MSL-04 In The Monk's Cell


FOREWORD

The following remarkable manuscript was one of a number found in the ruins of an 
abandoned monastery in central Europe. Apparently, the collection was due to be shipped to 
the Vatican for inclusion in the famous Index Prohibitorum, the library of erotic literature 
maintained by the Catholic Church. But before the books could be sent, an invading army 
sacked the monastery and dispersed the monks. The manuscripts, hidden in a secret 
subterranean chamber, miraculously escaped.

The collection is remarkable in that it deals exclusively with tales of carnal depravity 
among members of various religious orders. Perhaps never before has a lay audience been 
exposed to such depictions of sexual escapades among those sworn to uphold the law of 
God. These books are certainly destined to become classics in the field of erotic literature.

The editors, in bringing these books to the public, does not mean to cast aspersions on 
the purity of those in the service of religion. Indeed, most of these books point out the 
aberrant nature of the conduct of the religious persons involved. It is hoped that the reader 
will rather be led to a greater understanding of the all too human passions and drives that lie 
under the clerical collar and the monk's robe.


CHAPTER ONE

Aye, they say I'm mad. The Grand Inquisitor and his assistants say so. The members of my 
Brotherhood, those sworn to protect me say so. Even the humble gaoler who brings me my 
rotten gruel says I must be mad to talk so like a heretic when I'm in the arms of the 
Inquisition.

If all these personages attest to my madness, how may it not be so?

I've been in this stinking cell for over three months now, ever since my confession. Slowly I 
have regained the use of my left foot, twisted and broken by the boot. My thumb, misshapen 
by the application of the screw. But I am determined to set down the truth of my life in the 
Brotherhood. My gaoler has seen fit to give me parchment, ink and quill, even though I am 
forbidden them. He is a good man, and no friend to the Inquisition. I must rely on his promise 
to take this manuscript when it is finished and see that it is not destroyed after my execution.

Yes, I am to die for the sins of which you are about to learn. The word came yesterday that 
the Inquisitor has decided upon my fate. All that remains is for him to decide the manner of 
my departure from this life. It is this sure knowledge of my impending doom which impels me 
to set down this record, despite the pain of my thumb which makes it so difficult to write. I 
know not to whom the gaoler will give this, but, whoever you may be, I pray you see that this 
story gets into the hands of someone who can take it to the Holy Father at Rome. As my dying
act I charge you thus, that the infamous Brotherhood which has spumed me to preserve its 
diseased existence will be crushed by the might of Holy Mother Church. The Inquisitor here is 
in league with the Brotherhood, of this I am certain. But I must not waste my energies in 
pointless diatribe. Let the truth of the story of my life speak for itself, though it utter the 
unspeakable.

My baptized name is Juan Ortega. I come of Spanish Gypsy stock, and was born in the 
small village of Rosario, in the fief of the Duke of Alba in the year of our Lord 1606. My father 
had given up the wandering ways of our people, and made an honest, if meager, living as the 
village cobbler.

Ah, now, as I look back on the happy days of my youth, I shirk before the memory of the 
base acts which have defiled my birthright.

Until the age of twelve, I lived the normal life of a boy of my station. I was apprenticed to 
my father, and looked forward to nothing more out of life than to someday inherit his modest
shop. It was a satisfying, if unexciting life. I worked each day from dawn until dusk, repairing 
the footwear of all the inhabitants of the region, lord and peasant alike. In the evenings, I liked
to go down to the brook which flowed through the fields at the outskirts of the village. There I
would meet Rosa, a girl two years my senior, who had been my primary playmate all through 
my childhood.

Rosa! Although I could claim that it is indirectly her fault that I sit in the gloom of this 
damp prison cell, awaiting the arrival of my executioners, I could never feel any animosity for 
her. To me she will always be the most perfect of God's creatures. At the age of twelve I was an
exceedingly well-formed boy, standing five-foot-seven in height, a good inch taller than my 
father. I was strong, and full of passion. But, as yet I had never tasted the fruits of physical 
love. This was scarcely unusual in the area. A girl's virginity was her sole credential for 
marriage, and zealously guarded.

And yet, no one had yet objected to my close friendship with Rosa. Perhaps her family 
thought me still a child. Perhaps it was only that we had been so close for so long that we 
seemed to belong with one another.

Rosa, at fourteen, was already a fine figure of a woman. No matter how often she altered 
them, her mother could never quite seem to give her blouses which would not emphasize the 
fullness of her lush breasts. As she skipped across the stream on the rocks, holding her skirts 
up to keep them from getting wet, she would expose calves and thighs of unsurpassed shape 
and loveliness.

In any event, the occurrence which began me on the road to damnation came about on a 
lazy summer evening. My father had generously excused me from work for the afternoon, and
I had immediately sought out Rosa, proposing an innocent walk in the nearby hills. I 
absconded with a bottle of my father's home-made wine, and Rosa brought along some 
bread and cheese. Armed with this light repast, we strolled from the village.

We had only walked a half an hour when, had we turned, the village would have been 
invisible behind the hills over which we had clambered. The late afternoon sun was soothing 
in the extreme as we sat at the side of a rippling brook and began to eat and drink.

I am well acquainted now with the effects of mixed wine and sunlight. But then, as we 
became ever more light-hearted, giggling and joking, it seemed to me that time had come to 
a halt at that time, in that enchanted place. We had removed our shoes, and were dangling 
our bare feet in the cool water of the brook, totally content, having finished the bread and 
cheese, and consumed the greater part of the wine.

Rosa was tipping the nearly-empty bottle to her throat. I begged her to please leave me 
the dregs. She turned to me with a twinkle in her black eyes.

"You'll have to catch me for it, Juan," she cried, and leapt to her feet. She ran, bottle in 
hand, across the meadow in which we were sitting, a small valley between two low hills.

I have often thought of that moment, when I sat, too surprised to give immediate pursuit. I
think it was then, as I watched the rise and fall of her shapely limbs, the skirt raised and 
pressed to her thighs, that I felt the first awakening of manly lust in my loins.

She was at least fifty yards away by the time I roused myself sufficient to jump to my feet 
and take off after her. She was a fast runner, almost as fast as I, and we had almost completely
traversed the meadow before I caught her. I made a flying leap, my arms outstretched, and 
grabbed her around the waist. She fell to the ground, and I sprawled atop her. As we fell, her 
skirt rose and bunched around her waist, although I was not immediately aware of the fact.

We were panting and laughing. I had her pinned to the ground under the weight of my 
body. My head was pressed to the middle of her back. The wine bottle lay a few yards from us,
the last few drops spilling into the grass.

As I recovered my breath, I became aware of the twin soft hillocks beneath my hips. I was 
straddling her, my groin pressed to her buttocks.

I had never actually thought of Rosa as a young woman before. We had been playing the 
rough and tumble games of childhood for years. But now, as my hands crept, with life of their 
own, down along her flanks, I could feel the flow of blood to my virgin member.

To this day I don't know if Rosa knew what was going to happen. Having been raised in a 
farm village, neither of us were strangers to the mechanical aspects of reproduction. We had 
often seen cattle, horses, and dogs rutting, and had thought the procedure comical in the 
extreme. But now, as my fingers encountered the bare flesh of her buttocks, I understood that 
there is something sacred about the body. I longed to possess her. I vowed to possess her.

My fingers remained on the olive mounds of her buttocks as I rolled from her body. Now I 
feasted my eyes on what my hands had only just then felt for the first time. Her cheeks were 
plump, but firm to the touch. I could see a light covering of downy hair on them, so fine that I 
could not discern it by my touch.

What had started as a child's curious touch rapidly turned into a lover's caress. Rosa 
remained strangely still as I made free with her lovely behind. She made no move to pull her 
skirt back down over herself. I ran one finger into the delicate valley that separated her 
cheeks. She quivered as for the first time my fingertip brushed against the sensitive node of a 
woman's rear passage. I moved further down, watching my hand, feeling my finger move into 
the heat between her thighs. I felt what seemed to be a pair of lips, thick and moist. My 
engorged member was painfully throbbing in my trousers as I withdrew my hand, grabbed 
Rosa by the shoulder, and turned her over on her back.

I looked up at her face first. Her long, jet-black hair spread out from her head in wild 
disarray on the grass. Her eyes were closed, and her face bore an expression of worshipful 
wonder that was a glory to behold. I intuitively knew that she was mine to do with as I wished.

Now my eyes roved down the length of her body. I have already noted the fact that her 
bodice was always hard-pressed to contain the abundance of womanhood with which nature 
had seen fit to endow my young playmate. Now I saw that the violence of our fall had broken 
the strings which held the front of her blouse together. Her breasts, twin peaks of creamy flesh
capped by glorious nipples of the deepest brown hue, were fully exposed to my inflamed 
gaze. I postponed my inspection of her nether quarters and concentrated on her chest, 
moving my body up so that my face was only inches from the swelling mound of her left teat. 
I could see the delicate web of veins running through the soft flesh. Both breasts rose and fell 
in time to her labored breathing.

Under my gaze, the nipples began to swell and stiffen until they pointed at the sky like the 
tips of pikemen's lances.

I felt as though I was in the presence of the Almighty as I reached out one trembling hand 
and cupped the teat nearest to me. The stiff nipple seemed to bum into my palm as I 
squeezed the delightfully soft flesh. I lifted myself up on one elbow. Keeping my hand on her 
breast, thrilling at the touch of her, I let my eyes wander down the length of her body. To my 
chagrin, the skirt bunched at her waist obscured any view I might have had of her exposed 
loins. With an impatient grunt, I reached down, letting go of her breast, and pulled at the 
fastening of the garment. It came apart easily, and I pulled it from her. Then I placed my hand 
firmly on her breast again and looked down over the gentle rise of her belly.

I could see a patch of silky, black hair at the juncture of her thighs. I knew that this thatch 
must conceal the quivering lips I had felt while exploring her backside.

"Juan... " There was a strange undertone in her voice that I had never before detected. I 
raised my eyes from her nether hair and met her wanting gaze.

"Juan, can I see you?"

Well, of course, by that point it would have taken an Act of God to keep me from showing 
myself to her. I rose from the ground, conscious of the impressive bulge in my ragged 
trousers. In a trice I had them completely off. I heard Rosa gasp in surprise as my rigid 
manhood jutted out from my loins. She rose up on one palm and reached out her hand.

How to describe that first exquisite touch of a woman's hand to my organ? It was as 
though one of the Almighty's angels had descended from heaven and touched me with a 
beam of sacred light. My body was alive with tingling sensations I had never felt before.

Curiously, like the child she was, Rose moved her fingers up and down the throbbing shaft 
of my member. She squeezed the soft head, and I moaned in delight.

Then her fingers moved down underneath, and cupped the hanging sack below. My knees
seemed to buckle under me, and I fell to the earth beside her. She pushed me away at first, 
then sat up and removed her blouse completely. She then stretched out before me as God 
had made her, radiant in her exposed beauty.

I put one hand at the juncture of her thighs. With a low moan, she opened herself to me. I 
gazed for the first time at the entrance to paradise. I had difficulty breathing as I stared at the 
pouting lips my inquisitive finger had felt so recently. They glistened, covered with the 
moisture of love, as I reached out one finger and ran it down that divine furrow. Rosa sighed 
and moved her hips under my caress. She seemed to be guiding me to that spot which was 
the center of her pleasure. She seemed to want me to concentrate on one particular spot. I 
leaned close and saw a rosy nub protruding from the cleft that marked the beginning of the 
furrow. In later years, I was privileged to see the fine anatomical drawings of Leonardo, and so 
now know that it was her clitoris, the seat of a woman's feelings, to which she was directing 
me. But then, I had no idea of the significance of that pulsing button. I only knew that each 
time I touched it, Rosa would sigh and squirm about in delight.

As I lightly caressed the seat of her womanhood, Rosa was stroking my painfully aroused 
member. She had closed her fingers about it by then, and was slowly jerking her hand up and 
down. I looked up and saw a look of childish delight on her face as she pushed the foreskin 
back over the head and saw the slit from which my seed would soon be spitting.

Although I had never been in this situation before, I had lately been troubled by nocturnal 
emissions from my organ. I knew from the burning in my shaft that I would soon deliver 
myself of my bodily fluids. I wanted desperately to do so within the confines of Rosa's 
heavenly cavity.

She moaned as I pulled myself to my knees. My organ was jerked from her hand as I 
stopped my gentle caresses. Then I knelt between her outstretched thighs. I was struck with 
awe as I gazed at the transcendent beauty of her body as she lay open before me.

I still quiver with excitement as I recall that first time that the head of my raging pestle 
brushed against the petals of womanhood. Rosa, too, shuddered at the meeting of our flesh. 
Then she screamed, the sound echoing through the hillsides, as I lunged forward. With one 
mighty thrust I burst through that barrier which is normally a husband's due. I ignored her 
scream of pain, concentrating rather on the indescribable ecstasy that spread from my loins to
the rest of my body as I felt my mighty engine completely encased in the silky warmth of her 
cunt.

My hands moved of their own volition, pushing under her ample buttocks, pressing her 
body close to mine. The hair surrounding my tool mingled with that which protected her 
precious gash. I remember moaning as I began to drive my pulsing bauble in and out of her, 
oblivious to her whimpers of pain.

But those whimpers soon turned to sighs of pleasure as the initial sharp pain faded into a 
dull ache which was soon superseded by the first waves of pleasure, washing over her body. 
She began to buck her hips up against mine, straining to meet me with each thrust, to bury as 
much of my pecker in her as possible. I could see the sheen of sweat on her quivering breasts 
as I supported my body weight on my palms above her. She was tossing her head from side to
side, her eyes closed tight, moaning lowly through clenched teeth.

Of all the thousands of women whose tender parts I have parted, Rosa remains the one 
whose memory is always with me. I suppose it is always so with the first, but I like to think of 
Rosa as something special. She had given me, of her own free will, that precious virginity 
which is virtually a woman's only true possession among our people. I shall never forget her 
generosity.

I was drifting in a new world, a far better one than the one I had inhabited before. I drove 
my tool rhythmically in and out of her. She raised her legs and locked them around my waist. I
could feel the balls of her feet pressing into my buttocks, urging me on as one does a raging 
stallion.

And a raging stallion I certainly was. I could hear the liquid sound each time I drove myself
into her and our loins made divine contact. My balls struck against the back of her thighs, 
making a slapping sound of flesh on flesh with each new union.

Then I felt it on me. There was a churning in my swinging sack such as I had never felt 
before. Then it seemed as though a lightning bolt had passed up the length of my surging 
shaft. It was followed by another spasm of pleasure, even more intense. Then I was completely
convulsed with ecstatic pleasure as I shot great spurts of hot seed into the recesses of her 
writhing body. I think I cried out at that first moment of heaven-sent bliss. But, if I did, it was 
drowned out by the shriek of animal passion that Rosa emitted as I ran my tool in and out of 
her with incredible speed and ferocity.

As my passion ebbed, the speed of my thrusts slowed. Finally, I stopped altogether and 
collapsed, exhausted and sweating, cradling my head against one of her fleshy mounds, 
feeling the hot, swollen nipple against my ear.

My member was still buried deeply within her. I felt a delightful sensation as she 
contracted the muscles which line the womanly passage, compressing my softening tool, 
pumping from it its last drops of hot semen.

Finally, my tool slipped from its warm nest and flopped wetly against the thighs of the 
creature beneath me. I realized that we had gone through the entire procedure without once 
kissing. I turned my head, and first bestowed a tender kiss upon the still-rigid nipple upon 
which I had been resting. Then I raised my head and looked deeply into her eyes. She seemed 
to be staring sightlessly at the sky. Tears flowed from her eyes, streaking her rosy cheeks. But 
they were tears of joy, as she told me later. At that moment, I thought she might be crying 
from the pain, or from the shame of having given up her maidenhead so easily. I lowered my 
head and kissed the tears away. Then I pressed my lips to hers. Her mouth was hanging slackly
open, and I instinctively thrust my tongue into it. She responded in kind, and for the first time 
I tasted the ambrosia of a woman's saliva.

I could feel her nipples still pressing hotly into my chest. We held out kiss for what seemed
like an eternity. As I lost myself in the heat of the body under me, I could feel blood surging 
anew through my loins, causing my rod to twitch, then slowly stiffen. By the time I broke our 
buss, I was in the same excited condition as shortly before. I stood over her then, the fading 
sun casting the shadow of my mighty member over her. She looked up in surprise.

"How can you make it so stiff again so soon?"

I made no answer, but knelt beside her and began to run my hands all over her body. 
Perhaps it was then that the devil first possessed me. I felt absolutely no shame at the carnal 
abuse I had just committed. All I wanted was to once more taste of the fruits of her delightful 
body.

And, in truth, I saw no great reluctance in her eyes to repeat the performance. She smiled 
up at me as I made free with her, stroking her heaving teats, pressing the nipples between my 
fingers, trailing them over her downy belly, tangling them in the silky hair that overhung her 
nether lips.

"Juan," she whispered in a low tone, "I'm so sore there. I don't think I could bear to have 
you inside me again."

I was stunned. She was obviously aroused. Even as she spoke, her hips were wriggling 
about on the grass suggestively.

"What do you propose I do, then?" I asked angrily.

"Well... I saw my parents once... They were... They were doing it with their mouths."

She averted her eyes from mine as she made the disgusting suggestion. I was completely 
taken aback. Never had I heard of such perversion. Now, after my many years of experience, I 
know that such things are far more common than the Holy Father and the Church would have 
us believe. But then, to a simple peasant boy, a cobbler's apprentice, the thought of putting 
my mouth between a woman's legs was enough to turn my stomach.

As I knelt beside her, though, I began to consider her suggestion. After all, she had given 
me the greatest gift it is in the power of a woman to bestow on a man. Wouldn't I be acting 
churlishly if I resisted this one request of hers? Certainly, there was nothing visually repugnant 
about her private parts. Indeed, I had enjoyed a careful examination of them only moments 
before, and found them quite lovely.

I lowered my head until my mouth was only an inch or so above her patch of black hair. 
There were streaks of drying blood on the insides of her thighs, mute evidence of her burst 
maidenhead. For the first time I inhaled the musky aroma of a woman's private place. It was 
intoxicating, far more so than the wine we had imbibed. Steeling myself, I lowered my head 
between her outstretched thighs and put my mouth's lips to those of her quivering 
womanhood.

To my surprise, the flavor was far from unpleasant, but rich and tasty. Instinctively, I darted 
out my tongue and ran that pliant tendril fully between her lips. I could taste the saltiness of 
her blood mixed with the musky exudations of the second pair of lips which I now 
encountered. I had not know of the existence of this second set of womanly labia. They were 
silky soft, and moist as I ran my tongue over them. Then, as I licked upward, I encountered a 
fleshy pole. I suddenly realized that it was the tip of this throbbing shaft that I had been 
caressing earlier.

Rosa was writhing her hips about under the caress of my lips. I moaned into the fastness of
her interior as I felt her hand encircle my painfully swollen member. Then she was pulling at it. 
I moved my hips over. My body lay right beside hers. I gasped in wonder as I felt her warm, 
full lips close about the bulbous head of my pestle. She had taken me inside her mouth even 
as I was caressing her gash with my own!

Oh, the wonder of that moment as, for the first time, a woman's ruby lips closed about the
rigid shaft of my manly member! Just as, moments before, I had thrilled to the new sensation 
of burying myself in the sweet softness of a woman's body, so now did I feel myself brought 
close to paradise by the caress of Rosa's tongue to my engorged manhood. In response to her
gentle sucking, I lapped my tongue about in her silky interior, running it slowly up and down 
against the throbbing shaft of her clitoris. She moaned at the ministrations of my tongue, and 
the vibration that swept up my surging shaft and spread throughout my body was a new 
marvel, to be catalogued with all the other ecstatic new sensations of the day.

I moved my body, rising to my knees. Rosa kept a tight grip around the head of my organ 
with her lips as I threw one leg over her head and lowered myself so that the head of my 
pecker pressed against the back of her throat. Not for a moment did I cease my enthusiastic 
tonguing of her womanly slit. Indeed, as the force of her suction increased, so did the rapidity 
with which my tongue swept up and down, in and around. My head was thrown about as her 
hips writhed madly on the grass beneath her. I pressed my hands under her body and felt 
once more the firm globes of her rear, digging my fingers into the cheeks, pushing her cunt 
even closer to me, my lips glued to hers in our sinful position.

I could feel my balls slapping against her chin as I moved my body up and down in time to
the lapping of her tongue around the shaft. The rhythm of my own tongue in her womanhood
was also dictated by the speed of her loving tongue. I could feel the cool breeze of the 
approaching evening brushing over my rapidly moving buttocks as I approached my second 
climax of the day.

The lapping of Rosa's tongue on my raging shaft was driving my wild. I could feel the 
churning in my balls which presaged ejaculation, and redoubled my lapping at her divine slit 
even as my buttocks rose and fell with ever increasing ferocity. The feel of her moist lips as my
rod passed through them was exquisite. I groaned into the fastness of her cavern as I felt the 
first pulsating spasms of ecstasy pass through my rod. Then I was shooting great quantities of 
seed into the depths of her throat, spurting madly, groaning uncontrollably into her.

She, too, was in the grips of her climax. Her hips rose and fell from the ground as my 
tongue passed over her pulsing clitoris. I could feel the muscles of her vagina expanding and 
contracting around my tongue as she struggled to swallow every last drop of my man-juice 
while in the throes of her own orgasm.

We both drifted for a while in the euphoria which is the aftermath of every totally 
satisfactory sexual encounter. I felt the passion fade' from my shaft. It softened, then slipped 
from between her pursed lips to slap wetly against her cheek. With a sigh of contentment, I 
rolled from her body and lay on the ground next to her, gazing up at the darkening sky.

I know not how long we lay there, unmoving, recovering our breath. I fancied I could feel 
the heat of her body as she lay next to me, forcing air through her nostrils. I could see the first
glimmering of the stars as the sun set in the west. I remember thinking that we would have to 
go back home soon, return to the banal life of the village. But we had added a new dimension
to our lives. We would steal away like this at every available opportunity, feasting on each 
other's bodies, temporarily lifting ourselves from out mundane peasants' existence.

