"Oh my Heavens," she gasped, one hand automatically raising to cover her open mouth, the other still grasping the bloody hatchet. It was then that she...caught sight of the smears of dripping red that covered her hand. A shriek of horror died in her throat. Throwing her hand down, her eyes traveled the length of her naked body where blood splashed by the thrashing goat had painted her in gory red. "Oh... , oh... , oh my Heavens!" she exclaimed.Suddenly Mary was a blur of motion. Hatchet still. But anyway, he had an unknown admirer.Sherry was another of the buxom nymphet's that seemed to be the mainstay of the convent's clientele. She was a short, dark haired, busty fourteen year old. And, to her, Father Murphy was the epitome of maleness. He was handsome, big, stern and commanding.Sherry was the only child of a young, single parent mother. When she was twelve, her mother, for the only time since Sherry's father abandoned them ten years earlier, had a live-in boyfriend. He, like the. More

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