Nuns and novices, a queen and an abbess


“Although my daughter is of age, she is yet young and sometimes a little wilful my liege,” Lord Vosper said, concern edging his voice.

“You think me too old for her?” King Vader said thoughtfully.

“Oh no my liege, the honour you propose for our family is beyond measure, but I fear she is perhaps yet too young for you and humbly suggest that after the betrothal you might wait a year or two before…”

Vader the Wise pulled at his beard. Vosper had much to gain from the match, his candid hesitancy concerning his daughter Eleanor was not something to easily disregard.

“Have her confined to the Convent of St Columbus, but let all men know that she is mine and before next year is out I will take her to my bed.”

“My liege, your wisdom is without equal,” Lord Vosper bowed in gratitude.


“What is there to do here,” Lady Eleanor said in a bored voice.

“Nothing my lady,” the novice assigned to serve her said sounding equally bored.

“Somehow I don’t think you were cut out to serve god,” Eleanor laughed.

Beatrix loved Eleanor’s laugh, it was as clear as a bell and brought light into her grey world.

Beatrix pursed her lips and slyly averted her eyes.

“What are you thinking?” Eleanor coaxed.

Beatrix glanced towards the door of the cell they shared to make sure they were not overheard.

“Well my lady, before you came and I shared with Mildred, we… we used to go and spy on the soldiers,” Beatrix explained hesitantly.

“Soldiers, what here?” Now Eleanor was excited.

“No of course not, but they come to the stable block to wash their horses and…” she blushed, “themselves. Naked.”

Eleanor gasped and then she frowned.

“Isn’t the stable block out of bounds?”

Beatrix swallowed a smile and pursed her lips enigmatically.

Eleanor had always had a mischievous streak, just one of the reasons that her father had cautioned the king to hold off taking her into his household. Also for Beatrix, who had been born in the same year as Eleanor, convent life was a challenge. As a merchant’s daughter she had been used to far greater freedoms in her earlier life.

“Let’s do it,” Eleanor squealed.


Eleanor had never seen a naked man before and she giggled in delight as the youthful soldiers stood nude in the quad emptying buckets of water over themselves before washing their horses without repairing their dress.

“Mon dieu,” she cursed gently under her breath causing a shocked Beatrix to gasp in horrified pleasure.

“I wonder what it is like to kiss a man.” Eleanor sighed.

“Kiss? I was looking at the other end,” Beatrix tittered. “Unless that’s where you were looking as well.”

Eleanor dropped her jaw aghast at the forbidden pleasures that her friend was alluding to.

“I would suffer Mother’s ire for a year for just an hour with the blond boy,” Beatrix said dreamily.

“Honour dictates that I wait for the king,” Eleanor complained, crinkling up her nose.

“At least you will have a man,” Beatrix replied sadly.

“Sorry,” Eleanor said sympathetically, “to think you will never know the touch of another.”

“Oh I wouldn’t say that,” Beatrix said mischievously. “Mildred and I used to practice, just in case you understand.”

Eleanor blushed. It might be fun, she thought. And she owed Beatrix that much.


There was much a to-do once word went around the convent about the novice and the king’s betrothed. The girls had been spotted out-of-bounds by the sub-prioress and Mother had been sent for. Normally, the sub-prioress would have whipped the girls and been done with it, but anything touching Eleanor had to be reported.

Unfortunately by the time Mother burst in on the two miscreants they were both naked on Eleanor’s bed getting to know one another intimately.

Eleanor had been scolded for long minutes, but Beatrix had been hauled off in nothing but her novice’s cowl to lay prostrate in the chapel pending Mother’s pleasure.

Hours had passed and Eleanor, in defiance of Mother, had not gone to bed, but had paced her room fretting over the fate of her friend. Finally she could stand it no more and gathering herself up like a future queen had grandly swept down the corridor to the chapel.

Eleanor’s steadfast courage lasted all the way to the chapel doors but as she swooped in she was stopped as if struck by the scene that confronted her.

Mother and four senior nuns were standing over a forlorn figure on her knees in the middle of the chapel floor. Eleanor could see at once that it was the still naked Beatrix who was abasing herself, but in a manner that both shocked and excited her.

Not only was she on her knees, but she was folded over with her head down as if kissing the flagstones so that her naked bottom was pushed up in a manner not unlike one she had adopted when they had been alone together.

Then she saw that Mother held a scourge.

“Lady Eleanor, what are you doing here?” Mother scowled at her. “Go to your room at once.”

“I…” Eleanor stumbled over the word, her resolve dispelled like the mist in the fields beyond the convent wall.