Oh, that it had turned out so! As I prepared myself for the return to the village, I thought I 
could hear the rustling, of feet tramping through the grass above my head. Before I could turn
to look, I heard a gale of masculine laughter. I jumped to my feet and saw four men in brown 
robes. On the chest of each was emblazoned a crimson cross of peculiar design. This was my 
first sight of the garb which I was later to wear as a member of the Cthol Brotherhood.

"Well, Brother Carlos," said one of the monks, "it seems that we have chanced upon a pair 
of young sinners in need of salvation."

I was terrified. I assumed that these men were members of a Holy Order of the Mother 
Church. The thought that the debauchery I had just committed with Rosa would soon be 
known to our parish priest was frightening indeed. As the son of a gypsy cobbler, I knew that 
Rosa's family would never consider allowing me to marry my beloved. Most probably, they 
would send her to a cloistered nunnery and I would never see her again. As for myself, I would
be accused of rape, since it would be held inconceivable that she had given herself to me 
willingly. I cowered in my guilt and nakedness before these sinister cowled figures.

As for Rosa, she shrieked in fear and shock at the sight of them, and gathered together her
clothing, clutching it to her in an attempt to hide her bare beauty. One of the monks walked 
over to her and grabbed the garments from her. She stared up at him in shame and terror. I 
could see a trickle of viscous fluid at the corner of her mouth, mute testimony to the heinous 
act against nature in which we had so recently indulged.

The monks stared down at us without speaking for a while. The one who had ripped Rosa's
clothing from her leered down at her. Only his lower face was distinguishable under his cowl; 
his eyes were hooded, hidden from us.

"Surely we can't blame the boy, eh, Brother Ramon," he said lightly. "This one would be a 
temptation for a saint!"

"Aye, there's no mistake there, Brother Carlos," replied the one addressed. He stepped 
forward and, before my horrified eyes, reached down and ran his hands familiarly over my 
beloved's swelling breasts!

I screamed in anger, and rushed at the man. As I did so, one of his companions came up 
behind me and struck me hard on the back of the head.

"Bring them," I heard. Then I lapsed into unconsciousness.





CHAPTER TWO


I awoke to the aide jostling of the wagon bed in which I was lying. I could see nothing; it was 
full night, and no light shimmered in from the tail of the covered cart in which I was being 
transported. I was disoriented for a moment. Then the full memory of the afternoon's events 
came flooding back over me. My organ twitched at the memory of my first intimate contact 
with a woman. Then I remembered the way we had been discovered by the curiously-robed 
monks. Both Rosa and I had been kidnapped. Where was she? I tried to move, and discovered 
that I was bound hand and foot, had been tossed into the back of this wagon like a bag of 
wheat.

As I struggled against my bonds, I heard a high-pitched whimpering across the wagon bed
from me.

"Rosa?" I said.

"Oh, Juan," came the reply in the dulcet tones of my sweet Rosa. "Where are we? Where 
are they taking us? I've been lying here, waiting for you to wake up. For a while I was afraid 
they had killed you."

I wriggled my body over, feeling the rough wood beneath me against my bare buttocks. I 
was still naked. As my hips touched those of my beloved, I discovered that our captors had 
not allowed her to dress either. We whispered together. I learned that she was also bound. 
After knocking me unconscious, the monks had tied the both of us and carried us over the hill
to where their small wagon caravan was waiting.

Apparently, the monks, there were twenty of them, had been travelling through the hills 
on their way to the Mediterranean sea coast, and had stopped to get water at the fresh brook 
that ran through the meadow where Rosa and I had committed our grievous sins. They had 
not spoken to Rosa, and had refused to answer any of her questions as they loaded us into a 
wagon and trundled off into the gloom of twilight.

According to Rosa, we had been on the move for several hours. Our village was not very 
far from the sea. If her estimation of the time was correct, we should be near the coast, and 
near to an answer to all our questions.

Even as I reached this conclusion, the wagon lurched to a halt. I strained my ears to hear 
anything that might be going on. I thought I could hear the sound of many men chanting in 
an unknown tongue. But it sounded far away, and I could make nothing out of it.

We did not have long to wait in the warm bed of the wagon. I heard the familiar sounds of
horses being unharnessed, and the mumble of masculine voices. Then the back of the wagon 
was flooded with light as two of our cowled captors looked in on us.

"What a fetching sight, eh, Brother Carlos," said one, whose voice I recognized as that of 
the man who had fondled Rosa's breasts in the clearing.

"Yes, indeed, Brother Ramon." The second monk turned and spoke to someone we could 
not see. Immediately, four more monks climbed into the back of the wagon and lifted us up. 
We were lowered to the ground behind the wagon The monks clambered down and hoisted 
us up again, carrying us toward a stone building perhaps fifty yards from where we had 
stopped.

I did not struggle, knowing that my bonds were secure, and that the freedom of my limbs 
would only invite another stultifying blow. We were carried inside the building, and down a 
long corridor. It was cool inside the stone walls, and damp. Torches were set regularly on the 
walls. The flickering light they cast, combined with the sinister robed figures who carried us, 
gave the scene an eeriness which added to my already full-blown terror.

Brothers Ramon and Carlos had followed us down the hall. All six monks stopped in front 
of a large oak door. Brother Carlos, his massive size accented by his brown robe and cowl, 
produced a key and unlocked the portal. We were carried into a large stone cell. Nonchalantly,
the monks who were carrying us put us down on our stomachs. Then one of them cut our 
bonds. I immediately leapt to my feet, oblivious to my nudity, and confronted the six monks.

"Who are you?" I demanded. "Why have you brought us here?"

Brother Carlos stepped forward. His eyes blazed at me from under his cowl.

"We are consecrated members of the Brotherhood of Cthol," he said. "As to the purpose 
for which we brought you here, you will have to wait for an interview with our Abbot before 
you understand that."

Without any further words, the six brown-robed figures turned as one and left the cell, 
slamming and locking the door behind them.

There was a burning torch on the wall, but it was set a good fifteen feet from the floor. 
There was no way to reach it. I looked around at our prison. Two rude mattresses, really just 
piles of pine needles with blankets thrown over them, were the only furnishings of the 
chamber. In the corner was a wooden bucket, which was evidently to serve as the receptacle 
for our wastes.

I stared helplessly at Rosa. We were both standing in the middle of the floor, just as our 
captors had left us.

"Oh, Juan, what are we to do?" she wailed.

I crossed the few feet that separated us and gathered her into my arms. I was aware of the 
warmth of her naked body as she cradled her head against my chest and sobbed piteously. In 
spite of the gravity of our situation, I felt the blood surging into my male organ. It began to 
swell and stiffen, pulsing against Rosa's leg.

She looked into my eyes. "How can you think of such a thing at a time like this."

"When I am confronted with beauty such as yours, Rosa darling, I can think of nothing 
else," I replied, my lust feeding the eloquence of my tongue.

Rosa did not resist as I led her across the floor to one of the palettes. My hand was on her 
creamy nether cheeks. I allowed one finger to pass between them, and once more felt the 
puckered node of the entrance to her rear passage.

Guided by the instincts which are inborn in all men, I stood behind my love. My arms went 
around her, the palms of my hands pressed to her lush breasts. I could feel her large brown 
nipples harden against my flesh.

My rod was standing rigid, pressed to the cleft between her buttocks. Impulsively, I 
reached one hand down and pushed it between her shapely thighs from the rear. I could feel 
the pulsing of her nether lips against the top of my shaft. The firm pillow of her behind was 
pushed against my lower belly as I caressed her teats, revelling in the firm pliancy of the flesh.

Without penetrating her in any way, I began to move my hips back and forth. The feel of 
the flesh of her inner thighs as my member moved back and forth between them was as 
satisfying as if I had been loving her in a more conventional manner.

Rosa began to match the strokes of my organ with thrusts of her own, moving her 
buttocks now away from me, then slapping them back against my belly. I continued to fondle 
her breasts, digging my fingers into them, tweaking the rigid nipples, rolling them between 
my fingers as they filled with blood and pulsed madly under my hands.

Without missing a beat, I marched Rosa over to the wall. She leaned over and pressed her 
palms against the stone, elevating her plump buttocks. I ran my hands down her flanks and 
caressed the lush globes as my pecker ran in and out between her thighs.

In this new position, my rod was moving back and forth over her womanly furrow. I could 
feel the tip of her rigid clitoris as the head of my tool passed over it. She bent over more, and I
moaned as I felt my organ pass through her heavenly portal.

She was moist and ready for me. I kept my hands on her beautiful buttocks as I began to 
pump furiously in and out of her, revelling in the clutching grip of her vaginal lips, feeling the 
underside of my shaft pass over the length of her rigid clitoris.

I had barely penetrated her when I already felt the juices rising in my organ. My scrotum 
swung back and forth, slapping against the backs of her thighs with each mighty thrust.

I felt the first pulsation pass through my surging member even as the muscles of Rosa's 
vagina began to tighten around me spastically. She was moaning, her head hanging down, 
her long, black hair covering my hands as they continued to knead the flesh of her breasts.

I threw my head back between my shoulders as my seed began to shoot in great spurts 
from the head of my frothing organ. At the same time, I heard Rosa groaning convulsively as 
she reached her own climax. My hips moved back and forth with great speed as I forced every 
drop of hot semen from my hanging sack.

As the pace of our fucking began to slow, Rosa and I sank to the palette beneath us, still 
united. I sprawled on top of her, slipping on her sweaty back as we heaved together, panting 
heavily from the exertion of our lust. In the heat of our passion, neither of us had heard the 
huge oak door open. It was only when I heard the sound of sandaled feet crossing the stone 
floor toward us that I looked up in surprise.

The massive figure of Brother Carlos loomed over us. I could see the tight grin on his face 
as he reached down and hoisted me to my feet as though I were weightless.

"Well," he said, "it appears that we've captured a couple of mink here. Even in these grim 
surroundings you can't keep from rutting like the animals you are!"

I stood shame-faced before the monk. It would have been futile to attack him. He made 
me look like an African pygmy, and there were three of his fellow monks standing in the 
doorway.

Rosa crossed her hands before her to hide her nakedness. Brother Carlos took one step 
toward her and raised his hand, bringing it down in a stinging blow to her lovely face. She 
instinctively raised one hand and rubbed the reddening mark on her cheek, exposing her 
thatch of pubic hair to his view.

"Hold him," Brother Carlos barked to his companions. I understood him, although the 
language he spoke wasn't our native Catalan. He had spoken in the Romany tongue, the 
language of my gypsy tribe! Although my father had left his people to settle down long 
before I was born, he had been careful to school me well in the language and customs of my 
people. But why was this cowled monk speaking in the gypsy tongue?

I had no further time for reflection. Two of the burly monks stepped forward and grabbed 
my arms. They pinned me to the wall. I struggled instinctively to free myself from their grasp, 
but in vain.

Rosa stared at the monk in terror as he advanced upon her. He grabbed her by the 
shoulders and shook her violently. Then his hands moved down to the creamy globes on her 
chest which I had so lately been tenderly fondling. He squeezed them brutally, and pinched 
the nipples hard, seeming to enjoy Rosa's scream of pain and humiliation.

As I watched helplessly, Brother Carlos pulled her over to the wall. He turned her around 
so that her nether cheeks were turned to him, then forced her down into the same position in 
which she had been during our brief interlude of lust.

The cowled monk turned to me and leered, a grimace made all the more sinister by the 
fact that his eyes were hidden from me. He reached down and parted Rosa's lovely buttocks. I 
saw the pink node of her rear passage clearly in the light of the torch.

Rose screamed as he pulled back his arm and brought one finger forward with unerring 
aim. It pushed through the tight muscle of her anus and disappeared from view all the way to 
the second joint. I bellowed in impotent rage at this obscene violation of my beloved's body.

Brother Carlos turned to me and grinned again.

"What!" he exclaimed in mock surprise. "Do you mean to tell me that you two have yet to 
discover the delights of buggery?"

I had never heard the term before, but shivered at the lewd undertone in his voice as he 
spoke. With one motion, he pulled up the front of his robe and pushed it into the rope around
his waist. Then he turned to face me.

From between his massive, hairy thighs jutted a male organ of incredible proportions. I 
had always considered myself extraordinarily well-endowed, and indeed boasted the largest 
pecker in my village. But Brother Carlos' engorged manhood was easily three inches longer 
than my own, and twice its girth. He spat into one of his horny palms, and rubbed the saliva 
over his pulsing shaft. He was circumcised like a Jew, and the gross swollen head of his cock 
pulsed obscenely at me. I could see a drop of clear liquid glistening on the slit at the tip. He 
spat into his hand again and once more rubbed the saliva over his shaft. Then he turned again
to Rosa. Shivering in fear, she had not moved from her position, bent over, palms to the wall.

I was pinned against the wall almost in the corner, and thus was forced to watch the 
subsequent events in clear profile.

The burly monk once more spread apart the cheeks of Rosa's hindquarters, turning her 
slightly to again show me the pink bud of her rear. Then he pressed the livid head of his 
throbbing engine against it.

"No... You'll kill me... Please, don't!"

The monster in monk's garb ignored the piteous pleading of my beloved. He suddenly 
lunged forward, pushing his thick organ into Rosa's anus.

I had never heard such a shrill scream as the one she gave out then, although I have often 
heard such cries of agony since. The monk ignored her and pushed relentlessly onward, 
forcing his tool inch by inch into Rosa's virgin rectum. He didn't stop until it was completely 
buried in her. Then he turned to me and grinned lewdly.

"I must say, this is the tightest little hole I've ever been in," he chortled. "You don't know 
what you've been missing, young man."

As Rosa sobbed continuously, he began to pump his massive organ in and out of her 
stretched bumhole. He grunted like an animal as he first withdrew the thick organ, leaving 
only the swollen head within, then rushed forward to encase it once again in Rosa's silky 
sheath.

Pinned as I was, I could not help but see his rigid rod as it worked its way in and out of the
body of my loved one. He was pumping furiously, as though possessed, grunting and 
groaning, momentarily concentrating on nothing save the satisfaction of his animal lust.

Oh! What a horrid sight!

I could hear the slapping of Rosa's full, firm buttocks each time he thrust forward. She was 
writhing in pain under his assault, but to him it was no different than if she were responding 
ecstatically to his rape.

His movements came faster and faster. I could make out the heavy sack swinging between 
his legs as he rammed his rod in and out of Rosa's intestines.

Then he gave out a cry of savage passion. The hem of his robe behind swirled about as he 
fucked frantically, pumping away in the throes of his climax, filling Rosa's rear with great jets 
of his milky seed.

His pace slowed gradually, until he was still, his mighty prick buried completely in Rosa's 
narrow passage. Then he gave a mighty sigh of satisfaction and withdrew. The light from the 
torch gleamed on his wet member. He slapped it against Rosa's buttocks, then wiped it on the
lush flesh. As he did so it began to go soft, until it was a limp shaft dangling seven inches 
down between his legs. He pulled the hem of his robe from his belt and walked over to me.

"That was most refreshing," he said. "But the real reason I am here is to conduct you to the
Abbot of our Order."

"And what of Rosa?" I asked.

"Oh, we have plans for her, don't worry," he replied. Then he turned and walked from the 
room. As the two monks who held me dragged me out into the hallway after him, the 
miserable sobbing of my first love rang in my ears. Then the oak door was slammed behind 
me and I heard it no more.

I was dragged, naked and struggling, down a long hallway. Occasionally, groups of silent 
monks passed, but displayed no curiosity, as though it was normal to see an unclothed young 
man being forcibly dragged through the hall.

At last we reached the end of the corridor and stopped in front of an oaken door identical 
to the one of the cell in which I had been imprisoned. Brother Carlos, who had preceded us 
down the hall, knocked respectfully. I heard a deep voice bid us enter.

Brother Carlos swung the door inward on well-oiled hinges. At this point I shook my 
captor's arms from me and walked into the room before us with as much dignity as I could 
muster in my state.

The room I entered was in stark contrast to the rude cell in which Rosa and I had been 
imprisoned. It was as large, perhaps twenty feet by thirty. The stone walls were covered with 
rich tapestries. I stared in shock at the embroidery. If there was a single act of human 
depravity that was not depicted on those wall hangings, it is one with which I am even now 
unfamiliar.

The room was warmed by the roaring fire in the hearth. The wall hangings further 
insulated the chamber, staving off the damp and cold of the stone walls.

I tore my eyes from the tapestries and turned to face the man seated at the richly carved 
desk in the center of the room. It was my first glimpse of any one of the faces of the Brothers, 
and my first meeting with Brother Renaldo, the Abbot the Brotherhood of Cthol. In contrast to
the drab brown of the other monks' robes, he was wearing a flowing garment of bright scarlet.
The cowl was pushed back. He had a kindly face, with a ruddy complexion and a 
cheerful-looking bulbous nose, distended from many years of overindulgence in the pleasures
of the grape.

He looked up and studied me, running his eyes up and down my youthful frame. Then he 
turned to Brother Carlos and spoke in the Romany language of my Gypsy forbears.

"Why do you bring this child to me, Brother?"

Before the brown-robed monk could answer, I spoke. I saw the amazement in the face of 
the Abbot as I addressed him in my halting Romany.

"I would very much like to know that myself," I said boldly. "Exactly who are you, and by 
what right do you kidnap an innocent subject of the Duke of Alba?"

"You are Rom?" he replied, not answering my question.

"I certainly am," I rejoined. If admitting my Gypsy origins would help me in this situation, I 
would certainly take advantage of the fact.

"Then how came you to be rutting with the Catalan bitch? Where are the other members 
of your tribe?" It was Brother Carlos who spoke.

I explained to them that my father had tired of the wandering life many years before, and 
had settled down to the peasant life. They listened intently. The room was silent when I had 
finished. The Abbot studied me carefully, cupping his chin in his hands. "What say you, Brother
Carlos," he finally said, "he's a fine figure of a youth, is he not?"

"He has spirit as well," Brother Carlos replied, and told the Abbot of the circumstances of 
my capture.

"I want you to listen very carefully, son," said Brother Renaldo when his colleague had 
finished speaking. "You have been given a rare opportunity, and I want to explain it to you 
before offering you a choice. Brother Carlos, get the young man a pair of pants."

I stood in silence for a few moments as Brother Carlos hurried from the room, then 
returned with a pair of white cotton trousers. I put them on hurriedly, glad of the opportunity 
to hide my nakedness. As I straightened up in the loose-fitting pants, I felt a little more on an 
even basis with my captors.

Brother Carlos drew up a chair for me, then left the room at the Abbot's command. I was 
alone with Brother Renaldo. He poured me a glass of wine from a flagon on his desk and 
handed it to me. I sipped at it gratefully and leaned back in the chair, trying to relax as he 
started to speak.

"My son, I am going to tell you about the Brotherhood..."





CHAPTER THREE


"My son," the red-robed monk continued, "long before the ascendancy of the Catalonians in 
this land, there were the Phoenicians, plying the placid waters of the inland sea in their great 
trading ships. They colonized this area before the Romans, and the Carthaginians who were 
replaced by the Romans were their descendants.

'The Gypsy people, Juan, are an ancient race. No one of us is certain from whence we 
came. But we have been wandering the face of Europe for thousands of years. Many of us 
sailed on the great Phoenician trading vessels, merchants and warriors, seamen and 
colonizers.

"Our ancestors worshipped many gods. They knelt before the altars of the Great Mother 
Cybele, the Babylonian deities of the Phoenicians, the Romanized gods of the ancient Greek 
pantheon. But there was always one god who was supreme, the Lord of the Gypsy people, the 
powerful deity who will one day lead us back to the rich and prosperous land from whence we
strayed so many eons ago. This is the great god Cthol."

As he intoned the name, I swear I felt a chill run up my back, although I had never heard it 
before that day. Later, during my training, Brother Renaldo listened to my account of this 
reaction and laughed, telling me that it was natural, that my mind retained the collective 
memory of my race, and that many Gypsies who have lost touch with the true god experience 
the same familiar chill. He continued.

"As long as the Mediterranean was inhabited by pantheistic people, those worshipping 
many gods, the worship of Cthol was tolerated. Then the Romans turned Christian, accepted a
faith which preaches that there is only one true god.

The followers of other deities were hounded, sometimes killed.

"Gypsies have long suffered from the misconception that we are a race of thieves and 
degenerates. Thus it was that the worship of Cthol was made one of the grave crimes of the 
Christian Roman Empire. Our temples were burned, our priests crucified, even as the Romans 
had crucified the man they now believed to be their Lord.

"It became a fatal mistake to even utter the sacred name of Cthol in public. Our people 
were in grave danger. If some way were not found to pass on the sacred wisdom, the worship 
of Cthol would die out in a generation, and the Gypsy race would lose its only road to 
redemption. A way had to be found.

"And found it was. The Brotherhood of Cthol was established by a group of the last 
surviving priests. Of course, we could not openly use the name. To the Romans, we became 
the Order of Saint Timothy the Uninspired. Timothy was one of the minor Christian martyrs. 
He had gone to Germany to spread the Faith, but had apparently been such a boring preacher
that the tribesmen had him drawn and quartered for wasting their time. The Romans scarcely 
noticed the establishment of the Order. There were struggles over the adoption of the 
important saints, but no one cared if an Order was set up with the end of producing the most 
boring monks in the world.

"And it is as the Order of St. Timothy the Uninspired that we have lasted these twelve 
hundred years. No one ever looks into our affairs. To the outside world, we are an Order of 
religious men, dedicated to emulating our patron by becoming the most crashing bores on 
the face of the Earth.

"It is quite different in our private devotions. Here, in our main monastery, and in similar 
establishments throughout the continent, we keep alive the rituals and worship of the great 
god of the gypsies, All-Powerful Cthol!"

Brother Renaldo's voice rose as he intoned the name again, and he made a curious sign in 
the air before him, much as a Christian would make the sign of the cross. It was a sign I was to
learn well, the sign of Cthol!

Brother Renaldo rose then, and walked toward the door. He turned to me and smiled. Had
I not so recently witnessed the cruel rape of Rosa by another member of the Order, I should 
have been completely taken in by his cherubic grin.

"I must meet with some of the Brotherhood to discuss this evening's devotions," he said. 
"You will wait here until I return. You understand that you are being offered the opportunity to
join the Brotherhood, to worship at the altar of almighty Cthol. Please use this time by yourself
to meditate on your decision."

"And what if I decide I don't want to join your Brotherhood?"

A touch of evil crept into his smile then. "We shall discuss that possibility later, my son. You
are Rom, and I'm sure that your gypsy blood will steer you onto the correct path."

