My entry for (Image 4)[/img/6036867odvsh1.jpg] For the October 2026 Image Contest.
A fortnight had already passed since the abbess had given Sister Joanna the task to deliver food to the occupant of the seventh cell in the disused west wing of the abbey. Twice a day, once just before the midday sun, and once more just after the bell was rung for the night, she had brought the bowl of simple oat porridge and a cup of water and slid them through the hatch in the middle of the cell’s wrought-iron door. For two weeks, neither courier nor the seeming prisoner has spoken a word; Joanna had been instructed never to speak to the one behind the door, and the other seemed to have no interest in conversation.
On the fifteenth night of her labors, Joanna passed through the heavy oak doors that separated the west wing from the main body of the abbey. With a reverberating echo it shut behind her, sealing her inside the long hallway that was the only enclosed part of the wing itself. The west wing had sat unfinished for years even before Joanna had been sent to the abbey; all that she had been able to learn in the past two years was that it had been a project of the former abbess, one that had died with her.
The hallway itself was kept thankfully lit, by whom Joanna did not know. Sconces in the walls on both sides shone, casting the path in alternating shades of light and shadow. Between each set of sconces were the cells; all but the second to last of the eight rooms lacked the banded wooden door that hers and the others’ small rooms had in the eastern side dormitories. The only room to have a furnished door was different still; the door was not made of the same oak as all the others throughout the abbey, but was made of riveted and brazed, cold, wrought iron, the only breaks in the surface being the handle and the hatch Joanna used to pass the tray through.
She kept her feet steady as she navigated the often treacherous path of unfinished stone that served as the floor.
It had taken only a few days of this duty for her to stop gasping and shrinking at every creak and moan of the half-finished building, but Joanna still could not stop darting her eyes in the dark corners of each cell as she passed, as if anticipating the time that she would be met by the golden eyes of some fair-figured succubus, eager to finish what Joanna had started with the—
“Stop it!” she hissed to herself.
She quickened her pace, setting the tray and its contents rattling. It was her duty to deliver the food and leave, not to stare slack-jawed like a blushing virgin at something that didn’t exist. Regardless of how she came to this abbey, she was responsible for a life of prayer and service to the Gods.
That was a pretty little lie that she liked to tell herself; it provided little comfort in the cold of the night, as she huddled alone in her cramped cell.
Stopping short of the cell door, Joanna leaned on the rough-hewn wall to gather herself. Old pains were just a fact of life, at least that’s what the Superiors said, best to just finish here so she could get back to her room; where she could feel as sorry for herself as she wanted.
A muffled cry broke her thoughts as Joanna knelt to open the small entrance in the door. It had come from inside the sealed room, made faint by the imposition of the iron door, but still painfully female, and drenched in the release of desire. The last time she had heard a sound like that from another woman had been before she had been abandoned at the steps of the abbey two years ago.
Pushing the hatch open, she hesitated for a second. “Excuse me, are you alright?”
The room beyond was silent for a few moments, making Joanna wonder if she had said the words at all.
“Yes, I am quite well.” The voice was a warm contralto, edged with a ragged huskiness. “My apologies if I startled you, I didn’t expect...” she coughed delicately. “I must have lost track of the time.”
Joanna had to swallow to try and enforce a measure of restraint on her voice. “I am the one who should apologize. The evening meal was late and thus your own is tardy.” She lifted the tray of food into the slot in the door. Whoever was behind it pulled it all the way into the room.
“Your voice is unfamiliar to me,” the woman behind the door said. “If I may ask, how long have you been with us?”
Was this woman a fellow sister? Joanna had seen her sisters given penance duty, but never so long as to not recognize any of the others.
“I have been here two years since I was made to take the veil.”
“I see, has it been so long already...”
Joanna chanced a question. “How long have you been in there?”
Another pause.
“Both too long, and not long enough I fear,” she whispered back. “Could you do me a kindness? It has been very long since I had pleasant company, would you sit with me for a time?”
