I (18F) attend St. Mary’s University. Think of a Catholic boarding school, but it’s a college instead. It’s only females, has a strict dress code, mass every Sunday, chapel every morning, etc. etc. You know the deal. I didn’t really want to go, but this was the only university that my parents agreed to pay for, so I thought it couldn’t be that bad. Oh boy, was I wrong.
Of course I expected most of the regular Catholic school drama that I mentioned above. But imagine my surprise when, in the middle of the night about a month into freshman year, a group of 20 men turned on all of the lights, started making a lot of noise, and commanded all of us to wake up and get out of bed. Let me set the scene. Just like a regular boarding Catholic school, instead of putting us all into dorms, we slept in a dormitory in bunk beds lined up in rows. Think maybe an army barracks, except it was a little nicer than that and the room was bigger to fit more girls in it. We had 4 rows of bunk beds that stretched to maybe 12 a row, so about 100 of us in total. Of course it took some adjusting to, but after some time it was normal. This night was far from normal, however.
I had heard some murmurs from the upperclasswomen about “purity checks” and “inspections” but I paid them no heed. I assumed they were some pop quiz on Bible memorization or a stern talking to from one of the nuns about “saving ourselves for marriage” and whatnot that I had already experienced before ten times over. These warnings and rumors never stopped me from living my college life. Since I brought my bike with me, I often rode into town to, well, live my life! I partied hard and slept around even harder. Of course I never brought a boy onto the campus grounds, but in the apartments and houses of the local men nearby, I was living the best life. As long as I returned before 10 PM and provided some excuse about proselytizing to the town or picketing an abortion clinic down the road, I was fine. Or at least I thought I was. I should’ve taken the hint to notice the difference in class sizes. The freshmen alone outnumbered the rest of the students combined 2 to 1, and there was a good reason that I was going to find out soon.
At around 1 AM, a group of clergymen burst through the doors and commanded everyone to wake up. I knew this night was going to be different since there’s a strict no man policy on the campus: all of the teachers, janitors, cafeteria workers, etc. were women. Once they turned on all of the lights, they ordered us to leave our beds and stand side by side, backs to the headboards of the bunk beds, facing forward to attention. My night clothes left me a little more exposed than I would have liked, especially around these strangers, being donned in a tank top and shorts: not encouraged by the nuns who preferred us to wear long nightgowns. My short 5’0 stature and busty hourglass figure permitted easy gaze upon my most desired areas, a fact that I remained insecure about since high school. Unfortunately, that wouldn’t be an issue before long.
Once we had all lined up in rows as instructed, one of the men in the back, a silver fox dressed to the nines in the typical priest garb (white line and all) boomed from the dormitory’s entrance, “Hello girls. I’m sure many of you sophomores, juniors, and seniors are already familiar with what is happening, but for those unaware, this is the monthly surprise purity check. Once a month, on a random night, me and my fellow brothers from St. Mary’s University’s brother school will check on you ladies to make sure you’re fulfilling the tenets of the Lord and of Mary as is indicated in the Bible. We can understand your discomfort that men have entered the grounds, but, we assure you, this is a task ordained only by men in which your fellow sisters are unfortunately incapable. Do not worry, we’ve been trained in this act for years and, provided you follow our instructions, we will leave in no more than 15 minutes. Now, please, remove your garments for the inspection.”
All of the freshmen were confused and shocked. Remove our garments? What were they talking about. The upperclassmen, however, appeared to understand the drill. My bunkmate Emma, a junior from my home state that I had befriended, already started undressing from her sweatshirt and sweatpants and into the nude. Her round tits and tiny nipples glistened, even in the dim fluorescent lighting. “Just do as they say, it’s easier that way,” she whispered in my ear. I was enraged. Of course I wasn’t going to follow through with stripping in front of all of my classmates, much less these pervy priests. I wasn’t the only freshman with objections to this too. On the opposite row to me, nearer to the group of priests, a girl I had in my English class that I vaguely recognized as experiencing her first year here as well, objected and said that she was going to do nothing of the sort. “Unfortunately you have no say in this. We must fulfill purity standards just like the Lord commanded of us,” the head priest smiled. “Boys?” He glanced at a couple of his colleagues. Within seconds, they began to literally tear away her nightclothes. After one restrained her with ease, the rest of her clothes laid in tatters in no time. One of the guards instructed a nearby girl to lend her some clothes for after the purity check.
Upon seeing this, I didn’t need to be reminded twice. I removed my clothes and laid them onto my bunk bed. While there were a few stragglers who were dealt similar consequences to the girl near the door, everyone else followed the lead of the older students. Within a minute, I could gaze on rows upon rows of pale skin and flesh, tits beaming in all their glory. Many of the girls nearby glowed in envy towards my big tits and desirable body.