He turned away and went through the door. As it closed behind him, I was left in a state of
total confusion. I could scarcely credit my ears. How could an organization such as he had 
described have existed over these many centuries without being detected by the spies of the 
Church? Within my own short lifetime, I had heard of whole populations being put to the 
sword for the most minor of heresies. Yet here was a cult that worshipped a god who was 
ancient at the birth of Christianity, functioning within the bosom of the Church. It seemed very
unreal. I could not accept it, and stopped even thinking about it. I cast my eyes about the 
room looking for some means of escape.

There were none. The only window in the room was a good thirteen feet up on the wall, 
and barred to boot. I rose and walked to the door. It was not locked, but when I pulled it open
a few inches, I met the gaze of a burly monk on guard outside. With a sigh of resignation, I 
went back to my chair, leaned forward, and poured myself another glass of the Abbot's 
excellent wine. I settled myself to wait for his return.

I confess I must have dozed. I don't know how long I had been nodding in the chair when 
T felt a massive hand on my shoulder, shaking me.

"Wake up boy," I heard, and looked up with bleary eyes into the face of Brother Carlos. It 
was the first time I had seen him without his cowl. Cruelty shone in his eyes, piercing mine like 
daggers' points.

Aside from his flashing eyes, he had quite an ordinary face. Had he been a man of normal 
proportions rather than the Goliath he was, I would have been hard-pressed to recognize him 
on the street. Seeing I was awake, he turned from me and took up a position by the door.

Brother Renaldo was seated at his desk again, beaming at me.

"Well, my boy," he said cheerfully, "have you come to any decision?"

I confessed that I was too confused and caught up in disbelief to come to any decision 
concerning the Order.

"I quite understand your consternation, Juan," he replied. "It is a weighty decision you 
have to make, and not one to be arrived at on the spur of the moment."

"What have you done with Rosa?" I blurted out.

He chuckled good-naturedly.

"Ah, the Catalan bitch," he said. "She has not been harmed. As a matter of fact, she is to 
play an important part in our devotions this evening. And you have been invited to attend. I 
feel sure that once you have witnessed the majesty of the worship of Cthol, your doubts will 
vanish."

Brother Carlos stepped forward. He was carrying a monk's robe, but of a dark blue hue.

"Try it on," Brother Renaldo commanded. "I think you'll find it a passing fit. This is the robe 
of a novice in the Order. If you decide to accept my invitation, you will wear it proudly for the 
five years of your novitiate. Then you will assume the brown robe of a full Brother in the 
service of Cthol."

It felt strange to slip the heavy robe onto my body. All I wore besides was the pair of 
cotton pants I had been given. Brother Carlos gave me a pair of sandals. Sandals and robe 
were a very good fit, and Brother Renaldo noted that this was a good omen, that I would 
probably accept Cthol and be acceptable to Him.

I had been hearing for some time the drone of a company of chanting men. Now, as 
Brother Carlos threw open the door, I saw the drawn-up ranks of monks in the corridor 
outside. They were chanting in the Gypsy tongue, but with strange inflections that made it 
impossible for me to understand the words. I could make out the name of Cthol every now 
and then, but the rest was incomprehensible. I later learned that this was the original form of 
Romany, spoken in the heyday of the Phoenician commercial empire, handed down for 
centuries by the Brothers of Cthol. It bears about as much resemblance to the modern tongue
as classical Latin does to the vulgar speech of the Italians.

They were evidently waiting for Brother Renaldo, who rose, his robe swirling, and took his 
place at the head of the processional. Brother Carlos, who was the second ranking of the 
monks, took his position right behind the Abbot. I trailed after the two, between a pair of 
monks who were evidently my guards. Brother Renaldo slipped his cowl up, as did Brother 
Carlos, and the file of perhaps fifty monks began to march in slow cadence down the corridor.

A number of the monks were carrying lit torches, and I wondered what they were for, as 
the corridor was tolerably well-lit already. We passed an arched doorway, and I saw a simple 
Christian chapel inside. But this was not to be our destination. We continued down the 
corridor until we reached a pair of huge oak doors, flanked by a pair of monks. As we 
approached, they swung the doors open, and revealed the black maw of a passageway 
completely unlit.

Without hesitation, Brother Renaldo entered the doorway and stepped down. As I 
followed, I perceived a flight of steps, carved from the stone of the hillside upon which the 
monastery was situated.

The walls were cold and dank. I understood the need for the torches now as we 
descended, bathed in their flickering light.

The stairway was steep and winding. It was treacherous, and I should not have liked to 
attempt it without light. It continued for an incredible distance. We must have been over a 
hundred feet below the surface. Brother Renaldo later informed me that the hill was the 
original site of a Roman fortress, and that the intervening centuries had piled layer after layer 
of earth on top of the ancient stonework. When the monastery had been built in the tenth 
century, the monks had known of the old building beneath the hill, and had tunneled down to
it to construct their temple, safe from any chance discovery by Church officials.

Just when I had decided that we were descending into the bowels of the Earth, to the very 
gates of Hell itself, the stairway ended. The walls of the corridor down which we marched were
incredibly old. I summoned up visions of the Roman legionaries, patiently cutting the stone 
from the local quarries and erecting this testament to the grandeur of their eternal empire.

The continual chanting of the monks in their arcane tongue, combined with the moist 
flickering of torchlight on the hoary walls, sent chills up and down my back. We had 
proceeded perhaps fifty yards when I noticed that there was light up ahead. We were 
approaching a high arched doorway. As we passed through it, my horror-struck eyes got their 
first glimpse of the Temple of the god Cthol.

How can I describe to an unbelieving world the hideous splendour of that vast chamber? 
As we marched down the central aisle, flanked on both sides by rows of ornately carved pews, 
I looked about wildly. I was a simple cobbler's apprentice from the village of Rosario. Never in 
my life had I imagined such splendor.

The arched ceiling rose over my head. The stonework was covered with brightly-colored 
paintings. They depicted the most debased sexual excesses, involving men and women, 
women and women, even men and women sporting with animals!

Although we were deep within the earth of the hillside, there were yet arched windows in 
the walls. There were torches set behind them, glowing through the stained glass. Much as a 
Christian church might have windows depicting the stations of the Cross, so did these 
windows tell a story. As I scanned them, I saw that they showed the movement of masses of 
people in the bright garb of the Gypsy. They were being led by an indistinct figure of massive 
proportions. I craned my neck around as we walked down the aisle, and saw that the last 
panel showed the huge figure, whom I assumed to be the god Cthol, leading the Gypsy 
people into a paradise, lush green land dotted by orchards of fruit trees, with bright running 
brooks. The innocence of this story, depicted in glass, contrasted strangely with the depravity 
of the paintings on the ceiling.

Until that point, I had been looking primarily at the walls and ceiling. I had not looked 
straight ahead. Now I turned my face forward, seeing the cowled heads of Brothers Renaldo 
and Carlos as they walked in front of me, chanting with the other monks.

Until then I had assumed, I suppose, that a god with such a benevolent end in mind as the 
leading of his people back to their ancestral homeland would be of equally benevolent 
appearance. I should have been prepared for anything after seeing the fiendish hangings in 
Brother Renaldo's study, and the macabre paintings on the ceiling of the Temple. But the sight
of the huge statue leering at us over the altar drove the breath from my lungs in one 
convulsive gasp.

In the course of my service with the Brotherhood, I have travelled extensively. I remember 
looking at the gargoyles on the great cathedral of Notre Dame in Paris and laughing that 
anyone would consider them frightful to the eye.

The body of Cthol resembled the hairy gnarled form of those gargoyles, but even more 
distorted, with huge, muscular arms and grasping claws stretched out in front of him, as 
though demanding a sacrifice to satisfy his obscene and voracious appetite.

Picture such a gargoyle's body, squatting on his haunches, a huge, rigid male organ 
protruding from his groin. Then set upon the body a gross caricature of a human head, the 
face distorted in cruel lust, lips drawn back to display his sharpened canines. This was the face 
of Cthol, mighty god of the Gypsies!

I had automatically stopped when the processional ground to a halt. The files of monks 
behind me began to move to the side, filling the front ranks of pews, still chanting in their 
ancient tongue.

Now only Brothers Renaldo and Carlos stood in the aisle. I was behind them, and scarcely 
noticed when the two men at my sides moved off into the pews. My eyes were riveted on the 
altar above which the massive statue of Cthol was placed.

It was really three altars, stone slabs united in the form of a trident. This symbolized the 
threefold nature of Cthol. The Brotherhood claims that the concept of the Holy Trinity was in 
fact a plagiarism from the older worship of their god.

The altars were not empty. On each of them I could see the form of a naked girl. They were
tied with their legs wide apart, flat on their backs. Thus, the plump lips of their nether mouths 
were in full view of the entire congregation. The bodies were writhing on the altars, struggling 
to be free of the thongs that bound them hand and foot to the cold stone.

Brother Renaldo moved back to stand on my left. Brother Carlos stood by my other 
shoulder.

"Now is the time of decision, my boy," Brother Renaldo whispered into my ear. "Now is the
time you must either accept initiation into the Brotherhood of Cthol, or suffer the 
consequences."

"And exactly what are the consequences?" I replied.

"If you refuse to submit to the will of Cthol, you will cease to be a Gypsy in our eyes. But 
we cannot let you go with the knowledge you possess. Most likely, we should have to immure 
you, wall you up in one of the catacombs that honeycomb this hill, where you would 
eventually die of thirst and hunger. Such is the way of Cthol with those who defy him. You 
must make your decision now!"

It was difficult to think. The cavernous Temple rang with the echoes of the sinister chanting
of the monks.

I had been raised as a member of the Catholic Church. To me, the Pope at Rome had 
always been the Holy Father, Christ's Vicar on earth. Could I now lightly embark on such a 
radical religious change? I really knew nothing of the god Cthol, save that these people 
claimed He was my ancestral deity, that I owed him loyalty if only because of my Gypsy birth.

Was there any alternative? I could never escape from that Temple. If I refused to be 
initiated, I faced certain death. At the age of twelve, death is something that a boy has rarely 
thought about. Now I was confronted with it as an imminent possibility. I had no wish to die. I 
turned to Brother Renaldo.

"I wish to be initiated into the brotherhood of Cthol," I said.

"Good, good," he replied. "It is a decision you will never regret, my boy. We are, as you 
may have gathered, far from an ascetic order. You will see the world, enjoy the pleasures of 
the great cities of Europe. But first, you must be initiated. Then, as a novice, you will learn the 
teachings of Cthol, the rituals of his worship. Now you will go through the initiation rite. Just 
do everything exactly as Brother Carlos and I do, and everything will be all right."

As he spoke, Brother Renaldo switched places with me, so that he was in the center, 
flanked by Brother Carlos and myself. The chanting of the other communicants increased in 
volume as Brother Renaldo stepped forward in his scarlet robe. I followed in my blue 
vestment, Brother Carlos in his brown robe.

As we approached the triple altar, my eyes once more went to the figures of the three 
writhing naked girls bound there. I could see the lush mounds of the breasts of the one I was 
nearing rise and fall with the rhythm of her breathing. I wondered what was involved in my 
initiation, and what part these three girls were to play in the ceremony.

The girl I was approaching was a beauty. I judged her age as about fifteen. She was a 
blond, rare in that region of Spain. I now saw the reason that these three bound girls were not
vocally protesting their treatment. They were gagged. The one I was now standing over was 
gagged with a piece of dark blue cloth, the same hue as the robe I wore. I glanced over at the 
girl on the other end, the one before Brother Carlos. Her gag matched the brown color of his 
vestment. Then I looked at the third girl, the one in the center, the one over whose body 
Brother Renaldo's eyes were hungrily roaming. I almost weakened and emitted a cry of 
outrage was I met Rosa's eyes. She struggled to speak through the scarlet gag in her mouth, 
but all that issued forth were low cat-like mewings.

I raised my head. Brother Renaldo was staring at me, a lewd grin on his face. He raised his 
hands and ran them over the lush curves of Rosa's lovely body.

"You have rare taste, my son," he said. "This is by far the prettiest little bitch I've seen in 
Catalonia in many years."

I was ready to attack him. But the thought of being walled up alive stayed by hands. I 
clenched my fists in impotent fury as Brother Renaldo raised the hem of his robe in front and 
tucked it into his rope belt, just as Brother Carlos had done earlier in the cell.

"You see, Juan," he said, stroking his dangling member, stimulating it to thicken and grow 
in anticipation of the feast before it. "Our initiation is not a difficult one. It simply consists of 
performing the most natural act in the world. The girl before you is one of a number of young 
creatures we keep confined here to participate in our rites. She is a rare beauty, is she not? A 
German, I believe. The ship on which she was travelling was seized by Barbary pirates, who 
sold her to us. But enough talk. It is time to consummate the rites of Cthol!"

The chanting of the monks behind us had risen to a fevered crescendo as Brother Renaldo 
had spoken. I forced my eyes away from Rosa's mutely pleading countenance and looked at 
the blonde beauty spread-eagled before me. Beneath her sparse covering of golden hair, I 
could see the pulsing lips of her divine crack, and the swell of her full buttocks, pressed to the 
cold stone. Her breasts seemed of the purest ivory, capped by rosy nipples that took my 
breath away. The look on her lovely face was not one of fear. Perhaps she had already taken 
part in these rites, and knew what to expect. Or perhaps it was just her nature not to show fear
in the face of the unknown. In any event, the haughty expression on her face excited me 
strangely. I could feel the throbbing begin in my male part as it rose and pressed out against 
the material of my cotton trousers, causing a bulge in the front of my robe.

I was self-conscious as I emulated Brothers Renaldo and Carlos and raised the hem of my 
robe, tucking it into the rope belt around my waist. I pulled down the cotton trousers, and 
stepped out of them, hoping that this would not constitute an act of disrespect for Cthol. I 
looked over. I wanted to do everything just as my two companions did.

Brother Renaldo reached forward and picked up a beaker of dark liquid from the piece of 
stone which united the tines of the altar. He dipped his index finger into it and drew the sign 
of Cthol on Rosa's belly. The haft of the trident was first, origination at the cleft which marks 
the entrance to a woman's cavern of paradise. The he painted the three tines of the trident, 
except that, instead of barbs at the ends, he drew bulbous heads, making of the tines three 
long penises. One of them ended at the bottom of each lush breasts. The third continued up 
between those mounds, pointing at her chin.

When he had finished his careful drawing, the Abbot passed the vial to Brother Carlos, 
who preformed the same ritualistic decoration on the body of the girl before him. When he 
had finished, he passed the flask to me, over the naked body of my first lover. I didn't hesitate,
but took it, dipped my finger in the dark fluid, and began to crudely imitate their drawings on 
the abdomen and stomach of the girl before me. Her body was soft and warm under my 
finger. My raging manhood stood at full erection, I wondered how we would be able to satisfy
ourselves on these women. Surely we would not crawl up on the slabs of the altar. That would 
be a most undignified position for worshippers of mighty Cthol!

I had not noticed the fine lines on the altar slabs. Now Brother Renaldo, mumbling an 
incantation, pressed his palms to the stone between the girl's thighs. To my surprise, a section 
of stone dropped down. It was a triangle-shaped slab, mounted on hinges. When it had been 
pushed down, the altar was shaped so that the quivering cunt of Rosa, my beloved, just 
overhung the stone. I could see the plump cheeks of her rear just hanging over the edge as 
Brother Renaldo stepped forward into the opening in the stone.

I saw Brother Carlos emulate the Abbot's movement. When he had finished and stood in 
front of his victim, the head of his massive organ just touching the petal lips of her 
womanhood, both monks looked at me expectantly. I pressed my palms to the stone and felt 
it slide down on its hinges. Then I too stepped forward.

Brother Renaldo had a long, thin, cock which jerked in mid-air as he ran his hands over 
Rosa's full, firm breasts. He was careful not to disturb the sign of Cthol which he had painted 
on her body. Suddenly, he jerked his head up and stared in awe at the huge statue of the 
hideous god above us.

"Hail Cthol!" he cried, and lunged forward, pushing his pulsing member full into the chasm
of Rosa's womanhood. She writhed in agony as he split her with his rigid pole. Only feeble 
whimpers escaped her gagged mouth. I shuddered and closed my eyes as Brother Renaldo's 
prick disappeared completely into the fastness of Rosa's body.

As soon as he was completely inside her, Brother Renaldo stopped moving. The monk to 
his left looked up at the statue and repeated the salute to the god as he lunged forward and 
impaled his victim on the thick slab of meat which pulsed between his heavy thighs. I could 
see the pain and anguish on the girl's face as his monstrous organ stretched her nether lips to
the fullest. He, too, moved forward until every inch of his enormous member was sheathed in 
the girl's body.

Both men turned to look at me expectantly. I could feel the urgent need in my groin as I 
looked up into the leering face of Cthol. He seemed to be grinning at me, to be gloating at 
my debased behavior as he welcomed another Gypsy soul back into the bosom of his 
repellent cult.

"Hail Cthol!" I shouted, my voice sounding out loud enough to be heard over the chanting
of the rows of monks behind me. With one forceful movement, I drove my pole fully into the 
moist warmth of the cunt before me.

As I felt my raging manhood surrounded by the quivering flesh of this strange girl's 
womanhood, a sense of exhilaration ran through me. I stopped all motion when my rod was 
completely buried and looked up again at the lewdly grinning features of the Gypsy god. He 
no longer seemed so hideous. Now he appeared inviting. 'Come,' he seemed to say, 'you are 
Rom, one of a superior race of men. It is my power that fills you now. You have the right, the 
duty, to please yourself on the bodies of the females of the lesser races. One day all the world 
will recognize our strength, and we will repay the world a thousand-fold for the indignity and 
suffering they have brought us. But for now, make free with this girl's body. Fill her with the 
powerful seed of the Gypsy.' At that moment, I truly became a convert to the Brotherhood of 
Cthol. It has occurred to me since that day that the wine I had sipped in the Abbot's study 
might have been drugged. But right then, I was convinced that the almighty Cthol was 
speaking to me personally, welcoming me into the Brotherhood. And I retained that feeling of
devotion to the deity until the tender ministrations of the Inquisition made me see the error of
my heresy.

So caught up was I in the mystical clarity of that moment of revelation, that I hardly 
noticed the clutching warmth of the flesh that surrounded my throbbing member. Then I 
caught a glimpse of motion to my left. Brother Renaldo was slowly backing off. I saw inch after
inch of his reedy prick appear as it was withdrawn from Rosa's cunt. Brother Carlos was not 
moving at all. The Abbot stopped with just the swollen head still buried in the black-haired 
girl's body.

It seemed that every part of this ritual would be performed in the same way. As Brother 
Renaldo stood, unmoving, the shaft of his prick protruding from Rosa's body, Brother Carlos 
began to move back until the gross shaft of his rod was also exposed, only the thick head 
remaining in its warm nest.

I sighed as I began to withdraw my own organ. I resisted the temptation to start fucking 
madly, although my aching balls told me to do so. I must conduct myself perfectly during this 
initiation. The thought of being walled up alive was ever before me, and put a rein on my 
adolescent impetuosity.

Now the three of us stood, only the heads of our members connecting us with the nubile 
bodies of the young girls on the altar. Once more, Brother Renaldo looked up at the stature 
looming over us. "Hail Cthol!" he cried, and plunged his organ back into the warmth of Rosa's 
tight channel. As Brother Carlos and I stood by, motionless, the Abbot began to pump in and 
out of Rosa's cunt with great ferocity. He groaned as he swept in and out of her. His hands 
moved to her upturned breasts, kneading the flesh, tweaking the large brown nipples.

I looked up at Rosa's face. Her eyes were closed. She was breathing heavily. I could see 
tear-streaks running down her cheeks. For a moment I was ashamed of myself. How could I 
stand by and watch this young girl, who had given me her most precious belonging,' be raped
by the grunting monk next to me? Then I looked up into the leering face of Cthol again, and 
was reassured. Certainly, Rosa was a sweet young thing, but she was just a Catalonian peasant.
I was a lordly Gypsy, and it seemed only right to offer up my first love on the altar of Cthol.

The pace of Brother Renaldo's humping was increasing, as was the frequency of his 
animalistic grunts. I watched the pale, thin shaft of his rigid tool as it frothed in and out of that
cunt which, only hours before, had been mine alone.

The Abbot was obviously on the verge of his climax. His fingers were pressed into the olive
hillocks of Rosa's breasts as his tool moved rapidly in and out of the girl's silky warmth. 
Suddenly, he stepped back, removing his prick entirely from her body. His hands moved to 
cup it, the fingers lacing as he pumped up and down on the shaft, forcing great spurts of 
milky, hot come from the slit. It arced through the air and landed in viscous pools all over my 
beloved's belly, covering the sign of Cthol like a liquid offering to the god.

As Brother Renaldo pumped the last of his seed from his rod, Brother Carlos went into 
action. His huge prick filled the cavity of his victim completely. I could see her eyes bug out 
from the pain of containing his swollen manhood. As he withdrew, just before re-entering her,
I saw traces of blood on the shaft. He had entered her with such ferocity that he had torn the 
delicate skin that lines the entrance to the heavenly channel.

He seemed to reach his climax quickly, bucking and humping against his victim, then 
pulling back, clutching his tool in one horny paw and pumping furiously until great jets of 
shiny semen flew through the air and landed in shimmering pools all over the girl's stomach, a
second offering to Cthol.

Now it was my turn. And I was ready, the observance of my companion's performances 
having aroused me to the boiling point. I emitted a low groan as my member slid once more 
into the blonde girl's silken sheath. Then I was pumping furiously, revelling in the tightness of 
the passage, the way the flesh clutched at my rampant prick. I felt the delicious churning 
sensation in my swinging scrotum that presaged my climax. It is to this day a mystery to me 
how I found the strength of will to keep from spending my lust in the delightful oven of her 
cunt. But I withdrew just in time to pump on my organ with my hand and send my own 
ejaculation sailing through the air. My aim was true, and the white liquid landed on the girl's 
stomach, covering the sacred sign of Cthol.

As soon as I had finished spurting, the two monks beside me dropped to their knees 
before their victims, first Brother Renaldo, then Carlos. I followed suit as soon as I saw them. I 
was staring at eye level directly into the cunt I had just invaded. The lips were moist, lubricated
to ease my passage. I could see a tiny pink button peeping out from the cleft at the top, and 
remembered how Rosa had reacted to my caress of that spot.

