in rows silently watching and listening. It reminded me almost of a military formation. I very rarely overheard anything he told them but he always seemed to end any of his speeches with ‘Our time is at hand, my children’ or some similar variation. I’d never seen such concentration from kids like that before but I rationalised it by comparing my own responses to his sermons, he was a master orator and I supposed it was only natural that people younger than me would pick up on that too.

  Perhaps the strangest of all were the daily inspections that Father Hanson personally conducted on, as far as I could tell, every single girl in the course. Each morning, as soon as we were showered, dressed and had eaten, we were to line up in our huge dorm rooms at the foot of our beds and stand up straight as he walked through and looked at each of us carefully. Every time he walked past and looked into my eyes I felt like he was staring straight into my soul but he never said anything to me.

  Every inspection he would choose somewhere between two and five girls for some kind of private meeting. They would never speak about those meetings afterwards but they always looked kind of preoccupied and after a few weeks almost all of them would drop out of the course, even girls I knew were doing really well and had wanted to be nuns with all their hearts. Our numbers never dwindled though as almost every girl that dropped out seemed to be replaced, some by girls that were apparently returning to the course after some kind of leave of absence, some by girls that were coming to the course for the first time.

  Because of the dropouts that occurred after the meetings I guessed that he only chose those girls who he thought were not cut out to be nuns and had a serious talk with them. He was such a perceptive man of God that I convinced myself he was even able to see the doubt in those girls I thought wanted to be nuns so bad, which is why they ended up leaving. I was so sure of my path in life that I didn’t think he would ever choose me during one of his inspections, so it came as a huge shock when he did.

  I stared straight ahead as usual while I stood at the foot of my bed listening to his heavy footsteps echoing in the dorm room, pausing by each girl before moving on. Once again, as he had been countless times before, he halted in front of me and stared into my soul but this time he said my name.

  “Tania Callaghan.”

  I had no choice but to join the two girls and the two nuns already following him on this particular inspection, pausing by each of the other girls until at last he was finished, without selecting anybody else. Wordlessly we all followed Father Hanson to the small waiting room outside his office. We three girls were told to wait there until we were called in, the nuns followed Father Hanson.

  I sat there panicking as I waited, wondering what could be said in these meetings that caused every single girl to drop out of the course. I was crestfallen, I wanted to be a nun so much and also there was the shame of telling my parents how I couldn’t make it. I was almost in tears and so lost in my own thoughts that the nun had to call my name several times before I realised I was being spoken to. With a last glance at the other two girls, who looked as anxious as I felt, I stood and walked through the door to Father Hanson’s office.

  Father Hanson was sitting behind his desk and when he saw me he favoured me with one of his warm smiles, immediately helping to put my nerves at ease.

  “Ah, Tania, I’ve been looking forward to meeting with you.” he said.

  “Er... you have?” I replied, somewhat confused.

  “Yes, of course. You sound surprised by that.”

  “Well... it’s just that I thought you only met with girls who weren’t cut out to be nuns, they always seem to drop out after you meet with them.”

  “I see, and you think you’ve got what it takes to follow the path of God no matter where it may lead?”

  “Yes, Father, I love God!” I blurted out, then blushed, realising how corny I sounded.

  Father Hanson leaned back in his chair, tented his fingers together and studied me quietly. I felt even more blood rush to my face as my blush deepened. Finally he spoke again.

  “You know, Tania, I’m not so sure your heart is really in it. I’m told you spend several hours every day in the swimming pool, training hard as if you wanted your life to go somewhere else, as if you were, quite literally, swimming away from life as a nun.”

  “No! That’s not it at all! I... I’ll quit swimming and concentrate more on my studies, I promise!” I felt my panic returning in full force, I was sure he was going to ask me to leave and I felt the tears welling up in my eyes already.

  Father Hanson stood and slowly walked around the room, his hands clasped behind his back as he made a bit of a show out of inspecting the books on his bookshelf and the pictures on his wall. I was staring down at my lap, only seeing him out of the corner of my eyes until he was behind me.

  “Did you ever consider that there were other ways for you to show your love for God?” I heard his voice question as he walked closer behind me. “What if God wanted you to swim? You’re obviously passionate about it and very talented. What if God made you this way for a reason?”

