Wages of Sin by Kate Benedict Page A

figures. ‘Take her to my study.’
    This time Jane did not even try to struggle. What was the point? The end result would be the same and why should she give Sister Michael the excuse she needed to fumble and grope her reluctant body? Besides, she would need all her strength for the ordeal to come. Meekly, she allowed herself to be led along the corridor.
    Sister Ursula’s study was a revelation. Even in her state of shock, Jane noticed the opulence of the Reverend Mother’s private quarters. Carpets from Turkey decorated the polished floor. The chairs and settle were covered in soft brightly coloured cushions. A fire burned in the grate and tall white candles in silver candlesticks gleamed off a goblet of Venetian glass, filled with rich red wine, that sat on the small table beside it. Apparently the vow of poverty the nuns had sworn did not extend to Mother Ursula!
    She did not have time to appreciate her surroundings. ‘The prie-dieu,’ snapped Mother Ursula.
    Jane’s eyes widened as the heavy prayer chair was dragged into the middle of the room and she was forced to kneel at it.
    Her hands were jerked above her head and fastened to the arms, leaving her helpless. Lingering over the task, Sister Michael peeled the damp shift up, revealing the soft white globes of Jane’s buttocks, still beaded with droplets of water. She licked her lips and Jane cringed away as those grasping hands reached towards them.
    â€˜Not yet,’ purred Mother Ursula. Sister Michael’s hands dropped reluctantly to her sides. ‘Later,’ she promised. ‘Punishment first and pleasure afterwards.’ She pointed an imperious finger. ‘The rod,’ she snapped.
    Obediently, one of the others scuttled to a corner to fetch it, handing it reverently to her. Jane peered fearfully over her shoulder as Mother Ursula bent it between her hands, flexing it in anticipation. She tapped it lightly on her hand.
    â€˜For what you are about to receive, may the Lord make you truly grateful.’ She smiled, raising her arm. ‘And now we shall begin.’
    Jane closed her eyes, clenching her muscles against the blow about to fall.
    But it never came.
    The sound of hasty footsteps broke the spell. Frantic hands beat a tattoo on the study door. ‘Reverend Mother, Reverend Mother,’ called a voice. Mother Ursula’s arm fell and she tossed the rod on to a chair before opening the door a crack.
    â€˜How dare you disturb me while I am at prayer?’ she demanded.
    â€˜I am sorry, Reverend Mother,’ came a breathless voice. ‘But it is Father Peter and his company. They have arrived already.’
    â€˜What?’ gasped Mother Ursula. ‘But he is not due until tomorrow afternoon.’ She regained her composure. ‘Take them to the guest rooms and offer them refreshment,’ she ordered. ‘I shall be there immediately.’
    As soon as the door was safely closed she whirled round. ‘Do not think you have escaped,’ she hissed at Jane. ‘Your punishment is merely postponed. This will give you time to reflect upon what is to come.’ She turned to the others. ‘Release her and take her away. I must go and greet Father Peter.’
    Back in her cell, Jane offered up a prayer of thanks. It was a sign from heaven. Father Peter’s timely arrival had saved her - and he would save her again. Safe in the confessional she would tell him everything.
    She smiled with relief. Mother Ursula’s perverted reign of terror was about to come to an end.
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Chapter Eleven
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    Next morning Jane hurried to the refectory, eager to see her saviour in the flesh. The early morning hum of conversation was subdued, in deference to the visitor and his entourage. Slipping unobtrusively into her place, she bent her head as Father Peter stood to say grace. A reverential hush fell and his deep voice echoed round the silent room as he intoned the blessing. Once he