4- Dressed As His Slut

"This clothes…" I whispered to myself, my eyes running down the revealing white lace.

"Stop staring and put it on," Sister Beatrice snapped from the doorway. Her arms were crossed, her face twisted in disgust. "You're already late."

I flinched, my fingers trembling as I touched the delicate fabric. Sister Beatrice had hated me from the moment I arrived at the convent six years ago. She was only three years older than me, but she acted like she owned the place.

Mother Superior's favorite. The one who got the best cell, the lightest duties, the warmest blankets in winter.

And I had ruined it all just by existing.

"I can't wear this," I said, my voice breaking. "This isn't... I took vows. I promised–"

"You promised to obey," Sister Beatrice interrupted coldly. "And you'll obey. Do you think you are the first?”

“Of course not–”

“Then what are you complaining for? Unless you want Mother Superior to hear about your refusal? You know that won't end well for you, right?"

The truth was simple and petty.

Before I came, Sister Beatrice had been the youngest, the most pitied, the one everyone felt sorry for because she had nowhere else to go.

Then I arrived, younger, more broken, with a tragic story about a dead mother that made the older nuns cluck their tongues and offer extra bread at dinner.

Sister Beatrice never forgave me for stealing her spotlight.

And to make matters worse, Margeret had revealed that her story of losing her dad was a lie. Yet she was still mother Superior's favorite.

But she hated me regardless, because she was nothing but an attention seeker.

I had so much to say to her acne filled face but I couldn't say the words. Ever since that night, every act of rebellion had died with my spirit.

I looked away, closing my eyes to calm my emotions.

"No," I whispered. "I'll... I'll wear it."

She watched me change with dead eyes, like she had seen this a thousand times before. When I finally stood in the white lace, I felt naked. The material clung to my body, showing every curve I had spent years hiding beneath heavy robes.

The lace was so thin I could see right through it. It would cover nothing. The dress flowed down to my knees, but the top part... the top part left my shoulders bare, my chest barely hidden behind sheer white material.

The shape of my breasts and nipples were easily seen from within the dress. I had been given underwear that left my clit exposed, I could feel the cool breeze touching it that made my toes curl. Tears build up in my eyes as I stared at myself in the mirror.

"Your hair," she said, walking toward me with pins in her hand. "We can't send you looking like a proper nun. He doesn't pay for proper."

She pulled my auburn hair loose from its bun roughly, yanking harder than necessary. I bit my lip to keep from crying out. She had always found small ways to hurt me over the years. Hiding my prayer book. Reporting my smallest mistakes to Mother Superior.

It got worse two years ago when Father Benedict visited and asked specifically to speak with me. He wanted to know how I was healing, if the convent was helping me find peace. Sister Beatrice had been standing nearby, her face red with anger that the visiting priest didn't even remember her name.

After that, she made my life hell.

"Here." She thrust a white scarf at me. "Cover your face below the eyes. He likes mystery."

I wrapped the scarf around the lower half of my face with shaking hands. Now only my green eyes showed above the silk.

"Listen carefully," Sister Beatrice said, her voice dropping lower. But there was satisfaction in her eyes. She was enjoying this. "Dante Salvatore is not like the other clients. He's dangerous. Very dangerous."

"What does he expect me to do?" I asked, hating how small my voice sounded.

"Everything that your body can offer," she replied with a slight smile. "He wants complete obedience. You speak only when he gives permission. You do exactly what he commands. No hesitation. No crying. No begging."

"But I don't know what to—"

"You'll learn quickly or you'll suffer," she cut me off. "Mr. Salvatore doesn't tolerate disobedience. He doesn't accept excuses. If you displease him, you won't just answer to Mother Superior. You'll answer to him."

Tears filled my eyes.

This was really happening.

Never in my life had I expected that I would be in this situation as I am now.

Sister Beatrice had probably volunteered to prepare me just for this moment. Just to see me finally brought low.

"Why are you crying?" Sister Beatrice asked, but there was no sympathy in her voice. Just satisfaction. "You brought this on yourself."

