Dominance over a nun in the Vatican

The evening Vatican is permeated with the aroma of wax and incense, where every breath recalls centuries-old holiness, but today mixed with a slight taste of dust from the ancient corridors. Sister Eleanor, a slender woman with a graceful figure - a narrow waist, full hips and 34C breasts, modestly hidden under a strict cassock - walked along the corridor of the Palazzo Apostolico, tightly clutching a note: “Codex Tenebris. Basement 3B. Immediately. Marco & Luca." Two days ago, she, the only one in the monastery, refused to sign their circular about the “softening of the vow of celibacy,” answering briefly: “My body belongs to Christ” - a memory of her past, when she left the worldly life

and possible marriage for monasticism. Now she was called for a “personal interview,” and a vague uneasiness stirred in her chest, a hint that this could be a trap. She stopped at a spiral staircase, the steps of which were narrow and worn by generations of monks. Below there was twilight, the air was damp, with a taste of mold and earth. Marco's father was waiting at the railing: tall as a column, with muscular shoulders under a scarlet robe, a neatly trimmed gray beard, and eyes smoldering like coals in a fireplace. Father Luka stood nearby: stocky, with golden crosses glistening on his chest, and a smile, soft in appearance, but with a shadow at the corners of his lips. “Sister,” Marco began, his voice low as a basilica organ, “the manuscript will shed light on your doubts.” Luke unlocked the heavy door, decorated with carvings of intertwined snakes. Behind it stretched a narrow corridor, the walls covered in mold and Latin inscriptions that may have hidden ancient secrets. Another door - the click of the lock. The hall was small and gloomy: a vaulted ceiling, a stone table in the center. On it were black lace stockings, leather handcuffs, a silk bandage, a whip and a small vibrator - their secret equipment for blackmail and domination, and in the corner a camera was discreetly blinking with a red light. Eleanor froze on the threshold, sweat appeared on her forehead. “This is not an archive,” she said firmly, but her breath became visible in the cold air, and tears welled up in her eyes from sudden horror. Marco stepped forward, his hand laying on her shoulder - not roughly, but with a hardness that echoed in her bones. “This is where holiness meets truth. You refused to sign the document. Now sign with your body.” Luke locked the door, the key disappeared in his pocket. “The door is locked. The phone doesn't work. Scream - no one will hear." He took the whip and ran it across his palm - a soft, threatening sound. Eleanor stepped back, her back hitting the wall. “I serve God, not you,” her voice broke into a whisper, internally she prayed: “Lord, why does the flesh respond with heat to this heresy? Is this a betrayal of the body, a memory of worldly desires that I have suppressed?” Marco moved closer, his fingers unbuttoning the top button of his robe, exposing the white skin of his neck. "Let's start with the first lesson." He gave a light slap to the thigh through the fabric - the skin flared with heat, sweat flowed down the back. "Don't you dare!" - She turned around, hitting his hand with her palm, tears rolling down her cheeks. Marco grabbed his wrist and squeezed until it hurt. “Are you resisting? It makes the game more interesting." Luka grabbed you by the waist from behind and pressed you to him - his breath was hot on your neck. “Take off your shoes. Put on stockings. Slowly. Before our eyes." Eleanor broke free, hitting Luka in the stomach with her elbow - he gasped, but his grip did not weaken. "You wouldn't dare!" - she shouted, the echo echoed throughout the hall, tears mixed with sweat on her face. Marco grabbed his hair and threw his head back. “We dare. And you will obey." Another slap - harder, on the buttock, leaving a burning sensation. She twitched, trying to kick, but Luka grabbed her ankle, she lost her balance and fell to her knees, her robe riding up, revealing her pale, bruised legs. “Lord, give me strength!” - she whispered, her voice trembling, her body covered with sweat from the struggle. Marco crouched down, took the stockings, and ran the lace over her cheek - the texture was like silk on hot skin. “Put it on. Or we will do it for you." Eleanor clenched her teeth, her eyes burning with rage through her tears. "Never". But her hands trembled, and a conflict raged inside: faith against awakening lust, a hint of the past when she rejected the vanity of the world.

