Marienschnee Pt. 01

This is a story that will be in 5 parts. The whole story is finished, it is not yet translated to English. I hope you enjoy.

***

The Marienschnee convent is situated on a wooded mountainside; the only accessible route is a steep, rocky path that becomes impassable in rain, fog, or snow. The path is about fifteen kilometers long and traverses grueling terrain. It winds through marshland, crosses scree slopes, skirts steep ravines, and cuts through dense undergrowth. There are no bridges, so one must wade across streams. In winter, deep snow, the risk of avalanches, and the complete absence of beaten tracks make reaching the place utterly impossible. The nearest village lies even further away, and the only road to it goes via a mountain pass that closes early in the autumn. The nuns at the convent have very little to offer, so no one has any interest in building better connections to them.

Marienschnee has not always been this small. In its heyday, some forty sisters lived here. Now, more than half the convent is closed off; the empty dormitories and workrooms stand cold and unused.

At the time our story begins, eight sisters live there: Hildegard (72), Agnes (58), Roswitha (57), Theresia (46), Gabriele (42), Veronika (35), Judith (24), and Magdalena (21). The convent's abbess, Mother Benedikta, is 51. She bears her responsibilities with the same steadfastness with which she wears her cross. The order to which they belong is the Sisters of the Suffering Mother.

They are almost entirely self-sufficient. They maintain a kitchen garden and keep a small number of goats, sheep, and chickens. They gather firewood from the surrounding forest and fetch water from the stream beside the convent. Once a year, a messenger arrives with a delivery from the Order. Some winters are harsh, pushing them to the brink of starvation, but they have learned to subsist on the stores they lay up during the brighter months. Apart from the messenger, the priest from the nearest village usually visits for a few days each year to check on their well-being and hold mass.

They have all ended up there for different reasons. The journey to the monastery is an ordeal in itself. Most expect never to make the return trip. Some were sent there by the Order when the monastery needed reinforcements; one arrived as a young novice and stayed a lifetime; another sought refuge there to escape a marriage; and Veronika came after suffering a complete breakdown upon losing both her children in a fire.

It is Veronika who hears it. A faint whimpering outside the gate. At first, she thinks she is losing her mind. Then she rushes over and opens the gate. Lying on a bed of grass is a newborn infant. It cannot be more than a few days old. Veronika looks around, gathers the child into her arms, goes inside, and slowly closes the gate again. Then she begins to run once more--this time toward Mother Benedikta's room.

"Mother Benedikta... Mother..."

Veronika is completely out of breath as she flings open the door to Mother Benedikta.

"There, there, my child. Calm yourself. There is nothing..."

Mother Benedikta never finishes the sentence. She sees what Sister Veronika is holding in her arms.

"What? Where did the child come from? Who brought it here?"

"I don't know. It was just lying there outside the gate, screaming. What should we do?"

Before Mother Benedikta can answer, Theresia comes running in.

"What's happening?"

She stops short when she sees the child. Within moments, the rest of the sisters have gathered in the room.

"A child?" says Agnes. "Here?"

"It's a miracle," says Hildegard.

"It's no miracle. Someone must have left it there," says Theresia.

Magdalena has already stepped up to Veronika.

"Oh," she says. "May I see?"

She gently pulls back the cloth from the child's face.

"So beautiful."

"Don't touch it," says Agnes.

Magdalena starts.

"Why not?"

"We don't know where it comes from."

"It's an infant, Agnes. Not a wolf."

"We can't have a child here," says Agnes.

"Why not?"

"Because this is a convent."

"Surely we can't put it back outside?"

"Of course not!"

"We have to find the mother."

"What if she's already far away?"

"How could she be?"

"It's a miracle," repeats Hildegard.

"Stop saying that!"

Magdalena has carefully begun to loosen the cloth wrapped around the child.

"It's a boy."

"A boy!" Agnes exclaims. "It just keeps getting better and better."

