Nun Tales

By Kaye Helm

3 erotic Nun tales of mischief and Domination.
When a lone nun guarding her cloister comes across an unconscious young man in the grip of fever... are the extents of her care a sin if her heart is in the right place?
When a young courier delivers his final parcel for the day to a church, he must make some unexpected decisions. Is it better to heed his fearful instincts or perhaps just do as he's told?
While serving a community service term, Terry has sworn to follow the straight and narrow, but when a group of nuns come to help the shelter, will a young innocent nun prove that the street life is not the only crooked path? Or that the young and holy are not as innocent as they may seem...

Each story contains elements of true events!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kaye Helm
• Release date: Feb 9, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311150295

Kaye Helm

Kaye Helm is an author living in country Victoria, Australia. She is a firm lover of the imagination, that human playground without borders, rules or undesired consiquences... Her books, like her imagination, are rudderless, as she simply floats across the open sea of dreams, writing about the islands she sees. In this way, her readers can enjoy the random nature of her travels as they never know just what amazing or desolate, mystifying or terrorfying, sexualised or steralised, free or enslaved adventure awaits within each book.

Book preview

Nun Tales

By Kaye Helm

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously.

Copyright 2014 Kaye Helm

http://www.KayeHelm.com/

Cover Design by JEZ

Edited by Sally Orchard

Smashwords edition

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This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold

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work of this author.

Table of Contents

Sister Of Mercy

Special Delivery

Wicked

About Kaye Helm & Acknowledgements

Sister of Mercy

Sister Mary Agnes knelt in prayer, pushing the thrum of the storm buffeting the chapel aside as she recalled the verses. Many hours before, her Sisters and Brother Priests had travelled down from their seclusion to offer what assistance they could while awaiting the forecast storm. She had remained behind to tend to the chapel, on account that she had only recently recovered from the flu and Father Peter wasn't convinced her strength had fully returned. She accepted the verdict as a sign of care on his behalf and watched them leave before locking away anything that wasn't bolted down and closing the large chapel doors.

She dreaded to think how ferocious the weather was outside. She could hear it, seemingly shaking the very stone foundations of the church, torrents of rain and hail and thunder claps that reverberated through the very walls. Great destruction and horror would be done this night, with sorrow and grief to await the people come morning. With a heavy heart she bowed low before the podium and began her verses anew.

After sometime she felt her mind drifting from her prayers and focused more on the sounds around her. Something was different, a noise, dull but rhythmic, in contrast to the chaos of the storm. She felt she heard a voice and suppressed a shiver, chastising herself for even presuming that evil could wander near this consecrated ground. But it was there, she couldn't deny it. Slowly she rose from her knees and turned toward the front of the chapel, pulling back the folds of her headdress to hear clearer.

Bang ...tap tap tap ...bang, a cry in the wind. It was there then it repeated and stopped. She knew she wasn't hearing things when its eventual absence convinced her of its presence. Slowly she walked toward the chapel doors. The ferocity of the storm assaulting the large wooden doors grew louder with her approach. When she finally stood before the doors, she recognised fear at opening them, not simply because she feared the storm, but what may await her on the other side. A childish instinctive fear easily pushed aside with faith. She knew that the weather would not assault her; a short foyer lay between these doors and another set. However the entrance doors were only closed by a pin. With growing determination and the fire of courage she unhinged the chapel doors and pushed them slowly open, enough for her head to pass through. Peering out she could feel the cold winds buffet her face as one of the entrance doors had snapped its pin and blew in so far that it remained wedged against the wall. A pool of water was trying to form in the entrance but its tilt meant it cascaded down the stairs as soon as the rain hit.

She contemplated stepping out to see if she could fix the door when her eyes fell to a dark shape at her feet a foot from the large wooden door she held. Her heart stopped for a moment as realisation sank in. She had not been hearing things after all. Someone had been calling out to be let in, banging on the door until they collapsed. The dread of guilt and negligence washed over her.

Lord, have mercy! She whispered and let go of the chapel door that swung open with the swirling wind through the foyer, striking the body at the shoulder, shoving it aside before slamming against the wall with a crash.

Nooo she screamed out.

Bending down she attempted to lift the body but it was too heavy. She saw the face of young man, unconscious, icy cold and completely drenched. Taking his hands she pulled him into the church. It took all her strength to accomplish this, for she was only a small woman. Once he was inside, she grabbed the chapel door and wrestled with it, using her entire body until it finally closed.

Breathing heavily and fighting rising panic she looked around, as if hoping a saviour would appear and take over, but that would not happen. She was alone, and alone with her faith in God she would save this man. Taking his arms again she pulled him along the chapel run way between the pews and out into the clergy preparation room. There she opened the door which led onto a corridor linking to the sorority dorms. Fighting for breath and grunting with effort, she was thankful for his wet clothing making the task of dragging him over the tiles easier. She found herself before her own room, whether by instinct or subconscious decision she hesitated. She knew the infirmary was the same distance she had already come, and with her energy waning, she decided her room would be best. Pulling him in, she ran to the adjoining rooms and pulled the blankets and sheets from her sisters’ beds, hurrying back. Now with a fixed idea of what she was doing there was no hesitation. She stripped him of his jacket, jumper and shirt, then his boots socks and trousers, dumping the saturated cloths out in the corridor. She dried him with a sheet then threw it too, out into the corridor. The task of getting him off the floor and into her bed took great effort and she collapsed on the wet floor beside the bed, breathing heavily

Once rested, she threw several blankets over the young man, rubbing his frozen limbs to give them warmth. Finally, she carefully pulled off his wet underwear from beneath the covers in an effort to preserve his modesty. Scooping all his clothing and wet sheets up she hurried down the corridor toward the laundry, dumping the clothes before making her way to the cafeteria. There she warmed up water and poured it into a bowl, refilled the kettle with cold water and took fresh cloths, as well as tea and honey and raced back to her room.

As she drew closer she heard a voice and quickened her pace, entering her room to see the young man mumbling and moaning. Closing the door in an effort to keep warmth in the room she placed everything on the floor and leaned over him. His eyes were closed and his mouth moved, but no sounds came now. Heavy perspiration dripped from his brow onto the pillow. She fetched a cloth and wiped his face, feeling the heat beneath his skin. She poured some cold water from the kettle onto a towel and dabbed it over his burning forehead. With great relief it seemed to work, when shortly after he quietened and lay still, his breathing steady again.

She took the opportunity to pull her chair over and lay out the items she had gathered. Stopping for a moment to collect her thoughts, she gazed over his face. He was young and handsome, surely no older than her, in his mid 20’s, with an air of familiarity.

What were you doing out in this storm? She whispered, expecting no answer.

How had he made it to the chapel in the first place? It was a 45 minute drive in any direction before one came across any sign of life let alone a town. He was lucky to be alive at all. Her brow furrowed in concern and confusion, wiping the sweat from her own face.

A great many things raced through Sister Mary Agnes’s mind during the next hour. When would her sisters return? Were they safe? What if this poor young man died? What would she do? What could she do? Her medical supplies were for injuries not hypothermia, or indeed a heavy fever. Or even a battering by a heavy chapel door. She winced at the thought.

What if the storm created enough havoc to prevent anyone returning for days, perhaps a week? The violent crashes of the storm, far more audible through the thinner walls of the dormitory, causing her to jump in fright. She leaned over and placed a hand on the man’s brow, closing her eyes to work a silent prayer

She very nearly jumped out of her skin when he called her name. Mary once clearly, then mumbled incoherently. She concluded he was dreaming about someone else and stood up, settling her nerves and straightening her habit. Her eyes drifted across his covered