After Compline, when everyone retired to their cells and the only sound to break the silence, hour after hour, was the ringing of the bells in the old chapel, their small footsteps, crossing the wide, dark, cold corridors, could only be heard by those who pressed their ear to the bedroom door and, resignedly, accepted, for eternal minutes, hearing only the beating of their own hearts.

Then, after the long wait, as if emerging from the darkness, their delicate feet, wearing sisal espadrilles, burst into the dormitory wing, enveloped in the sad softness known only to those who repress their most poignant desires.

Coming from the chapel, where she had put the finishing touches for the Mass that would begin the monastery's life the next day, before sunrise, she walked with great care so that not even the slightest noise, through her carelessness, could disturb the sleep of the sisters who, having finished their personal prayers, were already asleep. With her left hand, she held tightly to the bunch of keys attached to her waist; with her right, she held the candlestick with a single candle, from which a flickering flame emerged.

The dark brown, somewhat rough habit rustled slightly, leaving only darkness in its void.

The humble cell welcomed her childlike body with a musty, damp breath. The white of the impeccable sheets shimmered in the light she carried.

He approached the window and, through the cracks in the sealed blinds, breathed in the warm air, laden with the scent of the night. All was silent. Outside, not even a breeze.

He touched the wooden crucifix he wore with his fingertips and, holding it by the strings that tied it around his neck, took it off, giving a slight shake of his head. Piece by piece, he undressed.

And, from beneath the underwear, made of raw cotton, loose and poorly cut, first two small, firm breasts emerged, whose pink nipples seemed to rise, petulant, offered, towards the image of the crucified, placed above the prie-dieu.

Then, sliding down the slightly stained shorts between the groin, the hairy, protruding vulva emerged, similar to a small animal curled up, pretending to hibernate.

The buttocks were, perhaps, disappointing, a little narrow, almost masculine, while the thighs and legs, covered in very light hair, drawn without any haste, ended in the delicate little feet, whose nails, round and well trimmed, seemed to repeat the same pink tone as the nipples.

A shock of black, exaggeratedly short hair topped her snow-white, translucent body, which began to move around the tiny room with exasperating tension.

As she walked back and forth, she repeated, in a murmur, the ejaculation: "- Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!

Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!

Keeping his eyes closed and clasping his hands together, he continued his short journey, bumping into the legs of the prie-dieu, pressing his head against the closet door, stepping on the habit left on the floor.

A flood of thoughts flooded his unruly brain.

Opening and closing her eyes, she could only mumble the short prayer, beads of sweat breaking out on her forehead. She had sinned. She had sinned, yes. All day long.

Minute by minute, it is true, he had performed all the tasks under his responsibility, but letting his thoughts wander, lewd, wallowing, full of stains, in a vastness of unspeakable lasciviousness.

Now, she recalled each of the dreams she had visited, disgusted with herself, but felt the delicate and uncontrollable heat of her sex that was beginning to moisten.

Mechanically, in one of his comings and goings, he reached out to the door and took the disciplines from the rusty hook.

Her frail body trembled. Her conscience cried out for the purging of her guilt. Her delicate hand gripped the straps that, to form a cable, were crossed in a sequence of knots.

Standing in the center of the cubicle, he struck the first blow, throwing the leather straps over his left shoulder. Then over his right. And so on, over and over again, repeating the same ejaculation as he lashed himself.

Then, believing that this would numb his flesh, he began to whip his kidneys very slowly, raising his left arm and throwing the whip against the lower part of his back; repeating the same gesture with his right arm raised, holding the straps with his left hand.

She finally fell to her knees on the tiled floor, exhausted. She dragged herself to the prie-dieu and stood there, empty of thought, her eyes fixed on the bloodied feet of the crucified man, feeling the inside of her vagina throb with desire.

He reached out to the wedge-shaped piece of wood on which Christ's feet rested and slowly turned it. He slipped his index finger into the small hiding place and withdrew, carefully rolled, a long purple velvet ribbon, carefully cut when he had made the cloaks that would cover the images of the saints during Lent.

He made the piece of cloth slide down his tired body... He put one end in his mouth, but not before passing it over his entire face.

And with the other, he began to caress every inch of her skin. Her nipples, now swollen, were pointers pointing to Paradise.

And she gave herself over to the delight, to the sensation of softness and smoothness that the velvet gave her, enraptured by the torpor, defeated, finally embracing each of her chimeras.

Her excitement grew, even kneeling, she flexed her thighs further and arched her hips. She parted her labia with her fingers and, discovering her hardened clitoris, rubbed the edge of the velvet there in a series of short, passionate, desperate strokes.

Thus the ribbon crossed her body, vibrating, stretched, from one mouth to the other, like a snake stretching limply over a burning surface. She could feel, through the fabric, the hot, viscous moisture welling up from her girlish slit.

His whole body throbbed with pleasure.

The delicate ribbon penetrated the soaked crevice without any difficulty; and, letting out a deep groan, the end held by his teeth, he inserted, inch by inch, the entire piece into her vagina.

He then took her clitoris between his fingers and, squeezing it until it hurt, felt herself shudder in spasms of lust.

In front of him, less than two spans from his face, the wounded feet of Jesus emerged from the wood.

The toes protruded from those thin feet as if they had a life of their own, and the blood, shining a deep red, seemed, in fact, to be flowing.

He brought his mouth closer to her overlapping feet and, feeling the velvet filling her insides and her clitoris crushed by the pressure of his fingers, he kissed, lingeringly, each bump and each recess.

After a few seconds, she was no longer kissing, she was licking. She licked, shamelessly. She licked. And gasped. And moaned.

The protrusions grew in his mouth, like turgid, fleshy members, alive, pulsating, anticipating an imminent ejaculation.

Thus, rubbing her tongue over the flesh of her Beloved, sucking, in a trance, the fingers of the Son of God, she came, mute, swallowing the cry of satisfaction.

Her knees were aching when, after an indeterminate amount of time, she struggled to get up from the prie-dieu. She threw herself onto the uncomfortable mattress and, little by little, felt the fresh dawn air gently cooling her face.

A strange happiness coursed through her body. The guilt had disappeared, giving way to a feeling that arose from the same mysterious place where silence was generated every night.

The silent balm of temples; the silent harmony of gardens and forests; the silent, undisturbed sleep of children: all lived and breathed within her now.

She surrendered herself to the slow passing of the hours, floating above the serenity, above the calm, transported to a dimension of mist and gentleness, then she remembered the velvet strip and searched for it within herself.

But as she pulled it out, a sudden wave of pleasure surged through her belly, causing her to thrust her hips upward, offering herself to a nonexistent lover. Her desire met emptiness, only emptiness; peace had suddenly abandoned her.

A tearless cry burst from her chest and, in a blind gesture, she grabbed the wooden crucifix from the bedside table, burying it in her gaping vagina; insolently pounding the object into her convulsive, tireless flesh, over and over again, until she writhed in a delirious and endless joy.

The candle flame danced, trying to extinguish itself amidst the melted wax.

The chapel bells rang, announcing any hour.

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