Don't get soft, now, she told herself. He's a savage. Get out of here now. Run!
She pushed the door open an inch at a time, almost crying at the growling of the hinges. When she got it open just enough so she could slip through, she did so, then stood on the cold stone of the corridor debating whether to lock him in. She decided against it. She'd been overly lucky so far in not waking him up. Why chance it now that she'd gotten out of the cell? Stealing a last glance at her brother – knowing that she would hopefully never see him again – she tiptoed to the end of the corridor and turned up the stone steps from which she and Ronny had descended.
The steps were a kind of back entrance to the cellblock. She paused at the head of them, peering into the office where she and Sister Francine had been abducted and stripped.
Poor Sister Francine! She wondered how the mother superior was faring. Was the poor woman even still alive? Sister Bernice felt an even greater need to escape now. She would not only be saving her own skin by getting away, but she would be saving Sister Francine and all the other nuns as well. She had to get out, had to get help.
As she tiptoed quickly through the vacant office, she heard horrid sounds coming from elsewhere in the prison. Whoops and shouts, bellows of animal lust, screams of pain. The sounds of hell. The poor sisters were being tortured and abused in ways that couldn't even be imagined.
She ran down the dim hallway toward the big oak door that had admitted her to this house of hell. To her shock of relief, it was still unlocked. In Sister Francine's hurry to find out what was going on, she'd apparently forgotten to lock it when they'd entered. Sister Bernice vaguely remembered that she, herself, had closed the door.
Outside, the night had become even more terrifying. Lightning flickered, a slick blue all around her, giving Sister Bernice fleeting glimpses of the eerily overgrown forest surrounding the prison grounds, of the wide expanse of unattended lawn between the prison and the front gate. She shivered in the wind whipped rain, regretting that she hadn't looked for some sort of clothing before she'd run from the prison. The thunder rumble incessantly, like a prowling giant seeking her out. She noticed the tight in the gatehouse far down at the end of the drive, and she remembered the young nun who had opened the gate.
Could it be that the good sister down there was yet unaware of what had happened up here in the prison? Could it be that there was a phone down in the gatehouse, a phone to call for help?
Without hesitation, she sprinted down the asphalt drive, her tits flopping violently, rainwater streaming down her naked body. As she ran, she began to warm up. She was nearly to the gatehouse when she saw that the gate was wide open, still unclosed. What should she do, stop at the gatehouse or sprint right past it and down the black road outside?
Her question was answered for her. Suddenly a figure stepped out of the gatehouse and moved quickly to shut the gate. In a flicker of lightning, she saw that the figure wore a nun's habit and veil. She felt a surge of [missing text].
"Sister," she called. "Oh, Sister, thank God!"
The nun spun around just in time to catch Sister Bernice as she nearly collapsed, her heart pounding frantically, her lungs and throat raw from her sprint.
"Oh, Sister, we must get help! It's terrible, ghastly!" Sister Bernice stumbled toward the gatehouse, gasping for breath as the nun supported her.
"Now, now, Sister," whispered the nun. "Take it easy. Everything will be all right."
But the moment Sister Bernice looked through the open door of the gatehouse, she knew that everything wasn't going to be all right. The scene she glimpsed nearly caused her to faint.
A young woman lay on her back on the floor of the gatehouse, her arms and legs spread out as if shackled by invisible bonds. A slimy whitish and reddish fluid was pooled between the woman's battered thighs, and her tits were spotted with dozens of black and blue marks. The woman's face was smeared with a brownish paste, and her slack mouth was filled with more of the brownish substance. The smell of shit and piss in the gatehouse made Sister Bernice gag. Without thinking, she whirled around and bolted past the figure in the nun's habit, knocking the figure to its knees in the process.
"Goddamn you, bitch!" the figure yelled, and suddenly he was up and charging after her. He caught her as she was frantically trying to climb the rusty hon gate, and, he flung her down in the long grass beside the drive.
She writhed on her belly, shedding tears of anger and fear and hopelessness. The grass was miserably wet and itchy. She was freezing, the rain pouring down on her. The vicious teen in nun's clothing stood between her legs, digging his bare toes into her crotch, tearing at her pussymeat with his sharp, horny toenails.
"Juicy bitch," he muttered. "Sexy bitch ass!" He fell on her then, lifting his skirts and driving his red-hot cock between her legs. His cock slipped inside her jism-lubricated cunt as it sucked in magnetically.
Sister Bernice blubbered, squirming as his red-hot prick knifed in and out of her. She wanted to die, couldn't bear anymore of this abuse. Was she nothing more than a fuck machine, a sex-doll, a depository for the white slime that spurted from this male fuck-tool?
"Yeahhh!" the teen groaned as if in answer. "Yeah, yeah, yeah?" He fucked at her rapidly, his hard belly whacking her naked ass.
The sensation was weird. The teen was dressed in a nun's habit with only the skirt raised. She could feel only his belly and thighs naked against her. Up above she felt only his habit, and his veil fell over her cheeks like a blanket.
"Uh, uh, uh!" he grunted, humping her, grinding out her pussy. "Fuck, oh, fuck!" He chewed into the back of her neck, and Sister Bernice gasped, her left shoulder needled with goosebumps. As he continued to fuck her, her pussy began to respond, filling with heat, with tension, beginning to undulate and squeeze.
"I can't help it," she whimpered. "Oh, God, I can't help it!" She wiggled her ass, turning it up high, begging for more.
"Hot bitch baby!" the teen growled. "I'm gonna fuck you all night. Ahhhh, uhhh!"
She heard excited voices over the rumble of the thunder and the hiss of the rain, and the voices increased in loudness until she could hear them plainly. She looked up and saw at least a half-dozen dark figures charging toward her, their white bodies glowing an ungodly shade with each lightning flash. And she could make out their rampant cocks, too – their ever-hard, ever-lusting cocks – cocks that wagged and snapped like billy clubs as they ran, cocks that all looked like gigantic tusks growing out of their skinny adolescent loins.
"He got her! Roscoe got bet!"
"Oh, fuck, good!" shouted Ronny, charging to the front of the naked group.
Roscoe paid them no attention, fucking away as if he hadn't fucked in ten years.
The teens grouped around like a pack of excited coyotes, all of them tugging on their rampant pricks as they watched Roscoe fuck.
"What're you fucking?" Ronny asked.
"Bitch," Roscoe muttered. "Hot bitch."
"I mean ass or cunt. Which one?"
"Pussy."
Ronny stroked Sister Bernice's lips with his big toe. "Good. Her ass is mine." He rammed his toe in her mouth and made her suck it. "Lick 'em all off."
Sister Bernice sucked on each of his toes in turn, then choked as he stuffed all the toes of his right foot into her mouth. His toenails cut her lips, gouged the inside of her mouth and her tongue.
"Hold off a second, Roscoe," Ronny said. "Get underneath her. Let me have her ass."
"Fuck that," Roscoe muttered. "This is my favorite way of doing it."
"You've had her enough like that, ya fucking hog. Now roll off and get underneath her before I shove my fist up your ass!"
"Jesus Christ, all right!" Roscoe yanked his cock out of her and rolled off her to lay on his back. "Fucking wet grass!"