  I thought carefully about his words until I felt each of his hands come to rest on my shoulders and give them a squeeze. He repeated the squeezing motion over and over again, and the muscles I hadn’t even realised were knotted up until that point began relaxing one by one under his unusually warm grip. The sensation was amazing, I swore I could feel a hot humming energy just under the surface of his skin that spread from his hands into my body, just like in the stories of how Jesus could lay his hands on people and heal them. As if from a great distance I heard myself asking how I could know what God wanted me to do.

  “That’s what I’m here for, Tania, to help you realise your true calling.” Father Hanson’s words filled my whole world, his deep voice resonated and echoed within my head as his wonderful hands massaged all my worries away and that strange warm energy of his poured into me.

  “What should I do, Father?” My voice sounded strange to me, I could barely get my words out as I revelled in the sensation of his hands squeezing my breasts. My breasts? When had he moved his hands? I hadn’t noticed at all. I feebly raised one of my own hands to try and push his away but it dropped back into my lap, what he was doing felt so good, I couldn’t bring myself to stop him.

  “Mmmmm” A wordless noise of pleasure emitted from my mouth and my nipples hardened against my bra as he continued to knead my soft fleshy mounds.

  “I talk with God constantly, Tania, and you have been chosen.” His words seemed to exist entirely in my head now, as if he didn’t even have to speak for me to hear him.

  “Chosen for what?” I breathed.

  “To build God’s army.”

  “I will... fight for God.” I said and this seemed to amuse him, the words that came back to me seemed tinged with merriment at my response, as if a kitten had done something cute.

  “No, Tania, you will help me BUILD God’s army. I think we both know you were born to do this. I’ve known ever since that first day we met and you showed me your tits that you would bear many sons and daughters for God. Don’t you agree?”

  The day we met... it was all so foggy in my memory. Hadn’t that been an accident? A wardrobe malfunction of sorts? Thinking back to the day I could almost remember undoing those buttons on my shirt before I knocked on the door to that office. Is that how it happened? Had I always wanted this? The vibrating energy emanating from his hands directly on to my breasts and erect nipples was making it even harder to think, but I couldn’t remember ever feeling so good as when he touched me. My body finally convinced me that Father Hanson was right.

  “Yes, Father.” I agreed.

  “Good girl, you are going to be God’s little slut, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, Father.” I repeated.

  “Amen.” the voice in my head boomed.

  Suddenly Father Hanson was carrying me and I hadn’t even noticed him pick me up. One of the nuns held open a door I hadn’t seen when first entering the office and closed it behind us. Looking around dazedly I saw we were in a long hallway and we passed many closed doors before we finally stopped outside an open door, which I saw had my name written on a card, slotted into some kind of card holder on the door itself.

  Inside the room was nearly bare except for what looked like some kind of medical examination bed used by gynaecologists, the beds with the stirrups to keep women’s legs spread, and a small table with a few strange instruments on it. Father Hanson set me down on the bed and strapped my legs into the stirrups so I couldn’t move my legs from the splayed position they were in.

  Looking downwards, I could only see the top of Father Hanson’s head as he peered under my skirt while sitting on a stool of some kind. I began to squirm with anticipation as he sat there drinking in the view of my panty-clad sex, only the thin white material separated his eyes from my most private of places. I never told anybody, as I hadn’t wanted to appear vain, but I knew that all my swimming had a positive effect on my body. My legs were toned and athletic and I kept myself pretty much clean shaven from the waist down. Part of it was to reduce drag in the water, part of it was because I loved the feeling of my smooth pussy and never having to worry about pubic hair peeking out the side of my swimsuit.

  Standing up he moved forward, pressing a huge bulge in his pants against the crotch of my panties. I whimpered, even through all those layers of material I could feel that strange heat and energy. I could already feel the throbbing of his cock against my clit as he leaned forward, pushing my shirt up over my breasts and exposing my lacy black bra.

  “You’re not a virgin.” He said it not as a question, but as a statement of fact.

  “No, Father.” I said, there was no point in lying.

  “Those social events they organise with the local boys’ school can get a little... out of hand sometimes can’t they?” He asked, grinding against me almost imperceptibly. I felt my pussy moisten in response.

  “Yes, Father... is it... OK?” I asked, suddenly worried that he wouldn’t want me anymore.

  “Yes, child, not every woman whom the holy spirit comes upon need be a virgin. A harlot may beget as readily as a saint.”

 

1 2