"Agnes is right. We can't have a child here," says Theresia.

Veronika pulls the child closer to her chest.

"Why not?"

"Some winters, we barely have enough food for ourselves."

The boy suddenly lets out a small cry.

"He's hungry," says Roswitha.

"What shall we give him?"

"Goat's milk?"

"Can infants drink goat's milk?"

Now everyone is talking at once.

"SILENCE!"

Even the child falls silent for a moment. Eight faces turn toward Benedikta. She looks at the sisters, one by one, and finally at the boy in Veronika's arms.

"We will look for the person who left him here. If we find no one, he stays here for the time being."

"But Mother..."

"Someone carried a newborn all the way here. We are not going to carry him back or leave him to the wolves."

She looks at Veronika and the boy.

"Today, we have a child. Now we must ensure he survives."

***

Five years later, Hildegard is dead. She passed away three days ago and now lies in the small chapel, waiting to be buried. The boy has been strictly forbidden to go there, but that does not stop him from sneaking in. He stands beside the coffin for a long time, gazing at her.

"Are you sure she's dead?" he asks when Veronika finds him.

"Yes."

"She doesn't look dead."

"What do you think dead people are supposed to look like?"

The boy ponders this.

"Dead-er."

Veronika has to make an effort not to smile.

He has turned five and knows no life other than Marienschnee. The sisters are his family, and the convent is his entire world. He wears a simple gray shift that Agnes sewed for him. He always does. If anyone were to catch an unexpected glimpse of him, they would think he was a girl.

Three years ago, another sister arrived at the Marienschnee convent. An outcast girl from the village, barely sixteen years old. Her name was Brigitte, but she took the name Sister Cecilia upon entering. Even she was not told that the boy was a boy until the snow had ensured that all visits for the year were over.

"Come," says Veronika, taking his hand.

The boy follows her toward the door but stops and looks back at Hildegard.

"Isn't she cold?"

"No."

"How do you know?"

Veronika hesitates.

"You don't feel cold when you're dead."

He thinks about this as they walk out of the chapel.

"How do you know?"

***

Another five years pass, and the boy is ten when the priest from the village arrives earlier than expected. Judith spots him from the kitchen garden and rushes inside.

"The priest!"

Nothing more needs to be said. Magdalena takes the boy by the arm and leads him up the stairs.

"I don't want to."

"It doesn't matter."

"He's never seen me."

"And he won't see you this time, either."

"How long is he staying?"

"Two days. Maybe three."

They hide him in an old storeroom at the far end of the convent. The sisters take turns smuggling food to him and emptying his chamber pot. He is not allowed to leave the room--and, above all, he must not make any noise.

On the second day, Magdalena brings his supper.

"I hate the priest."

"You don't know him."

"I hate him anyway."

"He's leaving tomorrow."

The boy picks at his food.

"Then I'll hate him until tomorrow."

***

Another five years pass. The boy is now fifteen and has grown taller than every single sister in the convent. Agnes claims it is because of all the goat's milk he drank as a child; Magdalena maintains it is because God has a sense of humor.

During his last visit, the priest pointed out that the sisters were getting old and the convent needed younger blood. For once, the Order listened, and a few months later, Sister Serafina--twenty-three years old--arrived.

The boy is kept hidden. Despite the nun's habit, no one could mistake him for a girl anymore. It is not until a week after Serafina's arrival that Mother Benedikta leads her into the kitchen, where he is waiting.

Serafina stops in the doorway.

"What is this?"

"That," says Agnes, "is a long story."

"Why is there a boy in the convent? Does the priest know about this?"

"No," says Benedikta.

"The Order?"

"No."

"Does anyone know?"

"You do now."

Serafina stands there, open-mouthed. The boy rises and walks over to her. He looks her up and down.

"You look tall."

Serafina stares at him.

"What?"

"You look tall."

"Yes, I heard you. But I've just learned that the convent is hiding a boy."