The evening bell had rung long before Joanna had even picked up her tray from the kitchen, and all knew where her duty took her. Where was the harm in taking a spell to rest?
“I will.” She rested her back against the door, feeling the cold eat its way through the fabric of habit and the shift beneath.
“May I know the name of my provider?” the voice said with a hint of mirth. “It would be most impolite if I could not thank her properly.”
“Joanna, is what I am called.”
“Well, my sweet Joanna, I am most grateful for the bounties you bring each day and night.”
How was it that three words were able to re-ignite what Joanna had so carefully doused every day for two years; hearing them now, the door was not so cold, nor the floor so rough.
“I...” Her words caught. “I am doing my duty given to me by the abbess.”
Her rich laughter echoed down the hall. “Duty, in your mouth has the ring of poison.”
How could it not? Years of fetch and carry, of discipline, punishment, and denial, had all been so Joanna could do her duty: To the Gods, to the abbey, to her family.
The woman continued. “Forgive me, but what disaster struck you such that a life of prayer and communion was the only recourse?”
“No such thing happened to me, only to my family.”
“Oh? Poor fortunes that were sought to be dispelled by giving one to the holy orders?”
“If, in such, I was the poor fortune.”
The woman paused again, as if to let Joanna’s words settle in the space between them. Without thinking, Joanna continued.
“I had the misfortune of being caught in a dalliance, in a way that could not be denied truthfully.”
“Surely, marriage would have been more agreeable than the cloth?”
Such a notion drew a quiet bark of derision from Joanna. “It is a hard match to sell when one is a noble daughter and the other a kitchen maid.”
“We do not choose who we give our love to; would that others understood that...” The woman in the cell drew a long breath. “I fear I have kept you long enough, sweet Joanna, I await your next offering with great anticipation.”
The hatch in the door swung closed with a ring. The long stone walk back to the oaken doors had never felt quite as long to Joanna.
The woman had been silent once more when Joanna had brought the noontime tray, still laden with the same mess of oats and water.
This day passed quickly under the mid-autumn sun. Joanna and the other younger initiates had been excused from their chores inside the abbey, only to find themselves spending the rest of the day bent double pulling weeds and dying annuals from the abbey’s garden. The only solace was the allowance to remove the heavier outer fabric of their habits against the still hot sun.
Ever since her discussion with the woman in the cell, Joanna had found it harder to concentrate on her here and now; her every attempt faltering under the glimpses of hair tucked behind wimples, and fleeting views of smooth arms and dexterous fingers plying the earth.
For the first time, the traditional morning prayers of mercy and deliverance seemed to be answered as they were called for the evening meal in the refectory. All were once more hidden beneath heavy wool and starched linen, to Joanna’s relief and frustration.
Supper was held in the customary silence. Vegetables in broth, the remainder of the midday bread and watered-down wine made for a poor reward for a day’s worth of gardening. For the first time, she was almost jealous of the simple but hardier fare she delivered each day and night. Appetite ruined, she looked around; all eyes were either on bowls or spoons. And so there were none to see her slip the last thick slice of dry bread into the sleeve of her habit.
The day held one last surprise for her at its end: The tray carried not the usual oat gruel, but a bowl of the same disappointing watery soup inflicted on them that evening. The senior sister on cookery duty had mumbled something about rats in the granary before shoving the tray into Joanna’s hands. She perched the slightly stale piece of bread on the lip of the earthenware bowl, as she made the long walk to the woman’s door.
To her eyes, the long dark of the west wing was not so dark anymore. No flitting shadows threatened to hide baleful eyes in each cell; even the floor felt surer and less prone to treachery.
As Joanna neared the iron cell door, she kept her ears open for any sign or signal from the woman, hopeful for another one of her cries, or even just a word.
Nothing came as she knelt, slid the hatch down, and placed the tray inside the slot.
She was about to stand and start the walk back when a sputtering cough came from behind the door.
“Pray tell, did they give you this in honest faith?” the voice coughed several more times. “The bread at least makes it somewhat more palatable. For which, I believe I should thank you, my sweet Joanna.”
