Whorehouse Chapel

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Whorehouse Chapel
Whorehouse Chapel

Copyright Oggbashan October 2015

The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.


It started several years ago when Tom, one of our older widowers, found that Maria, the professional lady he visited two or three times a month, was on holiday. It was early on a Sunday evening, the time he usually booked to see Maria. Tom is retired but had lived an interesting working life as a civil engineer working all over the world.

Tom knew, as most of us did, that there was a newish brothel in the oldest building in our small town. He decided to give it a try. He wasn’t sure that it was a good idea. Maria, our professional lady, knew him very well and provided exactly what he wanted. Another whore, perhaps a much younger one, might not be so patient with him.

Tom went to the discreet side door and knocked. The door opened and an older lady let him into a waiting room. Although she was older than he expected, she was still much younger than him, and probably a similar age to Maria. He thought his needs might be met by her. She disappointed him. She pointed to four framed photographs on the wall.

“There is your choice,” she said. “Which one would you like?”

While Tom was looking at the four photographs, all of women only slightly older than his grandc***dren, she was rapidly detailing the fees for the various services on offer. The prices were slightly higher than he paid Maria, but not exorbitant. The four names above the pictures were Anja, Divna, Sanja and Tamara. He thought they must all be from South Eastern Europe if those were really their names. Eventually he pointed at a photograph of a woman who seemed slightly the oldest.

“Could I choose Tamara, please?” Tom said.

“A good choice. I’m sure that Tamara will meet your requirements. Do you object to paying in advance?”

Tom expected that. He paid cash. He had left his credit, debit and identity documents at home, just in case he might be rolled for his wallet. He didn’t think he would be. There had been no complaints from other customers. If there had been, that information would have been known around the town within hours.

The woman pressed one of four identical bell-pushes mounted on a small desk.

“I’ll take you to Tamara. She’ll be waiting for you.”

The woman unlocked a door, and walked through it ahead of Tom. She locked the door behind them. He was slightly concerned that he was locked in and that the door looked very solid.

“Sometimes we have drunk customers who won’t take no for an answer,” the woman said, noticing his glance, “So that door is to protect the girls. Tamara will let me know when you are coming out.”

Tom wasn’t convinced as they walked down a corridor into the old part of the building. They stopped at a closed door. The woman unlocked that door and stood aside for him to enter. It was obvious that they were in the old chapel. The corners of the room were defined by massive stone pillars. Ahead was a large bed and behind it a solid stone wall rising twelve feet or more below a stained glass window. The side walls were crudely painted block work with a light partition for a bathroom.

Tamara was standing in front of the bed. She was wearing a blue shift dress, stockings and white high heels. She had a cheap cross on a silver necklace. Tom remembered that all four women in the photographs were wearing similar crosses. So was the older woman.

“Tamara, this is…”

“Tom.” Tom said.

“OK, Tom. You have paid for an hour with Tamara, for basic services. If you want more than the basic, she can agree that with you for cash in hand, paid to her. I’ll leave you. Your time starts now.”

The woman left, locking the door behind her.

“We’re locked in?” Tom said to Tamara.

“Yes, Tom. If I don’t press the bell to call Irena at the end of the hour, she’ll arrive five minutes later anyway to escort you out. If you want to leave earlier, just tell me.”

Tamara was obviously reciting a scripted statement. She walked towards Tom, took his hand and led him towards the bed. She sat on its edge and patted it, encouraging him to sit beside her.

“Why an hour, Tom? It doesn’t usually take that long.”

“For younger men, perhaps not, Tamara. I need time and help to become aroused and I don’t like being rushed.”

“So how?”

“How do I get aroused? It’s difficult for me to explain. Normally I go to a lady who knows exactly what I want. Now? I think talking to you for a few minutes might help.”

“Talking? Do you mean talking dirty? Does that work?”

“No, Tamara. I mean talking, Tom to Tamara the person, not to Tamara the professional lady.”

“Professional? I’m not, Tom. I do what the customers want, that’s all.”

“Where are you from, Tamara? You’re English is good, but you don’t sound English.”

Tom was startled. Tamara had started to cry silently. He put an arm around her shoulder. She flinched at first, but relaxed slightly. She muttered something under her breath. Tom knew she wasn’t speaking English. Together with the clue of the women’s names he thought he recognised the language. He spoke to her in that language to check whether he was right.

“You’re not English, are you, Tamara? Are you from?” He named a South East European country.

“Yes,” Tamara whispered in that country’s language, “and I hate it here.”

Tom listened carefully while Tamara whispered in her own language how she had been tricked into coming to England to a promised job, and owed money to those who had brought her here, imprisoned her in the brothel, and said she would have to work until she had paid the debt.

Initially Tom thought this was a typical sob story designed to extract more money from him, but as they talked and he learned more about her, he began to believe that what she was saying was true. The two locked doors had made him suspicious. There was no way that Tamara could leave this room except by the locked door. The only window was too far up and covered with a wire mesh that might be to protect the stained glass. But the mesh on the inside looked too substantial for the task. Tamara was effectively a prisoner.

Eventually Tamara admitted she had been an i*****l immigrant. She wouldn’t be now because travel from her country was now possible. She had paid two thousand Euros to the people smugglers for a promise of a job in England. As soon as she arrived they took away her passport, said she owed another two thousand Euros, and that she had to work for them to pay back the debt. She had been beaten repeatedly until she agreed to be a prostitute, originally in another town. She and the other three women had been moved to our town when the new brothel opened. She didn’t really know where she was. Most of her customers didn’t talk to her, except about sex.

She had been working for three years yet the debt had increased. She now owed four thousand Euros. The only consolation she had is that in this new brothel there seemed to be a friendly presence at night. She seemed to hear calming female voices in the darkness, speaking in a language she didn’t understand. Those voices seemed to offer comfort and eventual help.

She didn’t hate Irena, the older woman who had met me at the door. She thought that Irena was also working under duress with threats to her family back home. Irena tried to look after them but it was the four men who visited once a week that they all feared.

Tom learned that the men came every Tuesday evening at about six o’clock. The men collected the money, had rough sex with the women, and beat them because they hadn’t earned enough, no matter how busy the brothel had been. Those men were from her country.

Tom had heard enough. He couldn’t have sex with a woman who was an unwilling prisoner. He looked at his watch. They had been talking for nearly forty minutes.

“Tamara,” Tom said, “I’m going to leave. I’ll tell Irena that despite your best efforts I couldn’t get an erection because I hadn’t taken my blue pill. I’ll say I’ll come back on Tuesday evening and take a pill before I do. But I won’t. I’ll talk to you again.”

