The morning after our second night of debauchery crept in like a thief, the faint light filtering through the slats in the dormitory shutters, casting long shadows across the rows of cots. My body ached in the best way—muscles sore from the relentless grinding, thighs sticky with dried remnants of c*m and sweat that no hurried wash could fully erase. I stretched under the rough blanket, the fabric rasping against my skin, and replayed the chaos in my mind. Father Elias, that pathetic, whimpering mess, had begged for more even as we left him sprawled on the floor, his face smeared with our juices, his c**k twitching uselessly in the air. Beatrice and Clara had staggered back to bed with me, giggling like schoolgirls over his final plea: "More... please, sisters... I'll do anything..." We'd