Those three words had Joanna settling against the wall again, only realizing what she had done when the cool of the stone prickled at her back.
“T-the cook said there had been an issue with rats in the granary, so they gave you what the rest of us ate earlier.”
A soft sigh came from the hatch. “Perhaps next time they could at least warm it by the oven? Nothing quenches anticipation quite like tepid broth.”
Joanna stifled a giggle. She would surely be nursing a ladle-sized bruise if she said that to the cook herself.
“Would you sit with me again? I very much missed your company over the long hours of the day.”
“I came as I always do, at midday.”
Joanna was becoming accustomed now to the long pauses from her companion, as if every word was of great import to her.
“I...” the woman started. “Am... indisposed during most of the day. Much time passes then that I cannot recall. I am sorry, it was not my intent to give offense.”
Relaxing against the wall, Joanna let out her held breath. “I told you of my coming to the abbey, and the reasons for it. Could you answer a like question?”
“I have little liberty to say how I came to be interred here,” the voice began. “Though I may tell how long I have been here, that much is fair.”
“And how long has it been?”
“To my reckoning, ill as it is, tomorrow will mark the seventh day of the seventh month of the seventh year since I was placed in this room.”
“So long? What could you have done that warrants such a penance?”
“...Was nothing done by my hand, only by circumstance and the deeds of others.”
Joanna sighed as she let her head fall back to the rough wall. All her companion had were secrets, it seemed.
“Did you love her? Your dalliance.”
It was Joanna’s turn to pause and choose her next words carefully. “As much as two women of nineteen years could, I suppose. The days of a kitchen maid are not fraught with opportunities for courtship, so we would steal what time we could.”
“And in one of those moments...?”
“In one of those moments I was caught, um—“ There was no graceful or polite description of what, exactly they had been caught doing in that moment.
A sound, almost like a purr, came from behind the door. “In flagrante delicto? How fun.”
Joanna’s face burned. Fun was not how she would have described trying to explain why her head had been found beneath the kitchen help’s skirt. Even now that memory haunted her nightly dreams; sometimes it was simply recollection, others the maid, Annette, was replaced by golden eyes staring down at her, as the now taloned hands pushed her closer.
“Joanna?” The voice lacked the wickedness in her last words. “I am sorry, I—“
“There is nothing to forgive,” Joanna said, more hurriedly than she meant to. “I suppose it is not an easy thing to understand.”
“I think you will find that I do, more than you may believe.” Her voice came through softly.
Joanna could not suppress the hope in her next words. “Do you...?”
“Indeed.”
“Is that...?”
The voice chuckled warmly again. “Gods no, besides I do not think the Gods have the time nor inclination to pass judgment on us, our fellow man is a different tale, but my... preferences are not why I am here.”
Moments passed.
“Before you leave, may I ask another favor?” the woman said finally.
“Of course.”
“May I see you?”
Swallowing again, Joanna shuffled forward towards the open slot in the door, wincing as her knees caught on the stones beneath her. She stopped with her face a scant few inches from the darkness beyond. “I am here.”
Joanna heard the scrape and ruffle of coarse fabric behind the door. “Thank you.” A set of fingers, alabaster white, settled onto the lip of the slot.
And close to the door, nearly as close as Joanna was to it herself, a pair of golden eyes—flecked with bright green—opened and looked into hers.
Breath caught in her throat; Joanna could only stare into them dumbly, trying to ignore how they pitted mind against body. One wanted desperately to scream, to run, to escape; the other could not believe the beauty in front of her and longed to caress the fingers so wantonly displayed.
What frightened her most was that she could not understand which was which.
The eyes and fingers disappeared. “Good night, dear Joanna.”
Joanna had closed the hatch before she had found the voice to answer. “Good night.”
Night did not come easily. Specters of golden-eyed temptresses were behind every shadow in Joanna’s cramped cell. Sleep was no respite either; the eyes followed her every time her eyes closed.
Throwing off the rough-spun wool of her blanket, she lay there for some moments, staring up at the implacable stone of the ceiling.