"Hah, I've known that my whole life."

He stands right in front of her.

"How tall are you?"

Serafina straightens up and looks down at him.

"Taller than you."

The boy does not like her at all.

***

Another five years pass. The last two winters have been the harshest in living memory. Agnes dies during the first. The second is even worse, and before spring arrives, both Roswitha and Gabriele have passed away.

When the priest finally visits Marienschnee, he carries the news of the three deaths back to the village. It is not until several months later that the Order's messenger arrives with the year's delivery and the news that two new sisters are to be sent to the convent.

They arrive before autumn. Sister Gertrud is twenty-four, short and sturdily built; on her very first day, she proves capable of carrying more firewood than any of the others. Sister Lucia is twenty, tall, slender, and shapely.

The boy is twenty now, too. He is kept hidden during the first few days, just as always happens when someone new arrives at Marienschnee. Once Mother Benedikta judges that neither of the two women is likely to turn back the way she came, they, too, are let in on the convent's secret.

Marienschnee once again consists of nine sisters. And a boy.

***

Upstairs, there are two small dormitories with low ceilings and thick timber walls that keep out the worst of the cold but let through almost every sigh and movement. In each room stands a wide wooden sleeping platform, large enough for four people to lie side by side. That is how the sisters have always slept: in close quarters, warm, and without much thought for privacy.

Veronika (55) and Magdalena (41) have slept alongside the Boy (20) since he was an infant, with him between them. When Cecilia (34) arrived at the convent, she, too, was given a spot on the same platform. No one has ever found the arrangement odd, and so it never occurred to anyone to change it as the Boy grew older.

Judith (44) and Serafina (28) sleep in the other dormitory. Theresia (66) used to sleep there as well, but when Gertrud (24) and Lucia (20) arrive, she vacates her spot and moves in with Mother Benedikta (71). The two new sisters thus each take a place beside Judith and Serafina.

That is how they sleep at night: four on one platform, four on the other, and two older women in the abbess's room.

***

One night, just a few days after Gertrud and Lucia arrived, something happens that changes everything for the boy. Magdalena is lying on the outer edge, her back turned toward him. It has been this way for several winters. No one thinks about it anymore. The cold creeps in beneath the covers no matter how closely they huddle together, and their bodies seek each other's warmth out of sheer habit.

The boy is asleep. He is dreaming of Lucia. In the dream, it is not Magdalena's back he feels against him, but hers--the new sister. She who has been at the convent for only a few days, yet has already found her way into his sleep.

He becomes aroused without waking. His hips begin to move slowly, searching. In the dream, Lucia parts her legs for him. He slides between them, finds the moist warmth, and begins to thrust.

Magdalena's breathing changes. She stirs restlessly in her sleep. In his dream, it is still Lucia. When he finally slides fully into Magdalena, her body tenses in a muffled, almost silent spasm. Shortly thereafter, he, too, reaches his climax.

Neither of them fully wakes up. The movements cease. Their breathing slows. After a while, they lie as still as they have for thousands of nights before.

On the other side of the boy lies Veronika. She is awakened by a movement in the cot--so faint that at first, she thinks someone has merely turned over in their sleep. Then the wood creaks again. And again.

Veronika opens her eyes in the darkness and lies motionless. She hears Magdalena's breathing--deep and uneven--and the boy's, close beside her. For a few moments, she listens to the slow rhythm coming from the cot. Magdalena lets out a stifled sigh.

Veronika smiles to herself and slowly shakes her head. Dreams. After twenty years on the same cot, she is used to them. Someone kicks off the blanket, someone talks in their sleep, someone moves closer when the cold becomes too biting. The Boy has done it since he was little. She pulls the blanket higher over her shoulder and closes her eyes. Within minutes, she is asleep again.