Mother did not wait to see if she was obeyed and turned all her attention to Beatrix.

“You were given a position of trust and now I find you have betrayed me, your charge, the king and our lord god all in one night. You have given way to base lusts of the most depraved kind, been out of bounds and have corrupted an innocent of most noble blood,” Mother spoke softly, but each word found its mark like a dagger.

“Mother forgive me,” Beatrix wailed.

“I may, but first you must be most grievously punished.”

“Oh yes Mother, please I must be punished, I know I deserve it, please mother save me.”

Eleanor felt sick as she looked on helpless, surely she was as guilty as the novice.

“Until further notice you will sleep at the foot of my bed deprived of any coverings and when you are not prostrate here you will be on your knees scrubbing the convent floors from waking until you lay your head,” Mother pronounced. “In between times I shall have you whipped as I am about to do know, only then can you be forgiven.”

Eleanor’s throat constricted with some unknown thrill of excitement, a feeling akin to that she had felt on seeing the soldiers and later in her chamber with Beatrix. Her eyes fell upon the novice’s smooth defiant bottom as it prostrated itself to receive chastisement from Mother and knew what she must do.

Just then the scourge in mother’s hand drilled down to sing through the air until it ended in a flurry of bee-stings on her novice’s denuded bottom that drew forth an angry grunt from its owner.

As Eleanor watched a rapidly growing lattice of red swollen rills on her friend’s behind, her mouth became dry and she could hear her heart racing. Then as she watched, the lines of fire merged on Beatrix’s flesh until they were but one hymn of pain.

What struck her most was how long the novice stood it until she joined in with a song of her own.

“See my sisters; do not relent on such sinners until they sing out in repentance, because only then can the punishment can truly begin.” Mother explained.

“Yes mother,” the nuns agreed piously.

Then long minutes passed with the only sound being that of the cords and Beatrix’s piteous cries.

“Please mother,” Eleanor said at last.

“Did I not bid you leave?”

Eleanor nodded shamefaced for her sin of disobedience.

“Well what is it?”

“Mother my sin was as great as that of Beatrix, should I not be punished?”

“Am I to whip our future queen then?”

“Yes,” Eleanor whispered.

“Then you shall have all that I have to give,” Mother smiled kindly, for she understood. “Sisters, take over here. Each take a turn as I have already done and then bid this novice remain prostrate here until after matins.”

“Yes Mother,” the nuns intoned.


It was with a sense of unreality that Eleanor walked uncertainly behind the Mother Superior.

“Will Beatrix be alright?”

“I was a novice once,” Mother said casually, “I survived, so will she. It’s not her you should be worried about, for now I am going to give you a valuable lesson.”

“What lesson Mother?” Eleanor asked as she tried to supress a rising panic.

“I will teach you submission, humility and what your pampered little bottom is for.”

“Yes Mother,” Eleanor said in a hushed voice. There was nothing else she could say.

On reaching Mother’s room, she was ordered to remove her gown and kneel upon a prie-dieu. This was almost easy for her. At home this had been her punishment in its entirety, being set to wait and reflect. But even as she knelt and remembered her parent’s scolding, Mother seized her shift from behind and tore it open so that her lower back, legs and behind were exposed.

Then the older woman rang a small bell and after what seemed an age a sister appeared.

“Eyes front girl,” Mother said sternly.

“Yes Mother,” Eleanor whimpered.

“Sister St Germaine, good, fetch me a birch rod, one reserved for a sister not a novice’s tickler,” Mother said, but then before the sister could leave, she added, “Sister St Germaine, bring me several.”

Eleanor shuddered, her eyes stretching wide in horror, but she shivered with a small frisson of something else as she did so.

St Germaine turned to regard the noblewoman’s exposed buttocks and let her eyes dance over her flesh in anticipation and amusement.

“Go on with you,” Mother chided maternally, but there was a twinkle in her eyes. The sister would no doubt confess any impure thoughts on this matter, so no harm would be done.

“Have you ever felt the birch?” Mother asked when the sister had gone.

“No Mother.”

“It bites and it burns, it sears and stings, the devil will be driven out, have no fear.”

“Yes Mother.”

“You will not sit for a few days to come, but that will be good for the soul as well. Perhaps the ravages will even heal before I summon you again.”

“Again Mother?” Eleanor’s head whipped round aghast.

“Face forwards,” Mother scolded again, this time she took hold of Eleanor’s head and gently twisted it so. “Yes again, do you think you will learn submission and what your bottom’s for after one thrashing.”

