Bad Habit by Alex Severin 

The soft, smooth skin of Sister Santa Maria seemed to glow within the shadows of 
the candle-lit church.  Her gasps echoed off the stone walls of the ancient 
house of God like the remnants of the unquiet souls who had been tortured there 
during the inquisition. 
The hard floor of this place had run with blood.  The bodies and the minds of 
women had been ravaged and defiled by the hands of the Witchfinders, men who 
claimed to be the righteous defenders of the faith and the laws of God and 
Godliness.  If you look closely enough you can see that the centuries old dirt 
and dust which lies between the ragged and worn flagstones is stained with 
darkest red. 
Father Dominus whispered his vespers into the young nun’s ear; but these were no 
words of God or of faith.  ‘You filthy whore.  I’ve heard stories about you and 
the rest of the harlots in this unholy convent.’  There was a sheen of excited 
saliva on his cruel mouth; his muscles twitched with excitement at the thought 
of carrying out once again his favourite torture - the Virgin Test.  ‘Now we 
will see just how big a whore you really are.  If you do not bleed to my 
satisfaction then I shall have to purify you of your witchcraft.’ 
Sister Santa Maria had heard all about Father Dominus.  She had longed to meet 
him for so long.  She herself started the rumours about the convent on a visit 
to another parish.  She knew how nuns loved to gossip and knew that this 
information would get back to the object of her desire, the infamous Father 
Dominus. 
His eyes burned up the outline of the beautiful young woman who was bound hand 
and foot and stretched out along the length of the stone altar.  His mouth was 
dry now with the anticipation of carrying out his ‘holy mission’; the front of 
his immaculate cassock could not conceal the reaction of his hardening cock. 
The lesbian sex in the convent was good, she enjoyed it, but she needed 
something more, she needed a man, she needed pain, she needed suffering, 
anguish, the torment that only a man could give her. 
Sister Santa Maria gazed glassy eyed at the crucified figure of Christ on the 
cross.  She remembered being taken to see a mad nun at the age of twelve; the 
nun’s palms shed rivers from her bleeding stigmata.  Sister Santa Maria also 
remembered the orgasm she had as she licked and sucked at the nun’s wounds. 
She licked her parched lips at the thought of drinking from the wounds of 
Christ, ached to slide her tongue into the torn flesh of his side and run it 
around the gaping, flowing gash.  She imagined licking the droplets of blood 
from his ripped brow and cutting her own tongue on the thorns of his crown.  She 
wanted him to be real, to taste his life on her lips, purifying her, saving her 
from the sins she craved and indulged in. 
She wanted to be up there on the cross with him, face to face, palm to nailed 
palm, bleeding into one another, him inside her the way a man should be. She 
wanted to wrap her milky thighs around the back of their shared cross and feel 
the sacred splinters piercing her flesh, the trickles of hot blood staining her 
perfect skin.  She wanted to hear him gasp his passion for her, hear him say her 
name over and over again.  She wanted him to hear her say ‘Fuck me, Jesus, fuck 
me.’ 
She wanted him to spill his sacrosanct seed inside her, wanted him to sire her a 
son, she wanted to be the whore of Babylon and the Blessed Virgin all at once. 
  But he wasn’t here and nor did she think he ever had been.  She didn’t believe 
in him.  She wanted to but she couldn’t.  She didn’t believe in anything except 
Sybarite pleasures, except satisfaction, pain, fucking, coming.  She became a 
nun to get away from the abusive men in her family; the kind of bastards that 
gave men a bad name.  The kind of men who fuck their daughters and their sisters 
and think it’s their right. 
But somewhere in the recesses of her ravaged mind she had developed a taste for 
pain, and the blood she so often tasted as it ran from gushing wounds on her 
battered face.  She had absorbed all the emotional and sexual abuse and turned 
it into an insatiable craving for physical pleasure and pain. 
Father Doninus uncovered the red velvet-draped table, which stood behind the 
altar.  Sister Santa Maria gasped in anticipation as she caught a mere glimpse 
of his implements of torture that lay in wait for her. 
Father Dominus was almost drooling now as she widened her firm, lithe legs 
wider, he could see the wet glistening of her excitement sitting precariously at 
the opening of her throbbing pussy, ready to begin dripping at any moment. 
He pondered which one of his redemption tools to use on her first, working 
himself up into a frenzy of lust.  He smiled as he chose a wide solid silver 
crucifix with a rounded point on one end.  He stroked it as if it were his own 
swollen cock then thrust it into her. 
Sister Santa Maria screamed in agony as the Holy phallus impaled her 
mercilessly.  A riot of hot searing pain and cold hard silver made her convulse 
and writhe, moaning, gasping.  She freed one of her arms from its restraints and 
let her fingers glide effortlessly in a circular motion over her engorged, 
slippery clit. 
Father Dominus stood watching her in awe as she grabbed hold of the dildo Christ 
and forced it deeper inside herself.  His cold blue eyes shone and sparkled, 
widened with the heat of desire for her.  He wanted her like he had never wanted 
anything in his entire life.  They were the same, they were kindred spirits, 
both damaged and twisted all the way to down to hell and back up to the heavens. 
 They both had an insatiable appetite for sadomasochistic sex and sexual 
violence. 
Sister Helena and Sister Columbus watched with wide eyes from inside one of the 
confession booths.  Helena gasped as she turned around to find that her Sister  
had shed her habit and stood there next to her, naked save her wimple.  She 
rubbed the cool silver body of Christ on her crucifix over her erect nipples, 
her breath quickening, eyes closing as removed her rosary beads and rubbed them 
back and forth between the wet swollen lips of her sex. 
Columbus roughly pushed Helena onto the chair in the booth; she whispered, ‘No.’ 
Columbus savagely gripped her face in her strong hand; ‘Then why are you here?  
You knew what he was going to do to her.’  Sister Helena let all the tension 
drain out of her as Columbus slickened her nipples with her hot tongue.  She 
covered her aching flesh with sweet little kisses and sharp, deep bites.  She 
reached down to finger Sister Helena and found her already wet. 
She placed a few delicate, delicious licks on her clit making her moan then 
began to suck on it vigorously.  Helena tore at the wimple on her lover’s head 
and grabbed fistfuls of her long black hair, thrusting her pussy into her face, 
moaning and grunting with pleasure like she had never known. 
Father Dominus pulled back the booth curtain; Sister Helena gasped, startled and 
ashamed folded one arm across her naked breasts, the palm of her other hand 
covering the precious mound between her legs.  Sister Columbus stood in front of 
him, unabashed, a one sided smile playing about her lips which glistened with 
the exotic juices of Sister Helena. 
‘What took you so long, Father?’  She slid her finger inside Helena again, and 
smeared the sticky elixir on his lips.  ‘Come.  Both of you. You must be 
punished for your sins.’  He smiled at Sister Columbus and led her by the hand 
to the altar.  Helena followed, shaking with fear and anticipation. 
  