Tamara didn’t really understand what Tom was implying, but she pressed the bell push to call Irena. As Irena opened the door, Tamara hugged Tom and kissed him on the cheek.

As they walked back towards the entrance Tom told Irena that he had been unable to have sex. Irena offered him Viagra and another session but Tom said he would like to return to visit Tamara on Tuesday evening. Irena booked an appointment for six-thirty on the Tuesday, and took payment for an hour then.

On the Monday morning Tom went to the local Police Station and asked to speak to Inspector Thomas, whom he knew. Inspector Thomas wasn’t immediately available but Tom made an appointment to see him later that morning. The desk clerk didn’t ask why Tom wanted to see the inspector. Tom was and is a significant and well known person in our town. A request from Tom was enough.

The inspector reacted as Tom expected. The following Tuesday as Tom knocked at the brothel’s door, Police and Immigration officials had surrounded the building. As soon as Irena opened the door, the Police rushed in. Irena was relieved of her keys. Four men were detained as they tried to leave through a fire door at the rear of the building.

Tamara, Irena and the three other women were temporarily detained by the Immigration authorities. Their five passports were found in a safe that Irena couldn’t open but one of the men had stored the combination on his mobile phone. Unfortunately for him and the other men he also had the addresses, contact telephone numbers and safe combination numbers for the other five brothels they were running in the county.

Twenty other women were released from imprisonment as sex slaves, and two other men were arrested. The Police in their own country, acting on information from England, had arrested other men who were part of the gang.

All of the women were needed as witnesses at the men’s trial. They were offered a choice. If they could find sponsors or people to provide them with accommodation they could go there, but not leave the country. If not, they would have to stay in an immigration detention centre. Tom volunteered to take all five women to his large detached house.

Irena returned to her own country as soon as the trial was completed. The six men were sentenced to lengthy periods in jail to be followed by deportation. The gang members still in their own country had already been tried, convicted and jailed.

But Tom had four house guests. Since the status of their country had changed since they had arrived in England, they were no longer i*****l immigrants. Anja, Divna and Sanja found local jobs as shop assistants at a newly opened supermarket on the edge of our town. Tamara worked part-time while studying to convert her teaching degree to an English qualification as well as acting as Tom’s housekeeper. He sponsored Tamara’s studies.

Tom still visited Maria. He felt that as the four women had only become prostitutes by force he couldn’t accept sexual favours from them. All of them frequently hugged and kissed him but went no further.

A couple of years after the trial, the former brothel was put up for auction. It had been deemed to be proceeds from criminal activity and confis**ted. At this point I enter the narrative about the brothel.

I’m much younger than Tom. My business is buying neglected properties, renovating or converting them before renting them out or selling them on. I had gone to the auction with a list of possible properties. The former brothel wasn’t on that list. But I was outbid on the three lots I was really interested in, and I might have to wait until the next quarterly auction before a suitable property was put up for sale.

The brothel buildings were the last lot. The guide price was low, reflecting its condition and the listed status of the old chapel. There were no bids at the guide price. I attracted the auctioneer’s attention and made an offer of half the guide price.

“I don’t think I can accept that offer, Mr Jonas,” he said, but his clerk whispered in his ear.

“OK. That bid is acceptable to the vendor. Any advance?”

There wasn’t. After completion of the preliminary paperwork and writing a cheque, I was the presumed owner of one former brothel for a ridiculously low price. I was nervous. It was the first time I had made an impulse property purchase but it was in my home town. Surely I could make something from it?

I wondered what the reaction would be from my on/off girlfriend Nicola when she found out that I had bought a former brothel. I should have time to compose a suitable email. She was visiting her sister in Australia and enjoying her young nieces and nephew. I’d email her tomorrow otherwise one of her other friends might tell her. No one locally would know until the auction report was printed in our local newspaper, in a couple of days’ time.

I was still worried as I drove home, deliberately passing my new property. It looked a dump with 1960s additions on the road frontage partly concealing the chapel behind. But when I spread the plans of the property out on my office desk, I needed the malt whisky I had poured to calm my nerves. The size of the plot was much larger than I had thought. The chapel occupied less than a sixth of the site, large though the ancient building was.

I knew about its recent history and the local notoriety of Tom and his harem. I had met all four women when they were working in the supermarket. They were popular members of our community even if some local men, former customers of the brothel, were embarrassed. The women had told no tales, named no names but some of the men were known.

Nicola’s email response was amused, not annoyed. ‘Are you that desperate for female company while I’m away that you need to BUY a brothel?’ But she also said that the chapel needed rescuing and she knew I’d do my best. She wanted to see it when she got back.

Three weeks later the final paperwork had been completed. I was the owner of a former brothel. I had made an appointment to meet Alan, the architect who I usually work with on my renovations, at the buildings for a first assessment. It would take at least a month before we could produce a first draft planning application, perhaps longer because of the chapel’s listed status. Getting planning permission might be long-winded and complex.

I parked in the road outside the old brothel. If I was going to do anything substantial to the buildings I would need some off-road parking as part of the development. There was already a dropped kerb across the whole frontage. That was a relief. Providing a pavement crossing was decided by a different level of council. I could use an existing one without informing them.

Alan and I stood side by side looking from across the road. We could barely see the chapel’s high pitched roof because of all the modern structures in front of it.

“Geoff,” Alan said, “we need to get rid of everything in front of the chapel. If we expose it to the road that would help with the conservation authorities. We could have a substantial forecourt with two road entrances. But we need to see more.”

“I agree, Alan. None of that is of any architectural merit, and in a poor state of repair. I’ve got the keys. It’s a warren in there with a whole maze of partitions. Before we decide on the use for the chapel itself I think we need to strip all those partitions out. Only then can I see what I’ve bought.”

I opened the door that had been the brothel’s entrance. I had overlooked or forgotten that the four women’s photographs were still on the waiting room’s wall.

“I’ll come back later today and remove those,” I said. “They’re respectable members of our community now and don’t want to be reminded of their past ordeal.”

“Aren’t some of them married now?” Alan asked.

“Three of them are. Tamara probably will be soon even if Tom is the only person in our town who doesn’t know she wants him. All four of them love Tom, not just because he was responsible for their freedom, but because of who he is. He looked after them for years and asked for nothing from them.”

We walked through the locked door towards the chapel. Alan and I were looking closely at the partitioning as we entered the main building. Alan suddenly got down on his knees and poked with a penknife.

“Whoever did this was very careful. Look, Geoff. The block work is resting on planks that protect the tiled floor. We’re walking on a false floor.”

He grabbed a section of the flooring and pulled it upwards. We could see the framing that supported the modern floor. That framing was not fixed except by gravity.