For a moment, I thought the ritual would conclude with our placement of our mouths to 
the opening that normally would accommodate our pestles. Brother Renaldo, however, just 
knelt, staring up in silence at the statue of Cthol overhead. I learned later that this part of the 
rite is supposed to bring the celebrant into a feeling of oneness with the deity. And, in time, it 
came to be so for me as well. But on this occasion I just followed the lead of the two monks 
beside me and stared up at Cthol. From the ground, the statue was dominated by the mighty 
organ that jutted out from between his legs. It was easily two feet long, and I don't think I 
could have gotten both hands around it.

Brother Renaldo rose and began to intone some sort of prayer in ancient Romany. I didn't 
understand any of it, but the chanting of the monks behind us died down as they listened to 
him. At a signal that I couldn't detect, one monk from each side of the aisle rose and stepped 
forward. Each held a knife. In a second, they had cut Rosa loose. She struggled to rise, but 
they held her down on the altar as Brother Renaldo continued his keening wail.

Suddenly, he stopped. The silence in the Temple was absolute as all the monks stopped 
chanting at once. Then the Abbot screamed at the top of his lungs.

"Hail the bride of Cthol!"

His cry was echoed lustily by every monk in the Temple as the two men flanking Rosa lifted
her bodily from the altar. She struggled in vain as they held her high in the air, her legs 
outstretched, and turned her around so that her lower body faced the lewd statue of the god. 
They brought her closer and closer. I couldn't believe that they would actually carry through 
with the act. But I was wrong.

Rosa screamed as she felt the cold metal of Cthol's long phallus against her budding 
womanhood. I shuddered as I thought of the pain she would feel. Then the two burly monks 
were pushing her onto it, impaling her on that thick caricature of normal manhood, offering 
her up as sacrifice to their god.

Brother Renaldo told me later that the tool of the god is coated with a lubricant before 
each such ceremony. This accounted for the relative ease with which Rosa's body was impaled 
on the organ. But the pain of her stretched cunt lips must have been excruciating. She 
whimpered continuously as inch after inch of that gross shaft slipped into her moist cavern.

Now I discovered the reason for the monstrous statue's pose. As soon as Rosa had taken 
in as much of the god's prick as humanly possible, her shoulders were raised. It looked as 
though she were sitting on Cthol's lap. Her upper body was suspended between his 
outstretched arms. One of the monks produced rope, and she was bound in that position. 
Now it appeared that Cthol was grinning lewdly at her as he held her in his arms, his thick 
phallus jammed into her tight cunt.

"Hail the bride of Cthol!" Brother Renaldo shouted again, and again his cry was echoed by 
the assembled congregation.

Brother Renaldo turned and began to walk back down the aisle. Brother Carlos followed, 
and I brought up the rear. We stopped at the door leading into the corridor, turned, and 
looted up at the altar.

One monk from each side of the aisle had risen and was standing before one of the girl's 
on the altar. Each looked up at the obscene statue of the deity, Rosa's writhing body in his 
arms, and shouted 'Hail Cthol!' Then, as we had, they tucked in the hems of their robes, baring
their throbbing rods, and quickly thrust them all the way into the abused girl's cunts. As I 
watched in horror and disbelief, they went all the way through with the same ritual I had just 
performed, finally spending their seed all over the girls' bodies. They returned to their seats 
and were replaced by two more. There were about fifty monks in the room. If each was to 
perform this same lustful ritual, each girl would be penetrated by twenty-five men! I tried to 
image the girls' battered bodies, bleeding cunts, bulging eyes after this ordeal. Their bodies 
would be completely covered with seminal fluids, dripping down their flanks. I shuddered at 
the image.

"Each Brother must be given the opportunity to pay homage to Cthol, who watched out 
for us all," whispered Brother Renaldo. "But now you are truly a novice, initiated into the 
Brotherhood for life. It was especially good that the girl you brought with you has served a 
bride to the god tonight. It is a good omen for your future with us."

"What... What will happen to her?" I asked.

"She will be returned to the cells, and will serve as offering at future services. But she can 
only be bride to Cthol once. It is too great an honor to be repeated."

'Praise God for that,' I thought as I watched the creamy globes of Rosa's nether cheeks 
writhing about as she remained impaled on Cthol's massive phallus, held in place by the ropes
that bound her to his misshapen arms.

"Come, my son," Brother Renaldo said, taking my arm. "Our place in this ceremony is over. 
There is much you must learn, and we will have to start right away."

I took one last look at Rosa. The third pair of monks were already involved in their 
devotions as I turned and walked from the room.

'I'm sorry, Rosa,' I thought. 'But there is nothing I can do for you. I must take this one 
opportunity to save my own life.' Then I felt the power of the god flow through me, even as it 
had on the altar. I felt a resurgence of that same pride in my Gypsy heritage that I had felt 
staring into the cold eyes of the idol. As I followed Brothers Renaldo and Carlos down the hall,
I resolved that I would become a devoted member of the Brotherhood. Although I knew 
nothing of the theology of Cthol as yet, I was strangely under his spell. It was a spell which 
would only be broken by the application of the boot and the thumbscrew.





CHAPTER FOUR


My training really began in earnest after my initiation. I had to learn two completely new 
languages, classical Latin, so that I could function convincingly as a monk of the Order of St. 
Timothy the Uninspired, and ancient Romany so that I could learn the chants and rituals of the
faith.

It was a long and grueling period. I, who had never even learned to write, was now being 
taught this skill, and in four languages at once! But I was an apt pupil, and became even more 
so after the first few times Brother Renaldo applied the whip to me for slowness. He was a 
harsh taskmaster, but never hesitated to praise me when I had done a particular lesson very 
well.

Brother Carlos was designated to teach me the other skill necessary to be a member of the
Brotherhood. Most monastic orders rely on begging or the solicitation of money from rich 
patrons to pay for their existence. But the members of the Brotherhood are Gypsy, and 
consider any form of begging beneath their dignity. So the Order of St. Timothy the 
Uninspired earns its living through another basic stratagem. All of the Brothers are 
accomplished thieves!

Within months I was an accomplished cutpurse. I had learned the rudiments of swordplay, 
and the delicate skill involved in using a dagger. I learned that the caravan which had picked 
up Rosa and myself had been on their way back from sacking a small village. The Brothers 
would don the clothing of common brigands, invade a village, loot, rape, and burn, then take 
off and resume their roles as wandering friars.

And they were very good. In the history of the Order, no member had ever been caught at 
his work. After all, who would accuse a robed monk of stealing his wallet? Consequently, the 
Order was quite rich. This was evident at the dinner table, which would be stacked high with 
delicious viands, whole pigs, beef, lamb. If we dressed like beggars, we lived like kings. Within 
a few months I had all but forgotten my peasant origins, and was becoming as sophisticated 
as a lord.

I attended services regularly. Usually, they were simply repetitions of that first celebration. 
On High Holy days, however, there were special rituals, which I will get into at another place if 
there is time before the execution of my sentence of death.

I saw Rosa several times at the rites. She was beginning to take on the slack-jawed 
appearance of an idiot from her constant abuse. Any Brother had the right to call for any one 
of our stable of females at any time for his private pleasure. Therefore, even when not being 
used as part of an offering to Cthol, she was constantly being called upon to service individual
monks or groups. As she was new, she was very much in demand for a while.

I asked Brother Renaldo what happened to the girls when they went completely insane, 
and he told me that they were then sold as slaves to the Arabs in North Africa. It was just one 
more way that the Order made a tidy profit from its degenerate practices.

I had been, I suppose, at the monastery a good six months when we were visited by a 
most unusual man, one who would have a great effect on the rest of my life. We were at 
dinner when he arrived. I was sitting at the foot of the table, as befitted a novice, when one of 
the monks standing sentry duty entered and whispered in Brother Renaldo's ear. The Abbot 
listened intently, then rose and hurried from the room.

When he returned, he had with him a stranger, a man dressed in simple, but elegant, lay 
clothing of an unfamiliar cut. The dining hall was silent as Brother Renaldo stood with our 
visitor at the head of the table and addressed us.

"Brothers in Cthol," he began. "We have the honor of entertaining a most welcome, if 
unexpected guest. I should like to introduce Brother William Tracy. Brother William is the 
Abbot of our monastery at Leeds, in England. As you may know, there has been recently a 
move to close down the Order in that Kingdom. Brother William has been forced to flee the 
country, and calls upon us for the refuge which we will so gladly give him."

Brother William was a tall, gaunt man of surprising youth. That first night he was 
exceedingly strange to us. Like most other, more conventional monastic orders, the Brothers 
of Cthol cut their hair in the center. But Brother William was not so tonsured. Rather his brown
hair flowed in profusion down over his shoulders. He stood about six feet four inches, and 
towered over the rest of us. His Spanish was almost non-existent, and his Romany tinged with 
the accent of the British Isles.

He was given a place of honor at Brother Renaldo's right, as befitted an Abbot, and dug 
into our savory meal like a man who has not eaten in days, as, in fact, he had not.

As I ate, I studied our new resident. I had never seen a foreigner before. Until my induction
into the order, I had never been more than a few kilometers from my home village of Rosario. 
Thus I was especially intrigued by this man, and studied his every mannerism.

As the meal came to a close, Brothers Renaldo and William rose and left the room. As soon
as the Abbot had left, any monk was free to do the same. I had assigned myself a rigorous 
course of study in the Latin written word for that evening, and was on my way to my cell when
I was approached by Brother Carlos.

"Brother Juan," he said. "You are wanted in the Abbot's study."

As I walked down the corridor, I wondered what could be wanted of me. Aside from his 
normal teaching schedule, I rarely saw the Abbot, and never in the evening hours, when he 
was wont to disport himself with women from our harem. I knocked on his door and entered. 
Brother Renaldo was seated at his desk, a glass of wine at his elbow, talking with the 
newly-arrived Englishman.

"Ah, Brother Juan," he said as I entered. "How good of you to come. Brother William, allow
me to introduce our newest novice, Brother Juan."

The gaunt foreigner nodded to me coldly. I felt weak under his steely gaze. Here was a 
man of strength and purpose. As I later found out, his journey from England had been far 
from comfortable. He had been forced to leave a good many corpses in his wake before 
finding the safe refuge of our monastery.

"Brother William is unfamiliar with our language and our customs," the Abbot continued. 
"He will need a guide and interpreter for a while. I have decided that it is time for you to be 
tested, Brother Juan. Until further notice, you are assigned to accompany Brother William on 
his travels. He has a good deal of work to do in Spain. You will prepare yourself for travel in 
the morning."

I was excited as I made my way back to my cell. I had been told that Brother William was 
leaving for Madrid in the morning, and I was to go with him! The prospect of seeing the 
capital of our great Kingdom was exhilarating for a boy who had never seen anything more 
impressive than a seedy little peasant village. I packed my few belongings carefully, including 
my Latin grammar and Christian breviary. Then I settled myself down to sleep.

I tossed and turned for the better part of the night, thinking of the marvels I would see as I
travelled with the English Abbot. The dawn came, finding me still awake. I rose and tossed 
some cold water on my face, dressed, and went to the dining hall for breakfast.

I was on my second helping of meat pie when Brother William entered. He sat down by 
me, a signal honor in itself, and began to eat.

"So, you've come but lately into the Brotherhood of Cthol," he said, making the sign in the 
air in front of him. "Tell me about it."

I gave him a brief account of my capture and subsequent conversion. By his manner, I 
knew that he had already heard the story in greater detail from Brother Renaldo. I guess he 
was just trying to get to know me. When I had finished, he rose and spoke.

"Our carriage will be ready in a half an hour. Gather your belongings together and meet 
me at the front gate." Then he left the room.

We were using Brother Renaldo's personal carriage, a fine vehicle, hand-crafted for him by 
the best artisans in our part of the country. As we drove away from the front gate of the 
monastery, I wondered what sort of adventures awaited me on my travels with the taciturn 
foreigner seated beside me.

You must remember that I was a mere boy, having celebrated my thirteenth birthday only 
a few weeks before. As we rode, I thought back on the orgiastic revels with which I had 
celebrated that day. I had called for Rosa, and had once more tasted the sweetness of her 
young flesh.

I had not slept the night before. As I relived in my mind the exciting events of my birthday,
my eyelids started to droop. If there is one thing that the Spanish countryside cannot claim to 
be, it is interesting. The succession of drab hills and broad fields hastened the climax of my 
drowsiness. As the carriage rocked and rolled down the red dirt road, I fell into a deep sleep.

I woke as the carriage jerked to a halt. Rubbing my eyes, I looked out to see why we had 
stopped. From the position of the sun, I saw that it was late afternoon. I had slept away the 
better portion of my first day on the road.

Brother William was already stepping out of the carriage. "Come, little Brother," he called 
over his shoulder. "I have need of you."

We were in the courtyard of a small inn. Several peasants were lounging about, and stared 
at the spectacle of two monks climbing out of a carriage fit for a nobleman.

Brother Juliano, who had driven us this far, was unloading our few bags.

"This is as far as we go by carriage," Brother William explained. "We will stay here the 
night. You must bargain with the innkeeper for horses for us to continue out journey."

The common room of the inn was filled with locals. We were in the town of San Cristobal, 
about a hundred kilometers from the monastery. The room was smoky from the roaring fire 
which had been built up in the enormous hearth, preparation for the cool of the approaching 
night.

I found the landlord, a filthy pig of a man, in the kitchen, superintending the preparation 
of dinner. He was respectful of our monk's garb, and did not attempt to rob us of any more 
than the usual amount as we bargained for the sale of two half-starving horses in the stables. 
Brother William paid him, purchasing our lodgings for the night at the same time.

After we had settled ourselves in our room, we went down to the common room again 
and had dinner, washing down the greasy stew with a flagon of the coarse wine of the region. 
A few months before, I should have thought the rude fare luxurious. Now I found myself 
already missing the comforts of the monastery. Brother William noticed my mood.

"Don't worry, little Brother," he said, clapping me on the shoulder. "When we get to 
Madrid, we will have the finest of lodgings and food once more. One has to become 
accustomed to making do on one's travels. Come, let us see exactly what sort of a town this 
is."

The sun had set already as we strolled from the courtyard of the inn. San Cristobal is a 
medium-sized town. The streets were unlit as we passed the homes of prosperous merchants 
and the hovels of the less fortunate.

We had proceeded for perhaps fifteen minutes when Brother William suddenly drew me 
into a dark alley. I was surprised, and waited to find out what had caused his unexpected 
behavior.

"Ah, what a vision of loveliness," he sighed. In the darkness, I strained to look at him. His 
head was turned. He seemed to be staring at something across the street.

Following his gaze, I saw the cause of his distraction. The window of a house opposite was 
open. In the light of several candles, we could see a young girl preparing for bed. She was 
truly beautiful, with long, flowing black hair, and voluptuous curves which her white nightdress
did little to conceal.

We watched her as she pinned her hair up before a mirror on the wall.

"By great Cthol," Brother William muttered, "I'd give a great deal to have that girl. I've not 
been with a woman since leaving England."

I could hear his heavy breathing as we watched from the dark alley. Then he grabbed my 
elbow. As he whispered in my ear, we saw the young beauty blow out the candles. Then she 
disappeared from view. I assumed that, now she had gone to bed, we would continue our 
moonlight stroll. But it was not to be. I tried to control my mounting excitement as I listened 
to Brother William's proposal.

It would be risky. He wanted to invade the house opposite and take our pleasure with the 
beauteous damsel we had been watching. If she had a husband or father in the house, we ran 
the risk of being discovered, perhaps killed. But Brother William was not a man to shirk from 
taking risks when he deemed the prize worthy.

We waited in the alley for perhaps half an hour to give the girl time to get to sleep. The we
crept across the street and skulked around to the back of her house.

The lock on the postern was a flimsy matter, and Brother William found it simple to force 
it. In a few moments, we were standing in the kitchen of the modest house.

We waited with bated breath to see if anyone would come to investigate the small noise 
we had made in our entry. When no one did, we breathed easier and proceeded with our plan.

The first thing we did was remove our robes. It would have been foolish to commit our 
crime dressed as monks; our identities must remain secret.

We wore nothing under the robes, so it was two naked men, or, rather a man and a boy, 
who stealthily climbed the steps to the second floor of the dwelling. The house was in total 
darkness. Not a sound could be heard save the squeaking of the steps under our feet.

A window at the end of the second floor hallway admitted a stream of pale moonlight. 
There were three doors off the hallway.

Brother William was carrying a short, sharp dagger. The girl's room had to be the one on 
the end of the hallway. But my companion wanted to check the other rooms and find out 
whether they were tenanted rather than risk an unpleasant interruption later. Luckily, both 
were empty. The girl was alone in the house.

Her door squeaked as Brother William slowly opened it. The sound must have awakened 
her, for she was sitting up in bed, clutching a sheet to her breast, as we walked in.

Her fine features were lovely to see in the moonlight. Fear glinted in her eyes as we walked
over and stood on either side of the bed.

"Who are you? What do you want?" she asked. I could see her eyes fly to Brother William's 
long member, lying flaccid against his thigh. Surely the intentions of two men stealing naked 
into a young girl's bedroom at night were unmistakable.

Brother William sat down on the edge of the bed. As he spoke no Spanish, it was my job 
to do the talking. I was apprehensive as I began reciting the speech he had told me to deliver.

"If you do as you are told, no harm will come to you," I said. Brother William toyed with his
dagger as I continued. "We merely wish to enjoy the pleasures of your body. If you resist, we 
will be forced to us violence, which would displease us greatly."

I had barely finished speaking when she suddenly jumped from the bed and made a mad 
dash for the door. Brother William was on her in a flash. He grabbed her about the waist and 
threw her back onto the bed. Then he raised his hand and delivered a stinging blow to her 
upturned face. She cried out in pain as he repeated the blow.

I winced at the sound of the open-handed slaps, and at the sight of the terror in the girl's 
eyes. The moonlight streaming in through the open window lent an air of unreality to the 
proceedings.

Brother William suddenly put his hand into the neckline of her nightdress and pulled with 
all his might. The flimsy material tore. He ripped it open down to her knees, then stepped 
back, a cruel grin on his face.

In truth, the girl was worth the risk of stealing into her house. As the material of her 
garment parted, we feasted our eyes on the twin beauties of her upturned breasts, freed from 
the imprisonment of her nightgown. They were large and full, with brown nipples the size of 
pieces of eight. She was panting, and the sight of those luscious mounds quivering as she 
stared at us set my tool to twitching. I looked over at Brother William and saw the awesome 
shaft of his mighty organ, fully erect, pointing straight at the exposed beauty of our young 
victim.

The gradual rise of her creamy belly was a delight to behold, ending as it did in a thick 
bush of ebony hair that hid from us the sight of that silky slit for which so many men have 
struggled and died.

The girl was shaking as Brother William passed his dagger to me and advanced on her. His
throbbing manhood bobbed in mid-air as he approached the bed. He put both hands on her 
shoulders and forced her onto her back. Knowing now that resistance would be futile, she lay 
back with her head on the pillow and closed her eyes.

My companion then forced her legs apart. He turned to me as the plump lips of her cunt 
came into view. He was leaning over her, his pulsing organ a foot above her lush abdomen. 
He got to his knees between her outstretched thighs. The he moved his hands from her hips 
and ran them up along her rib cage until they reached the lush hillocks of her breasts. He 
squeezed the firm flesh, and tweaked the nipples. We both grinned as they swelled and 
throbbed under his caress. The woman was getting excited by her own rape!

Brother William reached one hand down from its lusty perch and grasped his rigid pestle, 
guiding it to the entrance to her silky channel. The girl gasped at the feel of warm flesh 
against her cunt lips. Then the monk lunged forward with a low groan of passion and 
penetrated her body. She yelped as the gross head of Brother William's member stretched 
apart her nether lips. Then his lusty rod was buried completely in her body. I watched the rise 
and fall of his hard buttocks as he began to move his organ in and out of her. She had opened
her eyes, and was staring at the ceiling, trying, I suppose, to pretend that Brother William's 
prick was not filling her quaking cunt, that she was not being violated in her own bedroom by 
a complete stranger.

My own masculinity was throbbing almost painfully, jutting out from between my thighs. I 
reached down with one hand and fondled it, feeling the thrill run through my body as I 
squeezed the swollen head. I couldn't wait for my turn at the wench.

For a while, the bed groaned under the movements of Brother William alone. Then, as I 
watched in fascination, playing with my tool, the girl's hips began to chum, bucking up against
Brother William's body as she began to enjoy her rape. With a low moan compounded of 
shame and excitement, she threw her arms about the body of her assailant and pulled him 
close to her. I could see the flesh of her breasts swelling out from between their two sweating 
bodies as their hips move in unison, caught up in the rhythmic exhilaration of lust.

Brother William's buttocks were a pale blur of motion in the moonlight as he humped his 
way to delightful release. Sweat gleamed on both their bodies as the room was filled with the 
sound of their panting.

My companion fucked away, ever harder and faster. He suddenly gave out a short series of
groans, and redoubled the speed with which he was ramming his engine in and out of his 
victim.

His groans were followed by a long cry of primitive passion as he spent his seed in the 
recesses of the girl's body. She too was whimpering, caught up in the joy of the moment, 
raking Brother William's back with her nails, bucking her hips up against him as he pumped 
every last drop of semen from his balls.

The pace of his humping slowed until he lay still. Then he rolled from her. His member was
pulled from her sopping cunt, making a liquid popping sound as it was withdrawn. He stood 
by the side of the bed, his wet organ still erect, but softening. Grinning, he extended his arm 
and pointed at the girl, inviting me to take my turn.

It was an invitation I was not loath to accept. My prick was burning with desire as I walked 
to the bed. Suddenly I was possessed of an overpowering desire to try something new.

Although I had sampled the charms of many of the women of the Order's harem, I had 
never yet dared bury my member in a woman's rear passage. I remembered the way Brother 
Carlos had buggered Rosa on my first night in the monastery.

Reaching down and grabbing her by the shoulder, I tossed the girl over onto her stomach.
She was still dazed from her treatment at the hands of Brother William and made no protest.

