At sixteen she was only in her second year of the novitiate, a trainee nun who had to bob her head to the full-fledged sisters when she met them in the corridors of the convent or when they entered the classroom at the start of a lesson. If she thought of herself as Sister Angela, it was because her vocation to the order was so strong and certain within her, and she was so completely sure that when she finished her novitiate she would take full vows and become a bride of Christ.
In the meantime, she led a life of strict chastity, self-denial and obedience, in competition with the other novices but more importantly with herself to be as blameless, selfless and spiritually spotless as she possibly could.
The only hint she might have noticed was that she was allowed to wear her beautiful, fine blonde hair down over her shoulders. Rather than cut it to neck-length like the other novices. It was the innocence that troubled Sister Bridget the most. She was aware that despite the seclusion of convent life, it took a tough soul to stick to it year after year.
Life in a closed order was sometimes bleak and hard, and it pained her to think of such an untried, naive girl as Angela entering that world without having any experience of anything else. In a way it seemed to negate the essence of her choice if she chose on the basis of ignorance of the wider world.
It was because Angela was a church orphan. She had been raised in convent schools all her life, never seeing the world except through the bars of a convent gate. Surely that was wrong, Sister Bridget thought. Surely the child should at least have a taste of freedom before opting for a life of seclusion — a glimpse of earthly beauty before choosing to devote herself to the perfection of her soul. After pondering this conundrum over most of a year, Sister Bridget summoned Angela to her study one fine Spring morning. The gorgeous young girl made a perfect courtesy, then greeted the older woman with real affection.
But they need some help in painting and decorating. Would you like to give them a hand? This sounded like a real adventure. Bridget sincerely hoped that it would be — and that Angela would enjoy the trip to London on the train as well as the experience of working with other young nuns and novices on a shared task of such importance. She would experience camaraderie, and the joy of a job well done — and she would see a little of the world along the way.
So three days later, Father Connell drove Angela to the Oxford railway station and put her on a train to London, clutching her ticket, a letter of introduction to Mother Andreas at the London house, and a small purse with a twenty pound note in it in case of emergencies. Father Connell stayed until the train left, waving goodbye to Angela until the train turned a bend and she was out of sight.
Then he drove back to the convent to meet a flustered Sister Bridget. What are we to do? Angela would hear it and would know what to do. It worried the young girl at first that there was nobody there to meet her. But she knew that the London convent was busy and short-staffed, and she reasoned that something important must have come up to prevent them from sending someone.
So she would use her emergency money and take a taxi. It was very busy and full of traffic. She looked around for a black cab, knowing what they were meant to look like, but there were none in sight. There were several mini-cabs, however, and she approached the first of these. The two men in the front seat watched her approach with evident interest. Could you take me there? Blushing, she opened her mouth to apologise and move on, but then both men spoke at once. The man addressed as Jimmy stared at his friend in astonishment, meeting a very intense and meaningful stare in return.
We can do that. The other man — not Jimmy — got out of the car and opened the rear door for Angela. He took her suitcase from her, and she climbed in with a smile of thanks. Then he did something to the lock mechanism in the door.
Angela settled into her seat and looked all around, excited that her London adventure was beginning. One car for the passenger, one for the luggage. Even to someone as untutored in the ways of the world as Angela, this sounded unusual. But she supposed that the driver must know his own business, and she made no further protest. She just gazed out in happy curiosity at the bustling city as it unrolled itself past her window.
Jimmy Heron and Mick Summerfield were pimps, essentially. Now they had the beautiful little girl in the back of the car, and nobody who gave a fuck about her would have the slightest idea where she was.
Raping this little chick would burn off some of their frustration and annoyance and help to pass an afternoon that had suddenly become vacant. Jimmy stopped the car and Mick jumped out. Jimmy pulled the car into the drive and then rolled it carefully into the garage.
As the garage door slammed closed behind her, Angela felt the first stirring of unease. He opened his own door, then hers. Angels climbed out, finding herself pressed up against Jimmy because the space was so narrow.
He grinned at her in the half-dark of the garage. Soon have you out of them wet things. Mick was letting himself in by the front door at the same time. Then the two men locked and bolted both doors with a scary finality. Jimmy nodded. Before she could even respond, the two men fell on Angela like a pair of wild animals. Then they lifted her bodily off her feet and carried her through into the living room. Later on they were going to rape her in comfort on the big double bed that had seen a lot of similar action over the years, but the living room was where the beer was, and it made sense to start there.
They dumped the little girl unceremoniously down on the sofa, and as she opened her mouth to scream Mick lamped her one across the face with his open hand. Her head bounced off the pillow and her breath escaped her in a wuff, momentarily silencing her. More screams were welling up inside her, but she managed to swallow them for the moment and stared at Mick with big, scared eyes. Is that fair? Mick took that as a yes.
Trembling like a leaf in a gale, Angela tried to get her gown off. It was awkward at the best of times, and it seemed to take forever. When it was still only halfway over her head the men were putting their hands up between her legs, hauling off her knickers and exploring the virgin territory beneath. Last to come off was the silver crucifix that hung around her neck.
Jimmy took this off, and waved it over her in a jockey benediction. Her big breasts delighted them, and soon they were both licking on her nipples as they continued to play with her nether holes.
Angela tried to explain to them, in a quavering voice, that a nun was married to Christ. Under her terrified gaze, the two men got their own clothes off. Then they shoved her to her knees on the floor between them and brandished their huge erections in front of her face. Angela just barely knew what a penis was.
She had never seen one in her whole life, and the sight of these two monstrous, turgid hard-ons was absolutely terrifying to her. She simply had no mental model of what Jimmy was telling her to do. It tasted sour, and smelled very strongly of sweat and musk. He told her curtly to take it in her mouth and suck on it. Angela obeyed, a single tear of dismay running down her cheek. After a few minutes, Mick grabbed her head and pulled her over so that her face was in his lap.
His colossal erection stood up in her face so that she was staring straight down the barrel of it. Both men continued to snap out instructions at her, and she obeyed as best she could. They watched the pre-race coverage happily, drinking a can of Tennants Special while Angela orally pleasured their increasingly straining hard-ons. Were these two gigantic fuck-sticks shutting her off from salvation?
You can do it! They half-led, half-carried her upstairs into the main bedroom, and shoved her down on the bed. The dingy bedroom had no furniture except for the bed itself and a single chest of drawers. The curtains were nailed closed. At the same time, both of them were groping between her legs. The yell annoyed Jimmy, and he smacked her hard across the face.
Angela quavered into silence, but made a series of little gasping bleats as both men continued to chew and bite on her shapely tits.
This turned them on a hell of a lot, and soon they were ready to shag her. They debated briefly about who was going to bust her cherry. In the end they tossed a coin and Mick won. He spread her legs roughly, then got down in between them and hooked her pussy lips open with his thumbs. Hawking up some phlegm, he spat three or four times into her cunthole by way of lubrication.
Then he got on top of her and positioned his dick up against her vaginal lips. He pushed, and pushed again, grunting with the effort.