“I wouldn’t have believed it,” he said. “we could strip all of this out with minimal damage. I can’t see brothel owners being that considerate.”

“I think they used our local builders, Flemings. Mike Fleming would have been careful and not fixing the floor and partitions would save money.”

“You’re probably right, Geoff. Mike has a feel for older buildings. No matter what the client says, Mike has standards and he won’t divert from them.”

“That’s why I use him so often, Alan.”

“OK. I think I need to talk to the planning department this week to see if we can get permission to strip the modern stuff out the interior of the chapel. Only when that’s done can we see what we’re dealing with.”

“OK, Alan. I agree. I’d like to see what there is in here once we’ve opened it up.”

We entered all the cubicles and looked up at the stained glass windows. All of it was intact, protected inside and out by heavy-duty wire mesh.

“It looks like Mike’s handiwork, again,” I said. “Those screens are substantial yet they are held in by friction, not holes drilled into the masonry.”

“Can I ask Mike to come round with me as soon as I can get him?”

“Yes, Alan. We aren’t at the point where we can talk what work needs to be done, but my preference would be to use Mike if his price is right. It usually is.”

We continued to tour the building. Outside the chapel there was evidence of more old structures partially concealed by the modern additions.

“Geoff, we’re going to need some real history of the building for the planners,” Alan said.

“Already in hand. The day after my offer was accepted I consulted the town history in my own library. This chapel was part of a joint monastery and nunnery that was suppressed by Henry VIII. His commissioners found evidence of poor behaviour and sinful activities. Unlike many such claims that one seems to have been justified here. The Abbot was the Priest for both, but there were only other four monks and an Abbess with nine nuns. The published history is discreet, but locally we know that the Abbess and nuns were running the place, using the Abbot and his monks as sex slaves. Some of the history will have to be in the Council’s confidential papers.”

“As bad as that?”

“The fact that it was last used as a brothel will have to be confidential even though the whole town knows. The early history will be far more embarrassing. I’ve commissioned the local history society to produce everything they know about the chapel. That will cost me a couple of hundred pounds and much of it will be confidential. Did you know it’s supposed to be haunted?”

“Haunted? It doesn’t feel eerie or creepy, Geoff.”

“It shouldn’t be. The ghosts are supposed to be friendly, very friendly.”

“That sort of friendly?”

“Yes, Alan. The ghosts are reported to be sex starved nuns and men who stay overnight have erotic dreams. Some accounts suggest that dreams are not all that happens.”

We continued around the buildings. Outside the open ground was a tangle of brambles ten feet high but no trees. That was a relief. I didn’t want to fight tree preservation orders as well as conservation experts.

Alan left after a couple of hours. I went to my car to get a screwdriver. I decided I was going to remove the four pictures now before anyone else came into the building.

The screws had been painted over so it took me longer than I had expected to remove the pictures. It was getting dark and the electricity had been switched off years ago. I began to feel that I wasn’t alone. There seemed to be a distant sound of singing, happy singing not religious chanting. I also seemed to feel a benign presence watching over me, but I didn’t want to stay any longer. I took the four pictures to my car and locked the building.

I didn’t return until the following week. Alan had obtained verbal agreement from the planners to remove the internal partitioning in the chapel. He had suggested that I should tour the chapel with Mike, because Alan was busy with another client. I met Mike Fleming at the door.

“I’m not sure about this job, Geoff,” Mike said as we went inside. “Some of my workers won’t want to come here again. They are years older now, and they felt hands caressing their privates every time they were alone.”

“I haven’t noticed anything like that, Mike.”

“Perhaps you haven’t been here on your own for long enough, Geoff. We were here for weeks.”

“I thought it was your work, Mike.”

“It was. I didn’t want to do it but at the time we didn’t have much else on, so the money was useful. The groping hands were unexpected. The three single men didn’t mind, then. Now they are married. You know who to.”

Mike pointed to the marks on the wall where the photographs had been.

“All three of them?”

“Yes, and they are very happily married.” Anja married my son Pete; Divna married my nephew James; and Sanja married Nick, another of my nephews.

“I took the photos down. I didn’t want to evoke any unpleasant memories.”

“I think the women have put this place long behind them, but you’re right. It could have been embarrassing to remind my blokes. Let’s go to the chapel. That’s what you want emptied.”

Mike pointed out the way the partitions were fixed. They hadn’t attached anything to the floor or walls.

“I could have used lightweight partitioning, like office cubicles, but they wanted solid block work and locking doors. Now I know why, but then? They were paying good money so who was I to argue? If I had known they were going to be prison cells? I didn’t.”

“So how much work to take the partitions out, Mike?”

“About a week for four of my men. That’s not the problem. It is what we do with the materials. It will cost a lot to remove all that. We might be able to reuse the wood, but the blocks aren’t up to modern standards. They’ll have to go as hardcore. If someone wants hardcore? Three hundred pounds to deliver it. If no one wants hardcore? Eight hundred pounds to take it to a waste contractor.”

“Ouch. I hope someone wants the hardcore, Mike.”

“I’ll ask around, Alan. I don’t need any at present. I’m doing conversions, not new builds needing foundations. You might need it here if you’re rebuilding, but knocking down the additions would make more than you could possibly use. They were built in the twenties.”

“Twenties? You’re sure? They looked like sixties to me.”

“I’m sure. My grandfather built them and grumbled because the clients wanted cheap shoddy work. My father refaced some of them in the sixties because water was getting in. He grumbled too because he really wanted to rebuild properly. If you get permission to demolish? A few hefty blows and they’ll fall down like a house of cards. The only thing we’d have to be careful about is to avoid damaging the original medieval buildings.”

“Any idea how much was left apart from the chapel? I can’t see much except a few odd pieces.”

“There’s a lot, Geoff. The corridor we came down was part of the cloisters. It links to the refectory and most of that is still there hidden by partitions and a lowered ceiling. You might be able to see the refectory roof with binoculars from… No. You won’t. The new supermarket is in the way. Except from that blocked angle the roof is hidden by other buildings.”

“OK, Alan. How much to clear the chapel? That’s all we’re allowed to do at present.”

“I’ll work it out and give you an estimate in a couple of days. I can’t give you a fixed price. Apart from the uncertainty of disposing of the hardcore, I don’t know how easily the partitions will come down, particularly as we’ll have to be very careful with the old fabric.”

Three weeks later Mike and his workers were ready to start. His estimate was reasonable for the quality of work his team produced. The hardcore was wanted but would cost me four hundred and fifty pounds to relocate.