The moonlight shimmered, washing over the perfect firm globes of her buttocks. I reached
down and dug my fingers into the pliant flesh, revelling in the silky softness. Then I intruded 
my fingers into the valley between them and pulled them apart. I could clearly see the small, 
puckering node which marked the entrance to her rectum. It seemed to me impossible that I 
would ever be able to insinuate my massive organ into that small and delicate opening. But it 
was no smaller than Rosa's anus, and Brother Carlos had a much larger prick than mine.

At this point, as I touched one finger to the quivering hole, the girl discerned my 
attentions. She cried out in protest, and struggled to get away. Taking my cue from Brother 
William, I raised my hand and brought it down hard against the back of her head. Stunned, 
she dropped back onto the pillow with a low moan of miserable resignation.

I raised one hand from her lush behind and spat into the palm, rubbing the saliva over my 
pulsing rod. I repeated the act twice more, lubricating my shaft well. Then I climbed onto the 
bed, pulling her legs apart to kneel between them. I parted her buttocks once more. The 
moonlight clearly illuminated the target of my raging organ as I guided the head until it 
brushed against the tight circle of muscle.

I was quivering with lust and anticipation as I began to press the head of my engine 
against her bumhole. Then, wonder of wonders, the pulsing head slipped through the muscle 
and I felt for the first time the moist heat of a woman's rear passage. I pressed further, 
ignoring her whimpering, and worked my tool inch by ecstatic inch, into the glory of her 
rectum. Finally, my stomach was pressed firmly against her soft buttocks as my entire tool was
gripped by her warm, quaking flesh.

I didn't move for a moment, just revelling in the marvelous feel of her. Then I slowly pulled
my hips up, moaning as my prick was withdrawn from the gate of paradise. I stopped when 
the tight muscle was gripping only the pulsing, sensitive head of my manhood, thrilling me as 
it gripped the thick cord of nerves along the underside. Now I understood why Brother Carlos 
was so fond of this particular form of indulgence. Never had I felt anything so warm and tight 
around my mighty engine, and I drove it back into her with great ferocity. The feel of her twin 
globes against my stomach added to my pleasure. I sank down, sprawled across her back, and
began to hump rhythmically in and out of her. I pressed my hands between her body and the 
mattress so that her large teats were filling my palms. I could feel the twin nubs of her nipples,
pulsing erect against my clutching hands.

Oh, how I wished that I could go on forever, drifting in the paradise of total sensuality. But 
my balls were aching, yearning to be free of their heavy load of hot sperm. My hips rose and 
fell ever faster. Both of us were sweating and grunting as my climax approached. I could hear 
the rhythmic slapping of my belly against her backside, and the sound heightened my 
excitement.

I groaned as I felt the first pulsation of my climax run through my surging shaft. My prick 
drove in and out of her sphincter faster and faster as my balls exploded, sending great jets of 
hot semen splashing against her intestinal walls.

As my excitement and the pace of my buggery had increased, the girl beneath me had 
started to buck up against my hips each time I thrust into her. She had become excited when 
Brother William had fucked her proper hole, but must not have reached satisfaction. For now, 
as I humped furiously at her backside, she let out a stream of loud groans, grinding her soft 
buttocks into me, writhing like a woman possessed. It made the final spasms of my orgasm 
just that much more exciting as the last of my seed spurted into her rectum.

I lay motionless, sprawled on her body, for several moment, spent. We panted in unison as
we drifted down from the elevated state to which we had been transported. Then I felt a 
finger tapping me on the shoulder and turned to see Brother William grinning at me. He 
made a sign that we leave, and I pulled my softening organ from its quivering nest as I rose. 
The girl turned over on her back and smiled up at us, exposing herself brazenly. She was 
smiling how. As we walked from the room, she was standing, walking toward a cabinet in the 
corner, going, I suppose to get a fresh nightdress to replace the one Brother William had 
ruined.

We tip-toed back down the stairs and into the kitchen where we had left our robes. 
Properly dressed once more, we strolled nonchalantly out the back door and around the 
house. We turned sharply. I craned my neck around, and saw the silhouette of a woman 
leaning out of the bedroom window. She was looking in the other direction, however, and we 
hurried forward in the shadows lest she catch a glimpse of us in our robes. From the look of 
satisfaction on her face as we left, however, I was confident that she would not report her 
defilement. No doubt her husband was one of the ignorant louts lounging in the common 
room of the inn, drinking wine and boasting of his exploits. Accustomed to his quick thrusts, 
she had thoroughly enjoyed her submission to two of the expert followers of the great god 
Cthol.

The common room of the inn was crowded when we entered, but we managed to find a 
small table in the corner. The proprietor brought us a flagon of wine, and we drank deeply.

I had just participated in an out and out rape, one of the most heinous crimes known to 
man. But I felt no shame or remorse. As my teachers had stressed, ganjo, or non Gypsy, 
women were put on Earth by Cthol solely to serve as receptacles for the seed of our people. 
They were there for the taking. I had witnessed much more brutal conquests in the monastery.
Now, as I drank away the thirst which my exercise had caused, I wondered what other things 
Brother William would show me on our travels.





CHAPTER FIVE


We left early the next day. The lack of any hue and cry in the night confirmed my assumption 
that our rape of the young girl would not be reported. We were lucky in that, for we had been 
the only strangers in town. We might have been able to talk our way out of it, but we certainly
would have come under suspicion if she had reported the assault.

The road was dusty as we walked the sorry beasts the innkeeper had sold us, and the 
morning sun beat down mercilessly on our heads. We rode with our cowls pulled back.

One of the disadvantages of a monk's robe is that it is extremely warm to wear. In cold 
climates, the material serves as insulation, and keeps one warm. But on the dusty plains of 
southern Spain, it is torture to wear.

We had been riding for perhaps two hours, engaging in desultory conversation as sweat 
poured out of our bodies, when Brother William suggested a short rest. We rode off the road 
into the shade of a small grove of olive trees and dismounted. We had a wineskin, which we 
took from the pommel of my saddle and near-emptied in our thirst. Then we dropped to the 
ground with sighs of relief.

As a young peasant, I had never had the opportunity to ride a horse, and, although I had 
been taking riding lessons at the monastery, my body was sore from the morning's journey. I 
rubbed my bruised bottom as we enjoyed the coolness of the shade trees.

Suddenly, we heard the sound of high-pitched giggling in the distance. Curious, we rose 
and walked further into the grove in search of the source of the noise. We had proceeded 
perhaps fifty paces when we emerged in a small clearing. In the center of the meadow was a 
shimmering pond. The body of cool water was inviting. Then we saw the source of the 
giggling we had heard.

In the center of the pond, splashing water at one another, were two young girls. I judged 
them to be at most fourteen. There were two neat piles of clothing at the side of the pond. We
had surprised two young girls taking a nude swim in the heat of the early afternoon.

The young maidens didn't notice us on the edge of the grove of trees. We walked to the 
edge of the pond before one of them looked over in our direction. Her squeal of shock 
caused her companion to look as well.

They stared at us, not knowing what to do. Brother William whispered in my ear. I smiled 
as I heard his proposal. Then I addressed the frightened children.

"Don't be alarmed," I called. "We are, as you see, monks. You need not be embarrassed in 
front of us, nor ashamed at taking advantage of this delightful pool. As a matter of fact, we're 
going to join you."

Even as I spoke, Brother William was drawing his robe over his head. I heard the girl's gasp
as his long, limp organ came into view. I, too, shed my robe and stepped out of my sandals. 
Both of us ran into the water, enjoying its wonderful coolness against our skin.

I had never been much of a swimmer, and thrashed about, barely keeping my head above 
water. But Brother William acted as though he'd been born in the water. He took off across 
the surface like an arrow from a crossbow.

The two delectable young creatures were still treading water in the center of the pond as 
Brother William neared them. Suddenly, he rose from the water and dove down beneath the 
surface, his pale buttocks breaking the water for an instant.

He had been under for perhaps ten seconds when one of the girls gave out a loud whoop 
of shock and surprise. She was pulled under the water, and came up sputtering as her 
companion suffered the same treatment. Brother William had swum up beneath them and 
ducked them both. Now he emerged from the depths, grinning, then laughing at the girls' 
surprise.

In my clumsy way, I managed to paddle over next to Brother William. We were only a 
couple of feet from the two young girls. I could clearly see the buoyant globes of their breasts 
just breaking the surface of the water and, despite the cold water, my member twitched at the 
thought of their pubescent nakedness so close to us.

Brother William's smile was infectious, and in a moment all four of us were grinning like 
idiots. In revenge for my companion's joke, the two girls started splashing water at him. As I 
was right next to him, they couldn't help but hit me as well. We began to retaliate, and soon 
were involved in a childish, but amusing, four-way water fight.

This continued for some minutes, until we were all panting from exhaustion. As if in 
response to some silent signal, all four of us started making for the shore at the same time. 
Brother William and I lagged behind, wanting to see their beautiful behinds as they left the 
pond.

And beautiful they were. Our eyes widened at the sight of the four shimmering 
semi-spheres as the two girls walked out of the shallow water at the edge of the pond. Then 
we swam in and left the water ourselves.

The girls were standing facing us. One was a brunette. Her companion was that rarity, a 
Spanish blonde. Her skin, however, was the olive of the Iberian races, though her almond eyes 
were evidence of a Moorish influence in her bloodlines. In contrast to her companion's small, 
but well-formed breasts, the blonde had huge heaping handsful of flesh suspended from her 
chest, and rosy pink nipples crowning their glory. She had a rich growth of golden down 
between her thighs, and I could just make out the puckered cleft of her divine furrow.

My prick was twitching in anticipation as I advanced on the voluptuous creature. I had to 
have her. I saw her eyes widen as she saw the evidence of my rising passion.

Brother William seemed quite content to take the lithe brunette. She was every bit as 
lovely as her companion, but slimmer, younger-looking. I glanced over at her and saw that she
had not yet sprouted a proper covering for her young womanhood. The cleft was completely 
exposed. This evidently excited Brother William, for her reached out and touched the tip of his
finger to that opening tenderly.

It seemed as though understanding of our intentions burst upon both girls at that 
moment. Both our rods were rigid, yearning to be buried in the silky bodies of the two girls.

"No," said the blonde. "But, you're monks. You can't... "

"Ah," I replied. "We are monks, but first we are men. As you are about to become women."

I reached out and pulled her to me even as Brother William embraced the brunette. They 
struggled in our arms, but our superior strength soon convinced them of the futility of their 
resistance.

Brother William picked up his girl from the ground and slung her over his shoulder. I 
watched her firm nether cheeks bob up and down as he carried her over to the shade of the 
trees. His idea seemed eminently practical to me, so I lifted the blonde up, with some difficulty
as she was much heavier than the other girl, and followed Brother William. By the time I had 
dropped my burden under the trees, he had his victim already spread out for his inspection. I 
saw him lower his lips to her small breasts and suck one of them almost completely into his 
mouth. Then I became occupied with my own tasty little piece of meat.

I feasted my hungry eyes on the lush mounds on her chest. The rosy nipples were so 
inviting that I couldn't help but lower my mouth to one and suck the tender bud inside. It 
swelled and throbbed as I ran my tongue around it. Soon it was stiff, pulsing in my mouth as I 
nipped at it playfully with my teeth. Then I transferred my attentions to its mate, stimulating it 
to a similar state of excitement.

Meanwhile, my hands roved down over the gentle rise of her belly. My fingers met the first
strands of silky hair, and my member twitched in excitement. I boldly extended one finger 
between her thighs and ran it down the length of her womanly furrow, eliciting a sigh of 
pleasure from the young blonde. As I pressed my palm to her pubic mound, I ran my finger up
and down her cunt's slit. Soon, I began to feel the sticky moisture of her passion juice as it 
oozed out from her inner lips, lubricating her slit for my eventual penetration.

She was breathing heavily now as I sucked strongly on one nipple, fondled the other 
breast with one hand, and simultaneously caressed her pulsing cunt lips. Her eyes were closed,
and I could tell that she was deriving as much pleasure from my caresses as I was.

Now I gently pressed my fingertip between her nether lips. She gasped as my digit slipped
easily into her lubricated passage. I pushed one joint in, then was stopped by the strong 
membrane of her maidenhead. Well, she wouldn't have that for long!

I pushed her legs far apart and rose to my knees between them, letting her sweet nipple 
slide from between my lips. She opened her eyes then, and looked at the swollen evidence of 
my arousal.

Guiding it with my hand, I steered the head of my battering ram to the gates of her 
heavenly tunnel. She gasped again at the unfamiliar feel of warm flesh against her 
womanhood. I grinned down at her as I lunged forward and, with one mighty thrust, drove my
engine home. She screamed as my rod ripped through the membrane of her hymen. I felt the 
sticky wetness of warm blood as it flowed from her cunt over our thighs.

Then I was fully inside her. Never before or since have I ceased to wonder at the incredible 
ecstasy of entering a woman. I was on fire with passion and need, and started running my 
member in and out of her immediately, ignoring her protestations and whimpers of pain.

I was supporting myself on my palms, watching the pain and horror on her face fade into 
the languorous expression of a woman coming alive to sexual pleasure for the first time.

I heard another scream and a loud grunt from my right, and turned to see Brother William 
initiating the slim girl into the mysteries of sex. He had set her on top of him, with her virgin's 
cunt poised over his raging manhood. Then, with his hands on her hips, he had pulled her 
down with great force, impaling her on his rod and breaking her maidenhead at the same 
time. Now he was jerking her body up and down on his member effortlessly as she struggled 
fruitlessly to free herself from his iron grasp.

Turning my attention back to the girl I was fucking, I closed my eyes and enjoyed the 
tingling sensations of pleasure that were spreading from my rampant organ to the rest of my 
body. Slowly, without missing a beat, I lowered myself onto the lush pillows of her breasts, 
feeling the swollen nipples burn into my chest.

I smiled inwardly as the luscious creature beneath me reached her arms around my back 
and hugged me to her. I had awakened the unquenchable fire of womanhood in her. Now her
hips were moving in sympathy with mine as she ground her cunt against me, no longer 
struggling, but lost in the euphoria of her own rising excitement.

My tool seemed on fire as I drove it in and out of the blonde's clutching cunt with 
ever-mounting ferocity. She was grunting and groaning along with me now as we both sped 
toward the satisfaction our bodies demanded.

I could feel the familiar churning in my balls that presaged a tumultuous orgasm. My 
movements became frenzied as spasms of ecstatic pleasure ran down the length of my raging 
shaft.

Then it was upon me. I could feel the jets of hot semen shooting through my prick as I 
flooded her warm cavern with my strong ejaculation. I moved like a madman then, 
determined to make the pleasure last as long as possible as every drop of seminal fluid was 
sucked from my aching balls.

As I shot my load inside her, the young blonde began to weep. The tears that ran down 
her cheeks as she whimpered and moaned under me were evidence of her own climax. Just as 
I delivered my last few thrust, she emitted a shriek such as I had never had before, and bucked
her hips up against me like one possessed, so strong was the fire of her orgasm.

Exhausted for the moment, I rolled from her body. My softening prick glistened wetly in 
the sunlight, covered with a mixture of semen and blood. I raised myself up on my elbow as I 
watched Brother William. He was well on the way to his own climax.

The screams of the lithe girl straddling my fellow monk's hips had changed to moans of 
joy. He no longer needed to restrain her. She was raising and lowering her body on his 
impaling organ with incredible speed. I listened to the slapping sound each time she 
descended and struck her firm buttocks against his thighs. Her head was thrown back 
between her shoulders as her breath came ever faster.

I had never seen this position before, and resolved to try it at the first opportunity. Brother
William was lying on his back, looking up at the passion-contorted face of the girl who was 
fucking him. His hands were raised, moving tenderly over her small, pert teats, squeezing the 
flesh, tweaking the nipples, which stood up, fully erect, standing out a good quarter inch from 
the surrounding flesh.

Suddenly, as I watched, Brother William began to move his hips, bucking up against her, 
raising his muscular buttocks from the ground as the intensity of his climax swept over him. 
The girl was right with him. Her whimpering grew louder and louder as she pumped herself up
and down on his rigid prick ferociously.

Then Brother William let out a scream of savage passion as his seed filled her moist cavern.
As she continued to rise and fall on his hips, I could see sticky white fluid dripping from her 
cunt, falling in shimmering droplets to his heavy thighs.

He thrust up passionately until the last of his sperm had been forced from him. Then the 
pace of their fucking slowed until the girl tumbled forward, spent, on his chest. His rampant 
cock slipped from her body and slapped wetly against her buttocks, then began to soften until
it lay nestled against the sack of his balls, the head dripping a last drop of seed onto his thigh.

Even now, when we were not restraining them, the girls made no move to run away. In 
fact, the one I had just enjoyed leaned over and bestowed a tender kiss to my lips. Then she 
lay back and closed her eyes. In a matter of moments, she was breathing deeply, asleep.

The lithe girl atop Brother William had also dozed off. Gently, he pushed her body from 
him without waking her. Then he stood and grinned down at me.

"Well, little Brother," he said in his accented Tomany, "I think it time we were off. We've a 
long way to go today, and night will soon be upon us."

"But, what about the girls?" I asked.

"Ah, what wouldn't I give to take this little creature with me to Madrid," he said. "But we've
only two horses. Women would slow us down. They're sleeping quietly now. Let's not disturb 
them. Besides, there is a chance that they will tell someone of this incident. If that happens, I 
want to be far away. No member of the Brotherhood has ever died on a public gallows, and I 
have no desire to be the first."

I bowed to his superior reasoning. Casting one last fond glance at the sleeping form of the
luscious blonde, I rose and walked to where my robe lay on the grass. In a few minutes we 
were dressed and walking through the woods to where our horses were tethered. The mounts 
were as we had left them, so we swung up into the saddles and took off down the road at a 
brisk trot.

The road leading to Madrid was lightly-travelled that afternoon. We kept alert, however. 
Even the powerful army of the King of Spain had been unable to clear our roads of the 
brigands and cutthroats who make travel such a perilous undertaking.

In our saddles, we each carried a flintlock pistol, primed and charged, ready for any 
eventuality. We also had swords and daggers. As we rode, I hoped we would not be forced to 
use any of our weaponry; despite all the practice I had had at the monastery, I was as yet still 
untried in battle.

As we rode, Brother William told me tales of the English branch of the Order, and general 
anecdotes of the history of the worship of Cthol throughout Europe and the Mediterranean. 
He. was a fascinating talker, with a memory that defied belief, reciting detail after detail of 
events that had occurred centuries before, stating them in such a way that I couldn't possibly 
doubt their accuracy. The day dwindled away as he talked. Night found us on the road, with 
no idea how far it might be to the next village. Rather than risk losing the road in the 
blackness, we curled up in our robes under some trees and passed an uncomfortable night in 
the outdoors.

I was bone-weary and saddle-sore as we resumed our ride the next morning. Nothing of 
note happened during that entire day. Brother William seemed anxious to get to Madrid. I had
no idea what his business was in the capital, but he seemed to feel it was of the utmost 
urgency.

Toward the late afternoon, we began to see the dust of other travelers up ahead. Just as 
dusk was settling on the countryside, we overtook a caravan of wagons. From the 
gaily-colored kerchiefs of the women, and bright shirts of the men, I knew that we had come 
upon a travelling tribe of gypsies. We rode among them, receiving the sullen looks with which 
my people customarily regard the natives of their host countries. We rode up to the head 
wagon, and Brother William hailed the driver in his accented Romany.

Immediately, the attitude of the tribe changed. Had we been real Christian monks, they 
could have expected us to stop them and preach, warning them to abjure their wicked ways, 
their thievery and laziness. But Brother William's use of the Gypsy tongue, combined with the 
sight of the peculiar crimson cross with which our robes were emblazoned, reassured them. 
They knew that we were in fact Brothers in the service of Cthol, and welcomed us as brethren 
into their caravan.

I must admit, it eased me greatly to be travelling with this tribe. It was a good deal less 
likely that brigands would attack an entire caravan than that they would set upon two monks 
travelling alone.

I rode beside the lead wagon as Brother William alit and sat on the seat beside the Chief of
this small tribe. Enjoying my new-found sense of security, I relaxed, tying the reins of Brother 
William's horse to the pommel of my saddle. The sounds of children playing in the wagon, 
and their mothers' shouted commands, mixed with the squeaks and creaks of the wagons as 
they lumbered along, soothed me.

As darkness fell, the caravan turned off the road and started to set up an encampment for 
the night. After seeing that our horses were attended to, Brother William and I took a short 
stroll together. It seemed that this small band had just been chased from a small village just 
off the Camino Real, the road on which we were travelling.

"Thus it is, little Brother," my companion said mournfully, "and so it shall be until the day 
when great Cthol returns to escort us back to the paradise whence we came. We will always be
at the mercy of the foreigners among whom we reside, accused of stealing their children, their
livestock, their miserable possessions, of being too lazy to work for our living as they do. As if 
any true Gypsy would dirty his hands grubbing in the soil like an animal!"

I deliberately refrained from mentioning my own peasant background. Since I had entered
the Brotherhood, I had tried to avoid even thinking of the way I had been brought up. I was a 
true Gypsy now, and understood that my father, whatever his intentions, had dishonored 
himself and brought shame upon me by abandoning the traditional ways of our people.

As we strolled back into the center of the encampment, I could smell stew cooking in the 
big iron pots hung over the campfires. We went to join the Chief. He was sitting with a few of 
the elders of the tribe, drinking coarse red wine from the bottle. We squatted down with them 
and took the proffered bottle.

I was acutely conscious of my hunger. We had not passed through a village all day, and 
had had nothing to eat the day before save some dried beef from the saddle bags. The wine I 
drank thus had an immediate effect upon me. I heard the lilting strains of a Gypsy ballad 
being plucked out on a guitar from somewhere in the camp, and inhaled deeply, savoring the 
rich smell of the stew. The older men chattered on about me, talking of the various bands they
had run across in their recent travels, the friends and relatives they had lost touch with, or 
found again, the marriages that had been arranged. Suddenly, Brother William said something
that jolted me back to my senses.

"And so," he said, addressing the Chief, "we all travel with the same purpose, then. Five 
days hence we celebrate the Return."

Suddenly, it became clear to me why we were going to Madrid. Once a year, there is a 
meeting of the Gypsy clans at which they celebrate the coming Return of Cthol to lead our 
people to the Home. Of course! This year's celebration was less than a week away. Like the 
child I was, I had not made the connection between the great celebration and Brother 
William's urgent trip to Madrid.

