Rhoda the nun

The heavy scent of frankincense and melting beeswax hung thick in the vaulted chapel as the amber glow of the setting sun bled through the stained glass. It had been exactly one week since Rhoda had slipped through the monastery gates, trading her usual family routine for one particularly bold sexual adventure at the cloister. She had played the part of the devoted sister well enough, or at least, she had played it with enough confidence that no one dared question why her "habit" seemed to have been painted onto her curves rather than sewn. As the low hum of the evening vespers began, Rhoda glided toward her usual pew. The polished stone floor echoed with the rhythmic clack of her white platform sandals, a sound that cut through the somber chanting like a deliberate provocation. Her sleek, skin-tight habit shimmered under the flickering candlelight, the fabric straining across her chest and hugging her waist and heavy bottom with a devotion that put the monks' prayers to shame. With every swaying step, the daring, hip-high slits of her skirt flared open, revealing the golden fur of her powerful thighs and providing plenty of clearance for her massive, plush tail to swish lazily behind her. She didn't bother folding her hands in prayer. Instead, she leaned against the cool mahogany of the pew, her sharp eyes scanning the rows of bowed heads through the frames of her glasses. She was hunting. Her gaze skipped over the elderly brothers and the grizzled veterans of the order, finally settling on a young initiate in the third row. He was the picture of abstinent discipline: spine perfectly straight, eyes squeezed shut in fervent concentration, and knuckles turning white as he gripped his wooden prayer beads. A slow, predatory smirk pulled at Rhoda’s lips. He was young, undeniably pretty in his stern piety, and clearly struggling to keep his mind on the divine. Adjusting her veil so a stray lock of mahogany hair fell over her eye, she moved closer, her tail giving a playful, deliberate flick that brushed against the hem of his robe as she "accidentally" took the spot right beside him. The scent of her natural canine perfume began to drift his way, and Rhoda settled in to see just how much spiritual resolve he actually had left.