To our surprise Tamara and the three women married to Mike’s workers wanted to see the chapel before and after the partitioning was removed. I took them around with Tom. None of them had seen much beyond their cubicles and they were surprised at the total size of the buildings. They took many photographs with their mobile phones. Divna was particularly interested in one of the stained glass windows. Her cubicle had only had half of a window and she had always wanted to know what the whole window looked like.

The work started during the school holidays. Tamara and Tom elected themselves as tea-makers and unofficial site supervisors, recording the progress of the gradual revealing of the chapel’s original features.

The workers found that if Tamara or another woman was present the previous manifestations didn’t occur except for a faint sound of singing. If no woman was there, invisible hands might stroke or grasp their crotches. That could be disastrous if they were using tools or carrying a load. After a few days, Tamara or one of the three wives were there all the time the work was in progress.

I was surprised and delighted when the chapel was empty. Mike and his workers had seen it uncluttered by the partitioning, but originally it had been full of broken furniture. They hadn’t really looked closely at the whole, because they were concentrating on the work to be done.

I asked Mike to clean the floor, walls, ceiling and roof beams. I knew they would be careful not to remove any original paint, nor damage original features. Once that clean had finished I arranged for my architect Alan and some of the Council’s planning officers to visit on a private viewing day. Tom, Tamara, Mike’s workers and their wives also wanted to come. I ordered a buffet lunch from local caterers.

At a local auction I had bought some old Victorian church furniture from a church being converted into flats. I had eight pews, some solid oak tables with matching chairs, many tall candle stands and other items. The pews came with embroidered hassocks. I had those cleaned and repaired by a dry cleaner.

The eight people who were closely associated with the old brothel seemed to want to be associated with the renovation. Tom and Tamara were there several times a week with Tamara’s former colleagues and their husbands. They cleaned and polished the oak furniture so that it gleamed.

Divna and Sanja had carefully washed the stained glass windows inside and out. Both of them had been fascinated by the quality of the work. The external mesh was removed, repainted and replaced but the internal protection had been removed. When the sun came out the light through the windows spread colour across the whole chapel.

Mike, Alan and I were proud of what we had achieved, with the unexpected help. Tom, Tamara and the others had arranged a display of before and after photographs, together with some downloaded press reports of the people traffickers’ trial. The details of the trial would be removed after the private event. The display of the information the local history group had discovered about the suppression of the monastery/nunnery would be ready in the morning of the event. I think they wanted it to be a surprise.

Nicola had arrived back from Australia a couple of days before the event. She slept most of her first day back home and met me for a coffee in the High Street. She was still tired from the journey. We would meet at the private view and I had booked a restaurant meal with her for that evening. I was pleased to have her back and surprised just how much we had missed each other. Before she went to Australia we had been drifting apart. Now Nicola was back we wanted to be together.

My idea for the private view came because I still had no real idea what to do with the chapel or the rest of the site. Each time I had bid on every other building I had bought at auction I had a solid idea of what I could do with the property. I had bought the chapel on impulse. I hadn’t expected my very low bid to be accepted. Now I was short on ideas.

The chapel building was important, possibly more important than its conservation listing grade suggested. Now I could see all of it I didn’t want to change it. But what could I do with a medieval chapel?

I could demolish and clear the more modern buildings leaving the cloister and refectory but I needed to make a profit. How? I hoped that all those who came to the private view would have suggestions. Any ideas the planning officers had could be valuable, giving an indication of what might be possible under the planning regulations. But they don’t tend to come up with radical suggestions. Even my architect Alan has mundane ideas, good ones, sound ones, but boringly conventional.

The morning of the private view I let two members of the local history group into the chapel to erect the information boards with their details of the chapel’s history. The first board was innocuous, detailing the foundation and early years of the Monastery and Nunnery. The second board had a picture of the first page of the original report of King Henry VIII’s commissioners, in their original Latin, followed by a modern English summary. It would have to be in the Council’s confidential papers.

The commissioners had been aware that concerns had been expressed about the activities of the nuns and monks. They decided to arrive at the time of Vespers, let themselves in quietly, and observe the service. They included a locksmith who opened a side door. The commissioners were able to watch everything. Even for hardened soldiers, they were shocked.

All the monks and nuns were naked. Apart from the stained glass windows there was no Christian symbolism anywhere in the chapel. The altar was adorned with effigies of Venus and Zeus, both copulating with various partners in a variety of poses. The Abbot was tied down to that altar. The Abbess was riding him. Another nun was pressing her private parts on his mouth.

There were four small pillars dedicated to Priapus. Each had erect penises that could be adjusted for height. One pillar had erections on all four sides. Four nuns had impaled themselves on those erections and were kissing each other.

The other four nuns were riding the four monks. Each monk had been tied to iron rings set in the floor, and gagged into silence. There were other ‘devilish devices’ around the chapel, most for restraining the monks so that they were available for whatever sexual service the nuns required.

The Abbot, the Abbess, the four monks and the nine nuns were arrested.

The chapel was cleaned up, an altar installed, and was reconsecrated by the Bishop of Dover. It was used as a Parish Church for five years until the whole complex was sold to a minor courtier. The chapel was deconsecrated and he demolished everything except what is now remaining and took the stone by sea up The Thames beyond London to build a new house overlooking the river.

He sold the site to a burgess from Canterbury who used the buildings for weaving until the late 18th Century when it became a store for furniture. The windows had been covered by weatherboarding outside. The chapel remained a store until the 1920s when the surrounding structures had been built as temporary offices for a department store. The chapel had remained untouched until it was converted into the brothel.

The local history society had made a folder with more details. The secret trial was a formality. They should have been tried in an Ecclesiastical Court but the Church had expelled all of them.

The men successfully pleaded that they were acting under compulsion by force and witchcraft. They were imprisoned for life. The women were condemned to death for witchcraft and blasphemy. Although the commissioners published their report to justify the executions, the public version had been severely edited, but the real report had been filed in the Royal archives.

There were also sketches and a plan of the various lewd devices in the chapel. Those sketches were a significant part of the evidence. The folder contained copies of the sketches and plan.

The trial and more lurid details of the confessions obtained under ‘the question’ i.e. torture while the nuns and monks were held at Dover Castle. They variously confessed to witchcraft, Satanism, raising the dead, communing with the Roman and Greek pagan gods, perverting the citizens of the locality with their lascivious behaviour, pregnancy, c***dbirth and offering their services indiscriminately to men and women in exchange for money. How much of their confessions were true? No one knows.

The executions, unusually for that time, were not in public. The commissioners stated that as the nuns were supposed to be virgins they should have been forcibly ****d by the executioner before he killed them, but ‘it was manifest that they were no virgins’ and the executioner was spared that duty. All ten women were strangled in the dungeons of Dover Castle, and their weighted bodies were taken out to sea and thrown overboard.