‘Sisters, you must search out the spot where the Devil has touched Sister Santa 
Maria…….with your tongues.  The spot will be very cold; the heat of your mouths 
will best detect this.’ 
Sister Columbus was grinning from ear to ear.  She crawled onto the altar; the 
rough stone grazing her naked knees.  She licked and bit her way up the prone, 
defenceless body of Sister Santa Maria.  Helena moved toward her, kissed her on 
the lips; Santa Maria was so charged with desire that she could feel her pulse 
through her kisses, feel the throbbing of her heart as she kisses her breasts, 
bit the soft flesh on her torso drawing blood. 
The three of them stood and gazed at the scarlet pool, shaped almost like a 
heart, on the pale skin of Sister Santa Maria.  They all looked at each other, 
wondering if they were thinking the same thing, afraid to yield to their 
collective, though yet unknown bloodlust. 
Father Dominus could resist no longer; he scuttled to the torture table almost 
falling over in his haste and picked up a bejewelled silver dagger and slit the 
throat of Sister Santa Maria from ear to ear. 
The arterial gush covered Sister Columbus; she looked down at herself, dripping 
red wetness back onto the body of it’s past host.  She let out an animal cry of 
ecstasy and rubbed the blood all over her body, let it drip, achingly slowly 
into her mouth from her sanguine fingertips. 
Sister Columbus and Father Dominus fed on her, ignoring the breathy hissing 
coming from the pissing wound on Sister Santa Maria’s throat.  Sister Helena 
stood there locked inside her own madness, a demented stare in her eyes and 
raving half-remembered prayers, as if they could help her now. 
Sister Helena snatched the knife from Father Dominus who was stabbing wildly at 
the now destroyed body of Sister Santa Maria.  She plunged it into her own 
heart, staggered towards Christ on the cross, adding fresh pigment to the 
blood-dust on the floor of the church.  She clutched at his feet covering them 
in her blood making them look as though the nail had been freshly driven through 
his Divine flesh and bone.  As she died the rosary on her lips ceased to echo 
off the walls and died with her, ignored by the feeding demons at the altar. 
The corpses of the two nuns lay where they had died, no prayers uttered over 
them, no lamenting chorus sang for their ascent into the Kingdom of Heaven or 
the Realms of Hell.  They would be found soon enough, but maybe not for days 
yet.  Father Dominus had instructed that no one visit here until he returned 
with the nun either cleansed and purged or ripe for the pyre. 
Sister Columbus and Father Dominus locked together forever in their mutual blood 
fetish fled the parish together never to return there else they would be burned 
as witches, labelled as demons and burned at the stake as heretics. 
But there would always be other parishes, all over the country, all over the 
world.

Copyright 2000 by Alex Severin