The men, in pairs, soon started down the halls to proceed with their inspection. One would thoroughly restrain the girls in case they surmised some late stage plan to escape, and the other would proceed with their “purity tests.” Then, after they had finished, they would instruct the inspected girl to go into one of two groups in the corner of the room. One, in the corner to the left of the door was accompanied by another, about 5 times larger to the right of the entrance. While I couldn’t tell exactly what criteria would merit a girl reaching one group or the other simply by observation, it was easy to hear the sighs of relief of the upperclassmen when they were allotted to join the second, bigger group of girls. Since one of the clergy opened the window, many in the larger group huddled together to ward off the October nighttime cold. The smaller allotment were not awarded the same privilege, and were commanded to stand 6 feet apart from their fellow lot. Bare from head to toe, they shivered violently while eying their warm bunks in desperation.
Once the men reached me, I was familiar enough with the protocol to not be not surprised. First, the bigger of the pair, a younger Hispanic man with a crucifix resting on his robes, held my wrists behind my back with one hand, stuffed my mouth with a rag already wet from the saliva of the other girls, and let his other hand rest at his side as a threat if I got any ideas. Then, the second man, the silver fox that I identified as their leader commenced with the inspection. First, like, all of the girls before me, he brandished a small pocket shaving razor and raked it across my pussy, shaving it from its pubic hair. Despite knowing better from observing this process in the other girls, I couldn’t help but flinch and squirm in pain. Even after he applied a cool, pink cream onto my hair, the blade’s rough blades, dulled from shaving a dozen girls before me already, scraped across my tender areas and left a small hairy mess on my lower stomach. As the razor had a limited width, only a confined strip of my pussy was laid bare, while the sides maintained its curly brown covering. The humiliation and rough treatment combined with the frigid air that was rapidly entering the dorm made my pussy burn in shame and torment. The pain brought tears to my eyes but, restrained, I could do little to clear my vision. The head priest briskly wiped the residue of pubic hair and shaving cream on my legs then proceeded on.
While the shaving cream was just a preparation, the main leg of the inspection was the feeling. After preparing my pussy, the priest started roughly groping my tits and pressing his cuticle into my nipple. I flinched in pain at every squeeze. Even through my teared up vision, I could see his stern and focused expression, like he was performing a medical exam, but with no actual medical backing or regard for the patient. After my tits became beet red and sore and he deemed them suitable with a knowing nod to the priest restraining me, he moved onto my ass, thighs, and navel, squeezing, groping, searching, in an almost methodical manner. The nearby girls, or at least those who weren’t being “treated” themselves, looked on in sympathy as the priest moved over my body and groped anything with the slightest curve or outcropping. His hands, somehow warm despite operating in the same cold room, seared my freezing body with lust and earnest.
Everything he did to the rest of my body wasn’t nearly as humiliating as what he did to my pussy. As his final test, he fingered and searched my vagina with the same twisted curiosity and seriousness that he approached every other girl before me. I tried to yell in protest, but he kept digging deeper, first with one finger, then with two, then with three. Upon mentally noting his success with his fingers, he nodded and then carried on with his series of “tests” including pinching/squeezing my clit, rubbing basically everywhere accessible, and, most painfully, squeezing the flaps of my labia,observing their flexibility and durability. His penetration left me red in the face and violated and I squirmed and flinched at every pinch and squeeze, but to no avail. Every scream of agony left my mouth muffled and unheard as the soggy rag restricted my voice. To add to it, while the main guard was playing with my vagina, the one restraining me had his turn with his free hand on the rest of my body, feeling my tits and torso up and down hypnotically. The torture lasted forever, but then it finally stopped. He removed my gag and pointed “Over there,” towards the smaller, more spread out group. I got a bad feeling in my stomach but marched over nonetheless. Shivering and disoriented 6 feet away from the others in my group I waited as more girls slowly trickled into each group, each one more dazed and ashamed than the last. While some had tried to cover up their genitalia while waiting for the priests, in this new group, everyone just let their hands lie to their sides in shock.
Once the last girl joined each group, the head priest returned to the entrance to better carry his voice to the crowd of nude girls. “Thank you, I hope I didn’t keep you waiting for too long. This is an important procedure that we carry out at St. Mary’s and your cooperation is greatly appreciated. I’m grateful that most of you have followed the principles of the Virgin Mary faithfully as all of us should as faithful Catholics.” He then turned in recognition to the larger, huddled group in the opposite corner. “But unfortunately, many of you aren’t following what is Biblically mandated.” He then looked disappointedly at my group. The pit in my stomach grew bigger. “Through our series of tests, we have ascertained that you aren’t adhering to the Code of Conduct here at St. Mary’s. You know the rules. No sexual relations with anyone outside of marriage. No homosexual relations with anyone whatsoever. And, of course, no masturbation. It doesn’t seem like all of you have followed these rules. Through our Biblical and humane methodology, we have determined which among you are following the rules and those who aren’t.”