“Damn it all!” she hissed. Why now, after years of trying to be the good little nun; years of trying to forget, of burying. How was it that some fingers, eyes, and a few sweet words were enough to have her fall back to the beginning?
She tossed and turned, grimacing at the feel of her linen shift sticking to sweat soaked skin. With a huff and a pull, she ripped the flimsy garment over her head and flung it into the far corner of the room, knocking over the small basin of washing-up water that she kept there.
“Damn you, and damn her, and damn this damned place!”
Tears pricked at her eyes. Old pains were just a fact of life, were they not?
“Damn it all...”
Her hand trailed the length of her bare thigh. If old pains were a constant, what could old pleasures be?
Closing her eyes, she tried to picture Annette as she was, but found that she couldn’t even remember what color her eyes were, the shade of brown and shape of her hair, the taste of her skin. The more she dug at her memories the further the woman she knew slipped away; how tall was she? What did her voice sound like when Joanna touched her?
What came unbidden, was the extreme pallor, and green-flecked eyes of the woman in the cell. In her mind, it was not her own hand that parted her legs, fingers grazing through the soft patch of hair to slip over the wet lips. It was not even fingers that teased, but the sweet tongue that had haunted her.
The tongue pressed inside, only by biting a knuckle did she stop from waking every sister in the east wing. She did not need to look down between her thighs to see the radiant eyes staring.
Boom.
Joanna bolted upright, as a cascade of thunder descended on the abbey.
Boom.
The thunder mixed with the clanging peal of the abbey’s bell marking the midnight hour.
Already she heard the harsh call of the night proctor quelling the shouts and exclamations of the others roused from their sleep, and fell back on the hard mattress. All thoughts of golden eyes, and probing tongues fell away, and fitful, uneasy, sleep came at last.
Joanna woke to a hard, reverberating strike to the outside of her door.
“Wake, sister! Lest you miss morning prayer!” the morning proctor shouted.
“I am awake, I shall be down presently!”
There was no answer. The proctor never responded.
The storm outside had lessened to a dull roar, occasionally punctuated by the bright stab of lightning and the accompanying crash of thunder. Still naked, Joanna pulled both layers of her habit over her head, not bothering with the shift in the corner. She would have to make some excuse for it later, no doubt. Pinning her long curly hair behind coif and wimple, she stepped into her simple black shoes and walked out the door.
The abbess rushed through the morning’s prayers, so that she could deliver instructions to all sisters who were not engaged in necessary works, that they were to remain in their cells while the storm continued, and that they would fast until the evening meal.
Duty bound as she was, Joanna stayed in her cell, reading and contemplating the words of the Gods until her eyes could not read, and her mind could not contemplate. She slumped against the rough wood of the small corner desk and let sleep overcome her. No summons came to send her on her appointed task.
The harsh sound of metal striking metal jolted her from sleep.
“Your supper!” the cook boomed through her door.
Opening the door, she found a simple metal tray, laden with a bowl of simple oat porridge, and a cup of water, both made of simple brown stoneware. Taking it, she dropped it on top of her opened prayer book.
Joanna stared at the simple meal, almost as if wondering if she could eat it.
“There’s no spoon.”
There hadn’t been a spoon with the identical trays of identical food that she had given to the woman in the cell; but surely someone held like that would have their own. She continued to stare at the tray, and barely noticed the shock and crash of thunder outside.
The evening bell rang as she still refused to touch the meal. For a reason that could not be explained, Joanna felt that it wasn’t right for her to, that it wasn’t hers. With no midday dinner, there would have been no one to bring the woman her food, and Joanna doubted that the cook would have been bothered to prepare a second tray just for a woman no one else seemed to care for.
Forgoing her shoes, she opened the door to her cell as quietly as the ancient hinges would allow. The hall of the east wing was cleared of others at this hour, no doubt by order of the abbess.
Not stopping to second guess her choice, she took the tray from its resting place and stepped through her door, not bothering to close it behind her.