There would, of course, be a special service in the monastery on that day. But it would 
arouse the suspicions of the authorities if every member of the Order of St. Timorthy were to 
descend upon Madrid at once. Thus, Brother William and I were representing our branches of 
the Order.

I was overcome at the honor which had been done me. I knew that an older, more 
experienced monk would normally have been sent with our English Brother, and realized that 
Brother Renaldo was paying me a signal compliment for one who had been such a short time 
with the Brotherhood.

Soon we were eating from big bowls of rich, gamy stew. I was ravenous, and finished my 
portion quickly. And a second. Only on my third bowl did I start to slow down. Everyone else 
had already finished eating. My appetite came in for more than it share of humorous 
comment, mostly lewd.

As I had been eating, I had been hearing the sound of musical instruments being tuned. 
Soon, there was an entire orchestra, several guitars, a drum, and a violin. As they began to 
play wild tarantellas, a number of the younger Gypsies began to dance. I watched the flaring 
skirts of the young girls as they twirled about, admiring their long, tanned legs and slender 
ankles.

"Why don't you dance, little Brother," said Brother William, nudging me in the ribs.

Shame-faced, I confessed my ignorance of the age-old dances of my people. The Chief 
laughed as Brother William explained that I had only recently been rescued from the life of a 
ganjo dirt-grubber, and was still learning the ways of the Gypsy.

The Chief rose and walked across the clearing in which we were camped. When he 
returned, he was leading a young girl by the hand. I could not make out her features as she 
was staring demurely at the ground.

"Little Brother," the Chief said, picking up Brother William's term of address. "This is Maria. 
She is a most excellent teacher."

As he introduced her, the girl looked up. I saw that she was exquisite, with the flashing 
dark eyes of my people, light olive complexion, strong features. Although I judged her to be 
not more than fifteen, her body was already that of a woman.

I protested in vain as the Chief and Brother William lifted me to my feet and pushed my 
hand into Maria's. The next thing I knew, I was out among the dancers, around the camp fire. 
We were close to the musicians now, and I felt a stirring in my blood, a primitive response to 
the music of my people.

Maria began to show me the steps of the exotic dances which were being performed 
about us. I am a man of passing gracefulness, and an apt student. In a matter of moments I 
had picked up the simplest of the steps. As we danced with mad abandon about the fire, I 
started to really understand the primitive beauty of the Gypsy way. It had been one thing to 
learn the history and language of my people in the cloistered security of the monastery. It was
quite another to feel the passion flowing through my veins, to stare without modesty into the 
deep, ebony eyes of my lovely partner, to feel at one with this band of free spirits whose 
blood and soul were as mine.





CHAPTER SIX


I know not how long we danced. To me, lost in the sensuality of a new experience, it seemed 
like hours. Finally, I was exhausted. My lungs were burning with the effort of breathing, and 
my limbs felt weak. Laughing, Maria led me from the campfire.

But she did not lead me back to my original position, sitting with the elders. Rather she 
took me walking away from the campfire, and then away from the camp entirely. She 
chattered on about inconsequentials as we walked. I hardly listened, just enjoyed the 
sweetness of her voice, the warm pressure of her hand in mine. I would, at that moment, have 
willingly followed this girl anywhere.

Finally, we stopped in the middle of a large meadow. I could not see the glow of the 
campfire; there was a grove of trees in the way. But the strains of the continuing music drifted 
through the night air and surrounded us with sensuous sound. As we stood there, the tone of 
the music changed. Until then, the orchestra had been playing the fast, wild music of the 
Gypsy. Now, they started playing soft, slow ballads.

"The evening draws to a close," Maria whispered. "Soon it will be the time for sleep. And 
for other things."

I was a little taken aback as Maria suddenly threw her arms about my neck and pulled my 
head down. My cowl was thrown back from dancing, and she ran her Fingers through my 
tonsured hair as she pressed her lips to mine. I felt the pliant tendril of her tongue as it snaked
along the furrow of my pursed lips. Instinctively, I opened my mouth, and her tongue met 
mine. I tasted the sweetness of her saliva.

I could feel the jerking of my member beneath my robe as my arms flew around her. Then 
her warm, vibrant body was pressed to mine. Even through my robe, I could feel the fullness 
of her breasts. I recalled the way they had bounced on her chest, threatening to burst free of 
her peasant blouse, as we had danced.

With a low moan, I pulled Maria to the ground beside me. We did not break our kiss. 
Rather it was our hands that moved, as though of their own free will. My fingers were 
clutching the firm globes of her nether cheeks, revelling in the softness of them through her 
skirt. To my surprise, she reached for and grabbed my pulsing organ through the material of 
my robe. I had never seen such directness on the part of a woman. Not satisfied with holding 
me through the robe, she then reached down and intruded both hands underneath the 
garment. I groaned as she wrapped the fingers of one hand around my throbbing shaft while 
the digits of its mate played with the hanging sack of my balls.

Then her caress ended as she stood over me. I could see her eyes flashing in the 
moonlight. Then her face was obscured as she drew her blouse over her head. In its place, I 
saw the bobbing twin protuberances of her teats. They were full and pale, crowned by large 
nipples, dark circles in the night. Next she pulled her skirt down over her flaring hips and let it 
drop to the ground. She stepped out of it and did a dainty pirouette before me, showing off 
the beauty of her body. Her buttocks were full and round, but firm. I thrilled to the sight of the
delicate curvature of her back.

Impulsively, I stood and faced her. She looked up into my eyes and smiled. Then she bent 
and seized the hem of my robe. As she drew it up over my waist, my pulsing spear jutted out 
from between my thighs, pointing at her, throbbing as though yearning to bury itself in the 
moist warmth of her body.

I grabbed Maria's hand as she continued to pull my robe upward. Then I jerked the 
garment over my own head. I wore nothing underneath. We stood together as the great Cthol
had made us, unashamed.

I stepped forward and gathered her to me, running my hands familiarly down her back 
and once more cupping the perfect cheeks of her posterior. I could feel my erect prick pressed
to the warm flesh of her abdomen. She glued her body to mine. I moaned as my rigid rod was
squeezed firmly between our two young bodies. Once more we kissed, her lips burning 
against mine in the heat of her passion. Then she drew back. I reached for her again, but she 
stepped back another step.

"You are strange to our ways, Brother Juan," she said. "You should know that I must marry 
as a virgin. No man save my husband may ever taste completely of the fruits of my body."

"But, then why... " I sputtered. Why had she brought me here, gotten me so excited at the 
sight of her body, if she wouldn't allow me to penetrate the portals of heaven?

"I have my ways," she smiled as she took my arm and pulled me down to the ground. She 
pushed me onto my back and glued her lips to mine once more, bolding insinuating her 
tongue between my lips for a brief duel with my own tendril. Then her mouth was pulled from 
mine. I felt her lips and tongue wander over my chin, down into the hollow of my throat.

As her mouth trailed down over my chest, pausing to suck and lick at my swollen nipples, 
Maria's hands had returned to my groin. She was passing her fingers over the throbbing shaft 
of my manhood, then cupping them both around my churning scrotum, forcing my passion to
a fever pitch.

I closed my eyes as I felt her lips touch the upper limits of the patch of hair surrounding 
my organ. Then her tongue was running up and down the shaft, just stopping at the head 
long enough to lick teasingly at the slit, then continuing down the underside. Her hands were 
stroking my balls now as her mouth moved back up my rod. Then her lips closed around the 
head and I felt the heavenly sensation of her suction on the root of my young manhood.

Maria was kneeling next to me as she sucked my raging rod. I felt her lips encircling it 
closer and closer to the base. Then the head was against the back of her throat. I assumed 
that she had taken in as much of me as she could. Imagine my surprise as the throbbing head 
passed into her throat. She had managed to open the muscles in her throat to permit the 
passage of my member. Soon I felt her lips pursed around the base of my shaft. Her tongue 
was moving in languorous circles around it as she increased the power of her suction. Her 
hands never left my scrotum, now stroking, now squeezing, driving my balls to heights of 
arousal I had never before experienced.

I couldn't allow this young beauty to give me such pleasure without attempting to repay 
her. I reached over and grabbed her by the hips. For a second, I thought she was going to 
allow my prick to slip from between her lips. But she got the idea right away, and followed the
path my hands made for her, swinging one leg over my head so that she knelt with her 
fragrant cunt poised over my face.

I could make her womanhood out only as a spot of darkness surrounded by the dim light 
of the moon. I moved my hands up so that my fingers were clenched on her rear cheeks and 
pulled her body down until I could feel the plump moisture of her nether lips against my 
mouth. I sucked on them lightly, and was rewarded with a low moan from deep in her throat. 
The vibrations of her moan travelled up the shaft of my pecker as it remained imbedded in her
throat and made me even more excited.

My mouth was glued to her cunt as I boldly stuck my tongue between the pouting outer 
lips. I inhaled deeply, enjoying the musky aroma of her nether regions as I tasted the rich 
gaminess of her womanly excretions.

She pressed her hips down then, as my tongue swept about inside her. I brushed against 
the swollen shaft of her clitoris. I remembered how Rosa had reacted when I had caressed this 
erect love button. I ran my tongue up and down, feeling her hips writhe as tingling sensations 
of pleasure ran through her body from that tender bud.

Meanwhile, my prick was still completely buried in her throat. Her hands played with my 
balls, which felt like they were on fire. Then I felt her push one finger between the cheeks of 
my rear. The tip of the digit brushed against the entrance to my rear passage. Never had I felt 
so excited as I did when I felt the total stimulation of my lower body. My manhood was buried
in the clutching warmth of her throat. Her fingers continued to play about with my balls. And 
now she pushed one finger in, forcing it past the circle of tight muscle, and began to wriggle it
about in my rectum.

I sucked frantically on the lips of her cunt, running my tongue up and down her throbbing 
clitoris, wanting to give this young delightful creature fully as much pleasure as she was giving
me. I knew I wouldn't last long under her expert ministrations. I wondered how many other 
men she had treated to this ecstasy. It was strange that the acts we were committing were 
considered normal for an unmarried girl. Only if I had actually penetrated her womanhood, 
burst her hymen, would she be considered unsuitable for an honorable marriage.

I could feel the familiar feeling mounting in my scrotum. I groaned into the fastness of her 
cunt as her finger, moving sinuously in my rectum, brushed against the base of my surging 
manhood through the membrane separating my manhood from my rear passage. As if that 
caress had been a signal, I felt the first pulsation run through the shaft of my prick. Then I was 
gushing great jets of hot semen into her throat. She didn't even gag, but took every drop, 
never stopping her suction, swallowing the full profusion of my seed.

Even as the last spasms passed through my raging prick, I could feel the vibrations of 
ever-louder moaning from the girl whose mouth was firmly clamped about my root. My 
tongue, imbedded in her cunt, was gripped tightly by the muscles of her vagina as they 
clenched, then relaxed over and over again. Her hips writhed against my head as great, sticky 
globules of love juice flowed from her womanhood. Clearly, she was in the throes of her own 
climax. Even as my prick began to wilt in her throat, I increased the pace of my mad lapping, 
not wishing to cease until she had reached the full peak of her well-deserved orgasm.

My organ dropped from between her lips, but I did not stop sucking and licking. I could 
hear the chorus of low groans she emitted as she cradled her head against my thigh. Her 
finger was withdrawn from my bumhole, and her hand left off fondling my scrotum. Instead, 
she clenched her fingers into the flesh of my thighs, the nails digging in as she strained 
toward the climax of her lust.

Then the silence of the meadow was broken by her shriek of release as she attained her 
fulfillment. I was afraid that the echo would carry to the Gypsy camp, and bring curious 
searchers. Then I reflected that the Chief undoubtedly knew what would happen when he 
pressed me to dance with Maria.

Her movements slowed, and finally stopped. With a heavy sigh, she dropped from my face
and sprawled out, brazenly exposed, legs spread wide, on the grass beside me.

We lay, not speaking, for a while, recovering our breath. Finally, Maria stood and smiled 
down at me, her white teeth sparkling in the dim moonlight. Wordlessly, she bent down to 
retrieve her clothing. Her full breasts hung pendulous as she did so, and I was unable to resist 
the temptation to reach out and tweak the erect nipples, realizing that I had not paid any 
attention to these marvellous hillocks during our entire interlude of passion. She straightened 
up and smiled again, running her palms over the nipples. Then she was drawing her blouse 
back on, and stepping into her skirt. Clearly, our time together was over, at least for this one 
night.

I rose and pulled my robe back on. Hand in hand, we strolled back to the encampment. 
The musicians were still playing mournful ballads as we stepped into the firelight. Maria 
squeezed my hand once and was gone, disappearing into the shadows. I strutted over to the 
circle where Brother William and the elders of the clan still sat, passing a bottle of wine about. 
They greeted me sluggishly, clearly the worse for the wine. I looked at the ground and saw 
that they were drinking their fifth bottle of the raw liquor. I squatted down and took the bottle
when it came to me, swallowing a great draught as befitted a man and a Gypsy.

"And so, little Brother," chortled the Chief as he took the bottle from me. "You had a 
pleasant walk in the woods with Maria, eh?" He leered at me as he spoke. I made no reply, but
stared into his eyes unflinchingly. I had no interest in playing word games with the man. He 
had offered a gift. I had accepted it. The matter was over and done with. He returned my stare,
then threw back his head and roared with laughter.

"You're right," he said to Brother William. "The boy is Rom from head to toe, and 
everywhere in between." To this day, I think I cherish those words more than any others that 
have ever been addressed to me.

I must confess that the balance of the evening in the Gypsy encampment is rather unclear 
to me. I remember consuming a prodigious amount of harsh wine. Then my impressions are 
blurred. I seem to recall at one point dancing with the Chief and the elders in a mad swaying 
line that threatened to fall into the fire at any moment. I have the distinct memory of expelling
the meal I had earlier consumed back through my throat. But these are all indistinct. Enough 
to say that the next morning I awoke, curled up in a blanket, in the back of a wagon. It was 
already in motion, the clan having packed up camp and gotten back on the road without 
awakening me.

I immediately lurched to the back of the swaying wagon and once more threw up, this 
time into the rutted dirt behind me. I felt better then, but by no means whole. It seemed that 
legions of demons were pounding hammers into my brain. My hands shook like those of an 
aged man, and I could not stand in the back of the wagon. I dropped back onto my blanket 
and slept once more.

When I again awoke, I felt better. Resolving never again to over-indulge in the fruit of the 
vine, I crept up to the front of the wagon and pulled back the cloth which was draped 
between the body of the wagon and the driver's seat.

"Ah, little Brother has rejoined the land of the living." It was Brother William's sardonic 
voice I heard as I poked my head out, wincing as the morning sunlight sent lances of pain into
my swollen eyes.

"Where are our horses?" I asked.

"Oh, they're tethered to one of the rear wagons," my companion replied. "Raoul here has 
kindly consented to allow us to travel with him to Madrid. It will be a good deal more 
comfortable than plodding along on those nags." Brother William nodded to the clan Chieftan
who was driving as he spoke.

"And exactly when can we count on arriving in Madrid?" I asked.

"Oh," the Chief answered, "if we don't run into any problems, I'd say we will reach the 
meeting place outside the city sometime tonight."

I moved up onto the seat. Brother William moved over to give me room. We were in the 
lead wagon. I put my hands to my head as I was assailed by all the sounds of a Gypsy caravan 
on the move, the rattling of pots and plans, shouts of women and children.

As the day progressed and we passed through the gentle hills which elevate Madrid, my 
condition improved. I was even able to trade an occasional joke with Raoul or Brother William.

Suddenly, in mid-afternoon, we saw a cloud of dust ahead of us. It was a troop of 
mounted horsemen galloping toward us. As they approached, we could see that they wore 
the light battle armor of the King's Cavalry. The officer signalled them to a halt in the road 
before us. Then, flanked by two lancers, he trotted up to the lead wagon. Ignoring Brother 
William and myself, he began to interrogate Raoul. I was struck by the contempt he showed 
for the Gypsy leader. In my village, the only Gypsies had been my father and myself. We were 
too small and out of the way to attract any of the wandering caravans. This, then was my first 
encounter with the unspeakable treatment my people customarily receive at the hands of the 
Spaniards.

"And exactly where do you think you're taking this pack of mongrels?" the officer sneered.

"As you well know, Captain," Raoul replied, ignoring the insult, "my people are subjects of 
the Crown, even as you yourself. And, as you also undoubtedly know, we have been granted a 
Royal Permit to conduct our annual meeting of the clans in the hills near the capitol."

"Ay, this I know all too well, Gypsy," the captain replied. He shifted in his saddle and 
scratched his groin, after a flea or a louse, before continuing. "We've seen nothing but shabby 
caravans like this coming along the Camino Real for the past week. And right behind them, 
come the reports from the villages through which they've passed. Reports of robbery, 
burglary, kidnapping. But you people are too clever to bring the evidence of your rascality 
here. I've searched twenty caravans, and come up with nothing. But you will be searched, as all
the others. And, if I can come up with so much as a stolen chamber pot, I guarantee that you 
will taste the hospitality of His Majesty's prison rather than the swill which will be served at 
your barbaric meeting."

It was only after the captain had spoken thus to Raoul, and had dispatched a number of 
his men to begin the search of the caravan, that he turned to Brother William and myself. 
Brother William, of course, had understood nothing of the foregoing, as the dialogue had 
been conducted in Castilian. He remained mute as the captain of the troop seemed for the 
first time to take notice of our monk's garb.

"And exactly what are two holy friars doing travelling in this disreputable company?" he 
asked sternly. His question was directed at Brother William, who, even cowled, was obviously 
the older of us. It was the first time that I understood the paramount importance of my 
mission. Brother William turned to me and winked. We had rehearsed carefully the story I was 
to give to any inquisitive officers. But now I was faced with the steely gaze of a captain of His 
Majesty's Cavalry. Could I stand up to his scrutiny?

"Begging your pardon, Captain," I said. "But I have been detailed by the Order of St. 
Timothy, upon whose mission we are travelling, to be interpreter for the good Brother. We 
have recently suffered the most devastating persecution in England, from whence Brother 
William has come. He is on a journey to the Abbot at Madrid to report the lamentable 
confiscation of the assets of the Order in England. The only mounts available to us are none 
too fit. And, as you doubtless know, not even the eternal vigilance of His Most Catholic 
Majesty's forces makes the Camino Real safe for poor friars. Therefore, we did not hesitate to 
accept the hospitality of his Gypsy band. We pray that we be permitted to continue our 
journey uninterrupted, as our mission concerns the Crown and the Holy Mother Church."

I waited with bated breath to see how the cavalry captain would react to my set speech. 
He sat back in his saddle and inspected us. From behind me I could hear the indignant shouts 
of the other members of the clan as the members of the cavalry troop started ripping into the 
wagons which contained everything of value owned by the Gypsies.

Finally, the captain reached into his saddle bag and took out a sheaf of travel-weary 
parchments. He inspected them carefully, then separated one from the other.

"You are the Brothers William Tracy and Juan Ortega of the Order of St. Timothy?" he 
inquired.

I acknowledged out identities with relief. Evidently, Brother Renaldo had sent out our 
credentials to those who guarded Madrid as he had promised. The captain frowned at us, 
however.

"You are friars of the Holy Mother Church," he said, "and should therefore be more careful 
of your associates. It is inconceivable to me that any Spanish monk would choose to travel 
with a band of Gypsies."

I felt rather than saw, both Brother William and Raoul stiffen as he spoke. I myself was sore
tempted to lunge at this presumptuous braggart with my dagger. But we stayed our anger. 
Our mission was far more important than this rude soldier's arrogance.

"Very well," he finally said. "You two may proceed. We will be holding this caravan for some
hours, until we have searched it to our satisfaction. The road from here to the city is 
well-patrolled, and quite safe. In the future, you will be more careful of your associations. Go 
with God."

After his brusque farewell, the cavalry captain dug his spurs into his mount and took off 
down the road to superintend the work of his men. Brother William and I exchanged the sign 
of Cthol with Raoul, and alit from his wagon. Then we walked down to the wagon to which 
our horses were tethered. They were guarded, as was the rest of the caravan, by members of 
the captain's troop. I thought Brother William would surely fly off the handle at the conduct of
the horsemen, but, just in the nick of time, the captain came riding up and authorized us to 
claim our steeds. We were lucky indeed that they had not been searched as yet. It would have 
been difficult to explain the flintlocks in our saddle bags.

As we rode away from the halted caravan, I turned to Brother William and spoke in 
Romany.

"How hard do you think it will be for the band?" I asked, thinking of Maria.

"Oh," Brother William replied, giving his mount his heels, "from what Brother Renaldo told 
me, they will be thoroughly searched. But the soldiers will find nothing. No Gypsy band would 
risk bringing contraband to the great celebration. With luck, they will be at the meeting place 
in plenty of time for the ceremonies.

I craned my neck backwards to see if I could spot Maria among the throng of Gypsies who 
had been gathered at the side of the road. But the dust of our horses obscured out vision. I 
turned my head forward and joined Brother William in cantering our way toward the great 
city. I was excited. Never had I seen a city. Indeed, there was not much that I had seen in my 
short life. And now, I was about to enter into what was the greatest city of the world!

My heart was in my throat as Brother William and I entered the capital of empire. The 
blinding alabaster facades of the buildings stung our eyes. Brother William confessed that not 
even in London had he seen such profuse evidence of grandeur as was displayed in Madrid. 
The gold and silver which had been flowing into the coffers of the Spanish monarchy since the
conquest of the Mexican empires a century before were well-reflected in the richness of the 
city into which we rode.

I myself was most impressed by the vast numbers of people who swarmed the narrow 
streets. At times it was necessary for us to dismount and lead our horses, lest we trample city 
residents beneath our hooves.

At last we came to the gates of the monastery of St. Timothy, emblazoned with the same 
strange cross that our robes bore. We knocked on the gate, and were admitted cautiously. The
monk on guard first spoke to us in Castilian, to which I replied, then in Romany. He seemed 
satisfied with Brother William's reply to his latter challenge, and allowed us inside. Our horses 
were led away, and we were led to a small room, in which we were to await the pleasure of the
Abbot.

It was at least an hour that Brother William and I spent sitting on those rude wooden 
benches waiting to be summoned. At last, the same monk who had admitted us came back 
and told us that the Abbot would see us now. We followed him across a broad courtyard large
enough to have held the entire monastery from which we had come. Then we were led into 
the building proper.