I could see that the historical information would have to be drastically edited before inclusion in the Council’s confidential papers as part of a planning application. I wasn’t even sure that the folder should be available at the private view. I spoke to Nicola about my reservations. That was a mistake. She wanted to rush to the chapel and read the folder – now!

At first I was disappointed with the private view. The planners were delighted with the reclaimed chapel, but everyone’s interest was on the History Society’s display and folder. I shouldn’t have been surprised. Most of those present had been involved in clearing the chapel. They knew what it looked like already. But they hadn’t been aware of the salacious history of the nuns and monks.

Nicola was obviously getting ideas about recreating some of their activities with me as her victim. I wasn’t so sure. Some of what the nuns had done must have been painful for the monks.

Tom and Tamara were walking around the chapel while the others were reading the folder, some of it aloud. Tamara’s arm was tucked into Tom’s. She looked as if she had claimed him. Why not?

Suddenly Tamara stopped at pointed at something on the floor. She whispered in Tom’s ear and then pointed to other parts of the floor. Tom looked at me and then beckoned for me to join them.

“Geoff,” he said, “Tamara thinks she’s spotted something. Tell him, Tamara.”

“Mr Jonas,” she started.

“No, Tamara, I’m not Mr Jonas to you. I’m Geoff, please.”

“You’re sure?”

“Tamara. You have helped me to restore this chapel. That was the act of a friend. Thank you.”

“OK, Geoff. What I noticed? When I was here I had long hours with nothing to do. I studied my surroundings in minute detail, and part of the floor intrigued me. It was just slightly different. Now the partitions have gone and the floor is clean, I could see it again. Here.”

Tamara pointed at the floor just in front of her feet. At first I couldn’t see what was different. I had to move around so that the light was coming from the side. She was right. There was an irregularity.

“It didn’t mean anything to me, Geoff, until I read the folder and looked at the plan. I think this was where one of the pillars to Priapus was. And over there are similar faint marks. I think they were the other pillars. Where the altar was is even less obvious, but it could only be in one place. There.”

Tamara pointed again. She walked towards the East end of the chapel. Tom and I followed her. No one else noticed us. They were too engrossed in the detail of the History Society’s folder.

“If we get lower down, I can show you more clearly,” Tamara said.

She pulled Tom down to kneel beside her. I squatted on my heels. There was an outline of a rectangular structure on the tiles. I stood up. I was pleased but I felt mischievous looking at Tom kneeling beside Tamara.

“Tom,” I said quietly so that only we three could hear. “She’s got you in the right position, just where she wants you. You’re kneeling in front of an imaginary altar. When are you going to do it for real?”

Tamara looked shocked. Tom was startled at first as he took in what I had said. Tamara started to get up. Tom gently pulled her back and looked at her.

“Is that what you really want, Tamara? This old man?”

“Everyone else except you, Tom, know she does.” I said.

Tamara’s face paled. She looked at me.

“Don’t look at me, Tamara. Look at the man you love. You do, don’t you?”

She turned her head towards Tom.

“Yes,” she whispered.

I walked away, back to Nicola who was coming towards me. Everyone else was still crowded around the History Society’s display. She hugged me.

“What have you done, Geoff?” She said, looking past me at Tamara and Tom, still kneeling but with their arms around each other.

“Told Tom, but not in so many words, that he should marry Tamara. I think it worked.”

“You romantic idiot! You could have…”

“But I didn’t. They love each other, Nicola.”

“And I love you but sometimes you are impossible, Geoff.”

“I know. That’s not likely to change. But while I’m being impossible, why don’t I go even further?”

“Further? Haven’t you done enough?”

“No, Nicola.”

I knelt down in front of her.

“Geoff! You can’t! Not now!”

I smiled up at her.

“Yes, Nicola. I can. Will you marry me, please?”

She paused, looking over my head at Tom and Tamara still kneeling side by side, closely wrapped together.

“If you love me like Tom does Tamara…”

“I do,” I said.

“Then, yes Geoff, I will marry you.”

“Thank you, Nicola. I will try to make sure you never regret it.”

I fumbled in my trouser pocket to produce the box with the ring.

“Here you are, Nicola. My mother’s engagement ring. It should fit.”

Nicola pretended to hit me.

“You knew you were going to propose, Geoff, didn’t you?”

“Let’s just say I was prepared in case there was a suitable moment, Nicola, my new fiancée. And Tamara’s love for Tom was the catalyst.”

Nicola pulled me up into a kiss. When we ended that kiss she rested her head against my shoulder. An entwined Tom and Tamara walked up to us.

“Thank you, Geoff,” Tom said. “I didn’t realise…”

“I gave you enough hints, Tom,” Tamara interrupted. “But thank you from me too. We’re engaged.”

“So are we,” Nicola said.

“Congratulations,” Tom and Tamara said together.

“And congratulations to you too,” Nicola said. She and Tamara hugged each other. Tom and I shook hands.

“Shall we tell them?” I said, pointing to the other people who were as yet unaware of us.

“Why not?” Tom said. He clapped his hands loudly.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Tom shouted. They all turned to look at us.

“We have an announcement to make.”

Tamara squeezed his hand.

“Tamara and I are engaged.”

They all started clapping. Tamara’s former associates rushed across to her for a session of hugging and kissing that included Tom.

“And we have another one,” I said loudly. “Nicola has agreed to be my wife.”

Anja, Dvina, Sanja and Tamara swamped Nicola and me. Both couples were congratulated by everyone. Eventually I was able to speak again.

“Although our engagements are important and unexpected,” I said, “the original purpose of today was to get ideas about the future use of this building. Obviously this chapel will be retained, but what do I,” I stopped myself. “No, WE, do with the rest of the site?”

There were a few diffident suggestions such as turning the chapel into a community hall, building houses behind the chapel, or making flats out of the 1920s structures.

Then Tom said something:

“Why don’t you learn from the Courtaulds work at Eltham Palace, Geoff? You could use the chapel for entertaining. But you and Nicola will need a family home. Why not here?”

“Why not?” Nicola added. “This building has had a sad past. I’d like to see it as a happy place. It will always mean a lot to Tamara and me.”

The planning officers were dubious. They knew about Eltham Palace but weren’t sure that the local councillors in the 21st Century would support such a radical transformation.

Their concerns irritated me. I thought Tom’s suggestion was a good one. Of course it would be difficult to sell to the local councillors, but so would any proposal that wasn’t boringly conventional.

Tom’s suggestion sparked an interesting debate. Even Alan the architect was shocked but gradually there was a consensus that the idea was worth investigating.

Nicola whispered in my ear.