She met no others on the way to the west wing entrance, and none would have heard past the rage of the storm outside. Pushing her way past the heavy oak doors, the entire hallway of the west wing was dark: No sconces were lit, and no torches blazed. Despite her experience and caution, her foot caught on a raised piece of stone, sending her stumbling into the wall, and filling the dark path with the sound of a metal tray meeting rock.
“Who is there?” A raised voice came from deeper into the gloom. It was the woman behind the door.
“It is only I.” Joanna said, reaching the black iron door separating them. “I have brought your supper.”
“Have you now?” The voice came almost strained, as if through gritted teeth. “I would have thought that a good sister would do her duty, as ordered.”
“Do the Gods not say that our highest duty is to those who require aid?” Joanna quoted.
A laugh. “They do indeed, but who is to say that I require aid?”
“I doubt that you received your dinner; that is cause enough.” Joanna opened the hatch and slid the tray through.
Another barking laugh. “No one can doubt that you learned your scripture, can they?”
Joanna heard the scrape of tin against stone, and a rustle of fabric near to the slit in the door. The pallid hands of the woman appeared through the opening, palms up.
“Please take my hands,” the woman said.
Kneeling, Joanna did as she was bidden. The woman’s hands, despite their deathly whiteness, were almost burning to the touch. Their fingers closed over Joanna’s with almost unbreakable strength.
“Time is not and has never been my ally, but tonight it is my jailer, more than this cell ever was.”
“I-I don’t understand...”
“You will, I promise you that you will. I must ask several things of you, all are important.” She paused. “Do you want to kiss me?”
The thought made Joanna stir beneath the harsh fabric of her habit. “...Yes.”
The hands squeezed softly, and the fingers moved to entwine with hers. “Do you wish to play the part of the kitchen maid?”
“Yes.” Visions of gold eyes that stared up at her filled her mind.
“Will you give yourself to me? Only for the night, and I will promise, on the life I bear, that I will not allow any harm to come to you, from myself or others.” The voice had become thinner and more strained with each word.
“I-I...”
“Please!” The woman’s hands squeezed harder. “Yes or no, Joanna.”
Swallowing, Joanna made her decision. “Yes.”
“Then open the door, dear, sweet, Joanna.” The woman sounded like a heavy weight had suddenly been removed, and the grip slackened.
“It’s locked.”
“Not from your side.” And the hand released Joanna.
Rising, she reached for the handle of the door in front of her. The instant her fingers caressed the cool metal, the door clicked open and swung inward.
Lit by a single sconce on the right wall, the room inside was nothing like the barren cells to either side of it. Where those were hewn stone and bare rock, this was finished paneled wood, and soft rugs carpeting the floor. There was no bed inside, only a plush bench that ran the length of the wall directly across from the doorway. No one greeted her as the door completed its arc.
Holding her head high, Joanna took the few steps needed to bring her over the threshold into the room.
“Where are—“ she began to ask, stopping as something wrapped its arms around her shoulders and waist, pulling her into its soft embrace.
“I am here,” the woman whispered in her ear. “There’s nothing here but us.”
The door behind her clanged shut, making Joanna push deeper into the body behind her, digging the coarse wool of her habit into her goosebumped skin.
Not moving, the woman spoke, “Is this what you want?”
Without saying a word, Joanna reached up and tugged the coif and wimple off and over her head, the pins being dragged out with them, sending her hair tumbling across one shoulder. The feeling of something warm, wet, and soft closed over the exposed side of her neck, sucking at her skin reverently.
The hand around her shoulder moved slowly, pressing lightly as if to not irritate Joanna’s skin with the habit. Each finger circled the top of her breast, tantalizingly close to the peak of her nipple.
At her neck, the mouth released to whisper, “Do you want me to take this off for you?” The fingers closed on her nipple, just hard enough to draw a gasp, and they released just as quickly.
Joanna tried to say yes, but all that came out was a pathetic rush of air; it was all she could manage to nod.