Unlike the monastery into which I had been inducted, the walls of this building were 
frescoed. I walked past a succession of paintings depicting the martyrdom of St. Timothy the 
Uninspired. Finally, we came to a great carved oaken door, upon which our guide reverently 
knocked. I heard no response, but our guide's ears were evidently more acutely tuned than 
mine, for he threw open the door, bowed, and walked away.

The study of Brother Renaldo might have been a shepard's hut to compare with the 
chamber into which Brother William and I were ushered. The hangings on the walls shone, 
richly brocaded with gold. A gold candelabrum shed the only light on the wall, and the only 
light on the visage of the Abbot of the Order in Madrid, Brother Fidel.

He was a man well-advanced in years, though not in vigor, as I was soon to discover. His 
cowl was thrown back, revealing his sparkling bald head. His eyes twinkled as he stared at us, 
evidently awaiting some salutation on our part.

Brother William drew himself erect. "Have I the honor of addressing Brother Fidel, Abbot 
of the Brotherhood of Cthol?"

"You have," responded the scrawny man at the desk.

"I am Brother William Tracy, Abbot of the Brotherhood at Leeds, sole bastion of the 
worship of Cthol in England."

As he spoke, Brother William made the sign of Cthol in the air in front of him, and dipped 
his knees to his fellow abbot.

"Pray sit down, gentlemen," Brother Fidel said then. "You, of course, Brother William, will 
understand our caution. It is always difficult for the Abbot of the Order who must host the 
celebration of the Return. I'm sure you have encountered the same difficulties yourself."

"I have," replied Brother William. "In fact, since my monastery was, until the recent 
difficulties, the only outpost of the Brotherhood in England, I have had to suffer under this 
burden every year since my appointment as Abbot."

"I do not envy you, Brother William," said Brother Fidel. "It is indeed a weighty, if 
consecrated, responsibility."

At the time I understood nothing of the import of their words. It was only later that I 
understood the true responsibility of the host Order. The Brotherhood is, after all, 
masquerading as a Christian Order. But, as the sole priests of Cthol remaining, the Brothers 
must officiate at the annual rites, which are the only occasions upon which the members of 
the Gypsy clans from throughout the land gather in one place to re-affirm their devotion to 
their god. It is a risky business, and it is a testament to the skills of the Brotherhood that the 
performance of pagan rites under the nose of the Inquisition and its equivalent in other lands,
has never been discovered.

"And so, Brother Fidel," my companion continued. "The time is near at hand."

"Verily is it so," replied the red-robed Abbot. "But I have received a communication from 
Brother Renaldo which states that you have a peculiar offer to make to me."

"Yes, it is true," rejoined Brother William. "In return for a certain amount in gold, I am 
willing to perform the high rites in your place. I know that the honor of celebrating the Return 
is a great one. But, in the seat of Empire as you are, it is a risky proposition. I have performed 
these ceremonies upon many occasions. Brother Renaldo was kind enough to offer me the 
assistance of Brother Juan here. There are spies everywhere in Madrid. And there will certainly 
be many at the rites. Most of them, if not all, will be caught, as you know how near impossible 
it is to masquerade as Rom. But, if by chance, the Court should learn of the rites, I am far more
expendable than you. All I ask is enough money to take a certain number of Brethren with me 
to the new colonies. I wish to set up a branch of the Brotherhood in the lands so recently won 
to the Crown of Spain by the Conquistadores. The Order in England may not surface for many 
years. I wish to serve Cthol in the New World."

Brother William fell silent then, and sank into a nearby chair. I watched his gaunt features 
form a stony mask as I sat down myself.

Brother Fidel had his chin cradled in his hands; he was deeply lost in thought. We waited 
nervously for him to make up his mind. I, of course, had no idea what was going on. My 
religious instruction to date had been in the general theology of Cthol. As I have stated, I 
knew that the celebration of the Return was the most important of the rites of the god, but 
was not yet aware of how important was the role of the Abbot of the host branch of the 
Order, in this case, Brother Fidel.

Finally, the red-robed monk lifted his head and smiled at us. "I accept your most kind offer,
Brother William," he said. "Not because I fear the vengeance of the Inquisition, but because it 
is most important, now that New Spain is producing such wealth for the Empire, that this 
branch of the Order go unbesmirched. You may take my place at the celebration. I will have 
the scroll prepared at once."

He took up a cast silver bell from his desk and rang it twice. At once the man I was to 
come to know so well in later years, Brother Taddeo, secretary to the Abbot, entered. Brother 
Fidel whispered instructions into his ear, and he left us.

"And now," Brother Fidel said expansively, "I have a rare Madeira here which I should like 
you both to sample.

He reached behind him and took from a cabinet a carafe of translucent red wine and three
goblets. As I sipped my wine, I became aware of the fatigue which our time on the road had 
caused. Within moments, as Brothers Fidel and William talked in an animated fashion, my 
head began to nod. I felt relieved when Brother Fidel once more summoned his secretary and 
had me escorted to a richly-appointed cell for the night.





CHAPTER SEVEN


The next two days were taken up in fevered preparations for the celebration of the Return. 
There were many small errands for me to run, as well as going with Brother William into the 
city to serve as interpreter for him.

The marvels of Madrid stunned me anew every time I ventured past the abbey gates. Great
public buildings, gilded carriages, and beautiful women were everywhere.

The mood of the city was nervous. There were over thirty thousand Gypsies camped only a
few miles away. The Madrilenos talked of nothing else. The women who were on the street, 
aside from servants and visiting peasants come to market, were heavily guarded, lest they be 
kidnapped for use in some barbaric ritual.

As it turned out, there was some real basis for this fear. On the evening of the second day, 
I was summoned to Brother Fidel's study. Brother William was already there when I arrived. 
The two monks wasted no time.

"Little Brother," my English mentor and companion said, "the time has come for you to aid
me in the most sacred duty any member of the Brotherhood may perform."

"And what is that?" I replied.

"It is the will of Cthol that a ganjo virgin be sacrificed to his mighty member on the Eve of 
Return. If this is not done each year, He threatens never to return, to leave our people forever 
at the mercy of the foreigners among whom we dwell. Tonight you join me in the 
procurement of a suitable maiden to appease the sacred lust of Cthol."

Both Brothers made the three-tined sign of Cthol as they spoke, emphasizing the 
solemnity of our duty. I was then given instructions on what to wear and dismissed, with 
instructions to report to Brother William's cell at dusk.

It was a considerable relief to be rid of my blue robe, if only for one night. I dressed all in 
black, black tights, blouse, and hat. At dusk, thus garbed, I reported to Brother William. He 
was attired in the same way, and led me to the back gate of the abbey.

"I need not impress upon you, little Brother," he warned, "that if we are caught, we are not 
to implicate the Brotherhood in any way."

I nodded my agreement as we climbed into the nondescript coach which awaited us. I did 
not recognize the Brother who was driving. Nor did I recognize any of the streets through 
which we drove. My wanderings in Madrid over the past two days had been restricted to 
public areas and the market. Now we were wending our way down streets lined with great 
palaces, surrounded by high walls, well guarded.

"We must not choose our prey from among the peasant classes," my confederate 
explained. "The young girls are unlikely to be virgins. However, virginity is highly prized 
among the nobility. Brother Amadeo, our driver, has been discreetly scouting this area for 
some weeks, seeking a likely candidate to appease the lust of Cthol."

As he spoke, the carriage turned off into a wooded lane and stopped. Brother William 
leaned forward for a whispered consultation with our driver. Then he beckoned me to follow 
him as he stepped from the coach.

As we stood next to the carriage, hidden by the spreading branches of a willow tree, I 
could see the lights of a great house before us.

"The maiden we seek has her quarters on the second floor of the palace," Brother William 
explained. "It will not be easy. There are guards, and the lady's handmaidens to get through. 
You will follow me and do as I do."

So saying, Brother William crossed the lane and stood at the foot of the high wall which 
surrounded the estate we were about to rob of its greatest prize. He produced a rope and a 
grappling hook, and tossed the hook over the wall. After testing its hold on the top of the 
wall, be swiftly climbed up and disappeared onto the other side. I followed suit. Lying on the 
top of the wall, I tossed the hook into the garden on the inside, then dropped to the soft earth
to stand beside my Brother.

Wraith-like, we stole across the garden. A heavily-armed guard passed by, sauntering as if 
he hadn't a care in the world. He paused only a few feet from the tree behind which we lurked
to relieve himself, then passed on. This close call brought home to me exactly how serious the 
crime we were about to commit was, and how severely we should be punished if we were to 
be captured.

We approached the house cautiously. The wall beneath which we crouched was trellised 
with vines. This was one of the reasons that Brother Amadeo had recommended this particular
place for our exploit. Without pausing, Brother William began to climb the trellis. I followed 
him. We stopped by a second floor balcony, listening for any signs of life within. Satisfied, 
Brother William stepped over the edge and squatted on the balcony until I had joined him. 
Then he carefully pried open the doors and stepped into the chamber within.

It was a dark room. As our eyes adjusted themselves, we saw that it was evidently the 
anteroom to a lady's bedchamber. It was furnished with several comfortable chairs, and a 
small spinet. Light shone under the door to the next room. It was already slightly ajar. Brother 
William crossed the room silently and put his eye to the crack. Then he beckoned me over for 
a look.

Never had I seen such an elegant chamber. But the beauty of the room was eclipsed by 
the loveliness of its occupant. She could have been no older than fourteen, but, as she sat 
before her mirror, running a comb through her long black locks, her beauty almost blinded 
me.

She was wearing a dressing gown. On the bed behind her was draped a formal gown. 
Evidently, she was preparing to attend a fete of some sort. It was an appointment she was 
never to keep.

In a trice, Brother William was in the room, clapping his hand over the girl's mouth. She 
struggled briefly, then, upon seeing that there were two men in her bedchamber, she ceased 
trying to escape Brother William's hold.

"You are coming with us, fair damsel," I said, carefully enunciating the speech Brother 
William had rehearsed with me in the carriage. "To struggle only means that you hasten the 
hour of your death. If you come with us quietly, no harm will come to you. Will you do so?"

Seeing that to resist would be folly, she nodded. Brother William took his hand from her 
mouth, then produced a rag with which he gagged her. He ripped a piece of material from her
gown and bound her hands. Then he tossed her over his shoulder as though she were no 
heavier than a feather and started toward the balcony by which we had gained entrance to 
the house.

The girl was a good as her word. Even as we climbed back down the trellis, when, had she 
struggled, she certainly would have caused Brother William to fall, she remained still. Then we 
were once more in the garden, and in the greatest danger of our mission.

We paused in the shadow of the building, straining our eyes to see if there were any 
guards between us and the wall over which we must go to achieve safety. We could discern no
one on the grounds, so we stealthily made our way through the garden, scarcely breathing for
our fear. The girl walked quietly between us. Her pale blue dressing gown made a mockery of 
our attempt at invisibility. Had any guard even glanced in our direction, we should have been 
dead. However, Cthol was with us as we led his bride-to-be across the flower beds to the wall. 
The grappling hook was where we had left it. I held the girl as Brother William tossed it over 
the wall and pulled it to a secure hold. Then I climbed up the rope and poised myself atop the 
wall. Brother William lifted the girl up the wall, and I grabbed her shoulders, hoisting her up to
my elevated position.

As I lay with the girl atop the wall, waiting for Brother William, an armed guard suddenly 
rushed out of the darkness. Brother William saw him coming.

"Fly, little Brother, with the maiden," he called as he turned to meet his attacker. "Wait for 
me one minute, no longer, then take her to the place you know."

I pulled the girl after me as I dropped from the wall into the lane on the other side. She 
struggled a little, but, gagged and bound as she was, it was an easy matter to drag her to the 
waiting carriage and force her inside.

The next few seconds were among the longest in my life. I peered at the wall, hoping at 
any instant to see Brother William, with whom I had come to feel very close, appear on the 
top. I prayed to Cthol, even to the Christian god, hoping he would escape.

Just as I had given up hope of ever seeing my friend again, and was leaning forward to tell 
Brother Amadeo to drive off, I heard the sound of a body falling to earth across the lane. It 
was Brother William!

We wasted no time on conversation. He ran across the land and jumped into the carriage. 
Brother Amadeo gave the horses their rein immediately. We were on our way to the 
celebration of the Return of Cthol.

When we were well away from the palace, and could discern no sign of pursuit, I finally 
turned to Brother William.

"The guard?"

"Tonight he sleeps with his brethren who have fallen," was his simple reply. He raised the 
dagger he had been carrying and it glittered scarlet in the moonlight. Wiping it on the 
dressing gown of our terrified captive, he replaced it in the sheath at his belt.

We started encountering moving caravans of Gypsies as soon as we had exited the city 
proper. The atmosphere was solemn, but punctuated with occasional outbursts of raucous 
laughter. The Gypsies are a frolicsome people, and not even a religious observance of the 
importance of the Return can cause them to contain his natural exuberance completely.

The crowds grew denser as we approached the grounds which had been set aside by the 
authority for the meeting of the clans. Brother William reached down under the seat and 
pulled out a long rod on the end of which the sign of Cthol was set in gold. He handed it up 
to Brother Amadeo, who set it in a hole on the side of the carriage. Seeing the sacred sign, the
throngs of Gypsies parted for us. Some of them tried to peek inside, hoping to catch a 
glimpse of the bride of the god.

Finally we came to the vast field which was to be the site of the celebration. We pulled up 
to a large stone budding, guarded by armed Gypsies. Brother William alit, and I handed the 
girl down to him. I don't know what she thought about the bizarre sight that greeted her, but 
stark terror shone in her eyes.

The light of thousands of torches lit the sky. I turned my head as I got down out of the 
carriage, and saw a huge podium at the far end of the field.

"Is that where the ceremony is to be held?" I asked.

"Little Brother," you should know by now that any open worship of Cthol in the realm of 
His Most Catholic Majesty would lead to mass executions for heresy. The podium will be the 
site of numerous speeches, dancing, music, all the trappings of a festival. Every Gypsy here 
knows the real reason for his gathering, but the authorities must believe that this is just an 
annual meeting of the clans, to exchange information, arrange marriages, and such. Only the 
Chiefs of the various clans will be permitted to attend the actual service of the Return."

As he spoke, Brother William was ushering me past the guards at the door. Inside the door
waited a man I recognized from the abbey. He took the girl, and led her away to prepare her 
for the ceremony. Brother William and I walked down a short corridor and entered a dressing 
room to prepare ourselves.

For the ceremony, both Brother William and I, as his acolyte, wore robes of brightest 
crimson, emblazoned with the sign of Cthol. We quickly slipped out of the black clothing we 
had donned for our nocturnal kidnapping expedition, and donned the robes. With his tall, 
gaunt build and flashing eyes, Brother William was a striking figure indeed in his robe. And I 
like to think I cut a quite dashing figure myself.

The building was filled with the low drone of many men chanting in Romany as we 
stepped from our dressing room and retraced our steps down the hall. We turned to the right 
and went through a narrow doorway. We were in a vast chapel, standing directly behind the 
altar of Cthol.

"Little Brother," my companion said, "you are about to take part in the most important rite 
of the worship of Cthol. You will stand at my right hand and observe, taking no direct part. It is
a signal honor for a young novice such as yourself to take part in these proceedings. You will 
comport yourself as befits a member of the Brotherhood."

So saying, he stepped out from behind the altar. I followed him, and gazed at the 
spectacle in the chapel.

The heads of every Gypsy clan in Spain were in the chamber, all robed in deepest black. 
They were standing, and did not interrupt their chanting as Brother William and I stood in 
front of the altar.

Directly in front of us as we turned was the statue of Cthol. If I had thought the 
representation of the god in the chapel at my own monastery gruesome, the one that now 
confronted me was positively grotesque. I stared into the eyes of the god, noting the obscene 
leer on his face. I had no idea what would happen next, and waited to see exactly how the 
celebration of the Return of Cthol was carried out.

The ceremony itself followed rather closely the regular services I had been attending since 
my induction into the Order. As I stood by the side of the platform, with Brother William at my
side, three terrified girls, peasants by the look of them, were dragged into the chapel and tied 
to the three-pronged altar of Cthol. Three monks stepped up and ceremoniously raped them, 
spilling their seed on the girl's bellies, emblazoned with the holy sign. Then, in turn, each of 
the assembled clan Chiefs came up and paid the same tribute to the might of Cthol, as the 
rest of the assemblage chanted on. Brother William and I took no part in this ceremony. We 
just waited beside the altar, chanting with the congregation, until each member of the group 
had been serviced.

Suddenly, the great doors at the far end of the hall were flung open.

I know not what sort of drug had been fed to the young girl. She walked under her own 
power, flanked by two hooded monks. She was dressed in a gown of purest white as she 
approached the altar of Cthol.

The girl, whose name I later found out was Dona Miranda Maria de Castello, a member of 
one of the oldest and most distinguished families of the realm, stood motionless before the 
awesome statue of Cthol. Her eyes were strangely clouded, the effect of the drug she had 
ingested. The two monks stepped back from her, and Brother William and I took their places.

Brother William began to chant.

"Oh all-powerful Cthol," he intoned as the assembled clan Chiefs fell silent. "Once again we
are gathered on the Eve of Your Return. We beseech you to come to us. Let your spirit fill this 
humble chapel and enter into each and every one of us as we pay you homage and pray for 
that consecrated day when we will follow you to our ancestral Home. We bring you now, as 
always, a bride, the purest virgin in the land, to appease your holy appetite."

As the Chiefs began to chant once more, Brother William turned to the girl. He lifted the 
mantilla from her head, affording a view of her long, black hair. Then he began to unfasten the
row of buttons running down the front of her gown. I gasped as the garment fell open to the 
waist. Beneath it she was nude, and I feasted my eyes on the alabaster perfection of her 
breasts, crowned with large pink nipples. Her belly was sensually rounded, filled out with 
remnants of baby fat. My eyes roved over her navel, down to the junction of her thighs as 
Brother William continued to undress her.

Soon the gown was completely open, held on her body at the shoulders. I gazed at her 
groin, and was surprised to find it completely bare of pubic hair. She had been neatly shaved! 
The cleft of her womanhood was clearly visible to me as Brother William slipped the gown 
from her shoulders and let it drop to the floor at her feet. She stood completely naked before 
the altar of mighty Cthol.

Brother William turned the girl around as though parading her beauty before the god. Her
buttocks were pale and round, firm globes which promised delight. I imagined the ecstasy I 
would feel if I were to press my rigid pole, which was even now pulsing and throbbing under 
my robe, into her rear passage and feel the softness of her nether cheeks under me, pillow for 
my lust-inflamed body.

But this, girl belonged to Cthol. Brother William took her by one arm, I by the other. We 
led her up to the three-pronged altar, then lifted her up so that she stood on the middle tine, 
facing the idol. Never had the leer on Cthol's face seemed so sinister. I looked at the foot-long
projection jutting from between his misshapen thighs and felt a twinge of sympathy for the 
girl.

However, I assisted Brother William in lifting the girl up, poising her shaven cunt over the 
head of Cthol's penis. She moaned at the first touch of the cold metal pole to her virginal 
furrow. Then, with one hand each on her shoulders and one under her buttocks, Brother 
William and I shouted out "Hail Cthol," and shoved her right down onto that rigid rod.

She screamed then, despite the numbing effect of the drug. I watched in mixed horror and
fascination as inch after inch of Cthol's glittering organ disappeared into her cunt. Blood 
began to run from her slit, dripping down the idol's prick, staining her white thighs, clotting 
stickily on my hand as Brother William and I pushed her ever closer to the lap of the god.

Finally, her shaven pubis was directly in contact with the idol's groin. We released her, and 
she fell back in her stupefaction into the outstretched arms of Cthol. He seemed to be cradling
her as she lay there, moaning, the foot-long prick of the god impaling her.

"Great Cthol is mighty!" shouted Brother William.

"Praise mighty Cthol!" came the response from the congregation.

"Great Cthol's member is awesome!" Brother William shouted.

"Praise mighty Cthol's awesome member!" the clan Chiefs responded.

"And great Cthol is well satisfied! We have brought him the virgin he demands!"

"Praise the satisfaction of mighty Cthol's awesome member!" came the response.

I followed the ceremony mechanically. These rites have been celebrated for thousands of 
years without change. As Brother William continued to add to his summation of the attributes 
of Cthol, and the congregation continued to make the required responses, my eyes wandered 
to the lovely body of Cthol's 'bride.' I saw her lovely nether cheeks, plump and round, 
protruding from the lap of the god. There was no expression on her face. She had ceased 
bleeding now, and her moaning had likewise stopped. She just lay in an attitude of 
resignation, a foot of metal phallus jammed up her cunt.

Finally, Brother William ended the ceremony. As the assembled Chiefs watched, we turned 
to the girl and slowly began to lift her from the erect manhood of Cthol. I watched as the rod 
was slowly withdrawn from her. Finally, a virgin no more, we lifted her down from the altar and
stood her in front of the congregation. They were chanting again as they inspected the blood 
which was testament to the virility of the god.

Suddenly, Brother William raised the hem of his robe and tucked it into his belt. His raging
manhood was exposed as he stepped up behind the girl. I watched as he pulled her buttocks 
apart and suddenly, without lubrication, forced his member through the girl's rosebud anus.

She screamed then, but not so loud as when the prick of Cthol had ruptured her hymen. I 
held her shoulders as Brother William forced every bit of his raging shaft into her bumhole.

My own member was throbbing in need. I had had to watch all the clan Chiefs satisfy 
themselves in tribute to Cthol without joining in myself. Now, as Brother William sheathed his 
erect organ in her rear passage, I lifted and parted her legs, feasting my eyes on the oily slit of 
her womanhood.

Her body was now supported by Brother William's prick, and his arms around her waist. I 
hoisted the hem of my gown in the proper manner and touched the tip of my prick to her 
cunt lips. Then I lunged forward. I groaned as my organ penetrated her moist cavern. I did not
stop until my belly was pressed to hers. I could feel the rigid tool of my companion through 
the thin membrane separating vagina and rectum.

Without moving our pricks, we turned sideways to afford the assemblage a view of our 
double penetration. Then we both began to move our organs in and out of her body in a slow
rhythm, our eyes turned to the idol, which leered at us as if approving our devoted service.