***

When Magdalena wakes, she immediately senses that something is wrong. It feels sticky between her thighs. Blood, she thinks at first, but the timing is all wrong. Her period came last week. It takes a few seconds before she cautiously feels around. The consistency is completely different. The scent is unfamiliar--salty and sharp. At first, she doesn't understand. Then she does. Semen.

She turns her head toward the Boy. He is still asleep. Magdalena stares up at the ceiling. What on earth has happened? She tries to recall the night but finds only fragments: something pressed against her, something warm filling her, the slow rhythm, and a final spasm. Nothing more concrete.

Finally, she slips out of bed, washes herself in the cold spring water, and says nothing to anyone. As she washes, she sees that it isn't just semen running from her. There is blood, too.

She stands barefoot on the stone slabs, staring. In her world, it can mean only one thing. At forty-one, she has lost her virginity to a sleeping boy of twenty. Throughout the years she lived behind the convent walls, her body had never demanded anything of her. Until now.

***

The next evening, she lies awake long after the others have fallen asleep. She feels the weight of her own breasts--D-cups that always pull the fabric tight across her chest. Her shoulder-length brown hair has come loose from its bun and is spread across the pillow. After a while, he shifts closer to her in his sleep, just as he has countless times before. This time, her body reacts differently. Magdalena stiffens. No. She moves a few centimeters away. Almost immediately, she feels ridiculous. What is she doing? It's the boy. The child she helped raise. He is just lying there, asleep. Yet, she wants him to come closer again. The realization makes her angry. She squeezes her eyes shut. What is wrong with me?

Behind her, he moves again, inching closer in his sleep. This time, she doesn't move away. When she feels his hard cock finding its way between her full thighs, she is frightened at first. Then, she lets her hand slide down between their bodies. Her fingers find him thick, hot, and slick with pre-cum. She guides the head toward her opening and slowly presses her backside backward, letting him slide deep inside her. This time, there is no doubt about what she is doing. She is wide awake.

She clenches her jaw to keep from making a sound and moves her hips against him in short, controlled thrusts. Each time she presses back, she feels him filling her more and more. Her belly and breasts sway gently beneath her shift. The wave rising within her grows rapidly--shamefully so. When it finally breaks, she trembles silently; her pussy clenches around his cock in violent spasms, while her dark hair sticks to her temples with sweat. He comes shortly after--still asleep--letting out a low, inarticulate sound against the back of her neck as he fills her with his warm semen.

Magdalena lies still with him inside her, staring out into the darkness. She did this deliberately this time. And she already knows she will do it again.

Nearby, Veronika is listening again. This time, the rhythm is clearer. The cot creaks. There is a damp, muffled soundscape that has no place in dreams. She lies with her hands clenched beneath her cheek, listening until it falls silent. A suspicion has taken root.

***

The next day, after the others have gone out to tend the animals and work in the kitchen, Veronika finds Magdalena alone in the narrow hallway outside the bedrooms. She closes the door behind them with a soft click.

"I heard you," she says quietly. "Last night. And the night before last."

Magdalena turns so pale that her lips look almost white. She opens her mouth, closes it, then slowly shakes her head, as if trying to wave the words away.

"It wasn't... I didn't mean..."

"I know what I heard." Her voice is low but stern. "You are going to tell me exactly what has happened."

The conversation is long and agonizing. The words come out stumbling and shame-filled, sometimes barely more than a whisper. Magdalena describes the morning after the first night and what she discovered then. Then she confesses what she deliberately did on the second. She weeps silently, wiping her face with her palm over and over again. She promises, time and again, that it will never happen again. That she will pray. That she will ensure they no longer lie next to each other.

Veronika looks at her for a long time. Finally, she nods once.

"I won't say anything. Not to the Abbess. Not to anyone. But it ends here."

Magdalena nods eagerly, almost pleadingly.

"It ends. I swear."

***

The next night, they are lying next to each other again. No one has changed places yet. The cold is biting, and the others have already fallen asleep. Magdalena has resolved to stay still. She will not touch him. She will simply lie there, freezing and ashamed, in silence.