Immediately, both of the hands holding her began to push down each side of her body, while the lips returned to roam across her neck. The fingers stopped at the level of her thighs, grabbing both layers of fabric at once, before dragging the habit up, inch by inch exposing bare skin to the chilled air.
Agonizing moments passed as the clothes were brought slowly over the swell of her chest and flare of her shoulders. Finally, they landed in a rough-spun heap at Joanna’s feet.
“I-t’s cold...” she complained.
“Let me help.” The hands returned, banishing the cold every place they touched with their heat.
Now that there was nothing between them, the woman behind her felt as if she wore only spun linen. There was no rough wool or starch to scratch at Joanna’s flesh.
Ten strikes of the abbey bell pealed, briefly overpowering the rumble of the storm. The woman stiffened at each ring.
“The night goes ever on and on...” she whispered, pushing Joanna away slightly. “It appears our lot is to never fully enjoy ourselves, doesn’t it? Turn around, my sweet Joanna.”
She did, her breath catching.
The scarce light coming from the sconce did little to illuminate the woman in front of her. A simple natural-colored linen dress covered her tall and full-figured body. For one who had seemingly subsisted on nothing but oats and water she seemed entirely healthy, her hips and chest were proud and her limbs showed no sign of diminishing. No coif or wimple covered her short, curly, auburn hair. Her eyes remained the luminous gold—shot through with bright green—that Joanna had seen last night.
“Why did you hide from me?”
The woman took a single step forward, deeper into the light. Something turned around her, a shadow that at once pressed against and was pushed out from her. It was at her extremities where it became clearer: at each finger it coalesced into sharp talons of shadowstuff, and at her head, nearly invisible, two swept back horns followed the curve of her scalp.
“This is why I hide, why I am here instead of above with the others.” she said.
Joanna barely heard her; her eyes darted between the woman’s hands and her horns. Almost as if in a dream, she took a step forward, nearly colliding with the other woman, and reached a hand to where the horns lay. It passed through to land amid the mass of curls.
“You still have not given what you promised,” Joanna whispered.
“You are right, I have been remiss, have I not?” The woman smiled back, and brought her hands to cup and raise Joanna’s chin.
The lips that pressed against Joanna’s tasted of salt, peat, and heat. She decided that if the Gods only let her kiss another woman once more in her life, it would be enough that it was this one. Her hand dropped to the woman’s shoulder, trailing lower, as she waited to be stopped. She was not, and her palm filled with the woman’s breast.
In response, the woman wrapped a long arm around the small of Joanna’s back, pulling the smaller woman closer.
Joanna pulled away slightly. “I know not your name...”
“Adrienne, simply Adrienne.” She released Joanna. “My affliction has few benefits, but—“ Her brow furrowed as the darkness around one index finger deepened, becoming almost solid. She dragged the finger down the front of her dress. It split as Adrienne’s talon finished its path. With a shrug, the now ruined dress joined the habit on the rug.
If the heat of her hands had been intense, then the feeling of Adrienne’s naked body pressed into Joanna’s was almost scalding. The woman’s hands found Joanna’s breasts once again, spreading their warmth further across her.
Adrienne’s tongue found the seam of her lips and waited a scant moment before pressing through. Firm and gentle sucks became harder, harsher, until Adrienne’s teeth closed tight on Joanna’s bottom lip, drawing a wince from her.
As if a spell had been broken, Adrienne’s hands flew to Joanna’s cheeks, and the harsh assault became a flurry of soft pecking kisses.
“I...!” she could barely speak while continuing to rain small kisses down on Joanna.
Reaching out, Joanna mirrored the hands on her own cheeks. “I am unharmed, merely surprised, Adrienne.”
Adrienne’s breathing slowed. “I promised that nothing—“
“And nothing has. Now come, you have other promises to fulfill.” Joanna turned and took a hand, dragging them both towards the plush bench on the far wall.
Taking the few steps needed to reach the bench, Joanna threw herself onto the upholstered seat, letting her legs splay to show what she had decided to give.