“Geoff, I like the idea of using the chapel as a room for entertaining. Why not hold our wedding reception here – on Halloween?”

“Halloween? But the chapel is haunted. Wouldn’t that be asking for trouble?” I whispered back.

“They are supposed to be friendly ghosts, Geoff. Perhaps they’d like it.”

“You’re sure, Nicola?”

“Yes, Geoff. Tom and Tamara could share the reception too. Ask them.”

We managed to separate Tom and Tamara from the crowd. Nicola made her suggestion. Tamara was enthusiastic. Tom had mild reservations, like me, but we couldn’t argue with our new fiancées. Nicola wanted us to make it a costume party and re-create the monks and nuns.

That idea brought all five women together in a huddle because party planning is important. Tom and I started discussing how a miniature Eltham Palace might work. We involved Alan and Mike. Within a few minutes we had separated into different groups.

Nicola had produced a writing pad from her handbag and was frantically scribbling ideas for the Halloween and Wedding Reception.

I found some paper. I made a sketch of the site but Alan wasn’t happy with my draughtsmanship skills. He made a better plan, outlining the older buildings that we wanted to keep.

By the time the event was over, I had enough ideas for Alan to consider an outline planning application to demolish the 1920s structures and build a five bedroom family house. Nicola and the women had agreed to meet again soon to discuss how they could stage the party.


By a week before Halloween Alan had submitted the planning application. The public consultation period had produced support and surprisingly no public objections. It might even be approved by the Council’s officers without the need to refer to the Planning Committee. The Councillors would have to be consulted when we converted the outline into a defined structure, but we could start demolishing before then – if we got approval from the officers.

Nicola and Tamara were meeting frequently. Apart from the party, they had agreed to have a joint wedding. We four had decided on a quiet Church wedding. The organisation for the reception seemed much more elaborate than for the wedding. The reception would be very small at just ten people. The two Brides and Grooms would be joined by the other three women who had been in the former brothel, and their three builder husbands. Mike and Alan had been invited but declined. Both would be involved with Halloween activities for their grandc***dren.

The five women cluttered one of the rooms in Tom’s large house with their sewing. Apparently the wedding and bridesmaids dresses, from local charity shops, only needed simple alterations. The costumes for the Halloween reception had to be made from lengths of material.

Why? Those coming to the Halloween reception would be just ten. The men would be Tom, me, and the three builder husbands. The women would be Nicola, Tamara, Anja, Dvina, and Sanja, two brides and three bridesmaids.

We didn’t have electricity in the chapel apart from the long extension leads used by the builders. Putting electric light into the chapel without damaging the fabric would require detailed permission from the conservation experts. That would take months, if it was possible. Nicola asked me to find some battery-run candles for the candle holders, as many as possible. I found twenty. They should give us enough light for most things.

I knew that the three builders had been asked to reproduce the chapel fittings as described by the Commissioners. I didn’t ask questions, just paid Mike’s bills from time to time.

Nicola, Alan and I had spent many hours trying to produce an acceptable design for our house. Our real problem was that until the 1920s additions had been removed we wouldn’t know what ancient buildings would be left. Whatever we designed would have to fit around the original buildings. Eventually we agreed what Nicola and I wanted but not how our requirements would work as a building.

A week before our wedding Nicola asked me to take her to the chapel after dark. She wanted to see whether the battery operated lighting would be enough, and to check how well we had reproduced the chapel’s layout compared with the Commissioners sketch.

I was still nervous about going to a haunted chapel after dark but if Nicola was with me I hoped the ghosts would leave me alone. I collected her at six o’clock. I had to park about one hundred yards away, reminding me that I need to get parking on the site.

Mike had laid temporary wiring from the mains supply in the former reception area. The route to and from the chapel was lit by fittings temporarily attached to the ceiling. Most of the power on the rest site was provided by cables snaking across the floor. None of the wedding party would go anywhere near those cables.

Inside the chapel I switched on my small torch to find the first two battery powered candles. As my hand reached out for the switch another hand caught my wrist. I was about to ask Nicola what she was playing at.

My mouth was covered with a thick cloth. I heard Nicola gasp and then as sound of her struggling. I was struggling too but my arms were tightly held.

“Welcome, Geoff, and Nicola,” a female voice said, echoing in the chapel. “We had hoped you would come together with no one else.”

“Don’t worry,” another female voice said. “You’re in no danger from us. We want to thank you for retrieving our chapel and we want to show you that the recorded history is false.”

“sister Helen, please can we have some light?” That was the first voice again.

We heard the clicking of a tinder box, saw a taper being lit, and then taken to candles mounted around the walls of the chapel. As more on more were lit we could see that Nicola was held by three women dressed as nuns. A cloth was being held against Nicola’s mouth. I was held by four nuns, one standing behind me hold my gag in place. Two more nuns were standing by the altar.

“Geoff, Nicola. We don’t want to restrain you.” I was the first voice again. She was behind me holding my gag. “Although you can’t leave because the chapel door is locked, we will let you go after you have listened to us. You might find our tale amusing. If you are really frightened, just tell us and you can leave. But I don’t think you will want to.”

She flipped the gag away from my mouth. Nicola’s gag was also taken away.

“Shall we sit down?” She pointed at a table, my table, with twelve chairs around it.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m the Abbess. Abbess Mary, head of this religious establishment. Or perhaps I should say ‘I WAS Abbess Mary, head of what was apparently a religious house’.”

“I wish I could say ‘I’m pleased to meet you, Abbess Mary’, but your appearance is unexpected and slightly worrying.”

“Very worrying,” Nicola added.

“I’m sorry, but if you’ll let me explain, you shouldn’t be alarmed. Please sit. Why not? It’s your table, your chairs, and we are now tenants in your property, Geoff. Sit?”

We sat down. Nicola’s hand held mine. Abbess Mary sat opposite us with five other nuns. There were two nuns either side of Nicola and me. Although they were ghosts they seemed solid enough, and smiling at us.

“I did say this was a religious establishment,” Abbess Mary started. “It wasn’t in our time. It HAD been one until my father bought it from the monastic order who had built it. They were French and had closed it down because of friction between the English and French. I…” She paused.

“I was a fallen woman. I was pregnant but my intended had been killed fighting the French. My father bought this place as a retreat for my shame. He could say I had become a nun. The other ladies who joined me here were in similar difficulties so all ten of us were due to produce bastards. We did. We set up a nursery and then a school in the buildings, including local c***dren with our own.”
“But we still wanted sex…” A nun beside Abbess Mary interrupted.

“This is sister Helen. Apart from her title, she was actually my younger sister, also pregnant by my devious fiancée. It was just as well he died in the wars otherwise my father might have killed him anyway. sister Helen is right. We wanted sex. The Abbot and his monks were our lovers.”

