ROOM 666 - Day 3, last entry

Are you surprised, dear diary?
Shocked?
Scared, maybe?
I came here to find myself and I did. True, I ended up embracing the Other One, but we must kneel in front of the god that suits our temperament, don’t you think?

I made a few calls, worked my credit card. The nice thing about being in a big city is, you find shops open on Sunday, too. And they do express delivery.
I need a few clothes, a few accessories.
There are surprises in store for you too, dear diary. I’m sure you’ll love’em.
Then I pulled the dildo from her ass and woke the girl up. She was deliciously drowsy and wonderfully confused. I dragged her under the shower, and we had sex under the hot water, steaming ourselves up in more ways than one.
She was giggling and drawing herself against me, enjoying the skin-on-skin contact, when I kissed her long and deep, and drank her up like a fine glass of wine.
 She hummed and staggered and then rested with her back on the tiles, watching me with new eyes, as a wicked grin spread over her black lips. Her tongue darted through her white teeth, licking her lips wet.
“This is so sweet,” she hissed.
I baptized her Amanda. My first convert.
Now she’s standing in front of the bathroom mirror, exploring her new body.



(later)
First layer.
Black Loubotin Victoria platform pumps with sixteen heels. Black thigh high fishnet stockings with lace tops. Black lace thong and black lace underbust corset.
I apply the black duct tape to my nipples, and I study the general effect. With my face made up in black and burgundy, my dangling earrings and my tattoos and piercings in full display, I look like a high-class hooker.
Behind me, in the mirror, Amanda is having her way with the busty blonde concierge, tipping her for bringing up my packets. The blonde moans  in pleasure, her legs scissoring in the hair while Amanda sits on her face, rocking fiercely, her hands on the blonde’s big boobs.
Next layer.
The tunic has been modified to my specifications. The skirt is a bit tighter than as per Catholic regulations, it exposes a hint of ankle. I can unzip a slit that goes up to my hip. The blouse is subtly revealing, emphasizing my melons. The sleeves are ample and long, so I turn them over my wrists. Over the tunic goes the white scapular. Silk, not cotton. The belt is made of black silk chord, too, not of wool. 
I adjust the white coif. It hugs my cheeks and forehead, emphasizes my dark makeup. I let a single strand of black hair escape it. Then I pin the black veil over it.
I hang the string of black rubber beads to my belt, my unholy rosary, and I hang the Baphomet around my neck on a silver chain. From a distance, the horns of the goat make it look like a primitive cross.
I light up a cigarette and study myself in the mirror. A true nun of the Other One. The perfect balance of saint and harlot. I laugh, blowing smoke out of my nostrils.

Amanda comes up behind me and grabs my tits.
“You are beautiful, Mother.”
On the bed, the blonde is twirling a strand of hair in her fingers, looking at us with soul-less eyes.
“Can we call her Belinda?” Amanda whispers.
I walk over to the bed, hips swaying, and I prepare to baptize my second convert.

And you, dear diary?
Do you like the black leather cover, with the subtly obscene inlays? The rough, handmade cream-colored paper, the silver-tipped fountain pen scratching sensuously your pages?
You look sexy.
Let’s leave the girls to their games. We have a train to catch. I am sure we will have lots of fun out there in the world together, dear diary. They don’t expect what it’s about to hit them.