Each time I withdrew my prick from the girl's cunt, Brother William would likewise 
withdraw from her rectum. Then, in unison, we would thrust forward. The sensation of feeling 
my companion's organ running against mine through the girl's body was delightful in the 
extreme, and heightened the ecstatic pleasure of running my organ in and out of her tight 
cunt lips. My balls were swinging back and forth, slapping against my thighs, churning in their 
need to fill this girl's body cavity with their heavy load of sperm.

It wasn't long in coming. Brother William and I quickened the pace of our fucking as low 
groans escaped us both. Furiously our pricks frothed in and out of the helpless girl's 
womanhood as we pumped great jets of our seed into her rectum and cunt simultaneously.

Our pace slowed as the chanting of the congregation continued. As we stepped back, 
holding the girl up, and withdrew our organs from her body, Brother William and I turned to 
the idol.

"Praise mighty Cthol!" Brother William shouted, and I and the rest of the assemblage 
echoed his call fervently. We dropped our robes and ceremoniously escorted the girl to the 
front of the altar. The two monks who had been with her as she walked down the aisle came 
forward and draped her gown back over her, hiding her nakedness. The last of her body that I 
saw was the juncture of her thighs, shorn of hair. A light trickle of semen dripped down her 
legs, the product of my orgasm. She walked stiffly as the monks led her from the hall. When 
the drug wore off, she would undoubtedly be in considerable pain from both entrances.

As she was led from the hall, the Chiefs in the pews began to file out after her, still 
chanting. Brother William and I brought up the tail end of the procession.

Once outside, everyone except Brother William and I took off their robes. The Chiefs wore 
their usual colorful Gypsy garb under their robes, and filed out of the building to join in the 
mass revelry in the field outside. Brother William and I went back to our dressing room and 
doffed our crimson robes, putting back on the clothing we had worn when kidnapping the 
evening's sacrifice.

"What will happen to the girl now?" I asked.

"Well," Brother William replied. "Right now, troops are probably searching every low tavern
and criminals' hangout in Madrid. It won't take them long to match her disappearance with 
the Gypsy meeting taking place here. We can't have her found here, so we'll take her back to 
the monastery, where she will be put in the harem. As soon as it's safe, she'll be packed off the
North Africa and the slave markets. In the meantime, a ransom note will be delivered to her 
parents. But they will never see the girl again."

We rode silently back to the city in our carriage, curtains drawn to avoid the gazes of the 
curious. By the time we had pulled up to the postern of the abbey, the effect of the drug she 
had been given was beginning to wear off. She still seemed to be in a stupor, but she started 
to moan continually as the pain in her bumhole and cunt began to radiate through her body. 
We took her from the carriage and placed her in the care of the harem keeper. It was the last 
time I ever saw Dona Miranda. I felt a twinge of sympathy for her parents, who would never 
know what had happened to her, and even more for the girl herself, destined to become the 
plaything of some Dey on the Barbary Coast. But, after all, she was only a ganjo bitch, no 
better than any others of her race. Her sacrifice to the great god Cthol had been the most 
sanctified act of her life, even if she wouldn't remember it when she woke up. The rest of her 
life could only be anti-climactic.





CHAPTER EIGHT


I fully expected that, after my participation in the celebration of the Return, I would be sent 
back to my own abbey to complete my novitiate. I was thus pleasantly surprised to find that I 
would not be going back after all. Brother Fidel called me into his study the day after the rites.
Brother William was seated in the room, sipping a glass of wine as I entered. I took a seat and 
waited as the Abbot leafed through a sheaf of parchments. Finally, he looked up and smiled.

"Brother Juan," he said, "I've just been talking to Brother William here. He tells me you 
performed splendidly at the celebration last night. He's become quite attached to you. As he 
will be travelling extensively throughout Europe for some time, he has requested that you be 
assigned as his comp anion. You will teach him Castilian, and will yourself learn some of the 
other languages of the continent. He will continue training you in the ways of the 
Brotherhood as you travel."

It was the most exciting news I had heard in a great while. I rushed back to my cell and 
packed my meager belongings. We were to leave in an hour's time.

Precisely an hour after my interview in Brother Fidel's study, I was standing by the front 
gate of the abbey with Brother William. A monk approached leading two magnificent stallions,
gifts from the Abbot. I mounted nervously, unused to riding such a beautiful and high-spirited
creature. I was relieved to find out that he was exceptionally well-trained, and responded to 
every command obediently. As we rode through the gate, I wondered what sort of adventure 
awaited me on my travels with this sophisticated English abbot.

Our first trip was to take us to the city of Brussels, in the Low Countries, a fief of my own 
lord, the Duke of Alba. There had been warfare for many years in those parts, the inhabitants, 
many of them adherents of one or another of the Protestant heresies, were trying to throw off
the rule of the Holy Roman Emperor.

As his own abbey had been confiscated by the English Crown, and the monks scattered, 
Brother William had been appointed a sort of roving Inspector-General. Brother Fidel, who 
was, in addition to his role as Abbot of the Madrid branch, was also the Chief Abbot of the 
entire Brotherhood. He had given my companion the job of visiting the various far-flung 
monasteries of the Order and finding out what problems they were having. We were to be on 
our journeys for two years, and then to report back to Brother Fidel.

As I became accustomed to the feel of being in the saddle once more, my heart was filled 
with exultation. Who would have thought that Juan Ortega, ignorant peasant lad of Rosario, 
would one day ride a magnificent stallion through the streets of Madrid.

We were greeted with respectful bows by the Catholic populace as we rode through the 
city. If only they had known they were bowing to two members of the Brotherhood of Cthol, 
two members who had kidnapped and abused a member of one of the leading houses of the 
city only the night before!

Soon we were rid of the city, walking our mounts back down the dusty Camino Real which 
we had so recently traversed going in the other direction. This time, when we reached a split 
in the road, we turned northward. It was a long journey ahead of us, and perilous. We would 
have to pass through the lands of the King of France, and were uncertain as to how two 
monks, one English, one Spanish, would be received in that country. Neither England nor 
Spain were on particularly good terms with the French.

We made real good time that day, reaching the town of Lerida, some distance from 
Madrid. We found a relatively clean inn, and paid for dinner and a room. Then we sat in the 
common room for the balance of the afternoon and early evening, sipping wine and 
speculating on the perils of our journey.

As we sat thus, two well-dressed townsmen suddenly approached us. They waited, hats in 
hand, for us to acknowledge their presence. Finally, Brother William looked up and set his 
features in an expression of annoyed inquiry.

"If you don't mind, holy brothers," said one, a fat man with a greasy moustache. "We have 
a problem we think you may be able to help us with. May we sit down?"

Brother William made no reply, but nodded at the two unoccupied chairs at our table.

The fat man did all the talking. "You see, we have a girl in the town. The daughter of 
Sanchez here, who is incorrigible. Although we don't think she's yet lost her maidenhead, she 
has been sporting about with all the young men in the town. Sanchez has wisely agreed that 
the best thing for her would be to send her to a cloistered convent, where she can learn the 
proper way for a woman to act in the eyes of God. But the closest such convent is almost a 
hundred kilometers north of here. No one from the town can be spared to take her there. 
Besides, she could not travel alone with a man not her husband. We were wondering, since 
the innkeeper says you are going that way anyway, if you could do us the favor of taking her 
with you and delivering her to the Sisters."

As the two men waited anxiously, Brother William closed his eyes and rested his chin in his
palms. Finally, he looked up.

"Bring the wench to us," he commanded.

Evidently, the girl had been waiting outside the inn. Her father, who had not looked up 
from the table the whole time, rose and walked from the room. In a moment, he came back, 
leading a girl of some fifteen summers.

She was staring at the floor demurely as her father led her to the table.

"Sit down," he commanded. As she sat in the chair her father had occupied previously, she 
looked up. I saw the flash of fire in her eyes that belied her modest appearance.

She was a rarity among the people of the region in that she had golden blonde hair, and a
milky pale complexion, much like a German. But these types do sometimes occur among the 
Spaniards, the result of cross-breeding between the natives and conquering armies of 
generations gone by. Her eyes were an iridescent blue, her lips full and red. All in all, a most 
enticing young girl, with a full, promising figure.

"Her name is Consuela," the father said. "Consuela," thundered Brother William, "these 
men say that you are incorrigible, that you are a disgrace to the community. They've asked me
to take you to a convent where you can be taught to behave properly. Have you anything to 
say before I make my decision?"

The girl looked up and stared straight into Brother William's eyes. There was no fear or 
shame in her gaze. The air between them bristled with tension. Finally, it was Brother William 
who broke the stare. He turned to the fat man.

"I can see that you are right. This girl has entirely too much spirit. She needs the discipline 
of a convent to break her. Have her here at first light tomorrow, all packed and ready to 
leave."

"Oh, thank you holy Brother," said the fat man as Consuela and her father started backing 
away from the table. The fat man turned and sought out the innkeeper, telling him that we 
were to have all the wine we wanted, and that he would pay for it.

We spent a pleasant evening basking in the glow of the free wine, and retired early. 
Brother William did not mention the girl again, and I did not bring up the subject of our 
commission. However, I found my thoughts returning time and again to her flashing blue 
eyes. I was certain that it would be an interesting journey.

We were called at first light and, in a few moments, were in the courtyard. Our mounts 
were already saddled and waiting for us as we walked from the inn, saddlebags in hand. There
was no sign of Consuela or her father. I sighed in disappointment. The father must have had a 
change of heart. Brother William would brook no delay in our departure, and we were thus 
already mounted and ready to leave when the girl and her father rushed into the courtyard.

Consuela was dressed for travel, in a heavy dress and a veil. She was sitting side-saddle on 
a sorry-looking horse, led by her father.

"I'm sorry we're late," the man stammered as he led the horse to us. "But she ran away this 
morning, and I had to go find her and beat her before I could get her to come. Don't be afraid
to take a cane to her if she tries any of her tricks on you." He turned to his daughter to see if 
she had heard his invitation. But her features were only dimly visible through the veil she 
wore.

I was sorry to see the malnourished condition of her mount. It would slow us up to have to
lead this spavined animal. But we had agreed. There was nothing for it but to take her with us.

We had only gone a few kilometers from Lerida when the girl suddenly kicked her horse 
into a gallop and took off into the trees which lined the road. In an instant, both Brother 
William and myself were galloping after her.

It was hardly an equal contest, considering the excellence of the mounts with which 
Brother Fidel had provided us. We were perhaps two hundred meters from the road but well 
into the trees, when we caught up with her. Brother William rode up on one side of her and 
grabbed the reins, pulling her mount to a halt. I came up behind and grabbed her as she 
jumped from the saddle and tried to flee on foot.

Not letting go of her for an instant, I waited for Brother William to dismount and tether 
the two horses. Then he came over and held her while I did the same with my own mount.

Brother William gave her back to me and stood looking at her, his hands on his hips in an 
attitude of rage.

"So," he hissed. "I can see that your father was right. You are incorrigible. Well, it is enough
of an inconvenience for us to have to deliver you to the convent. I won't be running after you 
every ten minutes. I'm going to teach you a lesson right now that you'll remember at least 
until we reach our destination."

So saying, he reached out without warning and hooked the fingers of his right hand into 
the neck of her dress. With one powerful tug, he ripped the material right down to her legs. 
The girl's eyes went wide and her jaw dropped in terror as my brother monk proceeded to pull
every shred of clothing from her.

Her figure was every bit as beautiful as it had promised to be. I released her when she was 
completely naked. She wasn't going to run anywhere without a stitch on.

She crossed her arms in front of her modestly. But the amplitude of her physical charms 
was such that her gesture emphasized them rather than the opposite.

Her breasts were not overly large, but well-formed and firm, standing pertly on her chest. 
The nipples were the size of German thalers, and a pleasing pink hue.

I was standing behind her, and could see the firmness of her plump nether cheeks. My 
member was throbbing under my robe at the sight of her naked beauty. But Brother William 
had other plans.

He walked up in front of her and raised his hand. Then he brought it down hard, delivering
a stinging blow to her cheek. Instinctively, she raised one hand to feel the bruised area. As she
did so, Brother William raised his hand again. This time he put two fingers around one of her 
rosy nipples and pinched her hard. She squealed and stared at him. Then we heard the first 
words from her mouth. In a shrewish tone, but with undertones of fear, she said: "What kind 
of monks are you, anyway?"

"That, my dear, is not your concern. Your concern is what kind of a girl you are. And, when 
I get through with you, you're going to be a very good one."

As he spoke, Brother William was dragging the girl over to the stump of a tree nearby. He 
sat down and jerked the girl from her feet. She sprawled across his lap. Her firm bottom was 
stretched across Brother William's knees. He raised his hand and brought it singing through 
the air to deliver a painful blow to her buttocks. Then he repeated the blow. And again. The 
girl began to weep piteously at the pain and shame of it. She thrashed about, trying to escape
the blows. But Brother William held her in a grip of iron as he spanked her until her buttocks 
glowed bright red in contrast to the paleness of the rest of her body.

The spanking continued until the forest rang with Consuela's horrible cries. Tears poured 
from her eyes, soaking the dry leaves beneath her. I could see beads of sweat on Brother 
William's brow, so intent was he on his chore of discipline.

Finally, he allowed her to drop from his knees. She fell to the ground at his feet, still crying.
Her hands flew to the injured area, massaging the painfully bruised cheeks of her bottom. As I 
watched her and felt the pulsations of my organ beneath my robe, I felt a compelling desire to
massage that same area myself. Giving way to my mad desire, I crossed to where she lay in the
dirt and knelt beside her.

She started at the first touch of my hand to her buttocks. She turned her head and stared 
into my eyes. I saw pain there, aye, and fear. But no shame. She fixed upon me just as steely a 
gaze as the one with which she had transfixed Brother William the day before in the tavern.

My fingers wandered over the expanse of her buttocks. Her skin was soft and silky to the 
touch, the globes of her nether cheeks firm, but pliant. I ran one finger down 'the crack 
between them, then boldly allowed it to continue between her thighs. My prick jerked joyfully 
as my finger felt the quivering lips of her cunt. They were moist, as though the spanking she 
had just received had excited her. I stroked the fullness of them, and was surprised that she 
made no protest. Rather, she began to purr like a cat. Then, to my surprise, she flipped herself 
over on her back and exposed the full beauty of her body to my lusty gaze.

Her patch of pubic hair was sparse, and shimmered like gold in the morning sun. Her legs 
were slightly parted, and I could see the moist, inviting Ups of her womanhood. Surrendering 
completely, I lowered my head to the soft mound of one breast and fastened my lips around 
the bud of her nipple, sucking gently. She arched her back, forcing more of the flesh of her 
perfect breast into my hot mouth.

My one hand roamed over the curves of her delightful body. Soon, the palm was pressed 
to her pubic mound, while one finger moved sinuously over the furrow of her cunt. Hesitantly,
I slid one finger into her warm cavern. To my surprise, it moved easily in up to the knuckle. Her
father's fears had been well founded; her maidenhead had already been taken by some 
fortunate youth of the town.

I wriggled the finger about, then moved it up to the pulsating shaft of her clitoris. 
Consuela moaned as I stroked that sensitive button, and thrust her hips up.

I could wait no longer. I spread her legs wide apart, and knelt between them. My robe was 
raised in a flash, and I could see her eyes widen at the sight of my rampant manhood. She 
boldly extended one hand and encircled the throbbing shaft with her fingers. It was almost 
too much, only by sheer power of the will was I able to keep myself from spewing my seed all 
over her belly. But I wanted to taste the full flavor of this rare treat. I pushed her hand away 
and shoved my hands under her ripe buttocks, raising her hips from the ground. I guided the 
head of my prick to her opening and lunged forward, forcing apart the petal lips of her as 
insinuating first the head, then the entire length of my mighty shaft into her.

She moaned as she felt me enter her. I slowly lowered her buttocks to the ground and my 
own body to hers. I could feel the swollen nipples of her pert breasts burning into my chest as
I began to slowly run my member in and out of her moist cunt.

I glued my lips to hers and forced my tongue into her mouth as I felt the incredible heat of
her body, the clutching of her cunt lips around my raging tool.

As I felt the churning in my scrotum, I began to fuck her wildly, ramming my rod into her 
and withdrawing it with lightning-like speed. Her eyes were closed as I raised my torso on my 
arms and looked down at her. She was panting. I could see the sheen of a thin patina of sweat
on her beautiful teats.

She was marvellously tight and, as I felt the first spasm of my orgasm run through my 
rampant shaft, I also felt the muscles of her vagina contract around me, increasing my 
excitement and my pleasure as I shot great geysers of hot seed into the warm recesses of her 
body.

I closed my eyes and groaned convulsively as I spurted into her. She was writhing on the 
ground under me, caught up in the convulsive spasms of her own climax.

Finally, it was over. I collapsed upon her, my rigid organ still buried in her cunt. Then, as 
my breathing returned to normal, I rolled over and lay next to her, staring up at the sky. It was 
then that I noticed the figure of Brother William standing over the girl. She saw him, too, and 
her eyes went wide. He was naked, having shed his clothing as I had fucked her. His tool, rigid 
and pulsing, was in his hand as he slowly jerked his fingers up and down the shaft.

He had been doing this, I found out, the whole time that I had been violating her, and now
he was ready to deliver his load of sperm. As I watched, spurt after spurt of milky fluid shot 
from the bulbous head of his prick to fall in great pools on the body of the helpless girl. It was
as though he were making an offering to Cthol himself as he stood, eyes closed, his hand a 
blur of motion on his engorged prick.

He continued to jerk on his tool until the last drops of his seed had fallen onto the face 
and chest of the young blonde girl. Then he turned on his heel and walked back to where he 
had left his robe. He put it on, then turned to face Consuela once more.

"I trust well have no more trouble from you on this journey. And you will tell no one at the 
convent of what has just taken place."

"Please... " the girl sobbed. "Please, Brother, don't take me to the convent. Take me with 
you. I'll go anywhere with you. I can cook, and mend your clothing. I'll do anything if you'll just
take me with you and not to some dreadful convent."

As she spoke, the girl rose from the ground and stood facing Brother William. Drops of his
seed were dribbling down her body as she pleaded with him.

Brother William stood, lost in thought. I hesitated to interrupt him, but hoped that he 
would decide to accept the girl's offer. It would be good to have a servant to mend our 
clothing, cook our food, and satisfy our carnal appetites.

"All right," he finally said. "You can travel with us, at least until we get to the Low Countries.
I'll decide what to do with you when we get to Brussels."

The girl went down on her knees before him in gratitude. She kissed his flaccid organ 
through his robe. As she did so, it began to swell and stiffen, making a tent-like protrusion. 
Without hesitation, she pulled up the hem of his robe and opened her mouth. As I watched, 
she fastened her lips around the bulbous head. Her cheeks were pulled in as she began to 
suck wildly on his erect manhood. Brother William just smiled and tucked his robe into the 
rope belt he wore. She sucked madly, and caressed his hanging balls as well. Whoever had 
initiated her into carnal pleasures had been an excellent teacher indeed!

I could tell from Brother William's heavy breathing and the way he had his eyes closed, 
that the girl's ministrations were bringing him rapidly to the brink of another climax. Suddenly,
he emitted a loud groan. I saw the girl's neck muscles working as she struggled to swallow the
full load of his ejaculation. She could not do it, and some of the warm, milky fluid oozed from 
between her pursed lips and fell to mix with the drying evidence of his first climax on her 
body.

She sucked the last of his seed from him, then pulled her mouth from his organ and 
smiled up at him.

"Now," she said brightly, "don't you think I'll make a welcome addition to your little 
company?"

Brother William made no comment, though his satisfied expression spoke volumes. He 
dropped the hem of his robe, and told her to put on some clothes. To our surprise, she pulled 
from her saddle bag a pair of leather breeches and a blouse. It is not customary in Spain for a 
woman to wear pants. She had taken them from an older brother, but they fit her fine, and 
made for a much more sensible riding costume.

The girl stayed with us all the way to Brussels. It was delightful to have someone to cook 
our meals on nights when we were not near towns. And her erotic abilities were infinitely 
satisfactory. It was with great regret that we left her in the care of the harem keeper of the 
Brussels monastery.

I travelled with Brother William for the full four and a half years remaining of my novitiate. 
There are thousands of stories I could tell of the rapine and plunder we committed, by 
ourselves and with other members of the Order. And I could tell thousands more of the nearly
twenty years subsequent that I have been a faithful member of the Brotherhood. But now, I 
have been caught in the act of taking my pleasure with a young girl of this accursed city, and 
the Order has disowned me. I am to die in this stinking gaol at the hands of the Grand 
Inquisitor, and the Brotherhood, which I have served so well, does nothing. They claim I am a 
rogue monk, and conspire with the Inquisitor, who profits from his association with them, to 
silence my tongue. But I will have my revenge.

The gaoler tells me that I am about to receive visitors. No doubt it is the execution party, 
come to deliver me to my fate. I must close now, and give this manuscript to the gaoler. I only 
hope that he will see to it that it gets into the proper hands. Before God almighty, I denounce 
the worship of Cthol in all its depravity and criminality. I call upon whosoever finds this to see 
that it passes into the hands of the Holy Mother Church, whose enemy I have been these 
many years. Destroy the Brotherhood and rid the land of the evil it represents!


EPILOGUE

Thus ends the journal of the mad monk, Juan Ortega. It is an incredible document, a 
testament to the depraved and evil forces which lurk in the human soul.

The Order of St. Timothy the Uninspired did exist at the time that Juan Ortega wrote this 
confession. The records of the Inquisition tell us that Brother Juan of that order was found 
guilty of the heinous crime of rape upon an innocent of thirteen and sentenced to death. He 
was burned at the stake on the morning of August the seventeenth, 1644, still loudly 
proclaiming his innocence and screaming imprecations at the Grand Inquisitor as the torch 
was put to the pile of faggots at his feet.

As to whether the Order was, as Ortega claims, really a front to mask the worship of an 
older, obscene god, the Gypsy god, Cthol, we can never really know the answer. In researching
this volume, a team of investigators was sent to the ruins of the monastery of the Order in 
Madrid. They did find the crumbling ruins of an underground chapel, but no evidence of the 
sort of worship conducted there could be found. The Order was disbanded in the year 1756 
by papal command, and its abbeys seized and sacked. The reason for this action remains a 
secret of the Vatican Archives, accessible only to papally-accredited researchers. We were not 
able to obtain such credentials.


The End