“Yes Mother, I mean no Mother, I mean…”

“Eleanor,” Mother soothed, “calm yourself, what cannot be helped, must be endured. As a queen you will learn that.”

“Yes Mother.” Eleanor took comfort from the words.

Then Sister St Germaine returned with a leather bucket filled with ready-prepared birch rods.

“I must have sister here teach you how to make these,” Mother said casting her eye over the proffered wares. “Now my little one, did you see how Beatrix was arranged?”

“Yes Mother.”

“Please do likewise.”


Eleanor had been kneeling in an undignified position for some time. The stone floor assaulted her knees and she could almost hear her heartbeat. Then from somewhere there came a sound like rain on a slate roof and crash like thunder.

The lightening was provided by the not-so-sweet honey bees that assailed her up thrust bottom.

“I want you to hold a perfect position. I only wish to strike that which our lord god has provided for your chastisement,” Mother said.

What followed was an ordeal. Eleanor was mindful that as a noblewoman she should neither cry out nor shed tears. But it was hard, oh so hard.

After what seemed like hours, but might have been a quarter turn of an hour glass, she had reached the end of her endurance.

“Mon dieu,” she screamed and broke to sobbing.

“There, there now, let it out,” Mother said softly, speaking for the first time since the birching had begun. “Now we can begin.”

“Please Mother,” Eleanor wept, “please, I pray you, I’m so sorry.”

Mother reached down and gripped the girl’s right buttock with a talon-like hand. Eleanor gasped. Not wishing to harm the girl, Mother scratched at the welts she found there, testing them with her thumbnail and extracting a long scream from her penitent charge.

“You are strong, very strong,” Mother said, pleased. “Are you ready to atone?”

Eleanor wanted to beg, but she was too proud. Now she very much regretted her earlier outburst.

“Never fear, you cannot fail the test, you will not prevail. I will best you within a turn of the glass. Or there will be another.”

Then Mother began again and Eleanor could no longer hold her silence.

“Let the devil out child,” Mother soothed. “Can you not feel the fires of hell?”

“Oh Mother help me,” Eleanor wailed.


Afterwards Eleanor was placed face down next to Beatrix prostrate on the floor of the chapel. Their fingertips found each other’s and derived some small comfort.

Then in the days that followed Eleanor was given nothing to wear but sack cloth that scratched a tore at her. Worse still it only cut across halfway down her chastised flesh so that all who looked upon her could see her shame.

On each of these days she had to take slow painful steps out to the pig pens to shovel manure and labour in the chilled air.

Sometimes in theses penitent progresses Eleanor chanced upon Beatrix on all fours dressed much as she was scrubbing the flagstones. On these occasions, their eyes would meet and Beatrix even managed an encouraging nod. Even if she had wanted to speak it was impossible as the girl had been given two brushes for her work. One of these had to be held in her teeth at all times, a practical requirement as well as a humbling one.

Then during the hard days of labour, Eleanor frequently had to suffer an apple switch across her exposed bottom at the hands of Sister St Marie. This was not as cruel as the birch, but her still tender behind served to render it so.


Weeks past and eventually Eleanor’s clothes were returned to her. Beatrix also was no longer required to scrub floors, but Mother had made it clear that the consequences of them making any further contact would be dire.

How dire, Eleanor could not imagine. For the strangest thing of all was that even after she was no longer required to, she made regular visits to Mother’s room to submit to the birch, scourge or a lithe cut from a willow, a punishment that always left her humbled and unable to sit at her meals in the refectory.

On one occasion she heard one of the sisters remark, “our future queen is so pious.”

Then the fateful day came. Word had been sent that she was to attend court for her wedding.


Queen Eleanor had been at court for little over a month since her coronation, and apart from her wedding night and a handful of dutiful visits she might not have been married at all.

Finally she resolved to call on the king in his chambers to see what was amiss.

“My lady, the king is… he is not receiving today,” the chamberlain at the door took pains to point out.

“Stand aside, I will answer to the king,” she said imperiously, borrowing heavily on her education at Mother’s hands.

The chamberlain, trapped either way, stood miserably aside and allowed her admittance.

Once inside the antechamber she heard girlish voices from deeper within the king’s apartments. She had already taken the trouble to find out about her husband’s three mistresses, but it irked her that he would tire of her before she had even learnt how to please him.

Instead of rushing in full of indignation and challenging the king’s authority, she hung back for a moment to listen.

“Oh sire, please can I have the ermine,” came one wheedling voice.

“You promised me a pony,” said another.