“Where are they?” I asked.

“Them? That’s part of the story after the Commissioners discovered us. It was obvious that we weren’t genuinely religious but sex-starved women. The men were our sexual slaves, paid well for providing what we wanted. Abbot and Monks they were not. Well-endowed young men? Yes, they were. We wore them out and had to replace them after about a year. The five who were here when the Commissioners arrived didn’t deserve death for being our sexual partners. So they didn’t die.”

“Neither did we,” That was Helen again.

“sister, let me tell the story, please. Our father, and the other women’s parents were displeased that the deception had been discovered. They were all powerful men and the Commissioners were not averse to receiving cash in hand as long as the buildings became the King’s. They concocted the story of the men’s’ plea that we were witches. The men were condemned to life imprisonment in the dungeons of Dover Castle where they would be forgotten. They were soon forgotten because they were never in the dungeons. They went to London with new names. As for us, strangled and dumped at sea? Rubbish! We went to Calais and then a few miles beyond the area controlled by the English to start another women’s refuge. No one knew or cared what some Englishwomen were doing in a former chateau, particularly as we paid for our supplies and services in gold.”

“If you didn’t die associated with this chapel, why are you still here?” Nicola asked.

“Because this is the place where we were happiest. We were young, fit and well swived daily by handsome young men. When we did eventually die, surrounded by our c***dren and grandc***dren, we wanted to return here to the scenes of our happy youth.”

Abbess Mary paused. She waved a hand. The furnishings of the chapel changed. The replica altar and Priapic pillars we had installed changed slightly.

“This is how it was when those Commissioners came. Nicola? Can you bring Geoff to the altar? I want to show you what it was really like.”

Nicola stood up and virtually dragged me to the altar.

“sister Helen? Show them how it works, please.”

Helen lay on her back across the altar. Her hips were higher than her torso. Her legs, bent at the knees, dangled off one end. Her head was supported by a projection at the other end.

“Whoever is lying on the altar can be secured in place,” Abbess Mary said, “and their head clamped firmly. Usually that isn’t necessary because our sacrifices were willing volunteers. Geoff? Please take Helen’s place so that Nicola can appreciate the advantages.”

I was not sure I wanted to do that. Nicola squeezed my hand.

“Go on, Geoff. This could be interesting.”

“You want to do this?”

“Yes, Geoff.”

I matched sister Helen’s position on the altar. It was surprisingly comfortable, padded underneath my body.

“If we turn our backs, Nicola, you can try…”

I didn’t hear the rest. Nicola had flipped up her skirt and had sat on my head. Her thighs were against my ears. My lips were against her labia. She hadn’t been wearing panties. She moved slightly forward, spreading her thighs so I could insert my tongue.

I felt another pair of legs straddle me. My erection inside my trousers was growing rapidly. Could I be fucked by a ghost? The apparent weight of whoever it was seemed to suggest that it was really possible. The weight was removed seconds later. Nicola lifted herself off my face.

“You can see the possibilities, Geoff,” Abbess Mary said. “That was only a demonstration, even if both Nicola and sister Helen wanted to do it properly. But I said we wouldn’t alarm you and jumping on your cock would be going too far on a first meeting.”

“Yes, Abbess Mary, that would be alarming,” I replied. “I can appreciate the utility of the altar, but being ridden by a ghost? That would be worrying.”

“It shouldn’t be,” sister Helen said. “We are very experienced.”

“sister?” Abbess Mary interrupted. “Please let me do the talking. Nicola, Geoff, what we would like to do is to come to your wedding reception on Halloween. Of course you’ll have to ask Tom and Tamara as well, but we could be the entertainment, perhaps? We could enter singing one of our chants…”

“Chants?” Nicola asked. “Most of us had heard singing but they didn’t sound like chants.”

Abbess Mary looked embarrassed.

“We call them chants but they are more like your modern Rugby songs, in Latin of course, but they celebrate making love – physically.”

“Eskimo Nell?” I suggested.

“Perhaps,” Abbess Mary replied. “They are sung from the women’s point of view, praising the male organ and what we can do with it. sisters?”

Abbess Mary stood in front of the altar and raised her hands like a conductor. The other nuns stood facing her. Nicola and I were to one side of the altar, slightly behind it.

“Jubilate,” Abbess Mary announced. She waved her hand to give the beat and the nuns started singing as she brought her hand down.

She was right. This was nothing like a chant. Although it was in Latin it was very bawdy with hand actions from the nuns. Translating the words in my head was difficult but Nicola, who never studied Latin, got the message of the song easily. Put simply, the bigger the cock the better the ride…

The chorus was simple. After the third repeat of the chorus, Abbess Mary turned to us.

“You can join in with the chorus,”

We did.

At the end of the song, the nuns were giggling.

“That’s a sample of what we’d like to do tomorrow evening,” Abbess Mary said. “If we are welcome.”

“I’d like all of you to be there,” Nicola said without consulting me. “I’ll just ring Tamara and see if she’ll agree.”

Nicola did. She walked to the doorway into the chapel and used her mobile to ring Tamara. They spoke for about five minutes. Nicola came back to us.

“Tamara would be delighted,” Nicola announced.

“How about Tom?” I asked.

“Tom? He’ll do whatever Tamara wants.”

I could see that Tom and I are going to have to accept that tomorrow’s brides will expect to be the decision makers in our married lives.

“Don’t worry, Geoff,” Abbess Mary said. “You’ll enjoy it. So will Tom. sisters? Another song. You know which one.”

The nuns serenaded us again. This time the actions were even more explicit. During the last verse Abbess Mary, sister Helen and Nicola surrounded me and performed the actions against my body. When they ended my erection was almost unbearable.

“We’ll leave you two until tomorrow evening,” Mary said. “Nicola, I think Geoff needs to be on our altar – now!”

The nuns formed up in a double line and walked out of the chapel, singing the chorus of their second song. Nicola pulled me to the altar, unzipped my trousers and mounted me. As she rode me, I could hear the nuns’ chorus in the distance.


The wedding was a very low key affair. Apart from the Brides and Grooms, the three Matrons of Honour and their partners as Ushers, the congregation was no more than about thirty.

After the photo session in the churchyard, everyone else said their farewells. The ten of us walked to the old chapel. The caterers had left the food and drink on a side table just inside the chapel door. We stood around for about an hour chatting before we adjourned to separate rooms to change into our costumes for the Halloween Party as Monks and Nuns. I had left a CD of Gregorian Chants playing in the entrance hall.

