No one knew how the tradition started. It really didn’t make any sense but all of them had been taught it by the older girls, and now it just kept on going.

As the Sisters turned the lights out, each of the novices would slip her hands down between her legs and start to rub their clits. The oldest girl in the dormitory would time it, half an hour, non stop, every night. It was a test of their self-control and ability to resist temptation, or so they were told.

Listening there in the dark, to the muffled moans beside them, trying to keep on the edge, but not to cum, never to cum.

But if they did, they were to admit it, instantly, to all. ‘Forgive me sisters for I have sinned’. Pulling their hands away as they went over, aching to do more but knowing they’d already failed. If you kept silent somehow the other girls always knew anyway, and the punishment was worse.

And then they’d stand, everyone stopping, watching the failure go and kneel in the place of shame, and each of the other novices standing around them, and spitting on them to show their contempt for their failed sister.

She’d be left there, kneeling in penance, their saliva and her juices finally drying in a sticky mess before she returned to bed, shamed like a good Catholic should be.

She’d be watched every night for the next 30 days as she edged, the older girls whispering more temptations into her ears to test her further. They hoped she’d fail as the second offence carried with it a much harsher lesson. Using her mouth to pleasure the girl who talked her over the edge.

The best of the older novices never had to touch themselves at all.

Of course they all thought it would stop when they took their final vows. They were wrong, this was just the beginning. There was a reason the Convent of the Weeping Bud never lost a single nun.

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