“It’s not fair, you always spoil them, what about me?” This last outburst reminded Eleanor of herself before she went to the convent and she did not need to see the little brat stamping her foot.

Eleanor waited no longer and swept in to the room like a queen, pausing only to bow as she should.

“You ungrateful brats,” Eleanor raged, “never mind your whims, what have you done to please your king? My husband I must protest.”

The king looked to heaven and prepared for the onslaught of a jealous wife.

“These women are unworthy to serve you, let me find you better more beautiful girls who will think more of you than they do themselves.”

The King Vader was dumbfounded and sat back with a huge throaty laugh.

“Perhaps you are right my queen,” he roared.

“How dare you?” The tall dark girl exclaimed stamping her foot just as Eleanor had pictured her doing.

Eleanor looked around. All the women were pretty and none were above her own age. Indeed the small blonde girl looked little more than a babe. Both she and the curvy redhead exchanged looks as they sensed a change coming. Only the raven haired beauty forgot herself and continued to sneer.

“I am the queen,” Eleanor said firmly, again leaning on an iron resolve learned under Mother’s hand. “Who are you?”

“I’m…” the girl licked her lips nervously as she considered both Eleanor’s words, position and the approval the queen seemed to hold in the king’s eyes.

“You are only who the king permits you to be,” Eleanor continued. “Now do you wish to continue as the king’s whore or not?”

The girl’s mouth dropped open in horror. But the blonde girl giggled.

Without waiting Eleanor strode forward and seized the chief brat and dragged her down to her knee.

“What do we have here?” Eleanor pulled up the girl’s velvet gown to expose her legs and shortly afterwards her bare behind. “Actually quite fine.”

Then picking up a carelessly discarded hairbrush she set about spanking the girl so that she kicked her legs and squealed first in embarrassment and then discomfort.

“Will we hear any more from you girl?” Eleanor said through gritted teeth as she spanked as hard as she may.

“Please sire stop her,” she blubbed.

“I don’t believe I will,” Vader laughed.

“Will you be a good little whore?” Eleanor asked sweetly.

“Ooh,” she wailed.

“Will you?”

“Yes ma’am,” the raven beauty said with a wail.

“Say it,” her queen commanded.

“I’m a good little whore,” the girl sobbed.

“Very well now go and face the wall until you are commanded otherwise,” Eleanor said gently as if to a horse, just as Mother used to.

The girl scampered away to do as she was bid, letting her skirts fall as she did so.

“Display your bottom,” Eleanor scolded, “it is the king’s property after all, let him see it.”

The girl glanced at the king with a miserable pout and then seeing no aid from him, pulled up her skirts and held them daintily off her shiny red bottom.

Then Eleanor crocked her finger at the petite blonde who blushed prettily and then trotted obediently over. To the queen’s delight she meekly bared her own bottom and went over her lady’s knee.

“What a lovely bottom you have, I think I shall spank it twice as hard for twice as long,” Eleanor said pleasantly. “Do you know why?”

“Because I’m a good little whore ma’am and it pleases you.”

“What a good girl, I will spank you often.”

Eleanor was as good as her word and when she was done, the girl’s bottom was like two cherries and she had the good grace to cry.

By the time she had taken her place at the wall the red head had already approached to present her bottom.

“I apologise for any discourtesy,” she simpered.

“Do you expect leniency for your contrition?” Eleanor enquired.

“Oh no ma’am, I must be punished, but begging your pardon I am not a whore, if it pleases you.”

“It does,” Eleanor said and then set about matching the girl’s bottom to her hair.

When all three had been spanked and displayed at the wall, Eleanor turned to the king.

“Which do you prefer sire?”

“Tonight I think I shall dally with my wife a while,” Vader smiled.

“My honour my liege,” Eleanor said with a curtsy and handed her husband the hairbrush. “You must spank me hard lest I forget who is master here.”

“If you insist,” Vader said taking the brush, “but I warn you, tomorrow you will have to stand at my side, for you will not be able to sit for a while upon your throne.”

“My liege,” Eleanor said huskily.


More than 18 years went past and Eleanor the Red still sat proudly, or more often stood meekly, at her husband’s side. Few knew why they called her ‘the Red’ and a myth grew up that she had red hair.

Of course those at court knew why, but not many would tell of it to others that lived beyond the precincts of the palace.

This was because it was not unusual to see ladies of the court standing with skirts raised and facing the wall so that their freshly spanked red bottoms were well displayed. Often among them were the queens own daughters, who far from benefiting from the experience seethed in their resentment.

“I fear for the kingdom my love,” Vader said to Eleanor one day. “We have no sons and our daughters are unholy brats, not as you were at their age at all.”