"Margaret was supposed to go," I whispered. "I was trying to help her—"

"Help?" Sister Beatrice laughed bitterly. "Always playing the martyr, aren't you? Poor Celeste, sacrificing herself for others. Do you know how sick everyone is of your tragic story?"

I stared at her, shocked by the venom in her voice.

"That's right," she continued, stepping closer. "You walk around here like your suffering is special. Like your dead mother makes you better than the rest of us. Is it because you are suicidal and we are meant to walk on egg shells around you?” She mocked. “You are just seeking attention. Well now you have it and will suffer for it. You will suffer for telling Margaret to reveal the truth about me.”

“I didn't…”

“Oh shut your mouth, you lying snake. You are the only one who saw the letters that inxluded our names. You had access to it because of father Benedict, only you knew.”

“What?! I did not. Only Margeret–”

“Shut up. Just shut your mouth. We all have tragic stories, apologies if ours aren't like your. Apologies that, we don't get special treatment from visiting priests or extra sympathy from the older nuns."

"I never asked for—"

"You didn't have to ask!" she hissed. "You just had to show up with your big sad eyes and your guilt and suddenly you're the most pitiful thing anyone's ever seen. Do you know Mother Superior used to check on me at night? She used to bring me tea when I couldn't sleep. But then you came, and suddenly I didn't matter anymore. All she had in her head was how to make Celeste a girl to be sent."

My mouth opened but no words came out. Even if I were to speak, she wouldn't listen. But she already mentioned a statement that I had left me in utter shock.

Hiding from the eyes of Mother superior did nothing. She had always been finding ways to make me a caller girl.

I had never known.

Never realized.

"And the worst part?" Sister Beatrice's eyes glittered with malice. "You actually believed you were special. You thought your pain was real while the rest of us were just... what? Decoration?"

"I'm sorry," I whispered, lowering my eyes as a frown slowly marred my forehead. "I didn't mean to—"

"Save it." She shoved the heavy fur coat into my arms. "Mother Superior told me everything about you. About how you let your mother die while you ran off with some boy. You're not a martyr, Celeste. You're just selfish. And now you want to pretend you're noble by taking Margaret's place?"

The word hit me like a physical blow. Selfish. The same word Liora had screamed at me. The same word that haunted my prayers.

"You're not saving anyone," Sister Beatrice continued. "You're just paying for what you've always been. And honestly? I'm glad. I'm glad you're finally getting what you deserve."

I couldn't breathe. The room felt too small.

"One more thing," Sister Beatrice said as she walked to the door, her voice almost cheerful now. "You're a virgin, aren't you?"

My face burned beneath the scarf. "Yes."

"Not for long." Her smile was genuinely happy. "That's exactly what he paid extra for. Your precious innocence. Your sacred purity. Everything you've been protecting? Gone tonight. And tomorrow, when you come back used and broken and forced, maybe you'll finally understand that you're not special. You never were. You are just a selfish slut who probably have been waiting for this moment."

"Please," I whispered, though I didn't know what I was begging for anymore. "Please, please…"

Sister Beatrice opened the door. "A man is waiting upstairs to take you to him. Don't make him wait longer. And Celeste?" She paused, looking back at me with cold satisfaction. "I volunteered to prepare you tonight. I wanted to be here for this. I've waited six years to see you finally put in your place."

I gulped, pulling the fur coat tighter around my body.

It all started with my virginity.

And it will end with it.

The virginity I had kept sacred for twenty-two years would disappear tonight in the bed of a dangerous stranger, delivered there by someone who hated me for reasons as simple as stealing attention and sympathy.

A single tear ran down my cheek, soaking into the white scarf.

"Move," Sister Beatrice ordered, holding the door open.

I walked past her on legs that didn't feel like mine. As I passed, she leaned in close and whispered one last thing.

"I hope he breaks you completely."

I stopped in my tracks, turning back to look at her spiteful eyes and asked.

“Have you ever been sent. Beatrice?”

She frowned. “No.”

“Then you will never understand.”