Marco and Luca towered over Eleanor, their candle shadows flickering on the stone walls, highlighting Marco's stern features and Luca's sly grin. Eleanor, her slender figure with curved hips and 34C breasts still hidden under her riding robe, was pressed against the wall, her pale, bruised legs trembling from the struggle. Black lace stockings lay on the stone table - their thin lace seemed to mock her vow, promising forbidden pleasure. The air was thick with the smell of damp stone, incense and the slight iron taste of blood - she bit her lip, holding back a scream. “Put it on,” Marco ordered, his voice low and firm, his eyes boring into her like nails. “Never, heretics!” - Eleanor spat, her eyes glowed with rage, but her inner voice trembled: “Why does the body respond with heat to their touch? It’s a sin, but the memories of worldly nights that I rejected for God whisper of desire.” She lunged forward, slamming her fist into Marco's chest, the thud echoing. He stumbled back, but Luka grabbed her by the hair, sharply turning her head back - pain pierced her neck. She screamed, her nails digging into his wrist, leaving bloody streaks. “Hold her!” Marco barked. He grabbed her waist and threw her to the floor - the cold of the stone hit her back, knocking out the air, her scream mixed with a hoarse moan. She struggled: she kicked Luka in the stomach - he bent over, his breath smelled of sweat and wine. She hit Marco in the thigh with her knee - it hit him, he clenched his teeth, a grimace of pain flashed across his face. "Hands!" - Luka twisted her wrists behind her back, snapping the leather handcuffs into place with a clatter - the metal dug into the skin, leaving red marks. She arched, trying to hit her head, tears and sweat running down her face, the taste of salt in her mouth adding to the humiliation. "Legs!" — Marco grabbed the straps from the same table where the vibrator lay, part of their prepared equipment. She kicked again and hit him in the side, causing him to growl. He pressed her ankles to the floor with such force that her muscles ached, the straps tightened above her ankles, preventing her from closing her knees - she was exposed, vulnerable. Marco took the stockings and ran the lace over her calf - the silky texture on her hot skin gave her goosebumps, like a forbidden temptation. “You’ll put it on yourself. Or we will do this and the camera will record every second for the Vatican archives,” he nodded at the flashing red light in the corner. He turned on the phone, the flash blinded him: “Smile, sister. This is your downfall." She spat, the taste of blood mixed with the salt of her tears. Luka slapped the buttock with a whip - a light blow, the sound was biting, then a second, stronger, leaving a burning sensation, a third - on the inside of the thigh, the heat spread lower, awakening moisture. “Last chance,” he hissed. Marco placed the stockings on her knees. "Herself. Slowly". Eleanor was silent, her breathing ragged, her face in tears, her internal monologue screaming: “Lord, I prayed in the chapel, but this heat... it is stronger than prayers.” She nodded. Marco unfastened the handcuffs with a click, freeing his hands. She took the stocking with trembling fingers, and under their gazes and camera flashes, she pulled it up - from her fingers to mid-thigh, the elastic biting into the skin, emphasizing the curves. The second stocking is symmetrical, every inch is under their control. “Okay,” Marco said, putting his phone away. “Now you are ours.”

Eleanor knelt in black lace stockings that hugged her slender legs, emphasizing the curves of her hips and contrasting with her pale skin - a forbidden accent that turned her former purity into an object of lust, the lace digging in slightly, reminiscent of a fetish she had never known in her monastic life. Her figure, feminine and seductive - narrow waist, full hips and 34C breasts - now heaved under her cassock with ragged breathing, her body was covered with sweat from the struggle, drops flowed down her back. Internally she was torn: “Lord, is this a test of faith? Why does the body betray, responding with warmth to their touches, when the soul remembers the quiet nights in the cell, where I prayed for purity, rejecting worldly temptations?” The air in the hall was thick with the smell of incense mixed with salty sweat and a slight metallic taste from the handcuffs - a reminder of the recent resistance. Marco, his muscular silhouette under his robe casting a long shadow, brought the silk blindfold to her eyes. “Now close your eyes to the world. You see only us and the truth of our circular - the softening of the vow through the body, and the camera will record it for an eternal reminder,” he said, tying the fabric tightly; the rustle of silk on the skin, pressed tightly, cut off the light, leaving only sounds: their heavy breathing, her own groans of protest and the distant crackling of candles. Luka, stocky with a round face and a sly smile, approached, his fingers first gently stroking her shoulders - the rough texture of his palms on her delicate skin caused goosebumps, a shiver ran through her body. Then he unbuttoned his cassock: buttons clicked together one after another, the fabric slowly slid down with a rustling sound, revealing simple white underwear soaked with sweat. “Your vow was an excuse, sister. Now you sign it with flesh,” Luca whispered, continuing the plan, his breath hot on his neck, tasting of wine from a recent dinner. He began by lightly stroking the breasts through the fabric, circling around the nipples, causing them to harden - a treacherous response from the body, beads of sweat appearing on the skin. Eleanor twitched: “Stop it! This is a sin before God! - Her voice echoed, but became weaker, interrupted by a moan as he moved to pinches: light at first, like a light bite, then stronger, the sharp pain mixed with the growing heat spreading through the veins like poison. Marco's slap on the thigh - now on the bare skin in the stocking - a whipping sound echoed, leaving a burning sensation, the echo in the hall intensified the humiliation, a red mark appeared. Luka tore the bra with a crack of fabric, exposing her breasts: her nipples stuck out, pink with excitement, the cold air of the cell chilled them, causing another moan. He stroked them with his palms - roughly but rhythmically - then pinched them harder, drawing out a muffled cry of pain and unexpected pleasure. “Your body already knows the truth of the circular,” he said, the smell of his breath intensifying from the proximity. Marco pulled her panties down with a rustling sound, revealing smooth pubic skin and wet folds - the telltale wetness glistening in the candlelight, the scent of her own arousal, musky and sweet, joining the mix. She tried to squeeze her thighs, but the straps on her ankles did not give, leaving her open, the trembling in her knees intensifying. The internal monologue raged: “No, it’s not me... faith melts in this heat, lust whispers like the devil, promising ecstasy instead of salvation, reminding me of the night when I almost succumbed to temptation before tonsure.” They continued stroking: Marco on her back, his fingers leaving marks on the wet skin, Luka on her stomach, increasing the tension with textures - rough hands on tender flesh, the sounds of their breathing merged with her moans, the smells of arousal hovered, preparing for the next stage