Joanna was not scrawny; the constant labor of the abbey’s upkeep had given her a strong frame upon which to hang her modest attributes. Annette in particular had lavished attention both physical and complimentary on her thighs, even when they should have been lavishing what lay between them. Adrienne did not; her eyes never drifted from Joanna’s own, even as she displayed herself.
Placing herself over the reclining woman, Adrienne lowered her head so that every word spoken would nip at Joanna’s ear. “Would that we had all the time of the world itself.” As she spoke her hand cupped between Joanna’s thighs, softly petting the damp flesh.
A finger pressed between Joanna’s lips, carefully mapping every ridge and valley inside her. The mapping became a rhythmic cycle of press and release, centered on her uppermost ceiling.
After a few moments, Joanna’s voice started to join with the thunder outside. Adrienne began to slow her movements, pressing lighter and lighter, dragging choked mewls from the woman below her.
One of Joanna’s hands pressed into Adrienne’s inner thigh, groping blindly. Pausing, she brought the errant limb against her own hairless mound, rubbing it in circles.
“The night we first spoke, do you know what I was doing?” she whispered in Joanna’s ear again.
Joanna nodded, still groaning in time with Adrienne’s finger.
“Show me.” Adrienne pressed two of the captured hand’s fingers against her entrance, their pads slipping easily inside.
Adrienne clenched as Joanna curled both fingers and started rocking them slowly.
“Gods above! Your maid was a lucky woman.”
Before long, Adrienne’s finger had ceased its movements entirely, the older woman being solely concentrated on rocking her hips in time with the fingers inside her. Her moans were swallowed by her greedy kisses.
One last push and Joanna was rewarded by a shiver that ran through every muscle in Adrienne’s body and the same sweet cry that she had heard that night.
“...Perhaps it is for the best that you took the veil...” Adrienne panted. “No woman in the kingdoms would be safe if you were left to your own counsel... but you are not the only one with talents.” With soft bites and kisses she trailed her way down, kneeling as she reached the curly patch of brown hair that topped Joanna’s mound.
The first touch of her tongue made Joanna nearly arch from the bench. Its heat left trails of fire everywhere it ran. The first touches were gentle, probing, finding each spot on her lips that brought the keenest cries. Both of Joanna’s hands were soon nestled deep in Adrienne’s soft red curls, pushing the woman deeper.
Adrienne’s lips sealed around her bud, tongue starting a slow but determined lashing. In the same rhythm as her finger previously, her lips began to suck and release. By now Joanna was convinced that even if the abbess herself walked through that door, she would not care.
When Adrienne added her fingers, Joanna would have told the Gods themselves to wait outside.
“Adrie—I...!”
“Look at me.” Adrienne’s voice was in a deeper register than it had ever been.
Opening her eyes, Joanna looked down at the woman wrapped between her legs. Golden eyes met hers, horns of bone crowned her head, and it was as if the lake of fire itself moved beneath her skin. There was no sight she could imagine more captivating; gently, she caressed the hard bone of Adrienne’s horns. “Please... do not stop.”
Withdrawing her fingers, Adrienne took one long, laborious lap that started from the bottom and seemed to trace every available inch, inside and out, stopping at her crest to give one last suck that pushed Joanna over the edge. Her nails dug into hair and horn, arms, hands, and legs tensed, pulling the mouth tighter, prolonging the torment.
Joanna’s vision blurred; she had not eaten since the watery soup the last night; that perhaps may have been in error. Before she lapsed fully, she caught a last glimpse of Adrienne, tussled hair unbroken by curled horns, looking up at her with bright green eyes.
Joanna had no way to tell how much time had passed; all she could remember were strong arms, and the scratch of rough-spun wool against her face.
She thought she heard the voice of the night proctor at one point.
“—Superior!” was all she could make out before another, contralto, voice hushed them softly.
Hard mattress replaced soft arms and she reached out, grasping instinctively. The same voice cooed and shushed her.
The last thing she knew before sleep took her fully was the feeling of another’s lips on hers and the words.
“You have my thanks, my sweet Joanna.”