She wakes to find him inside her. At first, she lies completely rigid. She closes her eyes and tries to think of what she promised Veronika. Of the conversation in the corridor. Of the shame. He moves deeply, slowly--still in his sleep--but this time there is no doubt about what is happening. She bites hard into the pillow to keep from making a sound. The orgasm comes suddenly and violently; she presses her face into the fabric until her teeth ache, her hips shaking against him. He climaxes with a muffled groan against her shoulder. She lies there, her heart pounding, the pillow wet with saliva and tears.

On the other side, Veronika is awake. She has heard the stifled breathing and felt the slow movements of the cot beside her. This time, there is nothing to explain away.

***

The next day, the conversation is shorter and colder.

"We're switching places," says Veronika. "You move to my spot. I'll lie where you're lying now."

Magdalena opens her mouth to protest, but the look she receives makes the words die away.

"Tonight," says Veronika.

Magdalena lowers her gaze and nods. She has no intention of protesting.

***

The following night, Veronika lies in front of him.

Her short, dark-blonde hair is just as unruly whether she is wearing a headscarf or not. She lies with her nightgown hiked up between her knees, so that only her thin linen shorts separate them. She hears soft snoring behind her in the room. She is fully focused on her task. She must ensure that nothing happens between Magdalena and the boy.

It is somewhat amusing that they still call him "the boy." They had decided on a name for him early on: Toni. It could just as easily have been a girl's name. That was, of course, intentional--in case someone happened to let it slip.

Now Toni is lying behind her, and her job is to keep Magdalena away from him.

At first, there is only the heat of his body--that familiar closeness she has known for years. Then she feels him for real. His cock is already hard as it presses against her backside. Large, hot, heavy. At first, it simply rests there, as if testing the waters. She lies frozen stiff. At 163 centimeters tall, she suddenly feels very small against him. Strangely enough, she thinks of the children. Of how her body once carried them, how her arms held them, and how the fire then took them from her. She knows she ought to move away. Give him a light jab with her elbow. Sit up. But she simply lies perfectly still, counting her breaths.

When his cock seeks its way between her thighs, she opens them slightly instead--almost without realizing it herself. She clenches her jaw so hard her temples ache. Push him away! Get up! Scream! But she follows none of her own commands. He thrusts slowly in his sleep--short, searching movements--and each time, his hard cock slides further forward between her thighs. She feels the thick veins against the insides of her thighs and the damp head of his cock, already smearing pre-cum onto the fabric.

Her own pussy betrays her. A warm, shameful wetness spreads through her shorts--slowly at first, then faster. When the head of his cock finally thrusts directly against her pussy through the sodden fabric, she jerks as if from an electric shock. He notices nothing. He continues his thrusting in his sleep--small, unconscious yet persistent movements that press both fabric and skin against her pussy. She feels her inner lips part slightly from the pressure, feels her clitoris swell and begin to pulse each time his thick cock slides over it.

A voice inside her screams that she is worse than Magdalena. That she is lying here, letting a sleeping man rub his cock against her pussy as if she were just any whore. Another voice--darker and much quieter--simply says how good it feels. How thick he is. How hot the head of his cock feels. How easy it would be to just spread her legs a little wider, pull aside the last bit of fabric, and let him slide inside for real.

She doesn't do it. But neither does she press her thighs together. She lies motionless, breathing shallowly through her nose, while his cock continues to thud against her wet pussy. The seconds feel like minutes. Finally, the edge of the fabric has shifted aside enough. The bare, burning-hot head of his cock now presses directly against her pussy. A thick drop of pre-cum clings to her clitoris. The head slides up over her swollen clitoris, back down, and presses against the opening as if it already knew the way inside.

She stifles a moan against the pillow. Her hips make a single, treacherous counter-thrust of their own accord. That is all it takes for him to slide inside her. Inch by inch, thick and unstoppable, until she is completely filled. Veronika freezes in terror at what she has just done. She feels every thrust and hates that she loves it.