Eleanor, blind from the silk bandage, knelt in stockings, her body - a mixture of trembling and treacherous heat - still resisted, but the moisture between the thighs betrayed the internal conflict, drops of sweat flowed down the inside of the thighs. The smell of incense mingled with the salty sweat, the metallic taste of the belts, and the slight sweet aroma of her own arousal that hung in the air. Marco unbuttoned his robe with a rustling sound, revealing a muscular torso covered with graying hair and a hard penis - 20 centimeters long, thick, with pulsating veins, the head glistening with pre-cum, a hint of its power, which she would feel later. He grabbed her by the hair and pulled her closer, the grip burning on her scalp as a reminder of her fall. “Kiss.” Lick it. As an altar to your new god,” he ordered with a low growl, his voice punctuated by moans of anticipation. She shook her head, tears soaked the bandage: “Never! This is desecration of a shrine!” - but an inner voice whispered: “Why does lust win? I remember how in my cell I struggled with night visions, praying for forgiveness, and now my body thirsts for this sin.” Luka slapped the buttock with the whip - a burning strip flared up, the sound was biting, echoed, leaving a red mark, the pain mixed with heat. She opened her mouth in a scream and Marco pushed his cock inside - the salty taste of precum filling her mouth, the texture smooth and warm on her tongue, the veins felt under her lips like the relief of sin. Eleanor tried to pull away, but he pressed harder, forcing her to move rhythmically. A pause—he gave her a moment to think, his penis throbbed against his lips, allowing her to taste the salt and musk, an internal conflict flared up: “This is hell... but the body betrays, like those nights when I woke up sweating from forbidden dreams.” “Lick your balls, bitch,” Marco commanded. A new slap with the whip - a warning - forced her to obey: the tongue touched the rough, heavy eggs, licking slowly, slurping sounds mixed with her muffled moans, the taste was salty with a hint of sweat. At this time, Luka knelt down from behind, spreading his thighs with rough hands - the texture of his palms was rough on the delicate skin. His tongue touched the clitoris gently at first - a wet, warm trace that caused an involuntary groan, a trembling ran through the body. Then he bit gently, teeth scraping lightly, alternating with finger pats - rhythmic, increasing, the sound of wet slaps echoing. The scent of her arousal intensified, sweet and musky. He inserted a finger into the anus - slowly, kneading, lubricated by her moisture, causing a groan of pain, turning into pleasure, the body arched. Pauza - Luka stopped, letting him realize the sensations, the vibration from his breath on his skin increased the heat. Eleanor squirmed: “No... but orgasm is brewing like sin in the soul, reminiscent of suppressed desires before tonsure.” Luka took the vibrator from the table - the buzzing sound activated, pushing him deeper, the pulsation inside intensifying the waves. Her resistance weakened, the first orgasm rolled in - her body convulsed, a cry of pleasure escaped, mixed with tears, the heat spread, consolidating the transformation.