“Have no fear my liege I have made arrangements to remedy that.”

“Truly my love, then I will leave the matter in your hands.”

Some days later the herald announced the arrival of the Abbess of St Claire.

Eleanor had not seen Beatrix in almost 20 years and wondered what she might look like. The severely dressed nun who entered was like Eleanor only 36 and still beautiful and very much still Bea.

“It has been a while,” Eleanor said, her face crinkled with a smile.

“It has your majesty, we both have rather more dignity than when we last met,” Beatrix chuckled.

Eleanor blushed and hastily dismissed her ladies-in-waiting. “Indeed,” she said once they were alone.

“Now my queen what can I do for you?”

“My daughters are of marriageable age now, but I fear no amount of spanking on my part will bring them to heel.”

“And you think that an education of the sort that our late Mother imparted to us might temper their attitude,” the Abbess concluded.

“Exactly so.”

“Come then to our lady’s house on the morrow your Majesty, let me show you how we do things at the Abbey of St Claire.”


The convent was much the same as any other and the queen was led deep into the establishment until they reached the Abbess’s inner chambers.

“I must leave you here,” the novice who had been her guide curtseyed and then with a quizzical look at her abbesses rooms scurried off.

The inner chamber was distinctly gothic with candles and hanging tapestries of all kinds. Only lining the walls with their faces turned away was a line of half-naked nuns, which Eleanor could only tell were novices from their white cowls worn atop of their parted habits.

“These errant scamps must be punished,” the Abbess said pleasantly, “and I thought you might want to witness how it is done before submitting your daughters to me.”

The queen inclined her head in acknowledgement and smiled.

The Abbess then took up a long-handled scourge and called on the first girl to turn and face her.

“Do you admit your guilt and crave forgiveness,” the Abbess asked.

“Oh yes Mother, please chastise me as I deserve,” the girl whispered not taking her eyes from the floor.

“Very well place yourself over the stool.”

Eleanor watched as the small pretty nun first knelt and then bent right over so that her small dome of a bottom was curved up and outwards in a posture of exaggerated submission.

“My eldest would resist such indignity,” Eleanor murmured.

“Only at first,” the Abbess said archly. “Marie here was slow to learn, weren’t you Marie?”

“Yes,” the girl sighed.

Eleanor studied the girl’s bottom and compared it to the young noble women she was used to at court. This novice would make a fine addition, she decided. But at that moment she felt nostalgia and even envy at the girl’s humility.

Before setting her whip to the girl the Abbess turned to her queen and whispered, “When I am done with them all we will see who is the mistress here. I wonder which of us it will be.”

“I think it could go either way,” Eleanor licked her lips. Perhaps the choice would be taken from her for a change, she thought hopefully.

Then the whip struck out and stung the young innocent flesh and the novice gasped as she felt the first of many, many lashes delivered in the chamber that day.


11 Responses to “Nuns and novices, a queen and an abbess”

  1. 1 Karl Friedrich Gauss

    Nuns have quite a reputation in the spanking world. All that pent-up sexual frustration has to go somewhere, I guess!

    This story reminds me a little of Anne Rice’s “Beauty” books — which I liked a lot.

  2. 2 fatherjim

    I always wondered at why I had such boyhood crushes on the nuns at my Schools. Now, I think I know!

    Great work as always! Read so true to life, I almost wished I were in a convent!


  3. 3 paul1510

    DJ, nice touch, I agree with Karl, reminiciant of Ann Rice.

  4. Very nice world you presented here, DJ. Good story.


  5. In my opinion, all nuns, be they novice, or Mother Superior’s, should have their habit’s raised every week, once they come out of the confessional booth in confessing their sins, and with bloomers taken down by the local parish priest, and whipped, by birchrod, or cane, on their bare bottoms.

  6. 6 Old Tom

    I have no good memories of nuns

  7. 7 Charles

    I also have no good memories of nuns having attended a catholic school from kindergarten to 7th grade. I stayed away from the church for 40 years because of the experience. BTW it wasn’t because of the beatings!

  8. 9 jenny29

    Wow, such a great story, love it so much. One of the best I’ve ever read, beside Rusell Corner, which to my surprise both of them have the same name main character, Eleanor……
    So, thks again for sharing these awesome work with us….

    • 10 DJ

      Another best ever story – it seems everyone has a different favourite. 😉

      Thanks Jenny – and thanks for the Russell Corner plug – I am glad you enjoyed it. 🙂

  1. 1 - Chross Guide To The Spanking Internet

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