She thinks about how different Magdalena must have felt to him. She herself is slimmer, lighter, and older in the body. Her breasts are smaller than Magdalena's, yet her C-cups are still large enough to get in the way when she breathes. She even finds time to think about her narrower waist and wonder if he would like it better if he were awake.

He thrusts again. Harder now. Even deeper. Veronika digs her fingernails so hard into the mattress that her fingertips sting. She is soaking wet now. Every thrust sends a sharp, sweet jolt straight up into her belly and out into her thighs. She hates how close she is to coming. Hates how her pussy hungers for his cock, how it contracts in small, hungry twitches every time he pulls back a little and then drives his cock back in. She prays silently for him to come quickly. For his semen to come and put an end to it before she loses control completely. She is terrified of climaxing before him. She doesn't want to feel him ejaculating inside her while she lies there shaking with orgasm. She fears that, should that happen, there will be no turning back to a normal life.

But seconds later, she comes anyway, her face pressed hard against the pillow to muffle the sound of the massive orgasm surging through her. Her pussy clenches violently around his cock, over and over, and her hips shake uncontrollably. He comes shortly after--still asleep--his hands gripping her waist tightly. And with every hot spurt shooting deep inside her, it feels as though she is coming again. And again. And again.

On the other side, Magdalena lies with her eyes wide open, listening to every breath, every faint creak of the wood. Veronika? What the hell is Veronika doing? But she says nothing. She simply lies there, knowing that the very thing she swore would never happen again has already taken hold.

Both women now know they can no longer trust each other--or themselves.

***

After that night, they suggest a different arrangement on the cot. It ends with Cecilia lying in front of Toni, while Magdalena and Veronika lie behind him. The two women lie close together, back to stomach, as if physical proximity might keep their desire in check. The room is silent, save for the wind's faint sighing against the roof and the sound of steady breathing.

It is Cecilia's moaning that wakes them.

The sound is low at first--almost like a sigh in her sleep--but it grows. A deep, involuntary note rising from her throat as Toni moves inside her. Magdalena opens her eyes in the darkness. Beside her, Veronika lies just as awake, her body rigid.

Neither of them speaks for a long time. They simply listen. The cot creaks in a slow, heavy rhythm. Cecilia moans again, more clearly now. Cecilia is the slimmest of the three. She is 165 centimeters tall, with a slender waist and C-cup breasts that stand out prominently beneath her thin shift. Her long black hair has come loose from its braid and is spread across the pillow. Magdalena feels heat spreading between her own legs. She moves her hand down without thinking. Her fingers glide over skin that is already damp, circling and pressing.

"Stop," Veronika whispers sharply into her ear. "You mustn't."

But just a few seconds later, the sound of rustling fabric comes from beside Magdalena as well. Veronika's breathing has changed. Her hand is moving too. They lie there masturbating quietly--now facing each other--while the sounds nearby continue. Every time Cecilia moans, they can hear how aroused she is.

Finally, a last, muffled moan escapes Cecilia. Then, silence falls nearby. Magdalena has already climaxed and turns her attention to Veronika's body. She has hiked up the nightshift, taken a breast into her mouth, and is sucking hard while a finger works inside the warm, wet pussy. Veronika bites her own wrist to keep from making a sound. She presses her hips hard against Magdalena's hand.

After Veronika has also climaxed, they lie still for a long while. Then Magdalena whispers:

"It's not enough. I need him. His cock."

Veronika doesn't answer immediately. Then she nods in the darkness.

"Me too."

They lie facing each other, speaking in hushed tones. The plan takes shape between them. The next night, they plan to wait until things have gone quite far. They intend to wake Cecilia in the middle of the act, so she cannot deny anything. That way, she will be just as complicit as they are. The secret will become something they share.

But things do not turn out as they had planned.

***