We assembled in that entrance hall, in couples side by side dressed as monks and nuns. I had switched the CD player off. Nicola and I pushed open the doors to the chapel. We tried to conceal our surprise. The chapel wasn’t as we had left it a few minutes earlier. It was as it had been last night when Abbess Mary and her nuns had come to us, with some small difference. Instead of a single altar and pillars to Priapus there were four more altars arranged around the original one. There were fewer candles.

I shut the doors behind us. Nicola and I went and stood by the central altar. Why not? It is our chapel.

I heard the nuns singing in the distance. I walked forward.

“Ladies and Gentlemen please welcome Abbess Mary and the nuns of this chapel,” I announced loudly.

Most of them looked at me, puzzled, but swung around as the chapel doors were opened. The nuns entered singing. Our costumes were knee length. Theirs brushed the floor as they entered. Our hoods or headdresses were loose. Their headdresses and wimples were tight around their heads, forcing them to look forwards. They walked up the aisle in pairs and stopped facing Nicola and I.

“Please join in with the chorus,” I asked.

The nuns continued singing, emphasising the chorus. Nicola and I added our voices to the first repeat. By the third chorus most of the others had joined in. Only then did the nuns add the actions to the verses and chorus. Tom started to smile and then grinned broadly. The other three men were startled when their wives started doing the actions too.

At the end of their song, Abbess Mary stood between Nicola and I.

“Thank you Geoff, for introducing us. We have been working on our songs because some of you might not understand our Latin. Here is Jubilate in sister Helen’s translation into English. Again, please join in with the chorus…”

There were gasps at the end of the first voice and chorus. Tom and I had understood that the Latin of Jubilate was obscene, but sister Helen’s translation of this song was as rude as Eskimo Nell. Again there were accompanying actions, very explicit.

After several more songs, and one from Tom – The Good Ship Venus – I offered Abbess Mary and her nuns some champagne to celebrate the double wedding. I wasn’t sure that ghosts could drink. These ones could and obviously enjoyed the champagne. They were mixing with the humans but I could see that the five couples were being assigned to two nuns each. Abbess Mary and sister Helen were with us.

“Geoff,” Abbess Mary said quietly, “In a minute or two I want you and Nicola to demonstrate your position on the altar, please.”

“We will,” Nicola said before I could.

“When do we tell them you are actually ghosts?” I asked.

“When the men are in position with their wives astride them,” Abbess Mary replied. “Not before. You’ll have to do it, Nicola. Geoff won’t be able to…”

“I will, Abbess Mary,” Nicola replied. “I will.”

A few minutes later Abbess Mary waved at us and pointed to the central altar. I positioned myself on it. Nicola and sister Helen stood beside me.

“Ladies and Gentlemen!” Abbess Mary said loudly. “We will demonstrate how the altar was used in our time. If the gentlemen will please match Geoff’s position, each on their own altar, my nuns will help your partners appreciate the utility of the arrangements.”

The four men placed themselves on the altars. The nuns whispered in their wives’ ears. The wives flipped up their husbands’ habits and lowered themselves across the hips.

“The altars are equipped with restraints but I don’t think they’ll be necessary tonight,” Abbess Mary said, “but my nuns will show what is possible.”

One of each pair of nuns stripped off their outer habit, revealing bare breasts. They stood at the man’s head and lowered their torsos until the head was between naked breasts. All the men had almost immediate erections that were quickly claimed by their wives’ bodies. My head was between sister Helen’s breasts.

“Nicola?” Abbess Mary asked, coming to stand beside our altar. The breast smothering nuns eased backwards slightly so that the men could hear.

“As you know,” Nicola started, “this chapel is haunted. Tonight is Halloween, the best time for ghosts to appear. But it might be a more enjoyable evening if we were naked…”

Nicola pulled her habit up and off. sister Helen slid my habit off. The other pairs of nuns revealed the other couples. Each man had a pair of breasts poised over his face with their wives’ breasts in sight. The spare nun at each altar reached around the impaled wife to cradle their breasts.

“…and now we are, I should tell you who these nuns really are,” Nicola said. She paused.

“They are the real ghosts of this chapel. They’ve been starved of sex for centuries and now they want to help all of you enjoy yourselves. Enjoy!”

Every man was almost instantly breast smothered by a ghostly nun. Their wives’ breasts were gently caressed. The ghostly nuns started singing, slowly at first but gradually increasing speed as the couples’ movements began to match the singing.

I had expected ghostly breasts to be cold. sister Helen’s were warm, soft, sweet-smelling and very demanding. My tongue licked them when I could but Nicola’s pounding on my hips became more insistent. I was losing control of myself under two sexy women who were determined to make me come. Nicola was squealing above me as Abbess Mary fondled her tits. In between being starved of breath by Helen’s tits I could hear happy noises from the other women.

When I could hold on now longer I shuddered into Nicola. Helen lifted her breasts as I gasped for breath. Nicola was still writhing above me and still holding my shrinking erection. Nicola’s hands were on Abbess Mary’s breasts and they were kissing each other. I heard Helen shed her lower clothing before her hairy pussy poised above me. I wanted to object that I wasn’t ready. My objection was stifled by a warm wet cleft.

The nuns’ singing changed almost to a slow lullaby. Nicola and Helen moved gently on me, holding me with their clefts yet allowing me to recover.

I did, and the whole process started again. Nicola was squealing very loudly this time.

Eventually I went to sleep, still deep inside Nicola and hugged by Helen’s soft thighs.

When I woke, I was still sprawled on the altar but covered by my monk’s habit. The nuns had gone. The five wives were sitting at one of my tables drinking coffee. There was daylight coming through the chapel’s windows. I sat up gingerly and looked around. The four husbands were lying on a pile of hassocks on the floor, covered as I was. The other four altars had gone.

I climbed off the altar, pulled my habit over my head and walked towards the women.

“Good morning, husband Geoff,” Nicola said. “Coffee?”

“Yes, please.”

“When you’ve had it, could you dress normally and order ten delivered breakfasts, please?”


“Yes, husband Geoff. Breakfasts. We wives have been up for a couple of hours waiting for you sleeping beauties. We’re hungry. So will the other husbands be when they wake up.”

“The nuns?” I asked blearily.

“Gone at dawn. They’ll be back anytime we want a party. They enjoyed themselves as much as we did. We learned some new songs. So did they.”


The rest of the day was an anticlimax. I was tired and not really with it. Nicola and I went off on our honeymoon a couple of days later.

It took months for the local council to agree to our plans to make the old buildings part of a new family house for Nicola and I. It took years to turn those plans into reality. But whenever we and our friends wanted, several times a year, we invited the nuns to a party/orgy. They always came. So did we – often.

The End

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