Eleanor, still blind from the blindfold, lay on the cold stone table, her body sweating and trembling from the previous orgasm, her stockings stained with signs of struggle and moisture - the lace clung to her skin, emphasizing her fall, like the fetish she had rejected in her monastic visions. The smell of incense mingled with the salty sweat, the metallic taste of the belts, and the thick, sweet aroma of their mixed fluids that hung in the air. Luka unbuttoned his robe with a rustling sound, revealing a stocky torso, glistening with sweat, and a penis - 18 centimeters long, thick and strong, like himself, with swollen veins, the head glistening, hinting at future fullness. They turned her into a doggy style position - rough hands on her thighs left bruises, the texture of the stone scratched her knees, tremors ran through her body. Marco entered the vagina slowly at first, stretching the wet folds inch by inch - the feeling of fullness caused a groan of pain and pleasure, his 20-centimeter penis throbbed inside, the texture of the veins felt like a relief of dominance. Pauza - he gave a moment to think, the tremors froze, allowing him to feel the heat and emptiness, the internal monologue flared up: “From a saint to a whore... faith is broken, I remember how in the monastery I repented for random thoughts about the flesh, and now my body craves it.” Then the shocks became harsher: rhythmic, the slapping of bodies echoed, each blow ripped out a scream. She screamed: “Stop! Please no! - but the body betrayed, the second orgasm rolled in gradually, the muscles clenched, the heat spread, tears mixed with sweat. Pauza - Marco came out slowly, letting the aftertaste sink in, her body trembling, beads of sweat running down her back. Luke changed: they turned him over into the missionary position, his back on the table, his legs in stockings spread, the lace digging in harder. He entered sharply, driving rhythmically, his teeth biting the nipples - the sharp pain from the bites mixed with pleasure, leaving red marks on the chest. The sounds of wet thrusts and moans filled the room, the smell of liquids intensified, sweet and musky. Inner voice: “How did I get to this point? From prayers in the silence of a cell to groans... but ecstasy is stronger than salvation, like those dreams where I saw myself in the arms of a shadow.” The third orgasm hit after a pause, the body arched, the scream echoed, tears rolled down.

Eleanor lay on the stone table, her body exhausted, trembling from orgasms, black lace stockings, wrinkled and sticky with sperm and sweat, digging into her skin like the shackles of her new role, emphasizing the fetish she rejected in her prayers. The air was saturated with the thick smell of sex - the sweet musk of sperm mixed with incense, salty sweat and a slight metallic taste from her bitten lip, blood dripping onto her tongue, adding to the humiliation. The sounds of her ragged breathing and the crackling of candles echoed off the walls. An internal monologue tore her apart: “Lord, forgive me... from a nun to a whore, I repented for sinful dreams in the cell, where I saw the shadows of men, and now I thirst for their commands, like a new faith.” Marco, his muscular torso glistening with sweat, bent down and slowly untied the silk bandage - the rustle of fabric on the skin, the light of the candles blinded her, forcing her to blink, her eyes, full of tears, met his eyes smoldering in triumph and his gray beard. Luka, with a sly smile and golden crosses now mocking her past, nodded at the flashing camera in the corner: “Everything is recorded, sister. Твоё падение — в нашем архиве». «Посмотри на нас, рабыня. Видишь своих новых богов?» — сказал Марко низким голосом, его 20-сантиметровый член, полувозбуждённый, покрытый их смешанными жидкостями, блестел в свете свечей. Лука приблизился, его 18-сантиметровый ствол в том же состоянии: «Чистить. Ртом. Каждую каплю. Докажи преданность». Она замерла, слёзы стекали по щекам, вкус соли смешивался с кровью, но тело отозвалось жаром — похоть победила. «Да… господа», — прошептала она хрипло, голос сломлен криками. Марко схватил за волосы, подтащил ближе — хватка жгла, но возбуждала, дрожь пробежала по телу. Она открыла рот, язык коснулся его члена: солёный вкус спермы, смешанный с её влагой, текстура вялой плоти под губами, липкой и тёплой. Она лизала медленно, обводя вены, посасывая головку, чавкающие звуки смешались с его стонами удовольствия. Внутренний голос: «Это унижение… но сладкое, как грех, я пила вино причастия, а теперь пью их, закрепляя падение». Лука поднёс член к её щеке — запах мускуса усилился, тёплый и приторный. Она повернулась, взяла его в рот: облизывала яйца, шершавые и тяжёлые, глотая остатки, вкус солёный с привкусом пота, их стоны эхом слились с её чавканьем. Они гладили её голову, хвалили: «Хорошая рабыня. Ты наша навсегда». Когда закончила, рот в слюне и жидкостях, капли стекали по подбородку, она опустила голову, слёзы высохли, оставив покорность. Камера продолжала мигать, их шантаж вечен, подчинение закреплено.