A girl behind me questioned, “Wait, how? I’m one of the most pious girls in the conservatory. Just ask one of the nuns, I’m one of their most dedicated pupils. I’m trying to become a nun myself, I haven’t done anything wrong.” The man chuckled. “I don’t care what the nuns say, the methods don’t lie. I’ve seen your breasts, your feminine areas, your buttocks. Women lie. Your bodies don’t. Many of you have stretched vaginas, punctured hymens, and puffy nipples. That doesn’t seem very pious to me.” Enraged, a girl adjacent to me scoffed, “Wait, you do know that they don’t work like that, right? This isn’t 1950, vaginas don’t get deformed from use and hymens don’t mean that someone has lost their virginity.” The man laughed. “Why au contraire. We’ve been using this method since the 1700s, 1950 is a little contemporary for us! And besides, it’s in the Bible so it must be true. Are you going to argue with the Bible? I didn’t think so. And, just as the Bible says, you must discipline a child, lest they become spoiled. Clean girls, return to your beds and sleep well. Your faith graces the Lord and prides the Virgin Mary on high. The rest of you, follow me and the others into the hallway. Something must be done of your impure nature.”
The other men corralled us to the entrance before we could object or attempt to flee. We stole looks to the other group in panic but they responded with shrugs and jaded expressions. As me and the other girls went down the hallway, one by one the girls disappeared into the side rooms, paired with a priest to their sides. Even as we went deep down the hallways, the nuns were nowhere to be seen. As the girls and priests dwindled in number, I remained as the last girl of the troupe, with the grey haired head priest accompanying me as the last guard. My nipples perked up in the cold and every step that my bare foot took onto the cool stone sent shivers up my spine. The frigid dormitory and halls ended at one last room. Heated to intoxicating levels, I could hardly breathe, being acclimated to the cold temperatures of the dormitory and hallway. The room, only furnished with a small bed, a carpet, and an oil lamp hanging from the ceiling emitted an eerie golden glow onto the green blanket draping the mattress. The man grabbed me and basically threw me onto the bed. I panicked. “No no no no no, I, I don’t want to do this. Please don’t let this happen.” He responded, “Well I’m sorry, it is the way of the Lord that if a woman engages in intercourse, she becomes pregnant. It doesn’t seem like you’re pregnant are you?” I gulped and shook my head. “Good, thank you for answering honestly, because if you didn’t, the Lord would know.” He chuckled. “And of course we would know if in 8 weeks you didn’t start to show.” He then recomposed himself in a solemn face. “It isn’t my pleasure to do this, but the Lord’s will must be done, and it is my duty to fulfill the Lord’s will.”
I attempted to scramble off the bed but I had no luck. He grabbed my ankle and pulled me back onto the mattress. “Make this easy on me, and the Lord, and don’t go anywhere. I just need to get in and do the Lord’s work, it won’t take long.” While he unzipped his robe and pulled out his erect penis, I shied away from him to the headboard of the bed, readying up for a last minute escape. The priest, completely clothed with the exception of his hard cock hanging from his uniform, jumped on the bed towards me. I kicked him and started towards the door, but he slapped me and I fell down. “Now, now, you know better than that.” He grabbed me and threw me onto the bed again and thrusted his cock towards my vagina and missed, jabbing my tender pussy. Already scraped and abused from earlier, it jolted a renewed pain that would last for several days to come. I kept struggling, but he paid no mind and held me down by the throat, choking me. Attempting to penetrate me again, this time with me fully restrained by two hands, he didn’t miss.
With a plunge that could make an Olympian proud, he plunged deep into my pussy with his rock hard member. His shaft, curved and veiny, dove deep into my insides, writhing around to find more room in the unreadied victim. I screamed in agony, yet he would be the only one to hear me. The priest then pumped in and out of me, filling my insides more and more each attempt. As I wasn’t lubed up, every thrust was a battle against friction: a battle he won every time. My vagina bled against the sheer force and roughness of it all and I felt like I wanted to vomit. However, the more I tried to struggle, to leave the hell I was enduring, he would just slam into me harder and harder. His cock head, rough and dry, chafed and cut my pussy from the inside. The pain was inexorable. Losing oxygen from the choking and delirious from the humps, I eventually stopped struggling and just took it. Seeing me give up, he grinned in pure lust and power and ramped up in intensity. As his thrusts slowly transformed to hyper aggressive grinds, his balls smashed against my poorly shaved labia. His sweat and precum coated my vulva and it twitched from exposure and infection. I just lay there as he pulverized my insides and beat my crotch raw over and over and over again. After what felt like hours, I could feel his dick start to quiver and shake and he finished, pumping load after load straight into my vagina. I gagged as I felt the thick hot liquid sear my damaged pussy and collect in the base of my stomach. My uterus filled with his rapeseed and I collapsed onto the bed, spent and used. I could tell why there was such a high dropout rate. Imploring my partners in the town to wear condoms, I wasn’t on birth control. And you know you how Catholics are with abortion.
The older priest zipped up his garb and left me lying naked on the bed, still dripping with his cum. Exhausted, I fell asleep, knowing well that the Lord had finally forgiven me.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/mhlk0v/every_month_my_conservative_catholic_university
I’m assuming this is fiction right?
and shit like this…fiction or not is why I don’t trust any clergy.